"Your ears must've been filled with curd when my name was spoken by every villager within a rocks throw of Goliath, and for your employment by deafness, for your lack of awareness and bountiful foolery, I will tell you who I am."
His knees were shaking, palms secreting enough moisture to give the succulent sitting at his wood framed window its weekly watering, the sword feeling heavier in his hand now than when he first wielded it that morning, but he did not let the agent of cowardness cross his face or taint his voice. He stood mighty before those who struck fear in him, his fingers moving over the hilt and gripping it like a python to its prey.
He continues, "I am the first of my kind. I am the one who wields the sword like you've never seen, the one who moves with deliberation, to the beat of a drum unfamiliar to you, a dance in which you do not know and must keep pace. However, seeing that you have no time to learn this dance of mine I will teach you in one swift lesson, and by the end you will bleed from every surface of your mistake. Through all your miscalculated steps, your head will roll to the ground, remaining sentient long enough to see your two left feet, fall to your pathetic two left knees, and you will be gone from this earth and sent to an eternal flame where you will sweat out your mistake. You will burn for all eternity, dancing with the devil himself instead, and then, you will learn my name. You will have inscribed it into your flesh, bringing punishment upon yourself for having crossed the man you chose to turn an ear to, FOR I AM--"
Arthur pauses, he is now more nervous than before. Perhaps the sword was getting heavier from his sweat, seeping into the hilt, creating density. His hair was not enough to catch the bead of sweat going down into his eyeball and stinging it with its salty molestation. His breath was now short enough to be characterized as having a Napoleon complex. The two women sitting across from him seemed disinterested, they truly were not convinced by whatever words he spoke.
"For I am the avenging hand of God sent to return every wicked man of your army back to where you belong, for you are homesick." She finally spoke in a monotone and weary fashion.
"Thank you." Arthur said. He held the wooden sword up to her face, right between her thick, vibrant, violet glasses. He could feel the bulge in his left back pocket. Don't grab it.
"Line?" She says, sounding identical in tone and pitch to everything else she's spoken.
"Oh, right sorry... for I am the avenging angel."
"Hand of God." She corrects.
"Right, hand of God!"
"You know Mr. Davis, It's been a really long day. We thank you for coming in, we'll keep in touch." She says.
Cathleen Beedlé was a casting director Arthur had met before. She worked with TeleFilms, an agency Arthur had gone through for small parts here and there, so he his fair share of Cathleen Beedlé. Her thick glasses, her tight pursed red lips, and her hair done in a tight neat bun a few shades lighter than her lips, said to Arthur's subconscious everything he needed to know. Perhaps she was taking out her childhood frustrations of children calling her 'Beetle' in primary school, or bidet once the kids' vocabulary started to expand in junior high. Or perhaps Arthur really was that much of a mess during this time and his preconceived notions were nothing but that, the knot in his stomach persuaded him it was the latter.
"Look I promise I practiced all night I got the line down I just-"
"Thank you so much for coming in Mr. Davis, we'll keep in touch, I have a 5:30 for these monstrosities'' she said, wiggling her fingers in front of her face.
"So we'll wrap this up for today, and remember I told you about contractions. This is med-ieval, not m'dieval." Cathleen said.
The lady sitting to the right of Cathleen had not spoken a word the entire time. She was a bit younger than Cathleen, but even more so disinterested. Throughout the monologue she would not so casually check to see if her phone had a new notification, but now that the audition was a wrap, she wielded it as if it were a mirror and she had a lash in her eye. The ladies began to pack their belongings in their respective purses. "I cannot miss this appointment, my girl will be going to Vietnam for 4 weeks and I can't go to anyone for these." She gives Arthur a friendly smile. He can't think of anything else to say.
"Thank-thank you." He says. Grab it now.
Outside down the hall Arthur sat on the steps of the fire exit, clutching the brown bag in his hand. His breath and heart held hands as they jumped out of his body, his forehead like an unclosed freezer door, cool and dripping with condensation. He reminded himself to take slower, more methodical breaths in fear of busting the bag open. He watched it expand and collapse, pondering if the brown bag was a replica of what his lungs looked like, filled with resin and panic. He hears a door open, he stands up quickly and hides the bag back in his pocket. A man walks past him in a suit and Arthur gives one of those friendly closed lip half smiles you give to strangers, breathing deeply through his nose. The man doesn't smile back, he doesn't even acknowledge the existence of another human being standing there.
In the backseat of the car, Arthur watched the small shops pass by, mom and pops along with the bigger named companies, all mixed in a line of consumerism. Arthur rested his head against the glass, feeling the warmth of the California sun against it, wondering if any more melanin could be baked into his skin. Palm trees passed, casting brief moments of shadow from the meridian. Arthur let his head up and saw he left a small coconut oil smudge from one of his knotted braids on the window. He looked to the driver's rearview mirror whose eyes were fixed on the road. Arthur licked his palm and began to carefully wipe it in secrecy, as if he were cracking a safe and he was his own lookout. A small squeegee sound came from the motion.
"Hey don't lick my window man!" The driver said.
"I had just left a grease mark on-"
"I don't care, do that in your own car."
Arthur let out a sigh and sat back. He dug in his pocket for his phone and sent a text to Mara.
'I didn't get it.' It read.
'I'll be right over.' She responded, quickly, as if she was waiting for the message.
Arthur entered his apartment building. He lived on the top floor of a four-story apartment a local blog deemed 'Haunted as hell!' Arthur never entertained superstition though, he believed people saw what they wanted to, believed what they wanted to believe, and that was that. He started his walk up past the first flight of stairs, due to the elevator being out of order for nearly three years, before he heard the voice that gargled rocks in the morning come from behind him and freeze him in his tracks.
"Eight days Arthur!" This was about the tenth time Arthur heard that, some days he told him twice. The voice came from the landlord, Gary, who lived on the first floor directly across from the elevator, which its current state had no effect on Gary being that the only climbing he'd have to do on a day to day basis was the first step leading into the building. He was either grumpy because he was short, bald, tired, or in this case, having to shakedown a struggling actor he knew didn't have the money. Arthur didn't know with certainty Gary's history. Rumor had it he was in Nam, as a cook, came back here and remodeled the bottom floor of what used to be an old restaurant into the first floor of one of the worst apartment complexes money could buy.
"Eight days past, pretty soon I'm going to have to cut the electricity."
"Hey, it might help me get into character for this new role." Arthur said.
"Are you being funny with me?"
"My fault, Mr. Windle, I'm struggling, it's just kind of hard finding work right now in my position."
"Well go struggle somewhere else, struggle over a fryer. I don't care how you get your money, you're an able-bodied gentleman. Every month with you Arthur! Five days here, ten days there."
"I know, I really do, I promise just give me a few more days until the My Boyfriend's Hospital check comes in." Arthur felt bad for Gary, sure he could be a curt little man, but so would anyone with a tenant like Arthur.
"You coming back for another episode?"
"No, my character died, didn't you see the episode?" Two episodes. Arthur was in two episodes. Introduced as a character who had a severe case of bronchitis the doctors couldn't save. At least his death weighed heavily on the protagonist he thought.
"No, I just said that to not hurt your feelings."
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Arthur made his ascent back up the stairs hoping his hurt ego was enough to leave the conversation smoothly.
"My wife likes the show though! Eight days
Arthur!"
That made it 11 times.
Arthur entered his one-bedroom apartment on the top floor, there were only sixteen rooms here and two of them were vacant. Arthur didn't spend much time trying to get to know his neighbors, not that he was anti-social but because he was sure they were involved in some sort of trade Arthur didn't want to get involved with. All kinds of weird festered here, Arthur thought it would be wise to stick to the circle he knew, to not color outside of the lines per say.
In his one-bedroom apartment was a kitchen to his immediate left with a long counter that extended to a rectangular pillar closest to him. Behind that was an old chocolate colored pull out facing a small flat screen TV. To the right was a bathroom, and the second door on his right was his bedroom. Straight ahead was a window that overlooked the building across the street, a fire escape, and his little succulent he couldn't remember whether he watered this week or not. But that was why he got it in the first place.
He let his body collapse on the couch, his face buried in the seat, having a moment of quiet to himself. A tension relieved from a day of responsibility, and nearly a months' worth of anxiety leading up to the moment he now thinks of as an absolute waste of time.
Life is grand, he thought. The struggle is oh so real. Coming out here on his own, away from his old friends and family, thought it'd make him tougher, build his character as he's scratched and bruised chasing his dream. But the city of Angels has been filled with nothing but drug induced demons who offer their friends a hand out. His lucky breaks if you'd call it that came from commercials, one offs on whatever detective show needed a dead victim or a criminal, and some streaming shows the geriatric fell asleep because they needed a light to show them their way to the bathroom when they woke up in the middle of the night. This was the dream he wanted. A big shot Hollywood celebrity who lived in the hills and threw dinner parties for all his rich and famous friends. Life was grand.
A knock brought back whatever tension Arthur had released from his neck, followed by subsequent knocks. He soon recognized the rhythm and went to the door and the tension faded. He opened it to find hair as black as night, and wild, like a bush that had been touched by fire with a sheen to it like spilt oil. Under this were sharp eyes where pupil and iris seemed to have become one, with starkly crimson lips as if they had been pierced with a needle and now blood filled them. A face smooth and skin like it was kissed by the sun, licked by its flame that burnt her auburn tone. Her face was a blood-moon in a midnight sky that was her untamed hair. A small beauty mark adorned the left side of her chin. She smiled, revealing a small gap between her two front teeth.
"Here you go loser." She shoved a plastic bag that held a Styrofoam box at his chest. It felt warm and smelled like his second favorite Chinese restaurant in Los Angeles.
Amara DeLuca, but she'd quickly correct you that it was just Mara. The match that made the city stink a little less. This was a normal ritual for them, whether one of them got a part or not it was the others duty to help celebrate or console respectively. This unspoken practice had been going on for nearly three years now, and within those three years Arthur made sure not to clip the wings of a beautiful bird that was a relationship, or any kind of advance, although they had made that mess before, once.
"That was a mistake" she had said, with a lit cigarette doing the tango with her lips. They both sat there in the bed, Mara hadn't even taken her bra off. Arthur was bouncing his leg nervously trying to light his own cigarette.
"Yeah." He agreed, but it was only in agreement to her. The kind of thing you say to keep a woman like her in your life. So, it remained that way, a little mistake brought out by a man named Jack or Jim or any other name that came in a bottle and gave you the courage or the excuse to make dumb decisions.
"Why'd you knock, you have a key."
"Lost it." Mara said.
"What do you mean you-"
Mara walked past Arthur, revealing another woman small in stature, and skinny enough to slide under his door. Her hair was done into two buns, one on each side of her head. Down the middle of her hair was a part that separated half of her hair, dyed a hot pink, juxtaposed to the raven colored other half. She had bangs that fell over her eyebrows, the colors parting right down the middle as well. Her double winged drawn eyes were fixed in her phone just as the casting director from earlier.
"Quit whining, I'll get you another one, plus, I got your favorite." Mara said.
"Second favorite."
"It's called thank you Mara."
"Thank you, Mara."
"Arthur this is Beti, Beti, Arthur."
Without looking up from her phone Beti waved to Arthur with a small petite hand that was mostly covered in a large comfortable looking navy-blue sweater with pink symbols she seemed to draw on the sleeve herself with a paint marker. Mara, Beti, and Arthur sat on his couch while Arthur ate his chow mein and lemon pepper chicken. He shoveled the noodles in his mouth, ditching the chopsticks for a plastic fork. Arthur put something on the TV but none of them were paying attention to what it was.
"So..." Mara said.
"I don't want to talk about it." Arthur said.
"Well I do."
Arthur let out a breathy sigh that smells like noodles.
"I forgot my last two lines, the last two!"
"Ouch."
"The lady seemed to be more interested in her... fuckin' nails more than anything," he wiped his hands with a napkin and threw it on the table, "and I don't think the other looked up from her phone once."
Arthur made a nod towards Beti, as if to say without saying "how do you know each other." They've been friends long enough to know how to communicate through looks now. She answered quickly.
"She's my make-up artist now. I met her at a dive bar a couple of weeks ago and found out she does a killer second skin."
Beti threw up a peace sign to Arthur as she said it, still fixed on her phone, sitting with her legs crossed. Mara looked to Arthur who had seemed to be as lifeless as the food he was shoveling in his mouth. He looked like a sad hamster, only if hamsters had the feeling of failing a very big missed opportunity. She tried to cheer the lump up.
"Maybe it was the wooden sword?" A beat of silence passed as her failed attempt at a joke fell flat before she spoke again.
"Maybe it wasn't just the two lines Arty." Arthur looked at her. "Look buddy I'm going to level with you. You're not exactly picking smart roles. I mean you just went to read for the role of a white guy, when was the last time you saw a black knight lead who wasn't Martin Lawrence?"
"Who said he had to be white? Denzel played Macbeth"
"That's Denzel."
"I don't know, can't a dreamer dream?
Seems these days Hollywood's getting a little more woke and casting people of color in what used to be white lead roles."
"Yeah, but then you gotta wake up! As much as I hate to admit it, Hollywood isn't one singular minded entity that's colorblind. I didn't make the rules, but since they're in place we have to play by them and go where the doors are open for us for now. You think I want to be drooled over by every cis male casting director with a halfway working dick? You think I want to be cast as the bimbo or slut whose gray matter might as well be pudding? No! But I push my tits out and try my very darndest '99 Britney impression."
"So push my tits out is what you're saying I should do?"
"Absolutely! Why don't you try reading for that new Neil Armstrong movie, you could be Neil."
Arthur gave a greasy smile and licked his lips. There it was. Cracking the code that was Arthur. He seemed to be a man of mystery to Mara, although she understood him more than most people. He was introverted and a bit neurotic, and she couldn't imagine how he would fit into this life he wanted so bad. Arthur was sociable, but only when he had to be. He didn't have many friends outside of Mara although it was quick for him to make a temporary friend or two at a party, he usually kept to himself most days. How was a man to put aside what he was to become something of a fantasy version of himself? The fabricated personalities he saw on the big screen and talk shows, woven and laid out in front of him as a dream one could wear and feel the warmth of success, of acceptance to a club he was not yet part of.
"You fake it till you make it bud. That's why we're actors, that's what we're supposed to do. Whatever happened to that part of the first black samurai?" She said.
"Seriously? They're looking at really big names for that role like Denzel's son, there's no way a guy from the condom commercial is in their prospects."
"These frickin' Washington's man, besides what happened to dreamers' dream? By the way, that totally sounds like a Sebastian line, did Sea bass tell you that?"
"Maybe." Arthur said.
"If you don't take the part I will."
Arthur smiled again. He was having a particularly bad day today, but Mara knew how to loosen him up, she was a straight shooter with a steady aim. She struck confidence in him whenever she was present, and somehow took it when she was gone.
"Ahh, I don't know..." Arthur said.
"You DO know! Come on, take it, takeittakeittakeit." She put her pointer finger in his face and got closer and closer to his eye. He swatted her hand away.
"Okay! I'll call Sebastian."
"Did you just hit a woman? Beti did you see that Arthur's an abuser."
"I think I should get a sword though, a real sword, not that log I've been carrying around."
"What's up with all these roles with swords? Ooh! My dad has a sword; my dad has several swords."
"That's great and all but I'm not making a six-hour drive to borrow a sword. I'll just rent one."
"I don't think you can just rent a sword, Artie. A sword is not a rentable purchase."
Arthur finished his plate and stood up and entered his room. He came out with a new shirt that wasn't so drenched in anxiety induced sweat. He headed for the door with the stride of a man that had hope in his headlights.
"Where are you going?" Mara said.
"Okaerinasai."
