G'Day USA Read online

  ‘She was living with Sweeney? What a dog.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Kent slid his board into its case and strapped it to the roof rack. ‘I don’t think they got along well, what with him killing her room-mate and ending up in jail over it.’

  ‘Where the fuck do you get this stuff, man?’ Charlie tossed his wetsuit into the back of the old Honda Accord and tied his board along side Kent’s. ‘I completely lost track of these guys. So Sweeney’s in jail? Not surprised, actually. Karma catches you eventually.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘You know I was AD for him on Beast. He treated me like shit.’

  ‘He treated everyone like shit.’ Kent limped to the driver’s side of the car. ‘But yeah, he reserved the special shit for you.’

  ‘Lucky me.’ Charlie hopped in the passenger’s side. ‘So how long is Sweeney in for?’

  ‘Oh, he’s out.’

  ‘You just said he went to jail.’

  ‘He was sprung today. Some technicality with the evidence.’

  ‘You’re losing me.’

  ‘Ellie’s friend was killed and the cops thought it was a suicide. He was some comic. Not bad, I hear. Ellie didn’t think it could have been suicide and found enough evidence to get Sweeney locked up. Now it appears the evidence was questionable and his lawyers persuaded the judge to toss the case.’

  ‘I should probably pay more attention to the news. So where’s Sweeney now?’

  ‘Fucked if I know. Probably back at his place in the Valley.’

  ‘So you know where he lives too. You’re a regular Google Maps.’

  A smile slowly spread across Kent’s face. ‘Fuckin’ brilliant idea, mate. We should go visit him. Like a bit of a reunion.’

  ‘He was an ass. Why in the hell would I want to go visit him?’

  ‘See his place. Say hi. Rub his face in the fact he’s now got absolutely no career left.’

  ‘Neither do I.’

  ‘Well, you’ve done well for yourself with the cellular stuff.’

  ‘I just work there. It’s not like it’s my company. I could have been a good director.’

  ‘Well, there’s a vacancy. He’s not in the business anymore. Can you imagine anyone hiring him now?’

  ‘They let him go.’

  ‘Everyone knows it was a technicality. He did it. There’s audio tape floating around of him doing it.’

  Charlie looked out the window at the passing hills as they drove up the Santa Monica Freeway. ‘Huh. Maybe I should get back in the saddle. Though, to be honest, I’m not really keen on seeing him again.’

  ‘Oh, come on. We’ll pick up some pizza on the way. His cupboard is probably empty. And some beer. Come and gloat with me. It’ll be fun.’

  Bart Sweeney climbed out of the taxi, pulling the small bag of possessions with him. He tossed a fifty on the front seat. ‘Keep the change.’

  ‘The fare’s $72.50, Mac. You still owe me.’

  ‘Get it from the state. I don’t have it.’

  ‘I’m not leaving until you pay the remaining fare.’

  Bart leaned down and looked in the window. ‘Look, you know where you just picked me up. I’ve been behind bars for the last fourteen months. I don’t have it. You can sit out there for the next year if you want, because it’ll probably be that long before I get work again.’

  ‘Asshole.’ The cabbie slammed the car into drive and left with a scream of rubber.

  ‘Likewise, my friend.’ Bart fished through the bag of belongings for the house keys. He walked in the front door to a stale, dusty smell of emptiness. Unlived in for over a year. ‘Son of a bitch.’ He strode across the room to the phone in the kitchen. Picked it up and held it to his head. ‘Dial tone. At least he got that right.’

  He punched the numbers from memory; the only number he’d been calling the past few months.

  ‘Saul speaking.’

  ‘I thought I said I wanted this place cleaned. You assured me this place was going to be cleaned when I got back.’

  ‘I didn’t expect the judge to rule until tomorrow. God’s honest truth. Cleaner was supposed to be there first thing in the morning. Tomorrow morning.’

  Bart grunted. ‘Yeah, okay. Fine. Thanks for pulling this off. Didn’t think you could do it. Don’t cancel the cleaners for tomorrow. This place is a shit hole. Talk to you later.’

  ‘Wait, don’t hang up.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You looking for work?’

  ‘Does the pope shit in the woods? Why?’

  ‘I’m your guardian fucking angel.’

  Bart sat down, the telephone cord stretching across the room. ‘What ya got?’

  ‘An indie operation is looking for a director experienced with putting together low-budget pictures. They heard you were out and approached me.’

  ‘They asked for me specifically?’

  ‘You bet. Your rep precedes you, buddy.’

  Bart rubbed his whiskered jaw. ‘I’m betting not much money, being an indie.’

  ‘Hey, work is work. Get this done and the doors will open. Just keep your fucking nose clean.’

  ‘Maybe I was being too subtle. How much money are we talking? I don’t work for free.’

  ‘Hundred up front and take a piece of the backend.’

  ‘Wow, that is small. How far along is this?’

  ‘They’re ready to start shooting in about a week. They’ve got some old widow financiers, as far as I know the principals are in place and they were ready to start with a rookie director when they heard you were available.’

  ‘What’s the story? No, stop. Never mind. I don’t want to know. Send me the information. Did you get the Internet hooked back up?’

  ‘Yes. All the log in information is under the keyboard. I’ll email the details to you now. Give these guys a call.’

  Bart looked around his barren house. ‘Look, Saul, friend to friend, since you know I’m going to be getting $100,000 shortly, can you spot me a couple of grand to tide me over? I’m flat.’

  Saul chuckled on the other end of the phone line. ‘I’ll bring by two thou in the morning. You’ll owe me big time, buddy.’

  ‘Tomorrow.’ Bart shrugged. ‘Okay. Tomorrow it is. I’ll live until then.’

  ‘So you’re going for the Director’s thing then?’

  ‘I thought it was implied. Of course. I’ll contact them as soon as you send me the info.’

  ‘You gave me power of attorney; I can let them know on your behalf and set a meeting up for tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Make it tomorrow afternoon. I need a haircut and some new clothes. I lost about twenty pounds behind bars.’

  ‘Okay. 2:30 pm. Get a phone, too.’

  ‘I will. Do me a favor, will you? See if you can track down Ellie Bourke’s number? I want to mend fences. Maybe I can get her a bit part in this indie thing.’

  ‘She’s bigger than Ben Hur right now, buddy. Doubt she’ll go for this thing.’

  ‘Still. I’d like to apologize, privately, without a horde of media.’

  ‘Good luck. I’ll email you her contact details.

  There was a knock at the front door. ‘Thanks Saul. Someone’s at the door. Gotta go.’

  Bart hung up and peered out the living room window. Two faces he hadn’t seen in over four years were standing on his porch, one with a couple of pizza and the other with a case of beer. He yanked the door open. ‘Kent. Charlie. What the fuck, boys? A welcome home party? Someone shoulda told me.’

  ‘So you do remember us.’ Charlie cocked an eyebrow. ‘Thought maybe we were ghosts to you.’

  ‘What the fuck? Come in, boys. If you’re planning on sharing, that is. Excuse the mess. I’ve been, well, detained.’

  ‘Yeah. We heard.’ Kent held up the case of beer. ‘Thought you could use a drink or three. It’s been what, fourteen months?’

  ‘Close enough. Appreciate this. What you two been up to?’

  Kent placed the beer on the kitchen table. ‘Bit parts here
and there.’ He slapped his leg. ‘This fucking limp doesn’t help any.’

  Bart grimaced. ‘That happened on the Bondi shoot, right? Ever figure out how it happened?’

  ‘You really don’t know?’

  Bart shrugged. ‘You just showed up limping one day. Perfect timing.’ He turned to Charlie. ‘And you, old boot. You disappeared. Haven’t heard a peep out of you. What kind of movies you making these days?’

  Charlie looked at Kent then back at Bart. He pulled a bottle out of the case, twisted off the top, and took a long pull. ‘Really?’ He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. ‘You didn’t know? Find it hard to believe.’

  ‘What, is it a fucking mystery? I don’t keep track of everyone I used to work with. You’re here in the States, so you must be doing pretty good.’

  ‘I’m a contractor. Working for one of the mobile operators here. Technical role. I haven’t been on a movie set since Beast. Thought you, of all people, would know.’

  ‘And how in the hell would I know?’

  Charlie took a step toward Bart, almost nose to nose. ‘I’m out because you made it the worse experience of my life.’

  Kent jumped between them. ‘Hey, guys, cool it. Let’s head out to the balcony and enjoy.’ He sniffed. ‘It’s a bit stale in here.’

  Bart took a deep breath, looking Charlie in the eyes. ‘Forgive me. I was an asshole. I’ve had over a year to realize what a dick I was. Truly sorry, Charlie. You should get back in the business. You really were good. If I can give you any references, just let me know.’ He took the pizza from the table. ‘Kent is right. Let’s head outside. It’s still warm out. Sun’s down, but the heat remains.’ He looked to Kent, then Charlie. ‘Clocks change next weekend, right? So longer days.’

  ‘Same length days. I just have to get up earlier for work.’ Charlie followed Kent and Bart outside, the three of them taking up three sides of a patio table. He sat facing the guesthouse. He nodded toward it. ‘That’s where it happened?’

  ‘What?’ Bart strained to look over his shoulder. ‘What happened?’

  Kent placed his hand on Charlie’s arm. ‘Don’t, mate.’

  He shrugged it off. ‘You know. The thing you ended up in jail for.’

  ‘Guys, ancient history. I made a mistake. Bourke exaggerated the evidence. Hey, I was let go today. It’s in the past, okay?’ He flipped a pizza box lid. ‘What have we got here? Pepperoni? Grab a slice guys.’ He slid the box off the one underneath it. ‘And Hawaiian? You’re too good to me.’

  Kent caught Charlie’s eye and shook his head. He sniffed. ‘Only the best for our favorite ex-con. What are you going to do now? The movie business is probably not in the cards. Too many bridges burned.’

  Bart smiled and sipped his beer. ‘You think?’

  ‘You know, just saying. It was a pretty serious crime.’ Kent held up his hands. ‘I know, I know. You were let go. Double jeopardy though, right? You can’t be tried for the same crime twice. So you’re safe. Did you do it?’

  Bart shook his head and pulled a slice of pizza from the web of melted mozzarella. ‘Some nerve, boy. Some fucking nerve. I’m hosting you in my house and you’ve got the nerve to bring that up.’ He looked at the expression on Kent’s face and laughed. ‘Fucking with you. Eat. It’s good.’

  They sat in silence; the only sounds the light traffic on the street, the odd bird in the trees and the sound of the neighbor’s TV.

  After fifteen minutes of eating Charlie broke the silence. ‘You say you enjoyed working with me in Australia, and I’ll admit the first few weeks were okay, but after that you were an unholy asshole. What the fuck happened?’

  Bart chewed on the crust. He held up a finger, swallowed and said, ‘I was under considerable stress. We were running out of time and money. It was just pure luck things got on track. Really sorry about the stresses. It wasn’t directed at you intentionally. I was an asshole to everyone. Right Kent?’

  He grunted. ‘Especially to me.’

  Bart laughed. ‘Look, see? The star of the show. The Beast of Beast of Bondi copped more shit than anyone else. You’re still in the business, right? What have you been in lately?’

  Kent shook his head. ‘Nothing big. Local commercials, small TV bits. This foot has kept me out of the good roles.’

  ‘Shame, that. You’ve got a talent. Well, boys, I’m directing an indie. Meeting the team tomorrow afternoon. If you want I can see if I can get you a part, maybe behind the camera for you, Charlie.’

  Charlie swallowed his mouthful of beer and carefully placed his bottle on the table. ‘What was that? The day after you’re out of jail and you’ve got a gig? That’s fast. What is it?’

  Bart dismissively waved his bottle of beer. ‘Details aren’t important. It’s a gig. I’m directing and I can find spots for you. Just say the word.’

  Charlie looked at Kent and stood. ‘I’ve got to get going, mate. You driving or do I need to catch a bus?’

  ‘Was it something I said? Boys, sit. There’s more beer. I think I might have a bottle of scotch squirreled away somewhere.’

  Kent slid his chair back. ‘Nah, I gotta go too. I’ll talk to you later. Welcome back to the free world.’

  ‘Well, whatever, boys. More for me. I’ve wasted way in the slammer.’ He grabbed another piece of pie. ‘I’ll see about getting you two boys a piece of the action. I’m meeting with them tomorrow afternoon. Drop by around 4:00 and I’ll let you know how it went.’

  Kent followed Charlie around to the front of the house. ‘Whatever, Bart. I’ll call you later.’

  He unlocked the car and motioned for Charlie to get in. ‘Back to your place?’

  ’If you could, I’d appreciate it.’

  ‘You free tomorrow morning?’

  ‘I’ve got a job, mate.’

  ‘Pull a sickie. I want to surf Venice again.’

  ‘It’s shit there.’

  Kent looked across at his friend. ‘You’re a bit thick. I want to bump into Ellie. That’s the wagon to hook yourself to.’

  Charlie thought for a minute. ‘Yeah. Why not.’ He drummed his fingers on the dashboard. ‘Can you believe it? That ass has a job the day he gets out of jail. I had to leave. I was this close to punching him in the neck.’

  ‘I could tell. Annoys the hell out of me, too. Especially after what he’s done.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Killing that guy.’

  Kent shook his head. ‘Not talking about that. You say you left because of what he did to you, but it pales in comparison to what he did to me.’

  ‘You were the “star” of that steaming pile of cow shit. He treated you with kid gloves.’

  ‘Ha. Not likely.’ He turned on to the 405 South. ‘This brilliant stroke of luck he was talking about? The one that broke the stress for him?’

  ‘Yeah. What was that?’

  ‘Me, finally being able to limp.’

  ‘It was a stroke of luck that you broke your foot?’

  ‘That’s the problem, mate. I didn’t break it.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘Asshole back there broke it.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘Not bullshit. Think about it. He tried for two weeks to get me to limp properly. I couldn’t. At least not good enough for him.’

  ‘No, no, no. Why?’

  ‘Like he said. Running out of time and money. I couldn’t do the limp the role called for.’

  ‘So he just broke your foot? I find that hard to believe. He’s a fat pig. Or he was. And you’re in pretty good shape. Don’t believe he could do that to you. Not without you letting him.’

  Kent shook his head. ‘He invited me out to his place one night. We went nuts. Started with a bottle of Grey Goose, some coke, and it went downhill from there. I have absolutely no recollection of most of that night. And the next morning his problems were solved. I had three broken bones in my foot and he had a leading actor who, suddenly, could limp.’ He shook his head again. ‘No, not a coincidence. He knocked me out and bro
ke my foot. Made my part in that movie perfect, and locked me out of almost everything since. What a fuck. I was kinda hoping he spent the rest of his sorry life behind bars.’ He squeezed the steering wheel. ‘You really didn’t know? I got the impression I was the only one who didn’t know.’

  Chapter Three

  I woke late. Almost 9:00. I must have been really tired to stay in bed that long. I’m usually up a lot earlier. Kind of a side effect of getting up at 4:00 for six months to get to makeup before very long days of shooting. The lay-in was nice. It would be nothing but hectic for the next few weeks. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and turned the shower to hot and steamy.

  The water pounded my neck and upper back, and I just stood there, the massage head trying to beat away the tension. I was starting to get nerves. Working on a movie was one thing; going to a premiere with the press watching every move was something else all together. I took a deep breath and calmed myself and smiled. As far back as I could remember, this was what I wanted. And it was here.

  Not the fame and for damned sure not the paps. That was a side effect to success. I was making real money now, although that wasn’t my dream either. But with the money came the freedom to choose roles I wanted - good roles in sometimes-small movies. The opportunity to pick and choose instead of beg and steal.

  I lathered my hair. It was getting too long to manage. I had to leave it that length, at least for the premiere, since that’s how long my character’s hair was in the movie. After, though, I was going to cut it. It was more work than I wanted.

  Finally out, dried and dressed and hungry, I stepped on to my balcony and looked out over the ocean. It was gray and a bit foggy. A book day, which suited me fine. A down day before the madness sounded perfect.

  I tied my hair back into a damp ponytail, grabbed my iPad and made a beeline to the cafe just outside my apartment. I had no food, and besides, even if there was something in the kitchen, I was too lazy today to cook.

  Emily and Henry ran a little six-table cafe on the beach. Four inside and two outside under an awning. They were perpetually smiling, always adding a bit more to the sandwich than seemed physically possible and generally taking care of me. Henry cooked and Emily prepared. It was a match and, apparently, a marriage made in heaven.