The Revenge Artist - Philip Siegel Page 0,67
bulge with abject fear. This is more confirmation than anything she can say.
“Can you excuse me a second?” she whispers to her castmates. She squats behind her row and follows me into the wings.
Lara paces in front of me. I didn’t know I had the power to make somebody so nervous. I thought I would like it, but I’m more of a softie than I want to admit.
“That’s not me in the picture.”
“Then how come we’re out here?” I say.
“How did you find me?”
“Persistence.”
Her carefree, flirty demeanor from the videos I watched seems to be a million miles away. She bites her fingernails. “I have to be on in the next scene.”
“Tell me what I need to know, and we’ll be done.” I cross my arms.
“Steve and I were drunk. I don’t really remember that night.”
“Please, don’t lie to me, Lara. I know everything. I don’t have a lot of time. I have a dance I need to attend tonight.”
She buries her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I slipped him those pills. Is he okay?”
“Physically, yes. Mentally, he’s a little freaked out.”
“I was so nervous the entire time. I pulled him into the bedroom and just waited and waited until Huxley found us. I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.”
“Why did you do it?”
She checks to make sure nobody is around. “I needed the money.”
“Why? You’re an actress. You have a main role in a hit play.”
She shoots me a “get real” look, hands on hip included. “I’m a secondary character in a community theater, non-equity production.”
Her pained expression and desperate eyes underscore her point. There’s no elaborate scheme here. Sometimes, for people like Lara, things really are that simple.
“Who put you up to this?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know, or you can’t tell me?”
Janine storms into our conversation, her face a packed, puffy pimple that needs to be popped. “Lara, what are you doing? Get back out there! You’re on in sixty seconds.”
“One minute, Janine,” she says firmly.
“All you got is fifty seconds,” Janine says back twice as firm. There’s no winning an argument against her. She stalks off, muttering to herself.
“Look, Steve’s fine.” I don’t want to shame her. I need answers, not some moral high ground. “Can you tell me anything about who you worked for? The person is going to strike again tonight.”
“I can’t.” Lara wrings out her hands. Sweat forms tributaries in her makeup. “Someone posted an ad on craigslist looking for a girl to attend a party in Ashland. Everything was done via email.”
“If they paid you via PayPal, we can probably track down an email or an account number.”
“I wasn’t paid online.” She gazes on stage, but she seems to be looking at something far behind, something she can’t reach. “I had this grand plan when I graduated high school. I was going to move to Los Angeles to be an actress, or at least try. It’s funny how things pan out.”
She’s not laughing.
“Twenty seconds,” Janine whisper-yells to Lara. “You need to get out there now.”
Lara swings back to me. “The money was mailed to me, and there was no return address.”
“How much?”
“One thousand dollars.”
Whoa. The Revenge Artist means business.
“Do you still have the envelope?”
She shakes her head no. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help.” She walks to the edge of the wings, straightening out her costume for her grand re-entrance.
“You know the saddest part?” Lara says. “I wasn’t even paid in cash. The person said they could only pay in Fairfax gift cards. One thousand bucks in gift cards to a drugstore. To drug someone and ruin a relationship. How is this my life?”
She goes back onstage.
Janine yells at me that I’ll never work in Northern New Jersey non-union theater again because of this stunt. I hand her my clipboard and march out of the theater. The only word I can get out barely escapes my lips once I reach my car.
“Wade.”
On my way! Be there in an hour! !
I text Fred and Val as soon as I get on to the highway. Each time my foot steps on the gas pedal, I picture Wade’s face. Whatever he’s planning, I’m planning better.
I hit an empty stretch of highway that cuts through mountains. Jagged edges of blasted-through rock surround the road. Leave it to New Jersey to hide its prettiest parts on the side of the interstate.
I take out my phone to capture the beauty for posterity, and a new background photo, when a gurgling noise comes out