by Jerry Cole
“Yep.” That was all Bradley was going to offer. He concentrated on the salad he was making; just a standard Greek salad with olives, onion, tomato, feta and balsamic vinegar.
“We had pasta last night,” he moaned playfully as he saddled up across from where Bradley was cooking. He leaned on the kitchen counter and bat his eyelashes at Bradley. “And last Wednesday – oh! You know what we should have?”
Bradley slammed his fists on the table. “What? What should we have?!” he snapped.
Sherman retreated his head back and blinked his surprise. “Well, someone is in a mood.”
“Well, someone is putting me in a mood.”
“Is that someone me?” Sherman tried for cute. He fluttered his eyelashes, smiled gaily and seemed to be doing everything he could to be playful. But it wasn’t enough, and it hadn’t been enough for long time.
“Sherman,” Bradley sighed. “Can you... go do some more lines or whatever the fuck it is you do all day? I’m trying to make us dinner here.” There was a pause, and then, “Some of us actually have purpose at the moment.”
Sherman stopped smiling. He stopped looking playful. He stopped flirting. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“It means that while you spend all day putting money you can’t afford up your nose and fucking around, I’m actually working and —”
“You’re acting for free.”
“For now!” Bradley exploded. “When lockdown is over, I’ll have a job – and don’t say that I don’t know that for sure. Because I do! If not this one, then the next. Or the next. My time will come, which is why I lock myself in that room every day. Better than doing what you are and wasting my life.”
“Wasting my life?” Sherman sneered. “I got fired —”
“So what?!” Bradley was angry now and there was little that was going to calm him down. Tension had been building for a long while. Really, it was about time it all came out. “People get fired. Few get fired with as big a settlement package as you did.”
“And that makes it better?!”
“Obviously!” Bradley continued hotly. “You’ll find a new job – fuck, when this is over with, you’ll probably be offered one with more money. That’s how it is for you people.”
“Us people?”
“But I have to work for it. Every fucking day I do. And it doesn’t help that you’re either in here shoving white powder up your nose, or you’re complaining about the food I cook every day, or you’re... you’re... you’re...”
“What?” Sherman demanded. “Say it.”
Bradley sighed as the anger left his body as quick as it had come. “You’re stuck, Sherman. You are – don't try and... you’re stuck in this fucking lockdown bog and where that sucks... the least you could do is try not to enjoy it. Fuck, at least pretend that you want it to end because it’s going to eventually and when it does... I really hope you’re ready.”
Sherman didn’t look angry with Bradley. Which was almost annoying as that was kind of what Bradley wanted. Instead, he looked almost like he pitied him, like he was looking down on Bradley with distaste.
“If you only knew how much I did for you.”
“Sherman...”
“But that’s all right.” He pushed himself up and took a step back toward the door. “Lockdown will end soon. When it does, I’m going to be fine — don’t worry about me. Things will go back to normal eventually. Normal for me is more than all right.” He turned and headed for the door. When he reached it, he turned back and looked right at Bradley. “You better hope it does, anyhow. Because... well, life is a lot easier when you have a rich sugar daddy willing to pay for everything for you. Everything. It makes it a lot easier to spend all day locked in a room reading lines to yourself, pretending you’re working for a living.” And then he was gone.
And not just from the kitchen. Sherman stormed through the living room and right out the front door. It was the first time that either of the men had been left alone in that apartment for nearly two months and the feeling was one of utter emptiness and loneliness.
Bradley felt immediately guilty. And it wasn’t just because he could literally hear his heart thumping inside his chest and echoing throughout the empty apartment. Or because he suddenly became aware of how much he actually did rely on Sherman to survive. He felt guilty because... well, because he had hurt Sherman and that was never something he intended.
Sherman was right in his own frustrating way. It was because of him that Bradley was able to live so freely right now, without a worry in the world. And although that didn’t make Sherman’s behavior all right, it did go some way toward blunting his actions.
The two men needed one another more than either was willing to admit. Sherman needed Bradley for survival... and Bradley needed him for the same reason. He had no idea where Sherman had gone. He only hoped that he came back soon.
Chapter Eighteen
This was the fifth time that Sherman had been inside the Hades Angels clubhouse, but that didn’t make it any better. The thick cloud of cigarette and cigar smoke constantly hanging in the air still made Sherman gag. The way the other bikers stared daggers at him whenever he walked down those steps still sent shivers up his spine. And worst of all, Curly, the leader of the gang, the head honcho, the toughest looking fucker that Sherman had ever met in his life, still made him want to scream his lungs out, turn on his heel and run as fast as he could as far away as he could without looking back. Needless to say, the experience was never easy.
“You’re back.” Curly had been playing pool when Sherman walked in. The pool que was now strung across the back of his neck so he could rest his hands on both ends. It made him look even scarier somehow, like he was suddenly about to whip it out and stab someone.
“Well, I really like it here.” Sherman wasn’t even sure why he tried for a joke. They never landed, and only ever seemed to make things worse. Indeed, he could feel the room stiffen as he chuckled awkwardly. “I mean —”
“How much you need?” Curly was never one for small talk. It was maybe his most endearing quality.
“Oh. Right.” Sherman hurried to the pool table. He could sense every pair of eyes on him. It was like they half suspected him to pull a weapon out and attack Curly, so they had to be ready. “Unfortunately... money is a little tight in my world right now. So, I’m only going to be needing —”
Curly held a hand up to stop Sherman from talking. It worked, as Sherman just about swallowed his tongue trying to not speak. “Light on cash?”
“Funds in general. Lockdown.” An awkward laugh.
“I see.”
For a moment, no one spoke. Curly put the pool cue down and leaned forward on the table as he ran his eyes up and down Sherman’s short, skinny physique. It made him extremely uncomfortable, not helped by the way his burn scars seemed to glow under the light, or the knowing smile that Curly wore.
What the fuck was he doing here? Every time that Sherman finished a bag, he told himself that would be it. And every time he said it to himself, he meant it. It wasn’t like he enjoyed being a coke addict. He didn’t get off on it, or brag about it, or even think about it where he could. He hated the fact! Worse now that he didn’t even have the money to afford the fucking stuff!
But the last month or so had been hard... real fucking hard. With lockdown implemented, and his job now lying by the wayside, Sherman had become painfully aware of how pitiful his existence was. Worse too that Bradley was doing so darn well. It seemed to shine a spotlight on Sherman’s own hopeless scenario. Cocaine was the only answer.
“How much?” Curly finally spoke in that gravelly, hard voice of his.
“Just a gram,” Sherman hurried. It was a painfully small amount, and wouldn’t even last him the week. But it was all he could do right now.
He reached into his pocket to pull out the cash, but Curly waved him down. “Not so fast.”
“Huh?”
“I don’t do singles.”
“Oh... well
...” Sherman hesitated, hand still shoved in his pocket, wrapped around the cash. “Do you ah... should I ring Mad Dog or —”
“I have a proposition.” Curly sniffed, pushed himself up and strode around the table toward Sherman. For a moment, Sherman considered fleeing, only to stop himself when he realized how pointless that would be to do. “You said you worked for a travel company?” He reached Sherman, towering over the man like Mt. Fuji over Tokyo.
“I did.”
“Not anymore?”
“I was fired last month.”
Curly pushed his tongue into his lip. “But you still know people?”
“Know people?” Sherman blinked. “Know who – what are you —”
Again, Curly silenced Sherman, but this time with nothing more than a single raised finger. “Lockdown had been hard on all of us.” Curly spoke softly, but still with amazing authority. “Especially in regard to where borders are concerned. They’re closed, you see.”
“Tell me about —”
Another raised finger silenced him. “In times like this, we’ve had trouble getting our... product, into the country. We used to use private pilots, but they’re all grounded at the moment. As of now, the only planes leaving and entering this country are commercial.”
Curly paused, his eyes meeting Sherman’s. Somehow, he managed to look caring and understanding, maybe even friendly? In that moment, Sherman almost wanted to help him... this might have also been to do with how terrified he was also.
“Are you saying...” Sherman paused, expecting Curly to interrupt. When he didn’t, he continued, “You want me to you import —”
“All I want is for you to put me in contact with pilots you know are still flying... those who ah, have a certain business ethic about them. That’s all.”
“Right... that’s all.” Sherman’s mind was racing. He knew what Curly wanted. But he didn’t know if he could do it.
“If you do this for me – for us.” He indicated to the entire room, all of whom were watching now, silent, waiting, anticipating. “Let’s just say that those pesky fees you pay will disappear. Free cocaine for now and forever, in case you misunderstood.”
Sherman... had no idea what to do or say. On the surface, the choice was easy. Curly had just asked him to help smuggle drugs into the country. It was a request that any sane person would say no to immediately. And then, just to hammer the point home, he’d leave the clubhouse and change his number! That was the right thing.
Only, it wasn’t that easy. What if he said no and Curly and the others hurt him? What if he said no and they didn’t let him leave? Or, more realistically, what if he said no and then he couldn’t buy cocaine again? Ever. What if it was this or nothing?
Sherman didn’t think of himself as an addict, but right now that addiction was testing his will to live. Would it really be so bad, he asked himself? Really, he was twice removed from the process. All he had to do was put them in contact. He actually knew at least three pilots off the top of his head who would —
But no! That wasn’t an option either. That was drug smuggling and he wouldn’t be a part of it.
But also... he had no job... no prospects... nothing to lose and so much to gain —
“Well?” Curly pulled him back into the moment. “What do you say? Want to save a little money and make things easy for me and my boys here?” He indicated to the room again, to all those watching eyes. “Want to do Curly here a personal favor?”
“I... I... I...” Sherman stuttered over his response as he tried to decide what he was going to say. “I... I... I...” he really had no idea.
***
Just as Sherman had expected, Bradley was waiting up for him when he got home. It wasn’t late or anything, barely even 10PM, but a part of him hoped that Bradley might have gone to bed... that they could have their make-up conversation the next morning. No such luck.
“There you are!” Bradley was across the living room and at the front door before Sherman had so much as stuck a foot inside. “Fuck me, I was worried – where did you go?!” His tone was laced with worry, and the look he wore suggested that he was more concerned than anything else. Sherman counted this as a good thing, as there was less chance that he’d be mad.
“Just to see Nick,” he lied. “I’m sorry. I should have called —”
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have —”
“It’s fine.”
“It isn’t.”
“Couples fight,” Bradley countered.
“We don’t,” Sherman insisted.
“Well then, we were way overdue.”
This back and forth was said among a cavalcade of hugs and kisses. When Sherman walked through the front door, Bradley was at him, wrapping his arms around Sherman and pulling him in close. He then started kissing him on the head and lips haphazardly, all the while apologizing for what had happened.
And as for Sherman? He allowed it. Firstly, it was infinitely better than fighting, and if this was all that came of that fight, than he would count himself lucky. And second... he didn’t want Bradley pushing on why he was at Nick’s in the first place. Sherman was a terrible liar and he did not need that coming out now. Not when they were so close to making up.
In regard to that fight too... it was dumb. There was no other way to really describe it. Sherman had known that he was being annoying; he had suspected so for weeks. But he also didn’t care. With his job gone, his money dwindling, and his drug addiction slowly worsening, it was all he could do to keep it together. And, as petty as it might have seemed, seeing Bradley suddenly become the breadwinner hurt.
So, Sherman decided to take the immature route by trying to put Bradley back in his place. It had backfired terrifically and he was glad for it. They’d needed that fight to get their relationship back into gear. Now, he was sure, it was going to be all smooth sailing...
God, he hoped so.
“So, you saw Nick, huh?” Bradley asked once he finally saw fit to let Sherman go.
“I did.” Sherman ducked around Bradley and headed for the kitchen. He could still smell the pasta from earlier and he was suddenly aware of how hungry he was. “I haven’t seen him since lockdown, so figured I should pop in,” he finished over his shoulder as he disappeared into the kitchen.
“Plus, you wanted to get away from me?” Bradley joked, joining him in the kitchen.
“That to,” Sherman winked and grinned.
If there was any doubt as to how Bradley was feeling about Sherman, any chance of a lingering resentment, that was all washed away when Sherman walked into the kitchen and spied the bowl of pasta sitting on the tabletop as if waiting for Sherman’s hungry hands to grab at it. Bradley, despite their fight, made it especially for him and left it there, knowing that sooner or later he would come home hungry. Fuck, how did Sherman get so lucky?!
“How is Nick?” Bradley asked. He lowered himself into a seat at the counter, looking tired but still interested. “How’s he taking the whole DreamLine thing?”
Sherman shrugged. “Taking it, I suppose.” He shrugged again. “He acts tough and everything... but you know how he is.”
“A big baby?”
“Exactly.”
And just like that, the two were back to acting like nothing was the matter. And on the surface, this was perfectly true. Sherman told himself then and there that he would work harder to not be a dick, and to support Bradley where he needed it. And as for Bradley? Well, he didn’t really have to do anything. Most of this was on Sherman.
Even still, as the two men spoke and as Sherman demolished that bowl of pasta, a huge cloud of guilt hung low over his head. He had lied to Bradley outright, knowing that Bradley would believe him without question. It was one of the many things that Sherman liked so much about him...
Sherman couldn’t get that meeting with Curly out of his head. And if Bradley ever found out... there was no number of hugs and kisses that would make up for it. If Bradley ever found out what Sherman was doing, he wou
ld leave Sherman faster than it took to heat that pasta up in the microwave. Worse too that Sherman would deserve it.
Chapter Nineteen
Things were going well for Bradley. Really well. And perhaps there was no better indication of this than where he was currently, and what he was currently doing. It was early-June, roughly two weeks after the more intense aspects of lockdown had ended, and he was walking through the back hallways of Shine Studios Australia, on the way to what would soon be his very own dressing room.
“Granted, right now, the room belongs to someone else.” He was being led by the Executive Producer of the show, Harmony... yes, her name was Harmony. Somehow in her forties, she was a little pixie of a thing with bright pink hair and a bubbly personality to match. “Some crappy show about cooking or whatever – I dunno. But when filming for that ends next month, we’re kicking ‘em out and putting you in.”
“That’s more than fine by me,” Bradley assured her.
“Ah, pre-fame,” Harmony mused. Although the two were walking through a series of complex hallways, she spun around and walked backwards so as to size Bradley up. “I always like you guys better before you become famous. After that, you’re mostly a bunch of wankers.”
“Us guys?”
“Actors!” she exclaimed happily as she spun back around and picked the pace up. “Right now, first show under your belt, you’re as soft as a kitten – fuck, I bet I could tell you that you didn’t even have a dressing room! That you had to share! And you wouldn’t care one wit.”
“I wouldn’t,” Bradley assured her. “I still can’t believe this is real.”
“Exactly! Give it time though... maybe a month or so into filming, and you will become as egotistical, as manic, as crazy as the rest of them!” She sounded serious, like it wasn’t even a question. Just fact.
“Yeah, I don’t think that will be me.”
“Whatever you say, New Blood – and here we are.” She took a sharp turn which led to another hallway that looked like all the rest. The main difference being that this time she came to an abrupt halt outside a closed door. “Your new changing room... well, when production starts, anyhow. Ready?”