Maybe the Moon

Renee. It’s him.” I got up and brushed off the seat of my T-shirt, making signs of leaving. Callum had begun to look restless, and I’d seen quite enough of humanity’s march for one day. I was ready to go home and veg out completely, sit under the sprinkler, maybe, with nothing but a Walkman on. Renee was just getting warmed up, of course.
    “You were so great as Jeremy,” she told him. “I wanted to be you so bad.”
    “Thanks.”
    “I really, truly, mean it.”
    “I can tell,” said Callum. “Thanks.”
    Renee bounced a little in her excitement, never taking her eyes off the poor kid.
    “OK,” I said. “Time to move on.”
    “Oh. OK.” Renee got all sheepish in front of Callum. “I hope I wasn’t…”
    “You were very nice,” said Callum. “I like the movie too.”
    Renee shot me an excited glance. “You know what would be neat?”
    I gave her a wary look on Callum’s behalf. “What?”
    “If I could get a picture of you two.”
    I reminded her nicely that no one here had a camera.
    “Back there they do.” She pointed down the chaste postmodern midway to an exhibit sponsored by Fuji Film, a sort of high-tech playroom for grownups. “They take your picture in front of any backdrop you want.”
    Callum didn’t hesitate. “You could be in it too, then.”
    “Oh, could I?”
    “Why not?”
    “Oh, gah, that’s so great.”
    “Don’t you have to be somewhere?” I asked Callum.
    “Not for a while.” He gave me an earnest, just-between-us-grownups look. “I really don’t mind. I’d like a souvenir myself.”
    “There’s no line,” Renee said.
    “Well…whatever.”
    It had dawned on me finally that we’d each get a picture, and that mine would come in very handy indeed. I was already imagining the way I would tease Jeff with it.

    We ended up choosing a rear projection of plain blue sky and clouds. Renee argued pitiably for the Mr. Woods backdrop, but Callum seemed a little uncomfortable about it, so I stood firm with her. Callum sat in a chair, while I posed in his lap, and Renee stood behind, one hand resting delicately on Callum’s shoulder. We attracted a small but fascinated crowd with this curiously Victorian tableau.
    “You’re a good sport,” I told Callum as he set me down again.
    “Hey.”
    “Where’s your appointment?”
    “Over there,” he answered, gesturing with his eyes. “The other side.” He meant the real side—the working side—of Icon Studios, the place where we’d once made a movie together, so many years ago.
    I nodded knowingly and left it at that, not wanting to come off as nosy.
    Callum insisted on paying for the photos, and told Renee, who was already in seventh heaven, to order a poster-sized one for herself. The shot turned out much better than I’d expected. Renee looked placidly lovely, her hair a sort of three-strip yellow against the phony blue sky. I had cheekbones for once, and my eyes, or so Renee assured me, were at their sultry best. Callum looked far more like the child I had once known than he did in real life. Something sweetly uncomplicated and true had surfaced in his eyes in time to meet the camera halfway. It was downright eerie.
    “Do people recognize you?” I asked.
    “No,” he said. “Not usually. Almost never.”
    “Me either.”
    He laughed. “We’re even, then.”
    Sensing his restlessness, I told him how glad I was we’d bumped into each other, and to call me whenever he felt like it. He thanked me nicely but didn’t commit himself, which came as no surprise, since we had never been all that close. Renee thanked him profusely for posing with us and, pushing the limits even further, gave him an awkward peck on the cheek.
    We left him roughly where he had found me, then headed up the giant escalator toward the parking lot.

    When we got home, I called Jeff first thing. After six rings and the usual annoying musical interlude from k.d. lang, I was informed that the gay Saroyan was at a motel in Palm Springs and would not be back until Monday morning. I felt hideously let down, so I left him a cruelly cryptic message to call me anytime for information regarding “the latest Jeremy sighting.” I wasn’t about to waste thisone on a tape, and I knew from experience that Jeff would appreciate the story more if I wrapped it festively in a little intrigue.
    I haven’t heard a peep out of him all evening. This is puzzling, frankly, since he’s usually good about checking his machine, no matter where he