you’re going to have to make an appearance there. All the hot numbers do. You won’t believe the pace.”
“Do you go there?”
“Is that one of your questions?” Vega demanded.
“No, I just wondered.”
“Next question, then.”
The evening wasn’t turning out as Noel had wanted it. Vega was hard to get to know. He was deliberately closing Noel off.
The next question was interrupted when three men came into the restaurant and spotted Buddy. Looking happy for the distraction, Vega gestured them to join him and Noel. His spirits picked up immediately. Noel was pushed off to one side of the table as the four men exchanged greetings. The names came too fast for Noel to remember. All three newcomers stared at him in the way he’d come to recognize as a basic, once-over, evaluation cruise. He let it pass. Vega began telling them an anecdote about someone named Tim they all knew. Two of the men leaned in, hanging on every word.
The third man, muscular and brawny, with close-cropped hair, small dark eyes, and a bushy mustache, inspected the menu.
“You born on Christmas?” he suddenly asked.
Noel realized the question was aimed at him. “No. Why?”
“All the guys I know named Noel was born on Christmas.” He looked over the menu, decided on something, then looked at Noel again.
“You wit’ Buddy?” Then, pointing to Noel’s half-eaten cheeseburger, “That any good?”
“Overcooked.”
A waiter appeared and there was a flurry of ordering. Meanwhile, Mr. Muscles said:
“I seen you before. What gym you go to?”
“I don’t.”
He was skeptical. “You look worked out to me. Gymanstics?”
“Of a sort,” Noel said, intrigued by the pronunciation.
“I thought so. I can always tell. I seen you before. You live near here?”
“Noel’s from the Coast,” Vega said. “San Francisco.”
Noel hadn’t been aware Buddy was listening. Was there a reason?
“Oh. I probably seen you out dere.”
“Tony was out there for a shooting recently,” Vega said.
“Yeah,” Tony said, smiling and revealing several recently capped, perfect white teeth. “I’m kinda a star.”
“In porn flicks,” Vega said. “Tony Coe.”
Noel nodded as though he knew the name.
“Watch out,” one of the other men said. “He’ll ask you to join him in a flick.”
You see, Mr. Cummings, you won’t really have to look for Mr. X. He’s going to find you, Loomis had said.
And Chaffee: They’ll tell you they’ll make you a movie star…
“What’s wrong with that?” Tony was asking, hurt, with an attitude that suggested seething violence beneath his dumb surface.
“Noel’s too classy for skin flicks,” Vega said sharply.
“You’re just my type,” Tony said, looking at Noel. “Just my fucking type. We’d look real good together. Hey, bud? Real good. I’d fix it so you wouldn’t even know when the camera started.”
Tony reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card which he handed to Noel. It read: Reality Productions, Inc.
“Keep it,” Tony said. “Call me.”
Noel pocketed the card, watching Vega watch him closely. Why had he interrupted? What was going on?
A minute or so later the answer to his question flashed on Noel so hard he almost gagged on the last piece of cheeseburger. Could Tony Coe be Mr. X? And did Buddy know that? Was that what Coe had meant by saying he had seen Noel before, when he couldn’t have?
While Vega had coffee and dessert, Noel tried to confirm this impression. But Coe was ignoring him, having gotten bullheadedly into an argument with one of his friends about two drugs Noel had never heard of. He was arrogant, all right. But was that enough for suspicion? He had said that Noel was exactly his type. So what? He might say that to anyone he found attractive.
“We have to go,” Vega announced. “Noel’s working tonight.”
As they were stepping out of the restaurant, Tony Coe stood up and came over to them. In a low voice he said to Buddy,
“Do you go there?”
“Is that one of your questions?” Vega demanded.
“No, I just wondered.”
“Next question, then.”
The evening wasn’t turning out as Noel had wanted it. Vega was hard to get to know. He was deliberately closing Noel off.
The next question was interrupted when three men came into the restaurant and spotted Buddy. Looking happy for the distraction, Vega gestured them to join him and Noel. His spirits picked up immediately. Noel was pushed off to one side of the table as the four men exchanged greetings. The names came too fast for Noel to remember. All three newcomers stared at him in the way he’d come to recognize as a basic, once-over, evaluation cruise. He let it pass. Vega began telling them an anecdote about someone named Tim they all knew. Two of the men leaned in, hanging on every word.
The third man, muscular and brawny, with close-cropped hair, small dark eyes, and a bushy mustache, inspected the menu.
“You born on Christmas?” he suddenly asked.
Noel realized the question was aimed at him. “No. Why?”
“All the guys I know named Noel was born on Christmas.” He looked over the menu, decided on something, then looked at Noel again.
“You wit’ Buddy?” Then, pointing to Noel’s half-eaten cheeseburger, “That any good?”
“Overcooked.”
A waiter appeared and there was a flurry of ordering. Meanwhile, Mr. Muscles said:
“I seen you before. What gym you go to?”
“I don’t.”
He was skeptical. “You look worked out to me. Gymanstics?”
“Of a sort,” Noel said, intrigued by the pronunciation.
“I thought so. I can always tell. I seen you before. You live near here?”
“Noel’s from the Coast,” Vega said. “San Francisco.”
Noel hadn’t been aware Buddy was listening. Was there a reason?
“Oh. I probably seen you out dere.”
“Tony was out there for a shooting recently,” Vega said.
“Yeah,” Tony said, smiling and revealing several recently capped, perfect white teeth. “I’m kinda a star.”
“In porn flicks,” Vega said. “Tony Coe.”
Noel nodded as though he knew the name.
“Watch out,” one of the other men said. “He’ll ask you to join him in a flick.”
You see, Mr. Cummings, you won’t really have to look for Mr. X. He’s going to find you, Loomis had said.
And Chaffee: They’ll tell you they’ll make you a movie star…
“What’s wrong with that?” Tony was asking, hurt, with an attitude that suggested seething violence beneath his dumb surface.
“Noel’s too classy for skin flicks,” Vega said sharply.
“You’re just my type,” Tony said, looking at Noel. “Just my fucking type. We’d look real good together. Hey, bud? Real good. I’d fix it so you wouldn’t even know when the camera started.”
Tony reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card which he handed to Noel. It read: Reality Productions, Inc.
“Keep it,” Tony said. “Call me.”
Noel pocketed the card, watching Vega watch him closely. Why had he interrupted? What was going on?
A minute or so later the answer to his question flashed on Noel so hard he almost gagged on the last piece of cheeseburger. Could Tony Coe be Mr. X? And did Buddy know that? Was that what Coe had meant by saying he had seen Noel before, when he couldn’t have?
While Vega had coffee and dessert, Noel tried to confirm this impression. But Coe was ignoring him, having gotten bullheadedly into an argument with one of his friends about two drugs Noel had never heard of. He was arrogant, all right. But was that enough for suspicion? He had said that Noel was exactly his type. So what? He might say that to anyone he found attractive.
“We have to go,” Vega announced. “Noel’s working tonight.”
As they were stepping out of the restaurant, Tony Coe stood up and came over to them. In a low voice he said to Buddy,
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