Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68293 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Lana, three years younger than Wes, hung on their father’s every word. But Wes’ mind would wander. He thought about the way the tree at the corner of their street grew at an odd angle. He thought about the lizard he’d seen snoozing in the sun on their deck. He thought about the way the air smelled electric before a storm.
“Was he good?” Adam asked.
“He was okay, I think. Good enough for soaps, but nothing special.”
And that was the part that had really killed his father. He yearned for the kind of acclaim that came from uniqueness, never satisfied to be part of an ensemble. He wanted to be a star.
“I don’t exactly know how it all went down. But around that time, my dad started telling me there was a role for me on the soap. I wasn’t interested and I told him so. He thought I was just playing it cool, but I really had no interest. It sounded so boring. Standing around all day, waiting for your scene to come, and then saying some fake words? What was appealing about it?”
Adam smiled and took his hand, tracing his palm under the blanket with warm fingers.
“You would think that.” He said it fondly.
“When I told him I really, truly had no interest, he told me that he’d made a deal with his agent to get me as her client. She wanted me. I don’t know why. But the way my dad put it to me was that either I did the show and he got to be a movie star, or I said no and flushed his dreams down the toilet.”
“That’s horrible,” Adam murmured, squeezing his hand.
“Yeah. Now I know it was nonsense. My dad probably wanted the publicity that would come from having a father and son both in the business. Something like that. But at the time, I honestly thought if I didn’t do it I’d be wrecking my dad’s career.”
“Lemme guess. You did it?”
Wes nodded.
“When I told my dad I would do it...it’s...”
The look on his father’s face had been—he realized now—relief. But at the time, he’d thought it was joy. Joy that Wes was causing. And it was the first time he felt like his dad was glad to have him around.
“Usually he just thought I was weird. He never understood my interest in science or why I wanted to take things apart and learn how they worked. He wanted me to be interested in Hollywood and publicity. Or at least sports. Something he could talk to me about. Something I could discuss at parties. So when I said I would do it, it was like I finally did something he could understand. Something he approved of.”
That night at dinner, Wes’ dad spoke about work as if it included Wes; as if they were embarking on a journey together. It felt good.
Six months later, when Wes started rehearsing, his father walked him onto the set with a hand on his shoulder, proud to show him off to everyone.
This is my son, he’d say with a wink. He’ll be playing Crawford Magnusson. People on set thought that was just precious: Wes playing his real father’s son on the show.
“It was supposed to just be a short subplot,” Wes explained. “My character showed up and revealed that my dad had a son he never knew about. Then I was supposed to die in a bank robbery. But when it started airing, something weird happened.”
Adam frowned and squeezed his hand harder.
“They didn’t want to kill my character off anymore. They kept writing more scenes for him.”
“You must’ve been really good,” Adam said.
Wes shook his head.
“My character was a slimeball. I don’t know. But my dad got weird. Weirder. He talked about how great it was. What a success to have a role expanded. But he was clearly upset.”
“Jealous,” Adam murmured.
“Maybe.”
“Did you stay on the show?”
Wes bit his lip, afraid Adam would respond the way his family and friends had at the time. The way his father told him every normal person would respond: with scorn at his ingratitude.
“The thing is...” Wes noticed he was rubbing his shaved head over and over with the hand not holding Adam’s, and he forced himself to stop. “People started to look at me. To notice me.”
Nausea crept through Wes’ stomach and burned in his throat.
“They would talk to me. Yell at me from across the street. Touch me. The first time it happened I tried to do what I’d seen my dad do. I smiled and said hi. But I didn’t know what they wanted. After a little while I...just needed to get away. I was with my dad, going into the studio, and a girl tried to cut a piece of my hair.”
The nausea swelled and Wes regretted every bite of macaroni and cheese.