The Family Fang - Kevin Wilson [37]
“Look real close,” Annie said. Behind Donald Ray’s wife, sitting on the floor and staring dully at the carpet, was Annie. “That’s you,” Buster said. “Watch now,” Annie said. “This is my big moment.” The Fangs watched their daughter on the big screen, her face empty of expression, seemingly unaware of the conversation going on beside her. It was, the Fangs would later admit, a fairly compelling performance. Then, suddenly, so fast that you would miss it if you weren’t looking, Annie looked toward the camera and smiled. The Fangs could not believe it had happened, the moment so jarring and unsettling that it took them a few seconds to realize what they had just seen. Annie had smiled at the camera. Her teeth bared. Fanged.
“Annie?” Mr. and Mrs. Fang said at once. In the seat next to them, Annie was smiling, beaming, the scene ended, her character not to return for the rest of the movie. She was, the Fangs now understood, a star.
Chapter Five
Annie needed to get out of town. Three days after her disastrous interview, the index and middle fingers on her right hand were still bruised and aching. Annie had used half a roll of electrical tape to secure the fingers together, fashioning a splint out of a popsicle stick snapped in half. Holding up her damaged hand, she looked at herself in the mirror. The black tape on her fingers made her right hand look like a gun and she aimed and fired at her reflection. If it got worse, the tips of her fingers turning black, she’d simply add more tape. She would cover her entire body in tape, like a cocoon, and when things had calmed down, she would emerge, something new and capable and better than what had preceded it.
The phone rang. She let it ring; she already had a machine full of messages from the Esquire writer, wanting to come over and “discuss the article,” which sounded to Annie like “have more sex so I can write about it.” The answering machine would take care of it. She loved the answering machine as if it were a living thing, the way it protected her from the bad decisions she was entirely capable of making. The machine’s robotic voice informed the caller that no one was home and to please leave a message. “It’s Daniel,” the caller said. “Pick up the phone, Annie.” Annie shook her head. “C’mon now, pick up the phone,” Daniel continued. “I can see you, Annie. I know you’re home. I’m looking right at you. Pick up the phone.” Annie turned toward the window and saw no one, wondered if Daniel was already inside the house. Had he ever returned the key she had given him when they were dating? She was losing faith in her answering machine, which had yet to cut off the message. “Annie, I love you and I want to help you,” he continued. “Just pick up the phone.” She gave up, reached for the receiver with her uninjured hand, and answered the phone.
“Where are you?” she said. “How can you see me?”
“I can’t see you,” Daniel answered. “I just said that so you’d answer the phone.”
“I’m going to hang up now,” Annie said.
“This is important, Annie,” he said. “Remember the last time we talked?”
“Vaguely,” Annie responded.
“I said I thought you were going crazy.”
“Okay, yes, I remember that.”
“Maybe I was wrong.”
“I know you were wrong,” Annie said.
“But I think you’re going crazy right now,” he continued.
“I’ve got a flight to catch,” Annie said. She made a mental note to book a flight after she got off the phone with Daniel.
“Just let me come over and talk to you for five minutes.”
“I can’t, Daniel.”
“I care about you, Annie. I just want to talk for five minutes and then you never have to see me again.”
Annie took a long, thoughtful sip of whiskey and wondered if she had hit rock bottom yet.
“Okay,” Annie answered. “Come on over.”
“Thank you,” Daniel said. “I’m on your doorstep right