Chapter 1-2
580 Words
An hour later, I got out of my limo at--you guessed it--South Street Seaport, the shoot location.
For a moment, I stood and took it all in. A four-masted tall ship, the Peking, bobbed gently in the water. A vast brick building spanned the pier, filled with shops and restaurants. Bright sunlight flared off the bold orange and red awnings and umbrellas fanned out around it like plumage. The air smelled like the East River, like gasoline (from the water taxi docked at the pier?)--and like the ocean, too.
I wondered briefly if that was important.
Shisha, that redheaded fiftysomething fireplug of a manager, never stopped texting as she slid out of the limo behind me.
Did I feel a little apprehensive after the warning from my twin? Not enough to breach my contract.
Looking back, well duh, how dumb could I get? But I'd mostly convinced myself the visitation had been nothing more than an elaborate special effect arranged by a prankster. I was in a TV studio, after all. Ever hear of motion capture? No way no how was I going to call off work and give whoever was pranking me the satisfaction.
If I had a hundred bucks for every time some self-proclaimed future me showed up to complicate my life, well...I'd be rollin' in it, these days, actually. But back then, there was just that once, so the odds seemed better that it was B.S.
"Seemed" being the operative word, in retrospect.
"This Distefano character, what a peach pit!" Shisha's upper lip curled as she texted. Unattractive? I didn't hire her for her looks; I needed a bulldog, and she brought plenty of bark and bite to the dogfight. "He won't budge on the backend points."
"Sounds like a deal-breaker, Mom." She's not my mom, but I call her that anyway. I even take her out for Mother's Day because it's good to keep a bulldog happy at all times.
"Only if I minded tearing him a new one." Shisha pulled on her giant sunglasses with the leopard-print frames. "Unzip the body-bag, Larry." (That's what she calls me, though it isn't my name.) "I'm goin' in with the spear gun." She dialed the phone like she was squashing bugs on it.
I almost said something to her about my twin, but it sounded too crazy in my head to sail it out there. Anyway, why bother?
How important could it be?
"Hey, anal probe!" That's what she said to the studio boss on the phone as she waddled away from me. "You better be wearing an adult diaper right now at this moment!"
Her voice quickly faded in the ruckus of the shoot. Members of the film crew shouted from every direction as they scurried around, prepping the camera, lights, talent, and set. Extras milled around one corner of the pier, blabbing to each other and on phones while they waited. A mob of onlookers crowded the street, yelling for attention, yelling at...me. (As usual.) And let's not forget the director, D.X. (That's his full name, FYI, I didn't abbreviate.)
"Yo, Stag!" He waved me over to where he was standing, in an open section of the pier near the tall ship. "There's been a change."
"What kind of change?" I frowned. "Another rewrite?"
D.X. pushed up his black ballcap with the movie's title on the front in white letters--Lie-Jacker--and scratched his forehead. I couldn't see his eyes behind his mirrored sunglasses, just the reflection of my own face. "More like an opportunity."
That exact moment was when I first heard the sound of the helicopter coming in from the direction of the Brooklyn Bridge.
- Writer
