Squirrel Eyes (20 page)

42

      I woke up with my face mashed into a pillow and a ribbon of molten lava scorching a trail through my lower torso.

      I had no idea where I was; I thought I heard Pat Sajak whispering to me about vowels. I was lying on my belly, a position I never sleep in. I rolled one eye around, the other buried in the pillow. In the dim light I could make out Daniel's video camera on a table next to the bed, but other than that the room was unfamiliar. 

Then the smell registered. A hospital. 

      Lifting my head – which had been replaced with a cannonball, judging from the weight – I looked towards the sound of Pat Sajak's voice. My mom was seated in a chair near the foot of the bed, working on quilt pieces and watching
Wheel of Fortune
with the sound turned low. 

Realizing I was awake, she smiled. "What do you think Daniel's gonna say about
this?
"

      "Who's Daniel?" I croaked, my throat crusty.

      "Don't pull that shit with me," Mom said.

      I tried to roll over and almost shrieked when somebody jabbed me in the ass with a pitchfork. Panting, I resumed the belly-down posture. 

      "You got shot in the butt," Mom pointed out.        

She filled me in on what she could remember of the details: the Trooper – a nice fella, she said – had stopped to check out our cars parked along the side of the road. Hearing us chattering away up in the woods, he made his way towards our position. When he spotted me waving a shotgun around – and apparently whirling towards him – he drew his gun and fired. The bullet struck me in the left butt cheek, bopped around for awhile, somehow managing to avoid anything vital, and exited through my upper right thigh.

"The doctor said you were really lucky – if the bullet had gone straight through, you'd be minus a tallywhacker right now." 

Jesus. Just when I might be getting a chance to use it again.

"Is everybody else okay?" I asked, cautiously sliding my hand down to prod at the large bandage on my leg.

"Oh yeah, they're fine," Mom chirped. "It was really nice to see Kelli again – and I like that Boone."

"When can I go home?"

"They want to keep you overnight. The doctor said you'd probably be able to leave by noon tomorrow." She pulled a stitch tight in her quilt and I involuntarily twitched, thinking about the needle that sewed up my rear. "He's younger than you are, you know. Just a baby."

"Who is?"

"The doctor. He doesn't even look like he shaves." 

"And you let him work on me?"

"
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers
," Mom said, looking up at the TV. Vanna turned the letters. Mom smiled smugly. "I should be on this show."

I suppose a lifetime of my movie-related nonsense had inured my mother to the point where even a gunshot wound was par for the course; she didn't seem especially worried or the least bit angry. She was a damn fine mom.

I breathed into my pillow. The stink of the hospital was worse than the pain of the bullet wound. The door to the room was open and I could hear a woman weeping somewhere down the hall. 

My mom might've taken it all in stride, but being gunned down in a field while making a shitty movie definitely set a few gears to turning in my head. Christ, if that trooper had aimed a little higher I could've been killed. I wasn't the sort to burst into song over the second chance I'd been given — more than anything, I was inclined to kick myself for not allowing Mia to remove my pants the other night and take care of what needed doin', particularly since I came so close to losing the appendage she would have been doing it
to
. Still, though — not fun to think about the
what-ifs
.

The Blue Man
had been struck down once again. I had to get back to LA, and I couldn't see any way to finish the movie before that, not with my ass in a sling. 

The thought of returning to LA held about as much appeal as going to prison. I didn't need to be there for Alison; she wasn't coming back, I think I always knew that – but even more difficult to accept was the notion that the whole Hollywood thing maybe didn't mean so much to me anymore. 

"You'd better be extra nice to Taylor when you see him," Mom suggested. "He held your butt together during the drive to the hospital."

"Great," I muttered into the pillow. "Like he needs anything else to hold over my head."

43

      Mom left the hospital around 7:00, anxious to reach the parking lot so she could smoke. The painkillers dragged me back into slumberland moments after she walked out the door.

      When I woke up, Daniel was stealthily moving alongside my bed, arm outstretched towards his video camera.

      "What are you doing?" I muttered around my pillow.

      Daniel jumped a foot off the floor. "Fuck," he hissed. "I thought you were sleeping."

      "I was, until your attempted thievery woke me up."

      "You stole it first."

      "Yeah, but at least you weren't lying in a hospital bed with a gunshot wound in your ass."

      He reached for the camera again. I made a grab at him, startling him with the accompanying yelp of pain. He backed off, eyeing me as if he had only just noticed my situation.

      "Jesus," he said. "Y'know, if you were anybody else, I'd be surprised by this."

      "You reach for that camera one more time and I'll surprise the living shit out of you." My teeth were clenched, but it was less from manliness than from the incredible pain that had ripped through my ass when I grabbed at Daniel. It made me sound a little more intimidating, though.

      There was a long period of silence. I watched Daniel as he shifted his gaze uncomfortably around the room, not quite sure what to let his eyes settle on. Finally, he walked to the window.

      "That Mexican place across the street is pretty good," he said.

      "Yeah?" In a way, I kind of felt sorry for him. He didn't want to be here; he just wanted his camera back, and I screwed that up by regaining consciousness. "You wanna see my bullet wound?" I didn't want Daniel looking at my butt, really – I just couldn't think of anything else to say.

      He turned towards me, nose wrinkled in distaste. "No," he said.

      That little burst of conversation was followed by more silence. I thought about asking Daniel if it ever occurred to him that by taking me to the drive-in all the time, he helped make me; it was like supplying whiskey to an alcoholic. Instead, I just told him he could have his camera back after I'd had a chance to watch the footage we'd shot. 

He forced himself to stand around for another ten minutes or so after that – wringing out a respectable length for a hospital visit – then left.

44

Wriggling like a snake shedding its skin, I painfully turned myself around in the bed so my head was pointed towards the television. Flipping through the channels, I found
It! The Terror from Beyond Space
and settled in for some alien action, my rump throbbing dully. 

      A nurse came in shortly after eight o'clock, announcing to no one that visiting hours were over. She robotically performed her nursely duties, wasting much of her time in trying to talk me into returning my head to the proper end of the bed. Not with Marshall Thompson battling a Paul Blaisdell-constructed monster on the TV. Giving up, she left me to my movie, closing the door behind her.

      Several minutes later, the door opened again and Mia ducked into the room. 

      "Hey," I said, already feeling much better. "How'd you get in?"

      "Stealth, baby," Mia said. She approached the bed and laid a hand on my forehead. "How are you doing?"

      "I'm okay." I cocked my head towards the TV. "
It! The Terror from Beyond Space
."

      Mia studied the movie for a second. "Never seen it."

      "They ripped it off for
Alien
. Wanna sit?"

      "I don't know, I don't want to do something you can't do."

      "Har de har," I said. 

      "So what about
The Blue Man?
" she asked.

      I thought about it for a second, not wanting to say the words. "I don't know. I have to go back to LA."

      Noticing she was staring at my butt, I reached back to smooth my hospital gown, afraid something was showing. 

      "Aw, c'mon," Mia said, lifting the gown. "Just a peek...."

      "Jeez, let me die with some dignity."

      She leaned in close to my rear end. I felt my face redden; I've got a goofy, skinny little ass.

      "Does it hurt?"

      I just looked at her. 

      "Yeah, okay," she said. She pursed her lips, contemplating something, and shot a glance at the door. "I think I can make it feel better." 

      Before I could say anything, she snaked a hand beneath my waist, igniting the wound on my right thigh. 

"Aggh!" I jerked, gasping.

      "Sorry."

      "That didn't feel better."

      "Work with me," she said, approaching from a slightly different angle this time. Her hand wriggled toward my crotch. My fortunate tallywhacker stirred beneath me, glad for its new lease on life.

      "What exactly is your plan, here?" I asked.

      Mia shot me a
Hey, moron
look, tsking.

      "No, I mean, I know what your plan is – or at least I
think
I know – I'm talking more about
approach
."

"It's a challenge, I'll admit. Can you lie on your side?"

"Huh-uh, hurts like crazy. You know, I understand I'm lucky to even
have
a schween."

"You'll know just how lucky in a minute, if I can figure this out...."

Unable to bear the pain of rolling onto either my back or my side, I finally had to hoist my ass skyward, propped up on my knees and elbows so that Mia could slide her head beneath me as if working on a car.

"Keep an eye on that door," she said. 

I did as told, fearful of being interrupted by that robot nurse. Mia did something that made my eyes go wide and glaze over; after that, my brain pretty much shut down. 

When — uh, you know, I bought a Stairway to Heaven, so to speak — the wave of pleasure was accompanied by what felt like a handful of roofing nails being pushed through my ass cheeks as my muscles clenched.

Mia slid out from under me, my oil thoroughly changed. "Debt paid," she said, wiping a thumb across her fat lower lip.

I settled back into the bed and released a long, slow breath. "No, 'cause that was better than what I did for you." 

Mia's expression suddenly went grim and she stared at me for a long moment.

"What?" I asked sheepishly, figuring I'd done something wrong.

"At first I thought you were dead, y'know," she said. "When you fell. I mean, you dropped like a rock."

"Really? I don't remember any of it."

She looked away from me, then took hold of my thumb, squeezing it. "I just stood there — I didn't do anything to help or, or ...
anything
." I thought I saw a hint of moisture in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"What?" I asked again, stupidly. "You don't have to ... I mean, I'll be fine, really. It was a crazy situation, I wouldn't expect you to jump in with the paramedic skills."

Her eyes flicked back up to mine. Yup — she was crying. "It was like I found this amazing present on my doorstep and ... and all of a sudden somebody took it away from me. All I could think about was the stuff we'd never get to do." She was squeezing my thumb so hard by then that it took some effort not to wince. "I know how dumb that probably sounds."

"No, no way," I said. "I think it's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." 

Mia gave me that amazing smile, sniffling a little. "Yeah?" 

"Yeah."

Satisfied, she finally released her death grip on my thumb. Carefully, she crawled up onto the bed next to me, rubbing my back as we watched the rest of
It! The Terror from Beyond Space
. It was a hell of a good way to spend an evening, even with a bullet hole gouged through my pelvis.

As the credits rolled, Mia stretched languorously, writhing in my bed like a comfortable kitten. "I've gotta go to work," she said. "When are they letting you out?"

"Tomorrow, I guess." 

"Well, you be good and I'll come see you at your mom's."

"We'll never be able to get away with fooling around over there – my mom's sharper than these nurses." 

She almost slapped me on the butt before remembering the shriek that would've resulted. Instead, she bent to give me a sweet, wet kiss.

"I wish you didn't have to go back to LA," she whispered.

Mia opened the door just as the robot nurse was passing, nearly inspiring the woman to show emotion. Mia scampered away, the nurse's monotone scolding nipping at her heels.

 The door clicked shut. I started to roll over on my back so I could stare at the ceiling, then, hissing in pain, settled for staring at the floor. 

Remembering Daniel's camera, I struggled from the bed and retrieved it. Fortunately it had been on the tripod and not in my hand when the Trooper gunned me down. Sprawling on my belly once again, I turned the camera on and started reviewing the footage we'd shot. 

Taylor and Mia ran through the woods, the mutant warriors on their tail, Lydia trailing behind as she gnawed a severed limb. As half-assed as the whole endeavor was, the stuff looked better than anything I'd done before. An excited laugh escaped my throat.

This is what was missing – what Hollywood had taken away from me:
joy
. The pure pleasure of surrounding yourself with friends and creating something entertaining and fun, without foolish interference from nitwits and bean-counters who can only see as far as last weekend's box-office take. The whole reason I'd been so swept up by the thrill of filmmaking in the first place had been torn out of my guts like so much bad tissue, surgery performed by an unfeeling doctor. 

On the camera's tiny LCD screen, the Blue Man wasn't just Taylor in a dorky costume, his eyes covered by heavy goggles, face caked with filth; he looked like salvation.