Smoke and Ashes (3 page)

She jerked her hand out of Tony's grip. “Is he kidding?”

“No, but…”

“Dude, you've got to work a little harder at getting a life.”

“I used to have one.” Tony nodded toward Zev. “He broke up with me.”

“Yeah. Quel surprise.”

Shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, Zev frowned thoughtfully in Tony's general direction. “I thought you were doing second unit tonight?”

“I am.”

“CB wants to see him.” Amy's tone suggested last requests, last meals, last rites.

“Why?”

Tony shrugged. “I don't know.”

They turned as one toward the closed door of the boss' office. The scuffed wood gave nothing away.

“He's just running over the stunt with Daniel,” Amy murmured.

“Daniel's not doing the stunt.”

“Gee…” Eyes rolled. “…I can't see why not. Daniel'd be so convincing as a not very tall, gorgeous Indian woman.”

“Well, the not-very-tall would give him a few problems,” Zev reflected, measuring a space some two meters from the floor.

Daniel was the stunt double for both Mason and Lee. He also acted as coordinator for any stunts performed by outside talent. “Why is it when Frank writes an episode,” Tony wondered, “we always need to hire a stuntwoman?”

They turned toward the bull pen. From behind that closed door came the rhythmic sound of someone reading aloud.

Zev frowned. “Maybe he thinks the only way he can get a date is with someone used to risking her life.”

“Frank dating?” Amy shuddered. “My mind just went to the scary place.”

In the awkward silence that followed, Tony heard maniacal laughter. He might've been worried except it clearly came from one of the writers.

“Not a specific scary place,” Amy amended quickly.

They both turned to look at Tony. Amy was the exception to the general rule that those who'd been in the house ignored what had gone on and Zev, as an ex, had certain rights and privileges involving shared history and exploded beer bottles.

“So.” She picked at the edge of a skull, then looked up hopefully. “Seen any dead people lately?”

He'd nearly seen Henry keeping tabs on him the night before. But Henry, not being exactly dead, just differently alive, didn't really count. “No.”

“But you'll tell me if you do?”

At the edge of his vision, Tony could see Zev shaking his head almost hard enough to dislodge his yarmulke. “Sure…”

Zev sighed.

“…I promise.”

 

“Brianna has been asking after you.”

“Brianna? Really?” From the expression on CB's face, that clearly sounded as stupid as Tony suspected. Brianna had been asking for him pretty much every time she spoke to her father. “Uh, in what context?”

CB's eyes narrowed as he leaned back, his leather office chair creaking ominously under his weight. “In what context do you imagine, Mr. Foster?”

“Boss, I swear I never told her she was a wizard!'

“So you've said previously. And, once again, I believe you.” He steepled fingers the size of well-muscled bratwurst. “However, as Brianna does not, I think it's time we move on.”

“Move on?”
Tony cleared his throat and tried again an octave lower. “Move on?”

“Yes.”

No. He was not going to teach CB's youngest daughter how to be a wizard. First, wizardry was a talent more than a skill, and while Brianna had proved sensitive to the metaphysical, he had no idea if that equaled talent. Or what, exactly, did equal talent, for that matter. Second, he was still teaching himself how to be a wizard and, frankly, as a teacher, he sucked. Scrubbing bubbles and one pissed-off cater-waiter had to be incontestable evidence of that. Third, giving this particular eight-year-old access to actual power would be like…his mind shied away from comparisons and settled on: the height of irresponsibility. No one, including her father, could control the kid now. And fourth, he'd rather have toothpicks shoved under his nails.

Mouth open to lay everything but the last point out in front of CB—not smart to give the big guy ideas—he closed it again as CB continued speaking.

“I have a friend putting together a PBS miniseries for Black History Month, so I called in some favors, and he gave my ex-wife a sizable part. She's taking both girls to South Carolina with her. Shooting ends December twentieth. You have until then to come up with a permanent solution.”

The pause lengthened.

“Was there anything else?”

Like invasions from another world or a waxy buildup of evil?

“Um, no.”

“Good.”

 

“Permanent solution. Permanent solution.” Tony paused, one hand on the door leading out to the parking lot, frozen in place by the sudden memory of his mother sitting at the kitchen table twisting her hair onto multicolored rollers shaped like bones. A home perm. And the permanent solution had totally reeked. He remembered because they were called
Tonys
and his mother used to tease him about being a hairdresser.

Later, like around the time he hit puberty, his father stopped finding the hairdresser jokes quite so funny—Warren Beatty's enthusiastically hetero performance in
Shampoo
conveniently ignored.

His father was no longer a problem given that they hadn't spoken to each other for about ten years.

Brianna's father, however…

The door jerked out of his hand, and he stumbled forward, slamming up against a solid body on its way in.

His way in.

Tony recognized the impact. And the black leather jacket he was currently clutching with both hands. “Lee.” Two fast steps back. He stared down at his arms still stretched out…
Right. Release the jacket
.

“Tony.”

Just for a second, Tony was unsure of what Lee's next words were going to be. Just for a second, it almost looked as if the show was over for the day and reality was going to get its time in. Just for a second. Trouble was, a second later Lee pulled his hail-fellow-well-met actor-face back on.

“You okay? I didn't realize there was someone standing there.”

“Well, why would you? You know, solid door and all and you not having X-ray vision.” X-ray vision? Could he sound any more geeklike? “I was just leaving.”

“Right. You're doing second unit work tonight.”

Everyone seemed to know that. Were they posting his schedule now or what?

Lee shifted his motorcycle helmet from under his left arm to under his right but didn't actually move out of the doorway. “So you were here to…”

“Meeting. I had a meeting with CB.”

“Good. I mean, it was good?”

“Yeah. I guess. Still dealing with Brianna's reactions in the…” Shit. Never bring up the house thing with Lee.

The actor-face slipped. “In the house?”

Unless he brings it up first. “Yeah. In the house.”

Lee's eyes closed briefly, thick lashes lying against his cheeks like the fringe on a theater curtain. Only darker. Not gold. And without the tassels. Tony realized he was babbling to himself, but he couldn't seem to stop. They hadn't been alone together, standing this close, since, well, since the house. For a moment, he hoped that when Lee opened his eyes, the actor-face would be gone and they could maybe start dealing with what had happened.

Lee had to make the first move because Lee was the one with the career he could lose. It was Lee's face plastered on T-shirts worn by teenage girls and forty-year-old women who should know better. Tony was a TAD. Professionally, no one gave a crap about him.

The moment passed.

Lee opened his eyes. “Well, I have to say that it's been nice running into you and all, but I need to get to my…” Dark brows drew in, and he waved the hand not holding the helmet.

“Dressing room?”

“Yeah.” The smile was fake. Well done, but fake. “My memory sucks some days.”

Tony reflected the smile back at him. “Old age.”

“Yeah.” The smile was still fake, but the regret flattening his words seemed real. “That has to be it.”

 

Tony squinted up at the top of the building, trying to count the number of people standing at the edge of the roof. Sorge's request for a steadicam had been overruled by the budget, so there should only be two: Leah Burnett, the stuntwoman doing the fall, and Sam Tappett, one of Daniel's safety crew. Two. Not a hard number to count. Most nights he could even do it with his shoes on. So why did he keep getting three? Not every time—because that would have made sense. Every now and then, he thought—no, cancel that, he was
sure
—he could see a third figure.

Not Henry.

Not tonight.

Not unless Henry had been growing an impressive set of horns in his spare time and had then developed the ability to share his personal space with mere mortals. The same actual space. Sort of superimposed.

Welcome to the wonderful world of weird.

Déjà vu all over again.

The question now: should he do anything about it and, if so, what?

It wasn't like his spidey-sense was tingling or something in his subconscious was flailing metaphorical arms and wailing
Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!
He didn't have a bad feeling about things, and he had no idea if this was a threat or some kind of symbolic wizard experience. Maybe it was something all wizards saw on top of buildings at—he checked his watch—11:17 on Thursday nights in early October and he'd just never been looking in the right place at the right time.

Still, as a general rule, when he saw things others couldn't, the situation went south in a big way pretty fucking fast.

Unfortunately, none of the second unit crew had been in the house. They'd heard the stories, but they didn't know. Not the way those who'd been trapped and forced to listen to hours of badly played thirties dance music knew. If he told Pam, the second unit director, that he intermittently saw a translucent, antlered figure on the roof, she'd assume controlled substances and not metaphysical visitations.

Tony hadn't done hard drugs since just before Henry pulled him off the streets. Point of interest; he'd never seen big, see-through guys with horns while he was shooting up.

He glanced down as a gust of wind plastered a grimy piece of newspaper to his legs. Evening weather reports had mentioned a storm coming in off the Pacific, and the wind was starting to pick up, sweeping up all kinds of debris as it raced through the artificial canyons between the buildings. Before he could grab the newspaper, another gust whirled it away and slapped it up against the big blue inflated bag Leah would land on.

If Daniel thought it was too dangerous, he'd cancel the stunt regardless of the shooting schedule. Tony hurried over to where the stunt coordinator was checking the final inflation of the bag.

“It's getting kind of windy.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Four stories is a long way to fall.”

“Uh-huh.” He straightened and bounced against the side of the bag. “That's why they call it a high fall.”

“Yeah, it's just that falling four stories the wind'll have longer to throw her off…” As Daniel turned to look at him, Tony sputtered to a stop. “But you've taken that into account.”

“I have.” Stern features under dark stubble suddenly dissolved into a smile. “But I thank you for staying on top of things. It never hurts to have another person thinking about potential problems.” He unclipped the microphone from his collar. “Hey, Sam, what's the wind like up there?”

“Little gusty. Not too bad.”

“What's Leah think?”

During the pause, the antlered figured came and went and came again. It almost seemed to wave when Leah did.

“She says she's good to go whenever you give the word.”

“We're ready down here. Pam, we can go any time.”

“Glad to hear it.”
Pam's voice in the ear jack.
“Let's have a slate on the scene and get started!”

Tony backed away from the bag as Daniel's people took up their positions. Since a high fall relied 100 percent on the stuntee's ability to hit the bag safely, the stunt crew were essentially there to deal with a miss. Tony wouldn't have wanted to see the backboard so prominently displayed were he about to jump off a roof, but, hey, that was him.

“Quiet, please, cameras are rolling.”

A repeat of “Rolling!” in half a dozen voices rippled out from the director's chair.