Free Ginny Blue's Boyfriends by Nancy Kelly Page A

Pretty much a death. Bad enough that I halfway wanted to drown. I’m just too much into self-preservation to give up without a fight, though cutting off one’s arm to get free is a particularly tough choice. Moray eels are right near the top of my “must avoid” list. I’ve seen them on the Discovery Channel. They live in holes in undersea rock formations and just lie in wait until you get too close. Then suddenly they dart out, grab an unsuspecting limb, retract into their cave-like holes and drag you back as far as they can get you. This horrific fate befell Jacqueline Bisset in the film The Deep . Luckily she was saved by a partner, but who counts on that? Mostly you’re trapped and you run out of air and suffocate. That’s how it felt with Mr. Famous Actor: John Langdon. (I’m sure I don’t have to add that I’ve never been scuba diving and I don’t intend to start.)
    As these thoughts crossed my brain I regaled the production group with my feelings about the Moray eel, starting up a lively conversation about all of our particular fears. Tom, my favorite production coordinator, a man who loved rumors, hard liquor, and a good dirty story, said he suffered severe vertigo and could scarcely walk up a flight of stairs unless there were walls on either side. Sean literally scratched his head—not exactly inspiring me with confidence about his set of smarts, if you know what I mean—and mumbled, “Ummm ... I guess it’s those dolls, y’know? The kind that’re serious and they wink and blink when you pick them up or move them. I always think they’re gonna laugh.”
    “I saw that episode of the Twilight Zone, too,” I said.
    “Twilight Zone?” he repeated blankly.
    “With Telly Savales. Where his wife trips over the doll and falls down the stairs and he picks up the doll and it opens its eyes and says something like, ‘I’m Talking Tina and you’d better be nice to me.’ ”
    Sean stared at me, eyes wide. “Fuckin’ A,” he breathed.
    “You’ve never seen that episode.”
    He slowly shook his head from side to side, then headed out the door to go pick up lunch. Tom said, “Way to give the kid nightmares.”
    “You’ve seen that episode.” It was a directive, not a question.
    He nodded. “But Talking Tina’s got nothing on a stepladder.”
    I decided not to point out that my Moray eel tale was merely a parable for how I felt about actors. It seemed kind of an unpopular phobia to have, especially in LA, where every third person has secret aspirations in that direction.
    Half an hour later Sean brought in lunch. We’d ordered from In-N-Out Burger, a California franchise from the fifties that’s flat-out terrific. I’d ordered a protein burger—a hamburger patty in a lettuce cup, no bun—my nod to salad-crazed Californians. It was so good I wanted to lick the little paper wrapper it arrived in but I managed to keep myself reined in.
    Sean said, “I could eat three more of these.”
    I glanced over. He’d had a double-double—two patties of meat. He was so fit and hard-looking that I figured he probably could handle the mucho-thousand extra calories. Probably would just work it off. I said, “I’d like to take a half-dozen of these to the beach with a six-pack of Bud and a disc player with good 80’s music.”
    Sean’s lips parted as he stared at me. I outwardly smiled, but inside I was a little annoyed at myself for popping that out. Sometimes I know just the right thing to say. It’s a gift, this ability to read people without them realizing I’m reading them, then giving them what they want. It’s a sort of odd flirting technique that makes me want to kick myself. I mean, why? Why do I do it? It’s like I think life’s a popularity contest and I can’t compete in the 5% bracket of perfect looks, brains, and body, so I reach for this strange attribute and toss it out.
    I had hooked Sean in one heartbeat. He wheeled his office chair closer to mine, looked at my protein burger