Perfect Image of Life Indeed

Short Fiction

Photo by Kate Townsend on Unsplash

Roy’s Burgers was a tax place, Gator Mini Golf was a gas station.

Danny Tolbert wanted to see his aunt at the Pinnacle Medical Center and get back on the plane.

The sign for Silver’s Guitars and Amps was on.

He’d go in, buy ‘em out of ten gauge strings he had plenty of back in LA, just because Freddy Silver had always been nice to him, and leave. 

A door opened at a business Danny didn’t recognize. He did recognize the person walking out.

Tommy Elblein.

Danny pulled the drawstring on his hoodie tighter.

Tommy looked right at him.

Danny was 5’6”, 280. Hard to miss. 

Tommy shifted the bag he was holding from his right arm to his left.

The polished glass look of recognition shone in Tommy’s eyes. 

Danny knew the look. He routinely made IMDb lists of “Friendliest Celebrities.”

He wasn’t feeling friendly. Of all the cruel kids in Westcairn, Tommy Elblein had been the star.

Danny wasn’t feeling vindictive, just uncomfortable. He was owed an apology he probably wasn’t going to receive. 

He knew through Sarah Vilicki that Tommy was a banquet server. In his head, Danny added the word “still.” Still a banquet server. 

“Hi Danny.”

Danny swore he heard an apology in Tommy’s voice, cradled in those two words. He had done enough commercial voice work to pick up on that. 

Remorse.

“Hi Tom,” Danny said , as though they were next door neighbors taking out the trash at the same time. The last time other than graduation Danny saw Tommy was when he was making out with Yvette Nubauer in the front row of the gym while Danny was playing Falstaff in The Merry Wives of Windsor.

Yvette Nubauer was the only Westcairn graduate who came close to Danny’s fame. 

As Evie Newton, she had been in three Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issues.

She had left Tommy Elblein behind, married an NBA star, and they had triplets, Pisces, Aries, and…Danny couldn’t remember.

Tommy still looked like he was etched in stone, still had emerald eyes a senior picture could never have done justice to.

“I owe you,” Tommy said, extending his hand to shake, “like a hundred drinks.”

“Seventy two is my limit,” Danny said. “But I only drink Long Islands.”

Tommy laughed. It wasn’t the heartiest laugh, but it was genuine.

“The Phoenix doesn’t have bands tonight, let me buy you at least one Long Island.”

“Why?” Danny asked. There was a bite to it. More than he might have intended.

I should have just said no thanks, see ya.

“Because I’m sorry I was cruel.”

It took a swallow for Danny Tolbert to realize his mouth had gone completely dry.

Danny had a parlor trick he had learned as a not very mobile kid, sitting on the sofa when he was so young his legs didn’t dangle over the edge. He could crack his toeknuckles.

He did it now. His boots muffled the sound, but it was satisfying.

Danny pondered the full acknowledgement of Tommy’s behavior, by Tommy. 

He wouldn’t allow himself to believe it was just because he was famous.

“Thanks for saying that, Tommy. It means a ton to me.”

“I was such a dick. So…so full of myself. Let’s go get a drink. I’m buying.”

‘No thanks,” Danny said, almost a whisper.

“Please? Just one?”

Danny cracked his toeknuckles twice , tried a third time, they wouldn’t crack.

“If I have a drink with you, Tommy, I’m gonna get emotional and tell you that you were so fucking mean you had me trying to pick the lock on my dad’s rifle case, and I don’t wanna do that.”

Tommy’s chiseled stone features suddenly looked like stewed tomatoes gone bleachy.

“You were so mad you would have shot me?”

Danny reached and patted Tommy gently in on the side, and stepped forward, toward Silver’s.

“No, Tom, not you. I wouldn’t have shot you.”

***