The Casting

[fiction]

Air pressed dry in darkness. Breezebarren.

On the border of Ginsberg, Illinois, an unnamed bar invited passersby to come inside. Weary or bored and or both. Its neon generic BAR sign on the blackedout window turned on meant OPEN.

Joe Martin pulled into the parking lot in his white F-350 playing Golden Smog’s Until You Came Along. Next to a telephone booth stood a sign for the 53 bus; inside the lot ten cars parked. All far from each other. A white BMW took two spots by the entrance.

Joe parked next to the dumpster. He practiced smiling on the rearview for the entire song.

Phone buzzed in center console, lit with a message reading: Who’s with you? Joe opened the glove compartment and pulled a silver ring. He put it on and gazed at its figure. A gargoyle. It doubled as a locket.

He ran his thumb and middle finger over his brows, Lets go, he said—and got off the truck grinning.

4TUNE read the Beamer’s plate.

Piece of work, right, said a man from inside an old Oldsmobile. His face shrouded in shadows couldnt mask his teal voice. See you around.

Joe nodded. Confused. Disinterested.

Warm light above entrance flickered and buzzed next to a cobweb. Bugs swarmed the bulb, forming a halo.

He pushed the green door open.

I dont know what you want me to say; I already told you where I was; Joe. Hey, Joe; Listen. Listen to me

Right; Except that I called David and he said you left at 7; And where’s your bag

Rosef, the brown Labrador barks outside the house; Eagles play against Steelers in the living room; A show for children plays on a laptop in the family room

Im not fucking stupid Mia

You watched a wedding between two cousins of the royal family in Brunei playing on an old analog TV above and behind the beer tap.

Loud sounds from performing band—in a halfpacked venue—convinced you to bounce as soon as the drink you hadnt ordered yet was done.

Long day? asked a woman in a black Björk shirt and jeans with beaten Air Force 1s. Nude lips. Canned Pop eyes.

Aint enough hours for long days anymore.

Not a small talker, huh?

She removed her purse from the seat to her left and placed her phone on top of the bar, her gaze on mine, to her right.

Here you go, said the bartender; a butch, probably.

Thanks. Keep the change.

One of the six cats had to be driving the Beamer. Maybe the suit ogling Shortskirt over there. Cant judge these days, tho. Could be loser on corner next to the restrooms, recording under those girls’ skirts.

Here, take a seat.

Im just having this—raised the shitty beer with my left and an Old Grandad shot on my right—and then I’ll leave. Thank you, tho.

To be honest I didnt want to talk to her. Or to anyone. My plans were set. This bizarre scene with the incestuous wedding inside the golden palace as a backdrop kept making me doubt. Everything.

Come on, dont be rude. There aint enough hours to be rude. Name’s Rochelle, by the way.

Nice to meet you Rochelle. Look, I dont want to be rude but Im not planning on staying. I have a date.

The cover band? You have a pretty smile. What? Dont laugh. It’s true.

She was good. Charming. Huge tits with a roundish face. She wasnt fat, tho. I noticed the band playing sang in Spanish.

Her stout eyes held a dim gleam like light bouncing off a glass of ale.

Yes. I like it. Kind of sad to be playing for 4 cats.

Vos sos fan de Manolo?
Her face opened up.

The shift in her accent pulled me in to the cleared seat. I threw back the Old Grandad—leaned in and said, Sorry, I didnt catch that last part.

They do Spanish band covers. Right now theyre playing Eterno Viajero by Extrechinato y Tú. It’s a project between 2 bands, Platero y Tú, Extremoduro and a poet, Manolo Chinato. Theyre very good.

Oh, wow. Yeah. Well, I like the guitars. I dont speak Spanish, tho.

One beer turned to two beers turned to late too late. I looked at my phone: 3 messages.

Wayne: On scene?

Rochelle kept her gaze on me. Locked my phone.

Whats that grin on your face, Stranger? Huh, Stranger?

I saw her perfect teeth gleaming with more life than her eyes between her modest lips.

Stranger? Weve been talking.

Everything is like pulling teeth with you, man. Whats your name?

Her phone lit up—a photo of a child and Rochelle’s face next to his—1 missed call.

Joe got closer.

Oh, sorry. Didnt realize I hadnt introduced myself. That mustve came across as weird. Haha. Name’s Ted. Ted Jonas.

Oh, a TJ.

Mia, Im sorry; I know I must sound crazy but you have to understand; Youve been acting strange

Strange how? I work, go to the gym; Whats strange?

I dont know Mia, youre distant; We dont talk anymore

You know Ive been following you right?

Following me; What the fuck Mia

I dont know what youre doing exactly but I know it’s weird; I just feel it’s not right.

Youre overreacting Mia; I can explain

How old is he, asked pointing at her phone.

Eleven. A baby.

She grabbed her phone and showed the photo. A closer look.

Gorgeous. Baby have a name? He’s getting old.

Thanks and I know. They grow up so fast. His name’s Yadiel.

Brother?

Youre slick. No. He’s my son.

Rochelle ensnared in Joe’s intensity.

Band stopped playing. Vocalist walked and ordered a round of four Old Styles.

Good stuff man. Like your style.

Sure, dude. Thanks.

Name’s Ted.

Ted. Okay Ted, thanks for hanging out.

The vocalist nodded at Rochelle after grabbing the beers from the bartender. Ignoring Joe.

A zero to the left.

Lou Reed blared from the jukebox.

What does your boy like doing?

He’s a good kid. He likes playing on his computer. Doesnt go outside much. I worry sometimes about him. Feeling lonely, you know? His father isnt really around anymore.

Her voice softened pink.

They stared into each other.

But, I dont think he thinks much about that. Being lonely that is. He’s a good son. He’s a good boy. Anyway—Rochelle’s tone bounced back—what do you do? Ted gives me teacher, but your face gives me salesman.

Joe pinched and pulled the skin on his hand. She noticed a wedding band on his finger. Or so she thought. In reality it’s the gargoyle piece.

Salesman? Ha. I do love teaching children. Theyre so malleable and innocent. What about you? Who watches Yadiel?

Can you not? Hey, Tinna. Give me another one, please.

Sure, babe.

Tinna glared at Joe, reaching for a bottle of Don Q.

I apologize, didnt mean to pry. Here, I got you.

Joe placed a 20 on the counter. Tinna still glared, took the bill. Didnt say a word. He scratched his arm like a ticked dog.

Ok. Keep the change. Thanks. What’s up with that, pointing at the TV.

Rochelle stared blank into the screen. She sighed and turned to Joe.

I didnt even know this country existed until now. Apparently it used to be a British colony.

Lo and behold, a country ruled by a royal class of hillbillies. Bride’s beautiful, considering the inbreeding.

Yeah, you can definitely tell from his face. Hills Have Eyes, but make them the ruling class. Look at the ears, too.

Joe pinched his ears and simulated them being wings.

Rochelle laughed.

Yeah, he’s hard to look at. Hurts the view.

Haha, hurts the view. Hey, Im going to hit the restroom real quick. Ok?

Sure, you dont have to ask for permission. Youre a big boy. Right?

Joe walked to the restroom. Inside, yellow walls—a toilet with no lid—mirror cracked next to, You’re exactly where you need to be, written with marker on the cement.

Maruja’s, The Invisible Man seeped through the closed door. Joe grinned into the broken mirror. Reached inside his pocket and took a pill bottle, opened it, took one out. He smashed it to dust pressing it under his thumb on the porcelain sink’s rim. That dust he then put inside the ring. He peed and then walked out without washing his hands.

Around the pool tables near the stage in the back, next to the restrooms, a group of scene kids got louder by the minute.

Youre a fucking poser. Pig! Get off. Go away.

Calm down, dude. You dont have to be a bitch about it.

Rochelle’s gaze remained glued to the wedding.

Im back, what I miss? It’s pretty dry outside, how about something refreshing.

Joe walked over to Tinna.

Can I get two Ranch Waters.

Tinna looked over at Rochelle, who didnt know what was happening. Hey, she said, you want another drink? Youre not even done with that one.

Rochelle gazed at them both, confused.

What? she asked.

Gurriers, Des Goblin started to play.

It’s hot outside so Im thinking Ranch Water, to freshen up. I asked for two, to not be rude. Ya know?

Joe shone his smile, again.

Oh ok. Sure, I mean, why not right? This will be my last, tho. Things are getting rowdy here. Yadiel’s home too.

Tinna scoffed and made the drinks.

It’s practically a highball. You driving?

Of course not Ted. Okay…

Wait—Joe smacked his hand on the counter, catching Rochelle’s eye—let’s toast your boy. While she glanced at his fist on the counter his ring poured inside the fizz.

Salud.

Rochelle’s thoughts merged with the bubbles.

Wunt me to call you ride? an old fat drunk asked holding the door open.

Oh, no, Mikey. Im good. Thank you, doll. Love you. Stay safe, please.

You sure? Right then. I’ll see you round, Rochelle.

Bye, Tenna! Tinna, haha.

Outside, shattered glass lay under the Beamer’s door on the driver’s side. Capitalist PIG scratched on the hood.

Why dont we go to my place? It’s not too far. My car’s right here.

Joe looked at his phone: 3 unread messages. One is from Wayne, You blew the casting. Fix it.

He opened another message, The man in the store said he didnt know no Randi with an i.

Joe texted back. Bouncing his eyes between phone screen and Rochelle.

Rochelle stared, her mouth slightly parted. Her brown hair pulled back.

Im not fucking you if thats what you think we’re doing. Making that clear now.

Rochelle crossed her arms and stood across Joe. She struggled to maintain balance.

That grin. Youre kind of a creep you know, Ted? Haha. Weirdo.

Sorry, it’s just…

Your date? Haha.

Yeah. It’s okay. And no, I dont expect to have sex. We’re having a good time. I enjoy talking to you. Youre interesting. Actually, look—he looked for a photo in his phone, showed her. He said: This was my son. His mom took him. Long story.

Rochelle’s eyes turned blood-red.

Im sorry. You didnt mention you had a son.

Sweat poured down Joe’s cold face.

It’s a touchy subject. I can give you a ride. My car’s right there.

Rochelle fidgeted her fingers looking at Joe head to toes. Her vision waned. She snickered.

Fuckit. Alright, Ted. Wecan—go to—my housethen. I do have to wake up early, ssso. Cant stay late. Okay? We can have drink in the backyard and call it a night, night. Matt?

Who’s Wayne, Joe? I mean, considering the fact that you spend 90 percent of your time with your good friend Wayne and then the fact that me, your girlfriend, have never met this so called Wayne is very strange. Dont you agree.

Come on, thats so silly, love. We never coincide, that’s all. It’s not deep. Besides, Wayne’s not a social guy. I’ve told you this.

Right. But youre always going out together. Whatever. Why are you following that little boy, Joe?

Void deep into the night. Hours later. Inside the basement of a nondescript building.

Theres a padded room with no edges or hard surfaces—Rochelle lies belly down—Legs splayed—Ankles chained—Dried blood inside her thighs. Her fingers pulse and her head beatsbeatsbeats. Her eyes crawl and manage to see white soles, crinkled. The room breathes with her. With the woman once called Rochelle, now Nameless.

She whimpers. Soft sobs.

Aaahhjjlllm. Baaaanmmlk.

Her tongue’s heavy. Almost as dead as she’ll wish to be.

Yadiel; Yadi

Aaahhjjlllm! Aaaaaaahhhhhwww!

Her eyes continue to crawl and she’s outside herself. Next to the feet attached to a body not hers. It lays like a painting. Like a dead leaf at the mercy of a wind that never comes.

Her sight lifts from floor, above the body. She sees the body squirm, its skin juts out without breaking and with a swift drop—her vision hovers in front of broken body nameless person.

Doors open.

The woman’s vision stays fixed on the body thats not her body or shouldnt be her body, yet her eyes well up. She sobs every time the body convulses.

She’s now eye level with the dark stout eyes before her.

They smile. Pupils blown, they open their mouth and the woman sees several hairy white spiders crawl out their tear ducts and mouth and ears. They continue to enter and exit the body. Nonstop. Their eyes glow red.

Aaahhjjlllm!

The woman sobs. She feels the spiders enter her mouth. Between legs.

She can hear the spiders laugh.

Once white the nameless body is now a goose or a duck or any game bird. Her inside both empty and full as outside.

The woman’s ears ring. With an echo of silence pressure cooked in despair. She hears distant laughter close. Closer and farther away as she zooms in.

The animal once nameless is now the Brunei princess. No longer surrounded by gold.

Nameless tries to sit pushing her weight off ground but she slips on urine and sweat and tears and other fluids.

By midday next day, humidity cornmeal thickens, ramping heat from yellow to orange.

Joe’s inside an abandoned building. The fourth floor is fitted as a filming studio, the floors covered in plastic tarps. Walls are on wheels.

Took you long enough, motherfucker. What you have there?

Wayne looks at the talent—His beady eyes sunflower blown—One slow tear runs down his cheek.

Joe stands behind the talent, laying his hand on his shoulder and says:

Not a stiff, something better. Name’s Yadiel.

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