This Book Does Not Exist (16 page)

“You’re both assholes, you know that?” Both the kid and the security guard laugh at me.

Opening my car, I tell them, “I’ll be here the second you wrap.”

As I drive away, I check my rearview mirror. They’re still watching me.

I disregard calls and texts from my parents, my brother, and a friend who’s getting married in three months. He wants to know if I need my plus one.
I should sleep. I have no idea where to go.

Out of spite, I start to tweet about the movie set. But as I’m typing in the names of the actors and the director, a thought comes to me – what if I use Twitter to expose
the Door
to the world? I’ve been afraid to broaden awareness of it in the event that doing so might put others in danger. Now, I view this scenario as less of a possibility. I’m fairly confident the other world
only affects people who enter
the Door
. Yet, I also wonder what, if anything, there is for me to gain by relaying my experiences online, especially at this point.

Ultimately, what stops me from tweeting about
the Door
is my desire for secrecy. It could, I realize, be the best concept I’ve ever had for a movie – except I didn’t dream it up, I found it in real life. I can see turning the journal I’ve been keeping into a memoir and then adapting that into a screenplay. The search for Naomi – this thing that’s been so terrible – could be what breaks my writer’s block and launches my career. But if I were to convincingly expose
the Door
to the public now, before finishing either project, undoubtedly someone else would explore the other world for
themselves
. Their experiences might be more compelling than mine. Reporters, scientists, and academics would conduct their own studies and take command of the narrative as it’s presented to the masses. If I reveal the existence of
the Door
before I complete my story, I lose whatever proprietary advantage I have.

I back out of Twitter. A flush of excitement from this revelation eases my need to sleep. I don’t know how long it will last. Talking to someone would help me stay awake. Kirsten said she wanted me to call her, but I’ve been holding off because I wasn’t sure how to avoid discussing
the Door
. Within this new framework I’m contemplating, however, there may be a way to talk to about what’s been happening as if it’s a screenplay I’m working on. We’re both writers. I could couch the conversation in terms of wanting her opinion on the characters, the structure, and the premise.

I call her. After the second ring I almost hang up but then she answers. “Hi,” I say.

There is silence.

I stutter through explaining it’s me.
 

She laughs.

“It really is a hilarious name,” I joke.

This makes her laugh more and then I start laughing too. I wait for us to both quiet down before saying anything else, as my thoughts drift back to
the Door
. In less than twenty-four hours, the film crew will be gone.

I hope they don’t find it before they leave.

Me:
How’s it going?

Kirsten
: Good. I’m laughing! You didn’t give me your number so I didn’t know it was you and I just felt lost. Where are you? It’s so early.

[I look at the clock. It’s 6:38 AM. I wasn’t paying attention.]

Me
: Shit, I didn’t even-
It
’s 6:30 in the morning…

[She laughs.]

Kirsten
: It’s okay! I’m bored. I’m at the airport.

Me:
You’re going back to LA?

Kirsten
: Yeah. And I just found out my flight got pushed. I’m stuck here all day.

Me
: How long is all day?

Kirsten
: They think I can get on the 6:20 flight. They
think
. I hope. If I have to sleep in the airport…

Me
: Hard to imagine anything worse than that.

Kirsten
: But wait, how are you? What’s been going on? Why are you up? That thing on
Facebook
-

The call cuts out.

I start to try her back when I get a text:

Kirsten

Jul 28 6:42 AM

I keep trying to call but can’t get through.

I forgot to say I have a layover – in
Clevlnd
!!

Does a layover in Cleveland between DC and LA even make sense? I pull over, lock my doors and write back.

She responds quickly:

Kirsten

July 28, 6:45 AM

Do u have time? U could come to the airport.

We could hang out, get lunch…

I have time, almost an entire day, until the production stops shooting, and I can easily access
the Door
.
Geppetto
made an effort to connect me with Kirsten. I shouldn’t ignore that…

I text her back to say I’ll meet her at the airport.

I’m inside a dusty Motel 6 on its last legs. At this location, near the airport, the chain’s old commercial slogan, “We’ll leave the light on for you,” feels more like a threat than a promise. The room I rented from the skinny manager
on a (probable) cocaine
high is furnished only with an unmade bed. No nightstands, no table, no desk. The off-white paint on the walls is ancient and accented with brown stains that match the beige carpeting. The most notable feature in the bathroom is the dirt on the countertop.
All this for $39.99 plus tax.
And, as a bonus, according to the Bank of America app on my phone, I have only $78 left in my savings.

I’m here to waste time.
Kirsten suggested lunch, and I could use a place to stay overnight since the set doesn’t close until tomorrow morning. There has been no sign of the other world. For now, I won’t question why.

Entering the shower, I am pelted with water. The temperature is too hot, but I don’t have the energy to reach down and adjust the fixture. I can’t reduce the water flow either because the showerhead is broken. Giving up, I close my eyes and embrace what is an uncomfortable path to cleanliness.

Darkness takes over. I lean my forehead against the tile. I can’t remember if I pulled the shower curtain closed. I don’t care enough to check. The water tings off me, ricocheting into the bottom of the tub, and I imagine myself getting caught in an early summer thunderstorm somewhere in New York City, what looks like the Upper East Side, where Naomi used to live. A pleasant carelessness imbues me as the scene pops full of watercolor hues before transforming from imaginary episode to cherished memory…

Naomi and I walk out of a subway station and into the rain. We’re wearing clothes from the bottom of the drawer… When was
it…
I think we spent the day at Jones Beach. Yes, I have a crummy forest green
Eastpak
backpack on that I used in high school. When the first drops of rain hit us we look down at our hands and then at each other as if one of us should have an umbrella. We don’t. Naomi starts turning angry, but I just… I just smile at her and laugh a little and let the
rain fall
down on me. She begins to hurry away to avoid the storm, but I haven’t moved – and I don’t move – I keep smiling and I throw my arms in the air, comically opening my mouth to drink the rain. And finally… Finally, Naomi laughs. I pull her away from an overhang, ignoring the rain because I want to kiss her. By the time we slink apart we’re drenched. Something in my backpack is ruined, but that’s meaningless. What matters is the happiness we made for one another.

I open my eyes. The memory goes. I shut off the water and leave the shower. There is a puddle on the bathroom floor extending almost to the door, where both my dirty and clean clothes are propped up.
I forgot to pull the shower curtain closed after all. Before drying myself off, I flip the fresh clothes into the hallway. My foot kicks my dirty jeans, and the corner of the brochure the PA gave me caroms out. It slipped my mind. I stuff it in the back pocket of my fresh jeans and grab a towel.

It’s 11:14 AM. Time to meet Kirsten.

I jaywalk across the road to the terminals, of which
there are only a handful
, as American and Japanese cars and SUV’s and minivans drop off passengers. Luggage is yanked from trunks. Loved ones say goodbye. I think of my tear-filled farewells to Naomi at the airport, which I’ve mercifully condensed into a single, unified memory that bursts with impermanence and sadness.

I said goodbye to her at this airport once.

The past falls into the present and takes up residence in my mind. I stand on the curb, detached from the rest of the world, more in the way of the other travelers than anything else.

I bemoan my effort to get past the movie set. I could have tried harder. I could be planning a new assault on it now instead of meeting Kirsten. Am I purposely stalling? Subconsciously, perhaps I’m afraid to reach
the Door
because closing it could mean the end for me and Naomi in one way or another. At the same time, I have reservations about seeing Kirsten, as if it somehow equates to cheating. What will Naomi imagine if she hears I had lunch with another girl, or if she reads Kirsten’s comment on my
Facebook
status asking me to call her? I suddenly feel guilty for being here. I remember the picture of Naomi and the pilot. Forget it. I already decided
Geppetto
reconnected me with Kirsten for a reason. She’s important. I don’t know why, but she has to be.

I check my phone. She hasn’t texted me to say which terminal she’s at yet. My jeans are sliding off my waist, probably because I stopped eating. Tugging them back up, I feel the brochure from the PA in my back pocket. Thankfully, it’ll give me something to do while I wait.

On the front cover of the brochure, there is a map of Ohio. A star marks East Cleveland. The map is overlaid with text:

UNTITLED POST-APOCALYPSE

Shooting Schedule

July 28 5 AM – July 29 5 AM

Thank you for allowing us to use your neighborhood to build our version of dystopia!

Please use this brochure as a guide to the filming that’s going on in your area!

Inside the brochure, I find:

Background

Please
be quiet. Please do not talk to the production assistants. Please do not take photos. Please do not approach the set. Please do not ask questions. Please do not look at the actors. We are only shooting in your area for 24 hours. We will not inconvenience you. Please do not inconvenience us. This is strictly a closed set. This is a major studio motion picture. It will be released all across the world next summer. Unfortunately, we cannot give you any more details than that. Unfortunately, we do not accept unsolicited submissions. Unfortunately, we are not hiring. The world behind
the Door
is trying to re-shape you. It is trying to put you through hell. It does not care if you survive. It can kill you. Some day you will die either way. Naomi does not need to read this brochure. There is a girl named XXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXX. This movie set is not a part of your world. It is a part of the world behind
the Door
. Your mind defines this world. You would say it isn’t real. We would say it is. We tricked you. The world is coming back to get you. The End.

On the back of the brochure, there is a map of the entire United States, with stars like the one on the front cover, identifying various locations around the country – Los Angeles, St. Louis, Washington DC, New York City, Oklahoma City, Portland, Austin, Atlanta, and Detroit.
 

I read the brochure a second and a third time, trying to decipher the letters underneath the X’s, not wanting to believe what I think I’m seeing… But I can’t lie to myself – the name that has been obscured is Kirsten’s real name.