Page 17 of Jacob Michaels is Trouble

“Who cares?” I shrugged. “It’s not like I have to have the money. I mean, not to be a snob, but it’s not like I need any more money at this point.”

“You’re not even thirty yet, Jacob—”

“Rob.”

“—why would you even think about quitting now?” She squealed, the gash of red on her face flapping wildly. “You have decades of work ahead of you! Millions! You could be richer than a Middle Eastern Crown Prince!”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s not offensive. Look, Nelda, I’m done. There are a million generically good-looking guys with good features and palatable acting skills waiting in line behind me. Sign a new Jacob. You’re acting like you’re watching Jack Nicholson walk away when I’m more like a Kellan Lutz.”

“Well, you were never that buff.” She replied earnestly.

“Fair enough.” I had no other way to respond to that.

“But none of that matters, Jacob.”

“Rob.”

She waved me off.

“No one cares that you have no talent, and there is nothing truly remarkable about your looks.” She said. “You just have…that thing…that producers and directors are looking for in a star, dear.”

Ouch.

Well, actually, it would have been an “ouch” if I hadn’t already gotten used to the way actors got treated in the business.

“That thing…” I stopped.

What I had wanted to say, I kept to myself. Because “that thing” that Nelda was referring to, was magic. Only she didn’t know that. Casting directors didn’t know it. Producers and directors didn’t know it. The moviegoing public didn’t know it.

“I can’t, Nelda,” I said. “I’m done.”

Nelda huffed, the red slash across her face turning into what looked like the mouth on a Tragedy Mask. She snatched her cigarette case from me and stood angrily. Damnit. It was fun holding the cigarettes. I was actually hoping she’d forget that I had them and leave them with me. Then I could have one. Just one…

“You are a pain in my ass.” She snapped down at me. “I will ask them for more money if you want to play hardball.”

“Ask them for the Taj Mahal, Nelda.” I shrugged as I peered up at her passively. “But it won’t make me change my mind if they say ‘yes’ to anything you demand. Besides, if you push back, they’ll just get Vin Diesel to replace me in the sequel.”

But Nelda was already in motion, stomping angrily towards the front door. Her claw reached out and turned the knob, ripping the front door inward—which was quite a feat for someone of Nelda’s age and stature.

“We’ll see about that!” She snarled triumphantly. “The next time you hear from me, I’ll have an offer you can’t refuse!”

Then she was gone, and the door was slamming angrily, a gust of Ohio Spring air blowing into the living room to ruffle my hair. Sighing to myself, I listened for the sound of a car door opening and closing, the sound of an engine roaring to life, and then the tell-tale sound of tires crunching on the driveway. I stood from the couch and went over to the door to lock the deadbolt. I certainly didn’t want Nelda coming back inside unannounced, uninvited, and unwanted.

Back in the kitchen, Oma and Jason were still sitting at the table, glaring at each other, though they both had mugs of coffee in hand. The thought of each of them having a solid object to launch at or hit each other with made me nervous, but I went to the cabinet to get my own mug. If things started getting thrown, I wanted scalding liquid and heavy porcelain as a weapon, too. Once I had pulled a mug down from the cabinet and filled it with piping hot coffee, I strolled over to the table as though all was right as rain, and sat down in the chair across from Oma, putting Jason to my right. Since I’m righthanded, I figured that would make it easier to throw the mug at him or send a ball of fire splashing into his face.

“Talk, assface.” Oma barked before I had the chance.

Jason squinted angrily at her, but he was soon turning his attention to me.

“You owe me.” He stated simply.

“I owe you shit.”

“I hid two bodies for you.”

“What?” Oma gasped.

“You hid the bodies of two of your kind who tried to kill Lucas and me.” I brought my coffee mug to my lips and blew at it before taking a sip. “I mean, what are you going to do? Lead the cops to the bodies and tell them that you were an accessory to murder? That you hid dead bodies for the person who killed the two men out of self-defense? Good luck with that, assface.”