“Yeah. I was heavier, too.”
“You know what made me look you up in college? Your first cartoon. Or one of the first. Custodial Knifefight.”
I hide my face in my hands.
“No. It was awesome. I saw your name in the credits, and it was so weird—it was like I had forgotten about Faulkner, in a way. I never forgot about you, of course. But seeing your name in print? It actually knocked the wind out of me. Like, Holy shit. Sharon is out there in the world.”
“That sounds pretty terrible, knocking the wind out of you.”
“Not at all. It was a glad sort of unsettling, you know? I always wondered about you. Wondered where you’d ended up.”
Mel and the guys turn toward a building decorated in the same fashion as Weirdo Video—glass mosaics, neon marquee. Above the door in a purple glow: A LIGHT IN THE ATTIC. They cluster by a rock garden to finish their smokes. “Don’t steal her, shitsacks,” Teddy says to them, opening the door for me.
“Thanks, Ted.” I poke him.
He cracks a lopsided smile and pushes his glasses up on his nose. “You’re very welcome. You will have to excuse the associates, there. They are starstruck by the two of you. It’s sort of cute, really.”
“We’re obliged.”
A bartender waves to Teddy; Teddy confers with him and brings back a pilsner and a club soda. “I could handle a beer,” I tell him.
“I’m sorry. I figured you probably couldn’t drink.”
“Oh, can she, though.” Mel approaches from behind, delivering a soft noogie to my skull. “We call this one Rummy.”
We sit at a table built atop an old Galaga console. Tatum asks how we started working together. “Art class, in college,” I tell him.
“I just wanted to bang her,” Mel says. I poke her, irritated. She guffaws. “Look at that. Look at how much that scares Sharon. It’s hilarious.”
“Is the Lite-Brite thing in the movie true?” Ryan asks.
Mel grabs a napkin, sketches a miniature Lite-Brite, requisite bulbs reading Fuck You Ryan, slides it across the table to him. This pleases him to no end; he demands she sign it, and she does. He sandwiches the napkin in between the pages of a book he’s carrying.
Teddy’s right. It’s adorable, these two hanging on Mel’s every word. And she’s kind to them, is enjoying them. I keep it to one stern look when she goes in on a pitcher. Mel shape-shifter, Mel tightrope cruiser. I’m not sure how I feel about Teddy Caudill right now, but I’m fairly sure I don’t want to be embarrassed in front of him.
We down first and second beers, dawdle on thirds and the greasy food we’ve ordered. Mel and the boys huddle to draw on napkins. Teddy and I are segregated at our own end of the table.
He’s still giving me that curious look. “So,” he says.
“So.”
“I have to ask. Did you just see Weirdo Video driving around and decide to stop in?”
I shrug, feeling pretty loose. “No,” I admit. “We came specifically for Weirdo Video. We wanted to look you up. Or I did.”
He raises an eyebrow, puts a hand to his chest. “That’s nice. I’m flattered.”
This makes me dip my head. Nice? The fuck we are. There was a point in my life when I would have lied about that to myself in the hopes of creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. Teddy probably is a genuinely nice person. He has overcome adversity and has lived out his life doing something he loves in a place he has never very much wanted to leave. And here I come, this long-lost vestige of a childhood he has every right to recall as a perfect hell. But he welcomes me. Without reservation. He’s kind and convivial and charming, when he doesn’t have to be. Would I have as much grace, were the roles reversed? Probably not. And what did we come for?
We came to mine him for information. And when we get what we want, we’ll go back to Faulkner. And when we get what we want from there, we’ll leave Faulkner, too.
“We came to Kentucky to work on a new project,” I say.
“Right on,” he says. “I loved Nashville Combat. Obviously.” He nods to Mel and his voice lowers. “It’s about Mel, right? That movie is basically her.”
“Basically.”
He releases his breath in a long, slow whistle. “That’s one way to grow up. And pretty fast, I would imagine.”
I look over at Mel, sketching something else, Tatum and Ryan hovering over her shoulders. “You know, in this weird, backward way, she’s maybe the most adult person I know.”
He gives me that partial smile. “So what’s the new project?’