by S. G. Rogers
As Brynn Ludden lay there, feigning Romeo’s poison-induced demise, Juliet dispatched herself with a dagger. He could hear the sniffles and occasional sobs from the audience. He loved it when they cried. Nevertheless, he was relieved he was dead for the last time that season. He was heartily sick of the charismatic Ace Fallon. As Mercutio, the kid had stolen the spotlight in this production of Romeo and Juliet. Brynn wasn’t used to being upstaged.
It had been a good final performance. Brynn knew it would be since he’d stashed his lucky penny in the toe of his left boot. Before he could bask in the glory of his last bow, however, he had to endure the avalanche of hysteria that inevitably greeted Ace’s curtain call. Sure enough, when Ace bounded center stage, it was as if Elvis had come to New York City. It was enough to make him wish Romeo’s poison vial had been filled with closing-night cyanide.
What made it more frustrating was that Brynn couldn’t figure out why Ace was generating so much excitement. Brynn was better looking than him; even Ace had admitted as much during one of their drunken pub crawls. They were about the same age. Furthermore, Brynn had been classically trained as an actor, whereas Ace had skipped higher education altogether. But since the play opened, Ace had attracted more interest, publicity, and girls than Brynn had. It was galling.
Deep down, of course, he knew Ace had pure, God-given, glorious acting talent that burst through whenever he performed. Brynn had suspected as much shortly after having met him. Following rehearsal one afternoon, several actors had gone out to a bar to unwind. Ace had entertained everyone with spot-on soliloquies for each major character in the play. His Juliet was better than Felicia’s, to her dismay. And that was after he’d downed three beers and a couple tequila shots. Brynn had hated him for that.
He couldn’t even console himself with the knowledge that Ace was a jerk. On the contrary, Ace always had something supportive to say to his fellow cast-mates. He’d even gone so far as to downplay his popularity, and the fact that he’d been scouted by one of the best talent agents in the business. Ace was so humble and endearing that Brynn had the occasional impulse to pick up a fencing foil and skewer him to save Tybalt the trouble.
About three weeks after the play closed, Brynn woke with a hangover and a feeling of impending doom. He wasn’t sure why—until he remembered he had an audition and it was Friday the 13th.
Brynn would ordinarily never venture out on Friday the 13th, but this audition was important. He’d pleaded with his agent to get the date changed, but he hadn’t been successful. He was reading for the romantic lead in a small, independent film being helmed by a Very Famous Director. Plus, a certain hot actress was attached to the project. That was one opportunity Brynn didn’t want to miss.
After he’d taken a shower and eaten breakfast, he dressed in the lucky jeans and shirt he always wore to auditions. When Brynn reached for his penny loafers, disaster struck. He’d worn them the night before to the opening of a new bar downtown, and his lucky penny was missing.
It had taken Brynn a long time to find that penny. He’d picked up pennies for months before he’d found one from the year of his birth. Its loss wouldn’t have been so calamitous if he hadn’t already thrown out his rabbit’s foot. A former girlfriend was a PETA member and had threatened to put him on some blacklist if he didn’t. This was a horribly bad omen; Brynn could not go to the audition without all his lucky cylinders firing. He would have to get another talisman quickly.
Like many actors, Brynn was superstitious. He’d hired himself a psychic advisor first thing when he moved to Manhattan. With Jenny Z’s guidance, he’d rented an apartment, chosen an agent, and navigated his way through several relationships. Jenny Z told him she was a gypsy, but Brynn doubted that. She looked more like an executive secretary. Nevertheless, he’d come to rely on her advice. She always had charms and crystals available for purchase, so Brynn decided to go shopping.
It took some doing, but he managed not to step on the cracks in the sidewalk. When he reached Jenny Z’s place, he was incensed to discover it was closed. Didn’t she know she’d be needed today, more than ever? As Brynn turned to leave, he spotted a sign on the door with an address, phone number and the words ‘In an Emergency, see Humberto.’
This was a crisis, no doubt about it. Brynn headed over to Humberto’s, hesitating when he discovered that the street number led him into a creepy alley. The clock was ticking, however, and he was desperate. Hoping for the best, he strode down the smelly, dark passageway. About fifty paces in, he saw Humberto’s shop. It had a large, ornate ‘H’ etched on an old-fashioned, wooden door.
Flickering illumination from gaslights created an appropriately moody atmosphere inside. An antique wood and glass counter separated the entranceway from the rest of the space. Exotic-looking trinkets were on display under the glass, but it was the wall of celebrity death masks that made Brynn shudder. Their empty eyeholes seemed to stare straight into his soul.
An older man, whom Brynn presumed to be Humberto, entered the room from behind a velvety curtain. With a name like Humberto, Brynn had expected a dark-featured seer capable of divining the mysteries of the universe. But Humberto was a short, white-haired fellow with a jolly face and a belly to match. Brynn suspected his name wasn’t really Humberto, but probably something like Cal or Fred. It didn’t matter; Brynn understood about stage names. If Jenny Z trusted Humberto, that was good enough.
“Why if it isn’t Brynn Ludden!” Humberto said. “What an honor.”
That was flattering. Brynn wasn’t that well known, but occasionally people did recognize him. “Nice to meet you, Humberto,” he replied. “I’m here to buy a good luck charm.”
“Forgive me for saying so, but there are no such things.”
Brynn was taken aback. “What are these?” he asked, pointing to the objects in the display counter.
“Baubles for suckers,” Humberto replied. “I respect you too much to sell you anything like that. But with my help, you can create your own luck.”
“Sounds expensive.”
“Oh, it costs nothing up front,” Humberto said. “Since you’re a client of Jenny Z, you’re welcome to try before you buy.”
“How’d you know I’m a client of Jenny Z?”
“Her clients always find me when it’s an emergency,” he replied. “Look, Brynn, you’re a young, good-looking actor with talent. You’ll go far in your career and you could be satisfied with that. In fact, if you want my advice, you should leave right now. But you’ve got your eye on the prize, don’t you? Nothing less than the very best for Brynn Ludden.”
“I guess you really are psychic.”
Humberto chuckled and beckoned Brynn closer. “What I sell here is A-list, top-quality, unadulterated Charisma, taken direct from the source. The death masks on the wall behind me confer Charisma, for resale to enterprising and ambitious persons like you.”
Brynn zeroed in on a mask of James Dean, hanging near the pressed-tin ceiling. “What about that one?”
“You have discerning taste, Brynn. Everyone always wants James Dean’s Charisma but I’ve never been able to place it. The Charisma is so tremendous, I’ve had a devil of a time finding a match.”
“Let me try.”
Humberto brought a hook out from under the counter and lifted the mask down. “If it fits, it’s yours,” he said. “The world will beat a path to your door.”
“What’s the catch?” Brynn asked as he settled the mask onto his face. For a long heartbeat nothing happened. And then he woke up.
Brynn stretched, yawned and rolled out of bed. That had been one bizarre dream. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone out drinking the night before. Just to make sure it really had been a dream, he checked that his lucky penny was still lodged in his left loafer. It was, and he laughed at himself.
Nevertheless, Brynn wondered if he wasn’t taking the superstition thing too far. He decided to be bold and wear a completely different outfit to his audition. He donned a t-shirt, a pair of khakis, and a leather jacket. The PETA girlfriend hadn’t been able to make him get rid of that, nor the leather boots he wore with it.
When Brynn left his apartment, he was the Master of his Universe. He intended to nail his audition, whether it was Friday the 13th or not. In the spirit of recklessness, he stepped on every crack in the sidewalk as he walked to the subway.
At the casting office, Brynn was more relaxed than usual. Even though he’d prepared his audition with his acting coach, something was telling him to get edgier with the material and to take more risks than he ordinarily would. After he finished reading with the casting director, he felt great.
Before Brynn had even reached his apartment building, his agent had called his cell. He’d been asked to return the next day to meet the Very Famous Director and read with the female lead. Triumphant, he moonwalked from the elevator to his door.
Inside his apartment, Brynn was greeted by the smell of cigarette smoke. He didn’t smoke, so he wondered where it was coming from. Had someone broken in while he was gone? He opened some windows and scanned the place to make sure nothing was missing. Everything appeared to be exactly as he’d left it, so Brynn was mystified.
“How’d we do?”
Brynn wheeled around to see a strange man leaning against the wall. There was a lit cigarette between his fingers, and he wore a cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes. Brynn’s mouth went dry. “Who are you?”
“Your Charisma,” the man replied. He raised his head to look at Brynn. “Call me J.D.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Brynn said, stunned.
When Brynn blinked, J.D. and his cigarette smoke were gone. Brynn stumbled into the bathroom to throw up. A few minutes later, sitting on the bathroom floor, he decided he’d had a hallucination. Humberto had been a dream, and J.D. was a figment of his imagination. There was no mask.
Brynn searched his apartment, just in case. He emptied his closet and pulled everything out from under his bed. He looked between the mattress and box spring and checked inside his pots and pans. Outside of a huge dead roach, there was nothing extraordinary.
Brynn stood in the middle of his apartment, sweating and breathing hard from his exertions. If I were trying to hide something where would I put it? His eyes slid immediately to the bookshelf, where he had volumes from Uta Hagan, Stanislavski, Strasberg, Meisner, and Stella Adler.
“Oh, no,” he moaned.
Brynn stuck his fingers in the space between the books and the back of the shelf. His face lost its color when he felt the smooth contours of an object. He knocked the books to the floor and the mask was revealed.
It hadn’t been a dream.
Completely freaked, Brynn changed into workout clothes and went for a jog in Central Park. It was a beautiful spring afternoon. As he ran, he tried to clear his mind. Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him. Already on edge, Brynn turned and prepared for combat. There was no one there, but he caught a whiff of cigarette smoke.
“J.D.?”
No one answered. Brynn shook his head; maybe he was crazy. He resumed his run, picking up speed. Suddenly J.D. was trotting alongside.
“You can’t outrun your Charisma,” J.D. said, the cigarette jiggling in his mouth as he ran. “Don’t try.”
Brynn tried anyway. He sprinted at top speed for a full minute, but J.D. kept pace. Then, as a spasm gripped his side, Brynn was forced to walk.
“Could you at least not smoke when I’m running?” Brynn gasped.
J.D. had disappeared, but there was a lady walking her poodle nearby, holding a Virginia Slim. “Who’re you, the smoke Nazi?” she shot back. “It’s a free country.” Even her dog growled.
Brynn returned home, determined to get rid of his Charisma. He laid the mask on top of a trade paper and stomped it into pieces. Then he got a hammer and pulverized the pieces into powder. The whole mess went down the trash chute in the hallway. Problem solved. He spent a pleasant, smoke-free evening watching Cool Hand Luke.
The following morning, Brynn was in a positive frame of mind. He was even having a good hair day, having managed to style his blond curls into exactly the right carefully tousled look. At his callback, he finally met the Very Famous Director and they hit it off. Brynn read with the lead actress, Regan, who had really amazing eyes. He could see a spark of interest in those eyes, so he decided to ask her out for coffee.
They went to a sidewalk café on the corner, and ordered a couple of mocha lattes. Brynn was dismayed when J.D. appeared, his cowboy hat pulled down low over his eyes. As he sat down at their table, Brynn tried to ignore him.
“So, Regan, have you always wanted to act?” Brynn ventured.
J.D. did not wish to be ignored.
“Man, she looks like one fast dolly,” J.D. said. “Why don’t you cut the chit-chat and floor it back to your pad?”
“Not really,” Regan shrugged, oblivious. “I dropped out of high school and worked as a cashier in a supermarket. The manager canned me for taking too many breaks. Do you mind if I smoke?”
“Not a lot of jets firing,” J.D. observed, tapping his temple. “But I think you got it made in the shade, if you know what I mean.”
As Regan reached for the pack of cigarettes in her purse, Brynn’s attraction began to wane. “I’m sorry, but I’m allergic to smoke,” he said. “Can you hold off?”
“Dope,” J.D. said to Brynn.
Just then, a photographer arrived and began to snap photos of Brynn and Regan. She sighed and put her cigarettes back in her purse.
“Never mind,” she said to Brynn. “My agent doesn’t want me photographed with a cigarette. Bad for the image or whatever. Sometimes I hate this job.”
Brynn’s opinion of Regan plummeted. He knew many actresses who’d love to be in her position. They were pretty and talented but they were waiting tables.
“If you hate acting, why are you doing it?” Brynn asked.
J.D. groaned, but Regan merely shrugged.
“For the money, of course. Why else would anyone do it? It’s stupid. And anyway, nobody hires me for my acting ability.”
Brynn was aghast. He loved acting. In fact, he was passionate about it. He always looked forward to the challenge of building a character and finding the subtext between the lines. He enjoyed discovering the emotional highs and lows in a scene. When he was doing a play, there was nothing better than feeding off the reactions of the audience. Brynn suddenly found himself feeling nostalgic for Romeo and Juliet. He hadn’t realized how good he’d had it. He should’ve crammed his genius-envy back where it came from.
“So, you wanna show me your apartment?” Regan asked, with a little smile.
“Oh, um, maybe some other time,” he replied. “Right now, I have to return something that isn’t mine.”
“What’d you do, shoplift?” Regan asked. “Yeah, I do that too, when I’m bored.”
Brynn went home, alone, and headed for the bookshelf. Sure enough, the mask he’d destroyed the night before had magically reappeared. His nostrils began to burn as cigarette smoke filled the room and he lost his patience.
“Do you have to smoke every second?!” he yelled, as he flung the mask into a gym bag.
“No,” J.D. replied, unfazed. “What’re you doing?”
“Taking you back.”
J.D. looked offended. “There are no take backs. We’re a team. Brynn Ludden and his Charisma, together forever.”
“You don’t get it,” Brynn railed. “I don’t need you and I don’t want you around.”
“Et tu, Brute? Then fall, Caesar!” J.D. said, sinking melodramatically onto the floor.
“Channel Shakespeare somewhere else,” Brynn retorted as he stormed out the door.
Humberto’s shop was closed. There were no hours posted, and no phone number to call. Brynn was forced to double back to Jenny Z’s for the number. When he arrived, however, the emergency sign had been removed.
As Brynn went inside to speak with Jenny, he felt himself getting a psychic rash. He used to enjoy the smell of burning incense, but it stank to him now. The dangling crystals and talismans displayed around the waiting room looked like cheap junk. He couldn’t believe he’d ever put any stock in any of it.
“Hello, Brynn,” Jenny said. “How can I help you today?”
“I need to get in touch with Humberto. Can I have his phone number?”
“Won’t do you any good,” she replied. “Humberto opens the shop only on special occasions.”
“Such as?”
“Every Friday the 13th, of course, and whenever there’s a blue moon. He’s also open on Halloween,” she said. “Is there a problem?”
“Yeah. He let me try something on approval and I want to return it. I never signed a contract.”
“No? It’s not like Humberto not to seal the deal. That’s the second complaint I’ve had,” she murmured.
“What was the complaint about?”
“That’s confidential. But this isn’t my problem,” she replied. “You’ll have to take it up with Humberto.”
“You get kickbacks from referrals, don’t you? So I’m making it your problem, Jenny. Tell me how to get a hold of him or I’ll tell every actor I know that you’re running a scam,” Brynn said, in his best Eliot Ness impersonation. “They’ll take their business over to The Psychic Eyepatch in Greenwich Village.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Read my aura,” Brynn shot back. “Wouldn’t I?”
Jenny Z pursed her lips as she consulted her calendar notebook. “You should be able to reach Humberto on the last Saturday of this month. Be at his shop ten minutes before midnight. Otherwise, you’ll have to wait until Halloween.”
“Thanks,” he said as he walked to the door.
“Word of advice, Brynn. When you talk to Humberto, better keep that hard edge. You’re going to need it.”
For Brynn, waiting the next two weeks was difficult. Although he couldn’t figure out why it had been so newsworthy, Brynn received a torrent of publicity from his coffee ‘date’ with Regan.
“That would be my doing,” J.D. said, spreading his arms out to receive Brynn’s non-existent applause. “Your Charisma, hard at work. Thank you. Thank you very much.”
The Very Famous Director cast Brynn as the romantic lead in his independent movie. J.D. took the credit for that, too. In between the constant smoking, and the incessant criticism that J.D. called coaching, Brynn couldn’t wait to dump his spectral Charisma.
With the mask in his gym bag, Brynn set off Saturday night to see Humberto. As he drew closer to the shop, J.D. materialized and fell into step with him.
“Don’t do this, buddy,” J.D. begged. “You can’t make it without me.”
Brynn kept walking. “I was fine before you came along. I just didn’t realize it.”
“You’ve toughened up lately, Brynn. I think you’re closed off emotionally and it’s affecting our relationship.”
Brynn had to curb the impulse to deck J.D. In Manhattan, tilting at windmills close to midnight probably wouldn’t have drawn much attention. But Brynn had bigger problems to deal with. What if Humberto wouldn’t take J.D. back?
When Brynn reached Humberto’s shop, it was dark inside. He flipped his cell open to check the time; he had ten minutes to wait. Suddenly he heard a voice he knew quite well.
“Romeo?”
“Mercutio?” Brynn replied, stunned.
Brynn and Ace used their cell phones to illuminate one another.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Brynn asked.
Ace sighed. “Same as you, I guess. I need to get rid of a millstone.”
Brynn was astonished. “You too? Did Humberto pull you in with that ‘try before you buy’ line?”
“Yeah. I thought it was great at first, but my Charisma has completely taken over my life.”
“Whose mask did you pick?”
“McQueen,” Ace replied. “Always had a soft spot for Bullitt. You?”
“James Dean.”
“Get out. That’s awesome!”
“Naw. J.D. smokes all the time and he won’t shut up.”
“My Charisma is called McQ,” Ace said. “He doesn’t smoke, but he’s got a lot of nervous energy. You know that jail scene in The Great Escape where McQueen throws a baseball against the wall? That’s what McQ does every night, all night long. I can’t sleep.”
Just then, a light from inside Humberto’s shop came on. Ace and Brynn could see J.D. and McQ nearby, tossing a baseball back and forth.
“Look at that,” Ace said. “They’re getting along.”
Brynn was unmoved. “Great. Maybe they can hang out after we kick ’em to the curb.”
Humberto acted so astonished to see Brynn and Ace that Brynn knew Jenny Z must have tipped him off. Brynn laid his gym bag on the counter and yanked out the mask. “I took this on approval,” he said. “I don’t approve.”
“Ditto,” Ace said. He put his mask down next to Brynn’s.
“We had a deal,” Humberto said. “No returns.”
“There was never any payment,” Ace pointed out.
“I take payment off the back end,” Humberto replied. “You get a whole lifetime of Charisma, free of charge.”
“Where’s the contract?” Brynn demanded.
“We had an oral agreement,” Humberto purred. “Surely you’re gentlemen of honor?”
They seemed to be at an impasse.
Suddenly Brynn remembered what Jenny Z had told him—that when he spoke to Humberto, Brynn needed to keep his hard edge. That was some kind of clue. He turned to Ace. “You know what I think? Humberto is playing games because he’s dealing counterfeit Charisma.”
Humberto looked put out and Brynn realized he was on to something.
So did Ace.
“Bogus merchandise, Humberto? Not good,” Ace said. “Let’s call McQ and J.D. in here right now and see what they have to say.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Humberto said, lifting his nose in the air. “If you’re both dissatisfied with your Charisma, then of course you can return it, no questions asked. But when your careers fall apart, don’t come begging for help.”
“We won’t,” Brynn and Ace said, together.
There was a sudden, blinding flash of light. Brynn realized he was back in the alleyway, mostly because of the noxious smell. Humberto’s shop was dark once more.
“Ace?” he called out.
“I’m here,” Ace replied. “Sure is quiet.”
“And smoke-free. I hope that means we’ve lost our Charisma for good,” Brynn said.
“I can’t believe you just said that,” Ace laughed. “But I couldn’t agree with you more.”
They navigated their way to the street. Turning left at the lamppost, Brynn and Ace headed toward mid-town.
“How’d you know Humberto was dealing counterfeit Charisma?” Ace asked.
“I didn’t. It was a bluff.”
“Lucky guess.”
“No, it was logic,” Brynn said. “You’re a talented actor, Ace. Humberto didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“Coming from you, that means a lot,” Ace said. “You know, when we first met, you were very intimidating.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I got the distinct impression you wanted to run me through with a sword.”
Brynn kept his expression carefully neutral. “I can’t imagine why.”
© 2011 S. G. Rogers
Original fiction debuting at Residential Aliens.
Tags: paranormal, S. G. Rogers, short story, speculative
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