Page 31 of Jacob Michaels is Trouble

Nelda Hammersmith was using an honest to goodness telescopic cigarette holder as she stood before me outside of the Sunny-Side Up Café. My phone had been vibrating sporadically in my pocket since the sun had begun its march towards the horizon, but I knew the list of suspects was small. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to speak with anyone on that list anytime soon, so I just continued to ignore the vibrations emanating from my pocket as I took in my manager’s outfit right there on the main thoroughfare of Point Worth, Ohio.

Full evening dress, another fur capelet, a headwrap, alabaster skin with a red gash for a mouth, bright blue eye shadow, high heels, actual opera gloves, and sunglasses so dark I doubted she could see anything. My manager was a walking, talking caricature of what people thought Hollywood talent managers and agents looked like. Well, at least the female ones. It was probably all tailored suits, greasy, slicked-back hair, and chomping cigars for the male managers. Then again, I had no idea what gender stereotypes everyone had in their heads, so I could have been dead wrong. Also, I had no idea if people would have pegged Nelda Hammersmith as having anything to do with Hollywood at all.

Maybe people just think she’s batshit crazy?

My phone buzzed again, and I ignored it once more.

“Now I see why you never return my texts or calls, Jacob, dear.” Nelda cooed as she unclasped her tiny satin clutch purse to fish for a lighter. “You’ve been positively ignoring your phone since we got here.”

Since we got here was two minutes prior. Nelda had been standing outside of the Sunny-Side Up Café when I had been driving down Main street towards home. When I had seen Nelda standing there, draped in her Old Hollywood cosplay regalia, I had to stop. Not just because I was afraid she would be accosted by backwoods Ohioans with asinine questions about her provenance—not to mention her mental state—but because a thought struck me upon seeing her there. So, I had pulled into the parking lot of the café and approached my manager as she stood in the middle of Point Worth, looking as though she was waiting for the bus from the rest home.

After speaking with Carlita in the coffee shop in Toledo and having the revelation that I had, my mind was racing. When I drove home to Point Worth, to the house, I would be faced with Oma. Knowing what had transpired at the coffee shop, remembering the things that I remembered, I wasn’t sure that was something I was prepared to do. In fact, I wasn’t sure if seeing Oma was something I was incredibly keen on.

What I had said to Carlita had been true—as far as my memory served. My mother had disappeared one day after something…violent…had happened at the house. Then I remembered nothing until my dad was putting me to bed. When I awoke, Oma was there, prepared to watch over me since my father was gone as well. Both of my parents disappeared in less than a day after something shook the house and made a light show of epic proportions. What had happened at the house that would cause such an event—and make both of my parents run for the hills?

Had they even run away—or had they been chased off? Worse…had something terrible happened to them, and I had spent the entirety of my life thinking they were negligent and irresponsible parents? That’s what Oma had led me to believe for two decades, anyway. Oma had told me that my mom was a trifling ho-bag, and my dad was dumb enough to fall in love with her. It all led me to believe that my parents had just been horrible at the job and had decided that they were meant for different things besides raising a child. But I had enough of my early memories to know that my mother had not been negligent. In fact, she had been very attentive. She had been warm and loving, to both my father and me. There was no way she had just run off in the middle of the day. Even if she had, my father wouldn’t have followed suit, knowing that I had already lost one parent to a whim. Would he have?

If everything I had remembered, everything I now believed to be true was real, what did that mean for me and Point Worth? Where did that leave Oma and me? What about Lucas? The Kobolds? Any of it? Why did anything in Point Worth, Ohio even matter to me anymore? Couldn’t I just disappear like my parents had? Make a clean break? I had all of my memories. My magic. I could just go back to being Jacob Michaels, make movies, live in California, and pretend that none of this had ever happened. Oma had insinuated that it was possible I should just go back to Hollywood.

That was curious, though.

Maybe even more curious than other thoughts swirling through my brain like a gathering storm.

No one who was looking to cause me harm would tell me to take myself out of imminent danger’s way.

Right?

“Let me help you.” I sighed to myself as Nelda’s shaky hand extracted a silver-plated lighter from the small clutch.

Nelda smiled vaguely as I pulled the lighter from between her fingers and clicked it open. One cupped hand created a windscreen around the end of her cigarette as the other operated the lighter. I spun the wheel of the lighter…and nothing. Instead of trying again, I simply pushed a little magic into the lighter, making it produce a small flame on which Nelda could light her cigarette. I waited as she puffed a few times, then exhaled a plume of smoke, before I pulled the magic back, extinguishing the flame. Clicking the lighter shut, I held it out to her, which she readily accepted and dropped back into her clutch before clicking the purse shut once more.

“What’s waiting for me, Nelda?” I asked. “Is it just action movies and bullshit like that? I mean…if I came back?”

“Bullshit like that makes us millions of dollars, Jacob.” She clicked her tongue at me, disapprovingly. “I think—and don’t quote me—but I think if this sequel does as well as the last one, maybe we can get you in one of those awful Marvel movies.”

“Don’t say that too loudly,” I mumbled, though not unamused.

“Marvel movies?”

“No.” I frowned. “Don’t call them awful. You’re in middle-America for God’s sake, Nelda. Superhero movies are up there with Hot Dish and Jesus on Sundays.”

“What,” She gave a distasteful look, “is a Hot Dish?”

“A casserole.” I waved her off.

My stomach grumbled at the thought of greasy meat, cheese, and tater tots. Obviously, I needed to eat. If I was getting hungry thinking about Tater Tot Casserole, then I was starving.

“I don’t want to go back to Hollywood,” I shook my head slowly, “but I really don’t want to stay here. But, I guess, even Hollywood is better for me than staying here and being…me.”

“That’s perfect.” Her brow raised, and surely her eyes lit up, though the sunglasses kept me from confirming the fact. “They’re going to film the sequel in Turkey of all places.”

“Seriously?” I cringed.

“Mm.” She nodded and delicately spat a piece of tobacco from the tip of her tongue. “We’re going to have to put some weight on you, of course. Get you back into the shape you were before. If the producers see you like this—”

“If I did it once, I can do it again.” I waved her off. “Where’s Randy?”

“He’s waiting in the car.” She gestured vaguely at the Town Car parked a few spots down from mine. “I told him to wait while I checked to see if they could seat us. I figured that since we had to stay here tonight before our flight out tomorrow, we may as well have a decent meal.”