Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(99)

Coop catches my look and rolls his eyes. I flash him a knowing smile and move along. Brush some lint off the lapel of my jacket. Luckily, Dad had an old suit he let me borrow. It’s sort of plaid and a bit dated, but it sure beats the hell out of my split dress pants and straitjacket-tight sport coat.

Just then my phone buzzes with a text. I get a jolt of excitement, like maybe it’s Nessa and she’s decided to come anyway and . . . but no. When I look at the screen, I see that it’s a good luck and congratulatory message from Leyna. Which is sweet, I suppose, though disappointing. And as a further bit of mockery — though certainly unintentional — Leyna’s attached a picture of her corgi’s rashless ass with a big THANK YOU Photoshopped in an arch over its tail stump. Lovely.

“So,” Mom says, waddling up to me, leading with her basketball belly. “This isn’t too too scary, is it?” She places her hand on her stomach. “We don’t want to induce labor here.”

“I told you you didn’t have to come,” I say, my tone more prickly than I want. “It’s a horror film. It’s going to be scary.”

“All right. I’ll just hide my eyes in your father’s shoulder.” She reaches out and squeezes my arm. “I’m very proud of you.”

“Thanks.”

“And I think you picked a great business to go into,” Mom says, leaning in and whispering conspiratorially. “The movie industry is rife with gays. You’ll feel right at home.”

I should just tell her about Cathy. It would serve my evil twin right. But instead I just sigh. “Thanks, Mom. That’s great. I’ll see you after the show.”

I head over to Matt and Valerie, who are hanging around a standee for some film called Crib Death 2: Baby’s Back.

“You doing okay?” Valerie asks.

I shrug. “I guess.” I glance over my shoulder at the crowded lobby. “I wish they’d just start this thing already.”

“I’m sorry about Nessa,” Matt says. “That’s too bad.”

“Whatever. It is what it is. At least we got our movie made, right?”

Suddenly there’s a loud crash by the front of the door, followed by shrieks and screams. The crowd parts, and I am afforded a full-on view of what all the ruckus is.

Nick! In his humanzee costume. Matted and muddied with half of the monkey mask torn off his face.

“You!” He points a filthy mangy chimp-finger at me. “I’m going to kill you!”

Holy crap! It’s just like the end of every bad horror film when the supposedly dead creature comes back for one last attack.

Nick hurtles toward me, dragging his back leg slightly. I grab the nearest thing to me — the Crib Death 2 standee — and swing it out wildly at him. By some miracle the corner of it makes contact with his eye and Nick goes reeling backward. Just as he’s about to recover, Tony and Pete leap into the fray. They grab both his arms and drag him, kicking and growling, out of the theater.

There is a moment of dead silence. And then the entire lobby erupts in applause. There’s a chorus of “Bravos” and “Wonderfuls” and “Brilliants.” Like everyone thinks the whole thing was staged. Like some ridiculous publicity stunt or something.

My friends — the only ones who know for real what just happened — are by my side in an instant. My heart’s beating a million miles an hour, and I’m sweating right through my suit jacket.

“Holy crap, are you all right?” Matt says.

“Yeah.” I reach out to steady myself on his arm. “I think. Jesus. That was . . . unexpected, huh?”

“You totally clocked him,” Coop praises. “That was epic.”

And then the lobby lights flick on and off several times just as we hear police sirens wailing outside.

“Guess that’s our cue,” I say.

Matt holds up his crossed fingers. “Here’s to taking home the big prize. You freakin’ deserve it after that.”


We shuffle down the aisles, those of us in the cast and crew sitting in the prime reserved rows. I notice two empty seats — one next to Mom and Dad, a few rows back, where Cathy should be. And one next to me, in the VIP row, where Nessa should be.

Just as the lights in the theater dim, I glance over and see Helen grab Coop’s hand.

And Matt put his arm around Valerie.

I sink into my seat and try to focus on the movie rather than the lump that seems to be caught in my throat.

The first thing I realize is that, while video shot on a cell phone doesn’t look too bad on a laptop, it looks absolutely horrible when blown up to movie-screen proportions. Fuzzy and blurry and shaky and pretty almost impossible to look at.

The next thing I notice is Nessa.

And how even blurry and fuzzy and shaky, she still looks amazing. She’s got a face made for the big screen; even when shot in super-lo-res, her eyes find you and are totally expressive, and her cheekbones are killer. And those lips . . . wow! How did I ever think Leyna was the girl of my gamer dreams? She couldn’t hold a candle to Nessa.

I’m so transfixed by her that it takes me a minute to realize that almost everyone in the theater is laughing hysterically. Uncle Doug just came on screen, and while I’ll grant you that he’s no Ian McKellen, I didn’t think he was that laughable as Dr. Schmaloogan. But when the scene shifts and it’s me and Nessa up on the screen, acting our little hearts out, and they’re still laughing, I finally get it: they think it’s a farce. The scare-your-pants-off horror film that we’ve all been slaving over for months is getting bigger laughs from this crowd than The Hangover.