Free From The Dead by John Herrick

years in front of the camera said
nothing?
    “Just taking a few shots,” Jesse replied.
    Jesse estimated the young guy to be in his mid
twenties. His sandy-brown hair tousled by the light breeze, the guy
looked like someone who had broken many girls’ hearts in between
tennis matches. He finished a cigarette, then made his way to
Jesse’s paradise to share in the vast view. Dressed in high-end,
brand-name gear and a two-hundred-dollar watch, Jesse figured the
guy lived in Malibu. He didn’t see a parked car nearby, so the
visitor must have strolled from a few minutes down shore.
    “You live around here?” the guy asked, a hint of an
accent in his voice—British or Australian. The females must croon
over him, Jesse figured.
    “Sherman Oaks.”
    The guy nodded. “I live around the corner. Tell you
what, I’m addicted to sushi.” With his thumb, the guy gestured
south. “Especially the stuff they have at the hole-in-the-wall down
the road. Ever been there?”
    “No.”
    “It’s a little dive on stilts—a bar-and-grill type
with a sushi counter. Gotta make my appearance there every couple
of days to feed my passion. If I hadn’t just come from there, I’d
insist on leading you over to it,” the guy joked.
    Jesse wanted his solitude back.
    The intruder extended his hand. “I’m Adam.”
    “Jesse.”
    “So if you’re not a photographer, what are you?”
    Your first guess is correct, buddy. “An
actor.”
    Adam’s eyebrows rose. “Really?” He stepped back and
gave Jesse a once-over glance. “Makes sense though; you’ve got the
build for it. Have you been in anything recent?” His tone wasn’t
judgmental like many with whom Jesse crossed paths in L.A. This guy
didn’t come across as threatened by a competitor; rather, he seemed
curious, easy to talk to. By nature, however, Jesse remained
guarded.
    Jesse wasn’t in the mood to fend off a stranger, so
he decided to let the guy feel welcome for a few minutes. Jesse
offered a polite smile. “An unemployed actor,” he clarified.
“Thanks for the compliment. Meanwhile, I work a part-time job but
have today off. What do you do for a living?”
    Jesse watched as Adam fought to hide a smug grin and
shrugged. “I guess I take it day by day, enjoy life. Smell the
sushi.”
    “Don’t you work?”
    “I’d be awful at it. I’m not really a nine-to-five
kind of person. I dabble in production with some friends, tried to
put together a couple of reality-TV shows. They never took off,
though.”
    “Doesn’t that make it hard to pay the bills?”
    Adam withdrew into an air of genuine humility, as if
he seldom shared the next piece of information with strangers.
“Well, not if you’re Mick Lewis’s son.”
    Unbelievable. Known for his successful summer
blockbusters, Mick Lewis directed action films with major budgets.
In the late 1980s, Mick married Regan Cooper, an Australian actress
who starred in his first film. They divorced ten years later.
    “Mick Lewis?” Jesse chuckled, then pivoted in Adam’s
direction. More hospitable now, Jesse was eager to hear details
about the good life. “Yeah, I guess I wouldn’t worry about a job
either. Lucky you. Is Regan Cooper your mom?”
    Adam answered with a nod, which also explained his
accent. Once again, he scanned Jesse. “No films in the pipeline,
you said?”
    Jesse shook his head.
    Adam studied a seagull that stomped nearby. Before he
caught himself, he rubbed his finger along his own bicep, which
seemed an absentminded habit. Jesse thought he saw Adam take
another quick glance from the corner of his eye. It was obvious
Adam weighed his words.
    “Listen,” Adam said, “my dad’s got films lined up.
He’s given a career start to some of my buddies. I could probably
talk him into arranging a bit part for you—just a few lines,
shouting at an enemy invader or something.”
    Jesse didn’t expect this, and he never would have
asked a stranger for such a thing. He’d heard Mick was a