Heartthrob

Hollywood and Lights That Flash and Dim

Don stared at the monitor then pasted the response he had written twelve years before when his nephew taught him computer basics.

Hit send. 

The writer would be mad, he supposed, but NO, I don’t grant interviews, was his response.

Donald Carbolowski’s grandnephews could ask him about Blunsdale High Massacre and get more than a one-sentence answer.

Anyone else who wanted to know about the movie in person, Don would force a smile and say “that was a long time ago.”

He was fifteen, tall for his age, charismatic, they told him, though he was naive enough to not understand what that meant.

He did a toothpaste commercial prior to the movie, no one ever wanted to talk about that.

He had been excited to film Blunsdale High, excited to be in a movie, excited about the prospect of Don Carbeau being a movie star.

Don Carbolowski flicked off the floodlight in the parking lot of Buttercup Farms Petting Zoo and Orchard.

Gonna have to get some fresh gravel, it’s looking shoddy.

Don’s oldest nephew had cut around the bullshit, got to the heart of the matter.

“They say you were gonna be a star, Rooster-all Don’s grandnephews and drinking buddies called him Rooster- and then you started acting like a jerk.”

“I was a jerk. On purpose.”

“Everyone in Ingham County thinks you’re the nicest man in the world. Why were you a jerk back then?”

Emily Viccine.

He fell in love with his costar, Emily Viccine.

And she had a boyfriend. 

And wasn’t even slightly interested in Don.

And Donny Carbolowski believed all the magazines that said Don Carbeau was the hottest-looking young actor in Hollywood. He could have her if he wanted. It was just a matter of time. She’ll come around.

Demanded that Emily be involved in all his projects. Showed up late and pouted when she wasn’t.

Got fired from the pilot of Coast Guard Rescue Squad.

Faded from the magazines.

Faded into oblivion, as far as show business was concerned.

Emily did some TV, a few more films, left the business, went to Brown.

Don moved back to Michigan, married Barbara “Buttercup” Johnson, an Olympic equestrian.

It was Buttercup who suggested Don write Emily a letter of apology for stalking her, harassing her.

He did, sent it through her former agent’s office, didn’t hear back.

Then diabetes took Buttercup.

Don fed the house cats, scrawled a note to himself to go to Hocking Stone and Gravel in the morning.

Maybe he’d stop by the bank. In his safety deposit box, he had the two-page, handwritten condolence letter Emily wrote him on Barbara’s passing.

It was truly his only souvenir from Blunsdale High Massacre, and it was priceless.

Don sat back down at his computer to Livestream his grandnephew’s junior hockey tournament in Colorado Springs.

Had an email.

Checked it.

Fantastiverse Events.

A pop culture convention invitation.

He had been turning these things down for years. 

The money offered was hard to turn down. Upkeep on the farm was expensive, and the petting zoo certainly didn’t make Don rich.

How did they even get my email address? Did one of Grace’s kids give it out? No, they’re too busy with hockey and being kids. 

Don had a response ready to go. He went into his files, copied the document.

The invitation was pixel animated.

They were going to have more Doctor Whos than any convention in history.

Don had never seen one episode.

George Takei was going to be there.

Don liked George.

Still wasn’t going to be a guest.

And just below George:

Thrilled to announce, her first convention appearance in 22 years, Emily…

With a trembling hand, Don grabbed the mouse and scrolled down.

Van de Hagen, Vector from Lightning Rangers!!!

Don’s pulse throbbed back down to normal.

He stood, walked to the kitchen, grabbed two beer bottles by the neck, and walked back into his den.

He veered to his right, kissed the picture of Buttercup, said “Sorry, honey, I’m a jerk,”  then sat down at his computer to watch a junior hockey game.

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Photo Courtesy of Getty Images