Post by klyeface on Mar 19, 2015 10:36:34 GMT
It's cold. A chill wind tugs at my coat, and I wrap myself a little tighter. The perks of living in Halifax, I guess. Tonight will be rough, I tell myself, as my stomach rumbles in agreement. It'll be dark soon. Maybe an hour or so. I'd best find something to eat. Perhaps a warm place to sit. Maybe some coffee. I rub my hands together briskly. The woolen fingerless gloves offer minimal warmth - but it's better than nothing. I take to the streets, cut through a park. It's getting close to winter, and the streets are quiet. There's no hurry to get wherever I'm going. Tonight I have no place to be.
By the time I find a café, the dusk-laden sky begins to cloud over. People eye me suspiciously as I enter. I'm aware of how I look. How I smell. I haven't shaved in who knows how long. It's better this way; unrecognisable. Regardless, I order a black coffee, and find a cosy corner to wait. I sit next to a window, and ignore my reflection. Watch as the first few raindrops trickle down the glass in playful rivulets. A waitress approaches me and offers my order. She seems shy, nervous perhaps. Or afraid. Smiling, I mutter a 'thank you' as I reach out, noticing how filthy my fingernails are. She glances behind, to someone in the back, and clears her throat. I notice my order is to go. I take the hint, and stand up. Make my way to the exit. I hear the words 'bum' and 'find a damn shelter' muttered by faceless patrons. They have no idea. I could have been somebody. Was somebody. For a moment I think back to my childhood as I make my way towards the door, lost in thought. Wading through memories. Distracted. And that's when some guy in a suit bumps into me. Slips some cash into my hand where my coffee was, and offers an apology as his five dollar bill drinks from my coffee-soaked palm. I pocket the money anyway, stained or not. He pats me on the shoulder and winks before stepping past me. I sigh, and step outside. Feel the familiar patter of rain on my shoulders. I pull my hood up over my head, and gaze up and down the street; try to seek respite from the weather. It's not until I'm soaked that I find a store-front with an awning big enough to stand under without too much exposure. It's a TV store; the windows lined with the latest and greatest, all displaying the same channel in high definition. Neon stars penned with 'cheap' line the edges of the screens. The word amuses me.
"Welcome to 'Where Are They Now?', I'm your host..."
I stare at the largest screen in interest. A welcome diversion to the biting breeze.
"Tonight we go way back to the 80's. 1986 to be exact. To a time of bad hair, shoulder pads, and of course, that lovable kid from those pizza commercials; young Dallas Kane."
My heart skips as I see an image of my six year old self displayed across the entire showroom. I continue to watch the show with growing enthusiasm.
"Some of you may remember young Dallas from his Presto Pizza commercials that took the US by storm. Others may know him from the low-rating teen-drama 'Face the Facts'. From there, Dallas managed to fade from the spotlight altogether after making only a handful of B-grade films. Join us tonight as we find out Dallas Kane's fate, and ask the question, 'Where is he now?'"
Where indeed? I can't help but smirk, and after a theme song and snippets of various celebrities, the host continues.
"...was born in 1980 to Barbados beauty Tiana Ward and New York businessman Spencer Kane. Dallas began his life in Covina, Los Angeles..."
I never did get to know my father. He left a year after I was born. Went back to New York to further his career or some crap. We never heard from him again.
"...his unusual combination of striking blue eyes and milky-dark skin made him an instant hit with viewers. After his first role as the charming Presto Pizza kid aired..."
It was 1986. Summer. My Mom noticed an audition in the want ads of the local paper. Some pizza company was launching a new delivery service. She worked at a diner to support me, while the neighbours took care of me. Sometimes I'd fall asleep in a guest bed, and wake up in my own. I don't remember much of the audition itself. All they required of me was to say "Hey Presto!" while speaking into a phone. I'd started losing my baby teeth by that stage, so it came out as 'Hey Preth-to." The executives loved it. They hired me on the spot.
"... and there was a time when you couldn't turn on your television without Dallas Kane yelling "Hey Presto!" down the phone line..."
"Presto... And the pizza appears." Catchy slogan. A half hour, or your pizza is free. Shame they went bankrupt. I'd been the Presto Pizza kid for two whole years before they decided to move on with someone else. It was during that time I was able to focus on school. Those commercials earned us enough money for my Mom to work less and take up study herself, learning medicine at night school.
"Dallas Kane eventually re-emerged on 'Face the Facts' as the clean-cut Travis Miles. The show, marketed towards families with young adults, only lasted one season. Sources at the time attribute that role as the beginning of Dallas' slow descent into his party-boy lifestyle."
It was early '95. I did okay in school. Not good, not bad. Kids were relentless in their teasing, but I became numb to it over time. I found it easier to fit in when I had the occasional drink. Maybe a smoke here and there. I won't lie, it even helped me get laid more than once. From there it was easy to push the limits.
I sigh, and shift my weight. Lean against the store window a little. The host delves deeper into my personal life as I continue watching.
"...to her death when Dallas was just 20 years old."
Advanced pancreatic cancer. Spring, 2001. I poured as much of my savings into her treatment as I could. I borrowed from friends. Hell, I borrowed from enemies. My Mom was a good person. She didn't deserve that. No one does. The doctors did their best, but it was too late. By the end of the year she was gone, and I'd sold almost everything to pay back what I could to those I'd borrowed from. I remember celebrating my 21st birthday alone in my room.
"... only this time fans caught him on the silver screen, starring in several B-grade titles such as 'My Dad is a Manatee', 'Cyclone Baby', and 'Planet Snatchers'. The now 24 year old appeared gaunt and fatigued, often arriving on set late, or not at all..."
I needed money. I admit it was a long shot. Problem is, there aren't many roles for guys like me. And any that were available got snapped up pretty quick, or were just tired stereotypes and racist tropes. The fans I had wouldn't know me now. I was no longer a gap-toothed kid flogging pizzas on TV. See, fame can be as addictive as drugs and alcohol, only fame is a two-way street and I'd reached a dead end. The friends I had only encouraged my addictive lifestyle. I'd find solace in the corner of a dim-lit bar, or gambling in some back-alley casino. Don't get me wrong, I had the odd job scrubbing pots, or selling newspapers. Whatever to get by. They never lasted though, and it wasn't long before I started begging. Humiliating enough as it was - asking strangers for help - I did my best to hide my identity.
"...disappeared from the spotlight altogether almost 7 years ago. Sources say he may moved to Canada..."
I'd decided I needed a change of scenery, so I'd hitched my way north, across the border. I guess a few of the drivers recognised me. Or I'd had a few drinks and bragged about my 'fame'. I've tried to leave the substances behind, and so far I've been doing okay. I just take it day by day. Prioritise. Stay strong. As the credits roll, my attention turns to my rumbling stomach and I take a moment to collect my thoughts before moving on. By this time I'm deep in thought. Remembering my mother, and the kind figure she was. Her beautiful accent, and the handful of French she'd taught me. She once told me I had my Fathers eyes. I never did know how to take that.
Walking away from the store, I let the rain pour over me. I barely notice the figure of a man as he trails me, his umbrella held overhead. We both arrive at the same corner, and wait to cross. I feel his eyes in the back of my head, and resist the urge to turn around until I hear my name whispered, ever so slightly. Or did I? I glance in his direction and make eye contact. He grins at me and I recognise him as the coffee-murdering suit that I'd met earlier in the evening. The recognition is mutual and I hear him apologise once more. Even offer me his umbrella. I refuse, but he insists. To say he's charming would be apt, and I wonder what he's doing out on such a dismal night. He smiles at this as a look of recognition washes over his deep green eyes. I know the look, seen it plenty of times before. He asks if I'm the kid from the pizza commercials. Hesitating for a moment, I admit that I am. There's something about him that beckons my honesty, and the more he talks, the more I'm intrigued by him. His voice is soothing, almost intoxicating. He mentions that he's a big fan of mine and we decide to walk together for a bit. Secretly, I delight in the company. It's been a while since I've not been alone. It's the void that remains when my stomach is full, and the shelter is warm. We meander down streets and alleyways, our wet footsteps echoing off the walls as the rain eases. He produces a hip-flask, but after a flirtatious impulse, I decline. To ease the anxiety, I attempt small talk. Ask him what he does for a living. He laughs, and says he's a collector, of sorts. I reply that I've never met a 'sorts collector' before. He appreciates the joke, possibly just to humour me. Checking his watch, he mentions that he has places to be, and asks if I could perhaps have an autograph. I shrug a 'why not', and he produces a fancy pen and some folded paper from his inside pocket. 'Anywhere down the bottom is fine', he breathes with a widening grin. I scribble my name as best I can before he grabs the paper and leaves hastily. Continuing to hold his umbrella, I wonder if I'll see him again.
I didn't even get his name.
Epilogue
Hug.
It's dark by the time I wake up. Past midnight, I guess. My head is throbbing, and I find myself lying in the foetal position. I'm in an alleyway. A steady drip of water echoes inside my head, forcing me to sit up. I taste blood. My muscles ache to move, but I manage. Was I drugged? The last few hours are a blur to me. I remember coffee. And that TV store. It hurts to think. I don't even know how long I've been here. It's not the first time I've been in this situation, either. Think, Dallas. Let's get you out of here.
Hug?
I feel heavier, as if somehow I'm burdened with something unknown. Wincing, I make it to my knees before my head starts spinning and I need to vomit. Flashes of nightmares and pain erupt in my mind. Death and agony. I take a deep breath and try to clear my thoughts. Maybe a hospital is near by, wherever here is. The alley is deserted. Lined with boarded up windows and trash cans. Clearly it's a scene I blend in with.
Hug.
Rain. I remember the rain. That explains the umbrella at my feet, I guess. Looking up, the clouds have since departed, and a crescent moon grins in the ebon sky. I manage to crawl to a nearby puddle and glance at my reflection. I look like crap. Worse. Crap is me on a good day; I look like hell. I wash my face, and rinse my mouth out. Struggle to my feet with the help of the umbrella. Catching my breath, I lean against a wall, and consider checking my pockets for answers.
Hug...
I find a five dollar bill in my coat pocket. It's wet and smells like coffee. Confused, I keep searching. I reach my inside pocket last and feel something. There's a business card in there. Fancy. It's bone white, and penned across it in red ink are the words 'Thanks again. I'll see you soon.' Puzzled, I stare at the words. Did I... Did I hook up?
Hug!
I flip the card over. No name. No watermark, or business logo. Just more words in the same handwriting. 'Keep the sloth', it says. Sloth? Tonight just keeps getting weirder. I wrack my brain, despite the discomfort, and try to remember if 'sloth' is a drug. Street lingo is always changing these days. Maybe it's some new designer drug I'm unfamiliar with. Some kind of downer, I assume, as I glance at my feet. A ball of fur sits on the wet ground, tugging slowly on my pants with long, curved claws. I shake it off my leg reflexively, stumbling backwards, and prod it with my umbrella once I regain balance. It gradually turns its head upwards, until its large eyes meet mine. We stay there for a moment. Me and the furball. Locked in eye contact. Slowly it raises its long, gangly arms, and once again I hear that word enter my mind.
Hug.
Dallas Kane is a former childhood TV star. After numerous hardships and addictions during his life, he winds up homeless and alone. Dallas became a vagabond, hitch-hiking north into Canada with tourists and truck drivers, to escape all he knows. Every once in a while, a keen-eyed fan might recognise him and snap a discrete picture or have a chat. He's reserved and guarded at first, but can warm to people in time. Occasionally he will savour a drink on a rough day, or even a cheap thrill to throw caution to the wind. After his Fating he is joined by a sloth familiar (who Dallas carries on his back), aptly named Hug.
