by Paul Slatter
The fucking goddamn Irish cunt, Rann thought, the greedy fucking bastard. Getting himself in a state and falling down the stairs because he wanted him to pay out double when he was getting more than the fucking guy who was making them and sending his wife to pick them up to boot.
Fuck me, the guy was lucky he was dead. If he wasn’t, he’d kill him, Rann thought—fucking with him like that, trying to take away his grandfather’s old house in Kenya and ruin his retirement. He said to the Kiwi, who in his earlier days would have been a prime candidate to blackmail, “I heard it different, so what I’m going to do because the Irishman is no longer involved, I’m going to make it a dollar a pack for the first run and a dollar twenty-five for the second.”
Rann sat and drank beer in the evening, having booked himself into a local hotel that was as old as the rundown temples that lay above it on the hillside, now covered by brush and trees. The Kiwi was delighted, having doubled his money, he relaxed, and said, “Why don’t you get yourself a Thai wife? They’ll love you forever.”
Like Paddy’s did, Rann thought, loved him and everyone else it seemed. He wondered if the Kiwi was perhaps on the list. Testing the guy out, he said, “The Irishman used to say his missus gave the best blowjob in the world, even introduced her to me that way.”
The Kiwi silent for the moment, gave it some thought. He had, Rann thought, she’d been coming down here getting her husband’s stuff and putting it out while she was in town. The guy said back, “He’d do that, he saw her as a status symbol you see, supermodel figure. The guy used to try to make himself feel good by making other people jealous—she certainly has a beautiful face.”
Like a monkey, Rann thought as he listened to the Kiwi saying, “Lovely long legs, hair, yeah a real beautiful face.”
Fuck, it was only him, why did no one else see it, but him. He carried on pushing it, “But there’s something else about her isn’t there, you know the way she looked, you know the high cheekbones and the way her eyes were.”
“Oh, you mean because she’s a guy?”
“Sorry?”
“She’s a guy, that’s what you’re referring to?”
Rann stayed silent for a second holding his bottle of Chang about an inch from his lips and feeling the top of his head begin to heat up under his turban and looked around the place to see if anyone was listening.
“No, but, you’re just kidding me, right?”
He wasn’t. Rann leaned in, saying “She’s all woman.”
The Kiwi smiled, then said, “Now, yes, same as her friend the blonde one. She’s a woman now too.”
Then Rann remembered the Irishman saying she came here to see her kid. The guy was fucking with him.
“She’s a kid here, she’s got a kid here. That’s why she comes down to collect the stuff from you.”
“That’s right she fathered a kid here, when she was a teenager at school.”
“What?”
Then Rann remembered the two of them sitting on his face, their juices flowing into his mouth and down his cheeks and over his chin. Everything was normal, he knew it, with his appetite he’d seen enough. He said, “Tell me then if she’s a guy how would a girl that had been a guy and had an operation stay moist below the same as a woman does?”
Answer that, Rann thought. He was fucking with him. They were too nice to be anything other than the beautiful women who’d come to him and fucked him the whole night through. And the Kiwi answered, “They have an op and if the surgeons are good, which they are here, then the glands still work the same when aroused, but just not as much. So, what the girls do is they keep themselves moist by keeping themselves full—if you know what I mean, with someone else’s fluid, someone they can trust you know? Someone who’s not got HIV or anything. It’s what they do. I’m telling you, Rann, I know. I’ve lived here for nearly twenty years now and the girls with the most beautiful long legs and figures like supermodels used to be guys. Thai women as a race just aren’t built that way. Besides I know his wife; I’ve known her since she was a boy, she’s the one who introduced me to Paddy in the first place.”
Oh my God, Rann thought, and then thought he was going to throw up. Kept moist by the Irish cunt—both her and her mate too, he thought. And then the fucker sending them both over to sit on his face so as they could drip the man’s spunk into his mouth.
He began to heave, took a swig of beer, and tried to quell it, then the Kiwi asked, “Why? You didn’t sleep with her friend did you, the gorgeous blonde one—I knew him too.”
And that was more than Rann and his masculine pride could handle.
Chapter Twenty-Three
After he’d just told Mazzi Hegan and Sebastian how he’d met Gill Banton, Chendrill had taken the call from the blackmailer and turned the tables on the guy. Coming back into Sebastian’s office, he realized it was the only time Chendrill had ever seen Mazzi Hegan laugh, as he heard Sebastian saying, “Mazzi please, she’s got a problem obviously.”
But Mazzi couldn’t stop and said to Chendrill, “Tell me again what she said.”
And Chendrill smiled saying, “It went like, ‘fuck me BlueBoy, fuck me.’ Something like that.”
“And then she got up and introduced herself like nothing happened?” Sebastian asked.
“Yep, got right up pulled down her dress, put her tits away and said, ‘Hi I’m Gill Banton—and I’d like to represent your son.’”
Mazzi Hegan hit the floor and began crawling along in his silver pants towards the window. Sebastian watched him saying, “Please, Chuck no more. You’re going to hurt Mazzi.”
Chendrill began to laugh. He wasn’t one to tell tales, but it was his job to tell them if some other outfit was treading on their toes. Then Sebastian said, “There’s good reason her office is situated in her bedroom, you know. She’s been trying to get help, you know, psychiatric help. She saw a guy from what I heard, and in the end got him a role on the soap ‘Up and Away’.”
“Who?” Mazzi asked.
“Dr. Hampton, the psychiatrist.”
“He’s hot; he’s a real psychiatrist?”
“Yes,” Sebastian replied, “Real. Of course, not being able to help herself, the poor love, she picked him to help her with her problem—didn’t go to a granddad or someone sensible who didn’t like girls. Word is she started fucking him in the office after a couple of weeks and then got him the role.’”
“I like that show,” Chendrill said out of the blue.
“Sorry?”
“What’s wrong with that?” Chendrill asked them both as they stared at him, Mazzi now standing by the window rubbing his eyes, wondering if Chendrill’s revelation was possibly as funny as Gill Banton lying on the table in Dan’s mother’s kitchen. He said, “It’s a little bit faggy for you to be watching, isn’t it?”
“What’s wrong with that? I like it,” Chendrill carried on.
Sebastian opined, “What’s ‘wrong’ with it, Chuck, is that it’s mostly gay guys who like that show.”
******
An hour later, Sebastian had Belinda pick up Dan and bring him to the office, wondering why Dan was wearing a jacket, but no shirt.
“Daniel dear, you are contracted to us, but there’s a buyout. I suggest you don’t go south just yet and stay here and let ‘Slave’ manage you. I’m going to hand you over, so to speak—Patrick’s coming in as a freelancer to manage you and I’m going to keep an eye on things. So, don’t worry, you’re still in good hands.”
And Dan said, “You brought me all the way in here to tell me that?”
Then, leaning in, Sebastian said, “No, I want you please to tell Mazzi and myself everything that was said and went down with Gill Banton before Chuck arrived this afternoon. And I’m saying everything!”
And Dan did, telling them both the whole thing in its entirety—her asking him to sign with her, the carrot down his pants and Gill Banton losing it thinking he had two dicks. And once he’d finished, this time it was Sebastian who was crying.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Patrick hit L.A. with a bang, Marsha on one arm and Buffy on the other, him in the middle with a smile as long as Rodeo Drive. And that’s just where they went. The stores closed their doors to others as Marsha spent thousands on clothes she’d never wear and Patrick spent thousands on clothes Buffy would. Then he sat in the store looking at Marsha trying on designer labels without realizing she’d already been offered them for free.
Then his phone rang. As he answered, he heard Sebastian say, “Marsha’s agent Gill Banton has just made a fool of herself in Dan’s home and she also made a play to sign him, so if that woman wants to play games, I’m going to speak with Marsha about coming over to us. And if she does, I’ll need a few more on top, to keep her on her toes. We don’t want to be dealing with a big fish in a small pond, but don’t go signing more than ten or I’ll go insane with all the dialogue. So, keep those beady eyes of yours peeled whilst you’re on your travels.”
Patrick looked back over to Marsha, she was stunning—way ahead of the other girls in the shop who were beautiful themselves. But Marsha, she was in another league. There was only one other girl he’d ever met who was prettier, but sadly she had troubles at the moment.
Then Sebastian said, “Oh, and also please thank Buffy for lending me those DVDs. Tell her Mazzi and I are watching an old Busby Berkley one right now in my office. Tell her I’d forgotten just how good the man was and ask her please if she’s got any more.”
Patrick hung up. That was a good call, he thought, things were looking up. Now he didn’t have to lie when he would tell the next hostess who he met that he was looking for talent, not that he really cared either way.
He called over to the two girls and as many shop assistants as he could, telling them all as though they were soppy school kids to put the $10,000 dollar dresses down. He said, “Sebastian just called, Gill Banton was just round Dan’s place trying to sign him with the company who represents you, Marshaa. She offered him the world, and made a fool of herself in the process because he said, ‘Why would I go anywhere else when I’m already with the best.’ Your agent Marshaa, she’s frightened, you see. Slave’s getting interested in movies now, Sebastian and Mazzi are looking at a Busby Berkley one right now as we speak and they’ve asked me to sign an incredibly beautiful model from the Ukraine to star in it once they sign Busby up—kind of a dual thing, great for her and great for Busby. He’s onboard as soon as we sign a big name. So anyway, that’s all the news for ‘us’ at Slave.”
He pulled out his phone and flipped to a picture of Alla standing in a park he’d taken six months back, the sun in her hair, her face glowing with warmth, honesty, and truth, and showed it to them all.
“She and Dan are going to set the world on fire. And not only that, he’s bringing in ten new models, ones who not only look fantastic, but can also act—but only the best. Newbies and ones established with other companies alike, and when they’re all in and signed, the doors are closing: they’re not signing another person and Slave’s taking over.”
Buffy stared at him. What the fuck was he talking about? Sebastian and Mazzi Hegan’s company was good, but, take over the world? Not only that, Busby Berkley was dead, who was he kidding? She stared at him in complete amazement as Patrick said, “Buffy’s so excited about it all.” And she was just about to put him straight when she heard him follow it up with, “Sebastian’s putting her in charge of research and development for the movie section. She’s going to be running the whole thing! They’re all geared up to do a movie as soon as the girl recovers from an operation she needed. And Mazzi Hegan’s shooting it.”
******
Alla Bragin lay in the hospital bed and tried with all her will and might to move her big toe. She’d done it once early in the morning and she was certain she could do it again. It wasn’t the light changing or a breeze floating in from an open door that had moved the sheets, it was her, and if that was the case, she knew in time she would walk again.
Dennis, her husband, who’d once been a dentist, slept on the chair at the side of the bed in which his wife, half his age, lay crippled.
“It moved again,” she said softly, waking her husband from his dream.
“Darling it moved again, my toe—I got it to move.”
Dennis smiled, and hoped for her sake it wasn’t just a dream.
“Good,” he said, watching her, looking at her face, her eyes, her hands at the side of the bed laying above the sheet, her arms so slender, her fingers long and beautiful. “Keep trying,” he said, “you’ll get there,” but deep down in the pit of his stomach, he knew the moment she did and could walk again the likelihood was that she would keep going and be gone forever. For he knew the sad reality: the injury was the only reason they were together again.
He knew the injury had come out of nowhere, his wife taking a blow to the spine by an unknown man while they’d been separated, her living downtown in a luxury apartment in Yaletown with a view across the creek and him in the basement suite. Now, though, he had her back and he would do all he could to stop her leaving him a second time.
She’d known Patrick well after she’d left her marital home and they had been lovers, him helping her on a financial level and her giving him what he needed, and once he fell in love, as had so many others, he began to pay in other ways. She said, “I’ve been watching you, Dennis love. You look beautiful when you sleep.” The words touching his whole soul, hoping they were true as they melted him inside, the same as he felt when she touched him.
“You’re the beautiful one,” he said, knowing it was true and it was. Rann had felt the same way when he’d seen her in the photo and for all three, it was love at first sight because to them all and almost all men who set eyes on her, she was the most beautiful woman they had ever seen.
******
Charles Chuck Chendrill was still smiling when he arrived back in the Aston Martin and parked outside the front of Dan’s home. The drive had been good, the car slightly larger than Hegan’s Ferrari—which could now park itself—and it hurt his ribs less when he was getting in and out.
Maybe that was it, he thought, the only reason he’d been given a bigger car by Sebastian was because he knew his ribs were hurting every time he squeezed himself into the other one? He must have been watching him when he’d pull up and drive away from the allocated parking spaces just below his office at Slave. Could be, he thought, probably was. Fuck me, the guy was a good man.
He got out and looked about, no baker there with a baseball bat or ninja assassin turban-wearing Sikh. The coast was clear.
He walked up the steps and knocked on the door. Dan’s mother Tricia answered. Leaning in, he kissed her on the lips, and she said, “Hello lover boy.”
And when they reached the kitchen, Chendrill stared at the table and asked, “Have you spoken to Dan?”
She hadn’t. He’d been in his room ever since they’d got back early from lunch and had been picked up in a limo, which she’d thought was the nymphomaniac again and discovered it was only the nice man who liked to keep the garden tidy. As he sat down briefly and watched as she put the kettle on, she said to Chendrill, “He was out, but he’s back now.”
Chendrill got up, walking back along the corridor, and went down the stairs to the basement. He knocked on Dan’s door. Dan was asleep; and after hearing him wake and then unbolt the door, he was knocked back by the smell of a young man’s room.
“You come down here to hit me in the other eye?” he heard Dan say.
He hadn’t.
“Sebastian wants to see you.”
“I was just there.”
“Yeah and you were supposed to stay.”
“Tell him I’ll come over tomorrow.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“What—you his gofer now, I thought you were a PI?”
Dan was right, Che
ndrill thought, a few months back if Sebastian had asked if he could go find Dan, he would have found him then told Sebastian to call a cab. But the man had a way about him. He could get you to do things for him you wouldn’t normally do, and the grand a day and Aston Martin helped a bit with that.
“I am.”
“Well go be one then and leave me alone, I’m tired.”
“It’s only three o’clock in the afternoon?”
“Tell him he kept me up past my bedtime last night at the fish place. So why don’t you go fuck my mum for a bit and leave me be.”
******
Mazzi and Sebastian had just finished another movie when Dan came through the door, his ass still sore and his throat hurting from where Chendrill had grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and kicked him up the backside as he threw him towards the stairs.
“What’s wrong with your throat, Daniel?” Sebastian asked as Dan sat down on the sofa and put his feet up on the coffee table.
“Ask him,” Dan replied as he saw Chendrill’s big shape come past the smoked plate glass window and into the room.
“His throat’s hurting him at the moment, because he’s got a big mouth.”
Sebastian looked to the both of them for a moment.
“Okay?”
The kid was obviously hard work and he could see the frustration in Chendrill’s eyes. He said, “Dan, I can’t help you here, you’re the only person who can do that.”
Then he carried on getting out a new contract for him to sign.
“As I mentioned earlier, before you decided to disappear on us Daniel, in your old contract we had a clause that says we can extend and gain exclusivity to you, i.e., you can’t go elsewhere.”
Dan looked at him and said quite honestly, “What makes you think I want too?”