Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(39)

“Hold that thought,” Coop says. “I’ll be right back.” He quickly shuffles off toward the bathroom, his hand clenching the back of his pants.

My stomach hurts, I’m laughing so hard. Tears trickle out of my squeezed-shut eyes.

Even Matt can’t help himself as he starts busting up too.

A minute later, Coop emerges from the bathroom smiling. “False alarm, dawgs.” He gives us two thumbs-up. “We’re all clear on the launchpad.”

“What’s going on here?”

The three of us whip our heads around to see Helen and Valerie standing there, both of them looking seriously pissed, their arms crossed over their chests.

“Just getting ready for the casting session,” Coop says, back in producer mode.

“Really?” Helen narrows her eyes. “So why did we just pass Prudence Nash in the driveway?”

Valerie glowers at Matt. “Was she helping you guys ‘get ready’?”

There have been many times over the years when I have been seriously jealous of Coop and Matt.

But this is definitely not one of those times.





COOP HAS TO DO SOME MAJOR verbal gymnastics to convince the girls that we had no idea Prudence was going to show up, that we had no intention of ever casting her in the movie, and that we didn’t even let her audition but ushered her right to the door as soon as she arrived.

“Okay,” Helen finally says, her face relaxing. “But I’m watching you, Cooper Redmond.”

“Watch away.” Coop grins, gesturing down at his body. “It’s why God made me.”

“Hey, hey! Is this the home of the world-famous filmmaker Seanie O’Spielberg?” Uncle Doug, wearing a blue TEAM DOUG hockey jersey, steps into the family room. He has a cigar-size joint in one hand and a Diet Coke in the other.

“Val, Helen,” I introduce. “This is my uncle Doug.”

“Nice to meet you,” the girls say.

“The pleasure’s all mine.” He flashes a smile then spins around. “Where’s that filthy-mouthed parrot of yours?” He wafts his joint around, leaving long gray wisps in the air like a stoned skywriter.

“You asked me to put all of the animals away because of your ‘allergies.’ Remember?”

“I know, I know. But she’s in a cage, right? I just want to say hello. It’s been so long since Uncle Doug’s had anyone talk dirty to him.”

“Ingrid’s sleeping,” I say, the harsh sticky-sweet smell of the pot smoke clawing at my sinuses. “Can you please get rid of that thing? You’re going to get me in trouble.”

Uncle Doug regards his Diet Coke with squinty-eyed confusion. “What? Your mom’s got something against artificial sweeteners?”

Everyone but me laughs.

I glare at my friends then look back at Uncle Doug. “You know what I’m talking about. They’ll think I was having a party or something.”

“Please.” Uncle Doug screws up his face. “Just say Uncle Doug dropped by to visit his knocked-up sis. She knows I have a prescription. It’s for my gout.” He takes another deep hit before unleashing a cumulonimbus from his mouth. “I mean, my glaucoma.” Uncle Doug laughs hysterically at this, then catches my look. “Okay, okay, I won’t take my medicine. Who cares if Uncle Doug’s in pain? Not my nephew, apparently.” With that, he makes a big show of licking his fingers and squeezing out the glowing tip. He takes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and slips the joint inside. “Happy?”

I nod. “Thank you.”

“Cool Ranch or Blazin’ Jalape?o?” Uncle Doug asks, gesturing at the chips bowl as he plops down into one of the armchairs.

“Cool Ranch,” I say.

“Excelente.” He grabs a handful of Doritos and starts crunching away. Hey, so, you’ve got some pages for Uncle Doug to peruse, right, boy?”

“Right here.” I grab a copy of the scenes Nessa helped me with yesterday and hand them to him. “It’s only the beginning of the movie. I’ve got a lot more to write.”

Uncle Doug flips through the pages. “Dr. Schmaloogan? Okay. Interesting.”

“It’s just a rough draft for the auditions,” Coop explains. “There’ll be changes, of course. We’re going to have all the guys read for Jack and all the girls read for Stacy. We just need to see who can act. We’ll figure out everyone’s actual roles once we’re ready to start shooting.”

Uncle Doug slaps the scenes down on the coffee table. “It’s a good start. You have Uncle Doug’s seal of approval. Honestly, it’s much better than I expected.”

I force a smile. “Thanks.”

“Sorry we’re late,” Evelyn calls from the front door. There’s a clatter and some hushed grousing before she appears in the family room with Nick and a red suitcase in tow. She waves and introduces her giant G.I. Joe brother to the group. “We took a minor detour. Nick thought he recognized someone he’s been looking for in one of the passing cars.”

Nick shrugs. “What can I say? It was a false alarm. No one was hurt . . . too badly.”

“Anyway.” Evelyn laughs loudly, waving it all aside. “We’re here now.”

Part of me wants to ask what he did to the poor guy he thought was their dad, but the smarter part of me doesn’t want to know.