War

WAR

The ocean had a summer sun landing on it in the distance that pinched up a watery orange horizon. Nick stood at the edge of the waves, watching little white froths boil into the sand as the water retreated. There was nothing like a beach breeze to close your eyes to and a slight smile crossed over Nick's face as he heard the sea gulls fly and almost land. But then his eyes opened and his peripheral vison caught a tall slim figure, dressed down in a perfect power grey suit and solid blue tie, hair thick, slick and unmoving against the breeze.

"Hello Tom."

"Well, hello Nick."

Nick closed his eyes again and shrugged. "So what's wrong with Sylvia?" he said. He thought, I hate this fucker.

****

The small bar, decorated with outdated football schedules and random stuffed fish, had a white trash neon glow in the late afternoon; it was quiet and unfilled, its middle-aged bartender a little plump and a whole lot sassy. Her name was Carol and her eyes drifted up suspiciously as she put the pitcher nearer to Nick than Tom. "On your usual bill honey," she said. "Or should I give it to Mr. Fancy here?"

Tom looked away, noticeably trying to hide his arrogant disdain. "It's got charm, Nick. A good place for a movie scene."

Nick smirked. He was always fascinated how agents were writing movie scenes. They were the last people nature should have given language abilities. "What's wrong with Sylvia?" Nick repeated. He didn't think it'd be necessary to bluntly tell Tom to fuck off. But he would soon if the bastard didn't get to the point.

"She's 35," Tom said.

"Yes. That does sound tragic."

"You didn't let me finish. She's 35 but looks 25 and the offers are still rolling in for parts in their late 20's. Romantic comedies. Dramas. Anything."

"Wonderful."

Tom nodded woefully. He took a sip. "I know you hate it but she loves it. Or she used to. She says she's done, Nick. Quit. She's quit the business. Since her mother died last year, she's been inconsolable and all over the place. And she left Henry a few months ago."

"Maybe she's just free now."

"Nick, I am not gonna sit here and turn on the bullshit agent charm. Which we both know you'd hate."

"Funny Tom, but this sounds like bullshit agent charm to me. Agents are always pretending they're not what surrounds them. They're not the fancy parties and that ridiculous suit and any other bullshit. But that's all you are, so fucking tell me what you want from me."

Tom nipped at his cheap beer. At least it was cold. "Nothing except to go down there to her favorite place in the world and check on her. She's thrown out her phone, none of her entourage is with her and even Ray her bodyguard has been cut off. I want you to go down there, all expenses paid." He reached in his wallet and took out a black, heavy credit card with Nick's name on it. "I want you to go down there and just see how she is."

"No you don't. You want me to talk her back."

"Nick - you'd be the last person to do that. Come on! You know that. But you're the only person real to her anymore, I think."

"No," Nick said, and for a second all the past pain made the no seem definitive. But Tom didn't get to be the agent he was by not reading people and closing. Nick's no came from another place than his green eyes were, and Tom could see only Sylvia in them.