Sky Tongues Page 6

  “Shouldn’t we keep working?” she asked. “I know we don’t have much time before shooting begins.”

  I plucked a strawberry from the dining cart, popped it into my mouth, chewing thoughtfully. Once I’d swallowed, I said, “Not even the tiniest break?”

  For the first time, Rabia gave me a genuine smile. “I was warned you might try this.”

  “Oh? By who?”

  “Lots of people. They say you can be quite a handful.”

  “Ah. Well, they’re right. I can.”

  I couldn’t believe I was flirting with her. I never flirted with anyone, ever.

  “Ok,” she said. “We can take a break. But only a short one.”

  “Excellent!” I immediately began hunting around for the keys to my rental car.

  “We’re staying here,” she said firmly. “If we go out, who knows when we’ll get back to work.”

  “Damn. Ok.” I sat at the table while she reached into her bag and pulled out a granola bar.

  “I have two,” she offered.

  “No, thanks.”

  She ate her bar and drank her water while I fiddled with this and that, waiting for her to finish. Maybe ten minutes passed and she was done. Rising to throw away the foil wrapper, she also used the bathroom and when she emerged she said, “Ok, back to work.”

  I gaped. “What? That was our break?”

  Consulting her watch, she said, “We stopped for a good fifteen minutes. That’s how long breaks are.”

  “On what planet?”

  “Planet Earth,” she laughed. “I realize you movie-star types don’t really live here, but in the real world, that’s how long the average break is.”

  I wasn’t sure if I should be offended or not so I said, “I’m not a movie-star type, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

  “Oh, you’re not? Then why are you here?”

  “Here? Here where?”

  “Here on this island. In this hotel. Talking to me.”

  Meekly, I said, “Because I’m in a movie?”

  “Exactly. Now let’s get back to work, shall we?”

  I rolled my eyes dramatically, playing the sullen, spoiled ‘movie-star type.’ “Oh, fine then!” I sulked as I made my way back to the sofa and sat down beside her.

  I felt like a major idiot but I was still getting her to smile.

  42

  All through preproduction and into the actual shooting, my relationship with Rabia remained professional, albeit playful. But when the movie wrapped, I finally felt it wouldn’t be inappropriate to ask her for a date.

  Naturally, she didn’t make it easy for me.

  “What do mean? We’ve gone out before.”

  “Yeah, I know, but—-”

  “We’ve been to restaurants a dozen times. And remember all the times we sat on the beach while you practiced your dialogue?”

  “But that was just for scenery. We were still working.”

  Suddenly, understanding shone in her eyes. “Oh. You mean…ohhh.”

  “Yeah, ohhh.” I tried to smile.

  “Well, I…uh…” She stammered around for a minute before I decided to let her off the hook.

  “It’s ok,” I said. “Just forget I asked. No big deal.”

  “No. No, wait. I didn’t mean…”

  I stared at her, my heart thudding in my chest.

  “It’s just that I’m surprised. I didn’t think you were…you know…gay, I guess.”

  Speechless, I continued to stare. The thought had never occurred to me. “I don’t think I am,” I said finally.

  “So…you’re not gay but you’re asking a woman to go on a date with you?”

  “Umm…” I thought about it. “I guess so. I’m not not gay either.”

  “I see.”

  I didn’t understand her confusion and then it dawned on me that she probably didn’t know about my clock. I thought everyone knew. It had been in the rag-mags, hinted at in interviews and had even been a plot twist for my character on Exquisite Afterlife. “I have a clock,” I said simply.

  Now she was staring at me. At last, she said, “I know, Sky. Everyone knows that.”

  We stared at each other for a long time. Finally, I said, “OK, then. Well, it was great working with you. You were really a tremendous help. Thanks so much for coaching me in the language and all that fun stuff.”

  “Oh, no problem. It was a pleasure working with you too. You were a great student!”

  I laughed falsely. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You were just a great teacher. But, good luck in whatever is next for you!”

  “You too! Bye now.”

  “Bye.”

  43

  And that was that.

  I went back to LA and she went I didn’t know where.

  Sky’s Infatuation Story.

  The end.

  44

  The second season of Exquisite Afterlife began with a bang. Literally.

  A week before our premier, President Guzman was assassinated, making Vice-President Beecher the first Mue president ever.

  The country was thrown into turmoil; the racist Pure Humans were convinced it was all a conspiracy, that Mues were behind the president’s murder and there were even riots. Hatred was everywhere, Mues were constantly being attacked out on the street and sometimes in their homes. Mue shop-owners were terrorized and there were several cases of Mues being murdered.

  All hell had broken loose and Mues were at the center of it.

  Given the circumstances, our producers decided it would be best if we ceased shooting the show for a while, just until all the insanity abated. I was disappointed but I understood.

  I holed up in my house and for the first time in my life, I bought a gun. I learned all about the weapon and went to a shooting range to practice with it. Using a gun is not easy for me at all. Not only do I hate the dreaded things but also, my trigger tongue is just not as strong as the average finger. I ended up having to have one specially made exactly to my specifications.

  I hated having it, or more appropriately, having to have it, but I had to admit that it did make me feel safer. I was able to relax and not worry so much about what I would do if someone were to try entering my home and then, even worse, if they actually succeeded.

  Without much to do, not daring to go out in public during this time, I took up painting again for the first time in years. Now I was able to afford actual canvases and made one of the spare bedrooms into a painting studio. For the first time, I had actual easels and didn’t have to hunch over a table or hold a piece of cardboard in my lap.

  It was exciting, buying all the paraphernalia I needed, opening a tubes of paint and brand-new brushes. The paint tasted exactly as I remembered: disgusting. But I was able to get used to it fairly quickly, thanks to my mostly taste-bud free tongues.

  Shooting was postponed for three weeks and in that time I painted a total of 45 paintings. When it was time to go back to work, I was invigorated. I felt like an artist again and I was anxious to apply my reborn enthusiasm to the show.

  It worked too, as I think season two contains some of my best work ever on Exquisite Afterlife.

  45

  The show really took off its second year.

  Suddenly, everyone knew who we were and crazy things like fan-clubs started springing up all over the place. The merchandising department was thrilled and all our faces started appearing in the most bizarre places. They made a total of seven different T-shirts, one with the shows logo, one with the whole cast and then we each had one of our own, for the especially eclectic fan.

  Then there were posters, puzzles, lunch boxes, mugs, you name it. There were even boxer shorts and a set a sheets people could buy. And then came the real money-makers: the action figures, complete with moveable wings and detachable swords, harps and halos.

  Just to think about it made me dizzy.

  The show’s theme song started getting air play and gained enough popularity that we were all recruited to appear in t
he video, which was ridiculous and embarrassing, especially for Dove who was just not a video kind of guy.

  For the first time, we appeared on the cover of TV Guide. I say ‘we’ but it was actually just Dove and Lavinia, though the rest of us were interviewed for the article and had a few photos inside.

  It was assumed that the show was now a huge success because of the new president and our nation’s current political and emotion climate.

  I became involved in some activist organizations, speaking out publicly about the atrocities being enacted against Mues all over the world. It was an outrage and I wanted everyone to hear about it. I had it written into my contract that every year during the shows run, I would get a few days off in order to attend the national Mue’s Walk on Washington parade. I knew I was making a larger target of myself than was wise, but I didn’t care. This was important, not only for us, but for the future generations of all Mues everywhere.

  In order for us to be accepted and treated as equals by all walks of life, we needed to stand up and be counted. Change does not happen by sitting idly and praying for it. It comes with work and it comes slowly, but I was, and still am, willing to do my part, do to whatever it takes to get us all there, safe and sound.

  46

  The hate mail began pouring in by the truckloads.

  Not for just me, but for all of us, including the studio head honchos, most of whom were Pure Humans.

  We tried not to pay too much attention to it but, admittedly, things like death threats can get under your skin after a while.

  So there was this odd sense of millions of folks loving us to death and millions of other folks hating us to death. Going out in public became a problem when it had never before been an issue.

  I had to disguise myself to go anywhere, wearing wigs, glasses, bulky nondescript clothes, and of course, gloves. Sometimes the disguises worked, sometimes not. Luckily though, it was only people who liked me that busted me trying to buy melons or whatever in the supermarket. Apparently, people can learn to hate you without paying any attention to what you look like or who you actually are.

  No surprise there.

  Occasionally, I received word that my family was still trying to reach me and I always ignored it. They’d never given a shit about me before; in fact, I’d been told to get out and never return.

  But now, I knew all of that would be denied. That would say I was misremembering things, that I had misunderstood. They would pretend to be surprised that I had taken the whole thing seriously, after all Dad had only been blowing off steam, the way all dads are prone to do now and then.

  I wanted no part of it. They could keep their grand illusions about what had gone down that day and all the days before it. But I remembered the truth and would never forget it. Never.

  And so it went.

  47

  The rumors of David and I whipped into a frenzy when we began hangout outside of work. David was also linked romantically to Lucia and about half a dozen other women in the biz. I could understand why, of course; he was an absolute doll, and very cute in a little boy kind of way.

  But, we were just buds. He was a blast to hang out with and more often than not would get me into trouble.

  For example, it was his idea that I get my tongues pierced.

  We were a little buzzed and I think he was half-joking when he said it but I thought it was the best idea I’d ever heard. My one hesitation was the studio heads.

  “They’ll be pissed,” I said.

  “Fuck the bloody studio!” David roared. “Tell me, what have they done for you lately?”

  “Fucking A!” I agreed. “Fuck the bloody studio!”

  “That’s the spirit!”

  And off we went, searching the boulevard for a place to get pierced. We found one just minutes after beginning our quest, a place called The Medusa, Tattoos and Piercings.

  We strolled in to check the place out and were immediately greeted by shouts of recognition.

  “Oh my gods! You guys are from Exquisite Afterlife! Oh my gods, I love that show!”

  A small crowd had gathered around us, mostly young girls mooning over David and telling him how dreamy he was. We played the game as best we could and then I was able to talk to the piercer. She was a young Outie Mue who was tickled pink for the chance to pierce a celebrity, even a minor one like myself.

  “Now, don’t you have bones in your tongues?” she asked me. “I think I remember something about that.”

  “Only small ones,” I said, “and they’re near the bases of them. If you stick something through the middle or near the tips, there are no bones there.”

  “Rad!” she said. “Which do you want?”

  “Which tongues?”

  “No, middle or tip? Most people get near the tip done, but far enough back so the studs can’t be ripped out or anything like that.”

  “Sounds good to me.” I was trying to act as sober as possible and evidently I was succeeding because there was even a sign on the wall warning people that unless they were completely straight, no work would be done on them, no exceptions. “We’re Serious!” the sign admonished at the bottom.

  So, either I was a pretty good actor or she didn’t give a shit that she could smell alcohol on my breath. I’m sure it was the latter, but I didn’t care much myself. I just wanted to get it done.

  Meanwhile, David was still busy chatting it up with his fans and trying to get them to tattoo the shows logo on their bodies, two of whom actually did it, much to his amusement.

  After much deliberation, I decided to get only the tongues on my right hand pierced, a simple silver stud through each of them. She said I wouldn’t feel a thing and for a while, I didn’t.

  Later that night however, my tongues swelled up like tiny eggplants and I was worried that maybe they were infected or I was allergic to the steel. But by morning they were pretty much back to normal and the only unpleasant part was dousing them in peroxide, which was what I had in the house. And if there’s anything that’ll make me gag, it’s the taste of peroxide.

  I had to go to work that morning feeling extremely nauseous. David whispered that I was probably hung over, but I knew I wasn’t. It was the damn peroxide.

  As soon as it got around that my tongues were pierced, as expected, I was called on the carpet and asked to explain myself. It was in my contract that I was strictly prohibited from doing anything dangerous while working on the show, i.e. no skydiving, mountain climbing, racing cars or motorcycles, etc…

  Also in the contract: no body modification of any sort unless it is in a private place and will remain unseen by either the cameras or the general public. This puzzled me a bit. The general public?

  I was told, “You are playing an angel, after all.”

  Long story short, they made me take out the studs every morning and I wasn’t allowed to put them back in until the days shooting was completed. It made the healing process twice as long and twice as irritating and as revenge I completely ignored the ‘don’t wear them out in public’ rule. I wore them everywhere and still do.

  48

  During the hiatus between the second and third season of the show, I did another movie, this time lending my voice to an animated feature. It was a cute movie about a silly family of raccoons conquering the elements, hunters, trappers and an evil bear who shares their forest. I played the eldest child raccoon, a moody teenager who enjoys head-banging, boy bands and tormenting her younger siblings. It was a fun and easy job and it didn’t take much time to do, so I had most of my vacation free to pursue other things, including a six-week run in the LA stage production of Much Ado About Nothing. I was paid next to nothing but the play received great reviews and I experienced a renewal of my original love, the theater.

  It was a good break, but I was also happy to go back to working on the show when the time came.

  49

  One night I came home to find a note had been slipped under my front door.

  I didn’t think much of
it, not because it happened often—it didn’t—but because I was dead tired and only wanted to hit the sack. I tossed it on my kitchen table with all the other mail and promptly forgot about until I had a day off and was able to actually sit down and go through all the junk.

  My usual custom for reading mail is to grab a beer from the fridge and carry the whole bunch of it up to my office and examine it piece by piece, either at my desk or while seated comfortably on the couch I had up there for script reading sessions.

  This day was no exception. I carried the mail upstairs with a beer and flopped myself down onto the sofa to read. It was all the usual crap, mostly junk, a few fan letters from people who had somehow managed to get my home address and then the unmarked envelope I’d found a few nights prior.

  Curious, letter opener in hand, I split the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper, neatly folded into three sections. When I unfolded the paper, I saw what appeared to be blood smeared all over it and the words, We’ll be together soon, also written in blood.

  “Fuck!” I dropped the paper, wanting it away from me.

  Lavinia had warned me that something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. I just hadn’t paid much attention, figuring I wasn’t the type to attract a stalker. Even after Lucia had had a problem with one, I still hadn’t seriously considered it a possibility for myself.

  I rose from the sofa and went to the phone, pressing the speed dial button for the security company that we were all given to call just in case something like this very thing were to occur. The man I spoke to was very nice, didn’t seem even the slightest bit alarmed and managed to ease my mind with only a few words. He said he’d come and take a look at the letter himself and he would arrive in about ten minutes.

  Comforted, I tried not to think about it and drank my beer while surfing the net and listening for the doorbell. I’d actually managed to forget about it by reading one of the shows fan sites and when the ring came twenty minutes later, I was surprised.