In Laymon's Terms

Strangely enough, the drive from our place in west Los Angeles to GAK’s place in Northridge went smoothly. The traffic was light and we encountered none of the usual nut cases. Perhaps they were still in bed, sleeping off last night’s drunken rampages. Nor did we get lost, thanks to good directions from GAK, Kelly’s reading of them, and her clever reminders of the difference between right and left: “No, go that way, Dad.”

Having left the house early enough to reach GAK’s place by our scheduled meeting time of ten o’clock, we arrived there at nine-thirty. This happens to me all the time. In my attempts to arrive “on time” even if I should get lost or encounter heavy traffic, I often arrive at my destinations half an hour early.

As we drove by GAK’s place, we saw no sign of him. Of course not. He lives there. Why would he go outside and stand in the sun half an hour early?

Figuring we had a long wait ahead of us, I parked at the curb near the front of GAK’s apartment complex, turned off the engine and turned on the radio.

Over the course of my career, when attempting to rendezvous with various agents, publishers, and writers, I’ve found that one thing or another almost always goes wrong. In several instances, for example, my meetee and I end up waiting simultaneously for each other in slightly different locations. I fret, wondering where he is while thirty feet away, he’s wondering where I am.

Having learned from decades of mistakes, I sat in our car for about ten minutes before saying to Kelly, “Hey, you wanta jump out and make sure GAK isn’t out there someplace?” Being compliant and spry, she hopped out for a look. And quickly reported back, “I don’t know for sure what GAK looks like, but there’s this guy up there.”

The guy was GAK all right, who’d come out to wait for us almost half an hour early! He’d already been waiting a while, but not long.

This was turning out to be a lucky day!

LOST!

With GAK in the passenger seat and Kelly in back, we embarked for the shooting location in Oxnard. The freeway drive, which I’d been dreading, went by without the slightest hitch. In fact, it turned out to be fun. I enjoyed talking with GAK so much that I hardly even noticed the traffic...

Nevertheless, we didn’t crash.

Just so happened, our directions to the shooting location took us past a Barnes & Noble bookstore. The shoot would be continuing all day, so we were in no big hurry to arrive.

“Mind if we stop for a minute at the Barnes & Noble?” I asked. “It’s a bookstore.”

GAK is an artist who loves to read.

So we ran into the Barnes & Noble. I wanted to see if they were carrying my novel, Bite, which had just been released by Leisure Books. So far, I hadn’t seen it in any bookstores except for Dark Delicacies and Borderlands where I’d had signings. Over in the horror section, there was Bite. Face out. Eight copies. It warmed the cockles of my heart.

Next stop, McDonalds. GAK and I had eaten breakfast, but Kelly hadn’t, so she picked up McNuggets and a Coke. Then we were off for the movie shoot.

Which we couldn’t find.

Directions had been sent to me by email. Very specific directions, with street names and everything. We followed them carefully. Only problem, the final street, Martin, didn’t seem to be where it was supposed to be...or anywhere else in the vicinity.

We spent about half an hour looking for Martin, cruising up and down empty streets in an industrial area that seemed to be abandoned for the weekend. This looked like a good place for filming a spooky movie. And a nice day for it. While the valley had been sunny and hot, Oxnard was cool and bleak with fog.

Perhaps the fog had swallowed Martin Street.

From the start, I’d figured that something was sure to go wrong with our little adventure. How about driving all the way to Oxnard and not finding the location of the shoot?

But the email included the director’s cell phone number. In my experience, cell phones rarely work. This was our last chance to achieve our objective, however, so we backtracked to the same shopping center where we’d visited the Barnes & Noble. I went to a public phone, popped in a slew of coins, and dialed the director’s number.

Someone answered!

“Hello,” I said. “Is this Jason Stephens?”

“Yes, it is.”

“This is Richard Laymon. We’re supposed to cover your shoot today for The Midnight Hour magazine, but we can’t seem to find Martin Street.”

“Oh,” he said. “The street’s Walter. Not Martin, Walter.”

“Oh,” I said. “Okay. That explains it. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

FOUND

We’d already been through the area several times, so we had no trouble finding Walter or the proper driveway entrance. We parked at the curb, disembarked, and walked up the driveway. The sky was gray and somber. All around us were parking areas and loading docks and almost no signs of life. If I were a horror writer, I might’ve suspected that a calamity had wiped out everyone. Oh wait...