by Paul Slatter
Yeah, he'd do that, he thought, get her over and show her how it's done. But no, how could he? He thought, what was he going to do, call a guy and say, "Hey it's Mazzi, wanna come over and suck my dick so this hot babe can watch and join in?" The first bit wouldn't be a problem, but if he mentioned the bit with the girl then that would be weird shit and people would begin to talk.
*************
They all met in the morning, all of them wrapped around the boardroom table. Patrick was at the head, talking bullshit about how this was going to be the most fantastic movie ever made. The director, Campbell Ewes, agreeing to a reduced rate and back on the scene as a favour for Adalia—for a fifth of what his agent had asked for and with a stipulation in his contract that he could never be driven anywhere by Chendrill, which wasn't a problem for anyone. Mazzi was also there looking hungover sitting next to Megan, the flower child, and hating the way she smelled. Sebastian watched it all and listened with his dog on his lap, worrying about the pair of steel toecap work boots Mazzi was wearing.
Sebastian looked at the door and wondered when Chendrill would be in so he could also take a look at the plaster on Mazzi's boots. It looked real and he wanted to know what the hell was going on, the guy looking like shit the way he did and all. Then he heard the purr of the Aston pulling up and parking in one of the expensive bays down in the street below. Chendrill making light work of it, killing the engine quickly instead of turning the whole operation into a day time soap opera the way Mazzi Hegan always did. Except today there was no Ferrari for Chendrill to outshine and squeeze in next to, as it looked as though Mazzi had walked.
Chendrill shut the door to the Aston and crossed the road to the offices of Slave. He'd been asleep in Tricia's bed when his phone had gone off and wondered what the emergency would be this time around. "Mazzi's wearing a pair of boots and they're not clean," were the first words out of Sebastian's mouth. That, along with a quick question about Chendrill’s whereabouts, to which Chendrill had answered, cool as a cucumber, as always, “I'm at Dan’s.”
Sebastian asking him straight back if he’d just arrived. “Yeah, just got here,” Chendrill answered, which he had—if you counted having been there since leaving Sebastian's place the night before. Then Sebastian asked after Dan and then his mother, knowing deep down there was a high chance the guy was laying next to her as they spoke. But what did he care? After all, all that mattered really in life was that they were both happy.
Chendrill reached the reception for Slave and was once more greeted by a huge smile from the pretty girl at the desk who had two guys on the go and only saw one of them on the weekends because the other worked. Lying, she said, “I really like your shirt, Mr. Chendrill.” Chendrill did also, it being the camo Hawaiian he'd picked up at The Bay. His prize possession having been on the missing list for the last few days and he’d been wondering where it was until he'd discovered Dan had been wearing it down in his basement. “Mr. String said to go straight into the meeting, he's saved a seat next to him for you and asks if you could not make eye contact with the director.”
The room went silent as Chendrill walked in, stared down the director, and sat himself down next to Sebastian. Sebastian whispered in his ear, “Did you not get my message?”
“Why’s the mouthy fuck back?” asked Chendrill, just loud enough for the director to hear. It was just how he was. He looked to the script and some other paperwork that had been placed neatly for him on the table to read. Ignoring it, Chendrill looked up. Patrick was back talking, telling everyone what a great project he'd developed. Chendrill listening for about 5 seconds and then stopping. Like an animal penned in a cage, he looked to the door, then leaning in to Sebastian, he whispered, “Why am I here?”
Clasping Chendrill’s arm ever so softly and guiding his eyes to Mazzi who was also not listening as he sat at the end of the table looking out the window, Sebastian said, “Look under the table; he's wearing workman’s boots, Chuck. And not only that—they are filthy.”
Chendrill looked under the table. He was, there was no doubt about it. The boots hugely big with steel toecaps, all ruffed up, showing steel and covered in caked on muck, making Mazzi’s feet look like a circus clown’s at the end of Mazzi Hegan’s skinny silk trousers. Chendrill looked back at Sebastian and said very quietly, “He’s stolen some plasterer’s boots.”
“Really?” Sebastian replied, confused.
Chendrill nodded, then asked, “Can I go now?”
Sebastian smiled. Chuck, you are a devil, he thought. The guy, sitting there all buff and tough in his camo, never wanting to be part of his world when it came to work, but who would sit comfortable chatting in a park on a summer’s evening or out on Sebastian’s penthouse balcony. He said, “Is it really that bad here, Chuck?”
Chendrill laughed quietly to himself for a moment. Then leaning over, he said, “This is your world, Sebastian.”
And it was. Sebastian, sitting there half listening but not missing a beat; Chuck there, still not listening at all. He said, “If you’re not here, who will I be able to have fun with, Chuck?” Chendrill thought about it. This guy, who was so rich he could entertain making a movie for a fair-weather friend who he knew would take your watch if you held his hand to long. The man just wanting to be a kid at school again. He nodded towards Patrick, who was still spouting bullshit, “Why do you indulge this guy?”
Sebastian laughed. Chendrill was there with him getting it like he always did. He said, “I get bored, Chuck, and doing this stupid film gets me one of the world’s top models and, if I’m lucky, a huge corporate promotion where we can all travel around the world for a bit with Adalia.”
Chendrill said straight back, “What about the dog?”
Sebastian sighed and looked under the table at Fluffy who’d settled at Chendrill’s feet. The big guy was right, what about the dog? It was the only little minor detail he was having with putting this bigger deal together on the back of Patrick’s ego trip. He said, “I’m hiring a vet, Chuck. He can come with us if he wants as long as Fluffy likes him.”
Chendrill answered, “I thought dogs didn’t like the vet.” Sebastian thought about it for a moment. The last trip to the vet’s had been a bit traumatic with Fluffy snapping at the guy for lifting his tail. He said, “I’ll find one he does like, Chuck; you know how I am.”
Then Chendrill surprised him by asking, “Where are we going?”
It was a good question, he had been thinking of Europe first, for a week or two and only the other day he’d come across a video on the internet with a cool guy from Kenya who was there singing about Zagreb, except he’d called it Zahaa in a cool way and slapped his hand down as he’d said it like he couldn’t give a shit—except he obviously did or why else would he have made the video in the first place? He said, “Zagreb in Croatia, I should think. There’s this guy out there singing about it. He’s a rapper, it’s very in right now. Some guy called Chunky.”
Chendrill raised his eyebrows, and said out loud, “Croatia?”
Sebastian nodded, as Chendrill thought back to Archall Diamond’s rap, the one he’d heard him singing as he’d walked along the corridor from the toilet in Rasheed’s old place. The East Indian gangster’s words not making any sense and cut short as Chendrill’s clenched fist had smacked the rapper straight in the mouth and shut him up. He said, “I didn’t know you liked rap Sebastian?”
He didn’t, not really, but it was good to keep up with the times—otherwise you became Patrick. He said, “I like all sorts of things, Chuck. There’s a lot of things out there to keep you amused if you just look; even right here with Patrick pretending he’s read the script.”
Chendrill looked up at Patrick almost standing now and gesturing with his hands. Then he looked back to Sebastian and said quietly, “He sounds like he has.”
Sebastian smiled. Then he said, “That’s what he’s good at, that’s why he’s been so successful in real estate—it’s because he’s creative with his words. Listen we
’ll see just how much he’s read.”
Then without missing a beat, Sebastian raised his right hand, stopped Patrick in his tracks, and said, “Patrick, tell me, how do you feel we can build on the fundamentals of this story to give it more strength?”
And as quick as a flash, Patrick deflected the question over to Mazzi Hegan by saying, “That’s a good question Sebastian, and a question I feel we should be asking Mazzi, as I feel he’s always got such a fantastic take on things and if I was to answer first we may just lose something brilliant.”
But Mazzi Hegan wasn’t listening. His feet were hurting and he wanted to go to the toilet because his dick was sore.
They made their excuses and began to leave. Sebastian standing up and halting proceedings with his hands, then he told everyone how sorry he was and how he had important business to deal with and headed straight for the door and, with a serious face, held it open for his dog who was two steps ahead of Chendrill. Then as they walked back along the corridor towards his office, Sebastian said, “You see what I mean? He hasn’t read it.”
Chendrill looked at the girls in the booths looking sexy and said, “But you already know this?”
Sebastian, all in a fluster, still carrying on, said, “He should know better, though.” Chendrill reached the door to Sebastian’s office, wondering what it would be like to sleep with the brunette in the last booth who was busy doing God knows what at her computer, and opened the door. As Sebastian passed through followed by the dog, he said, “Why don’t you get one of these young ladies here to sit down and read it to him if you’re that worried?”
Sebastian reached the corner of the room and, dropping down to make sure Fluffy was watered, said, “Oh, I’m not letting him near any of those girls Chuck, not now that I’ve seen the photos that guy sent over. Not that I would have before, in any case, except if one of them had some cash come their way and they needed a condo.”
Then sitting himself down, Chendrill said, “Anyway—I thought you liked it that he doesn’t have a clue and is bluffing?”
“Oh, I like it Chuck,” Sebastian said, working himself towards the window in a fluster, “but I have my limits.”
Chendrill began to smile, wondering if he’d ever be able to go off like this and get himself in a flap over something he had knowingly orchestrated in the first place. He said, “Well, just say fuck it. Shut it down and stick the 5 million into the guy with the missing fingers.”
Sebastian looked at Chendrill leaning back in the sofa with his left foot up on the $2000 coffee table like he owned the place and said, “You’re not wrong, but don’t be calling Mr. Sonic that. He has a name you know and it’s not his fault he lost his fingers. Besides, you know I’m looking at the big picture because on the back end of it all is a massive advertising campaign—but really, truth is, that could all disappear as soon as Adalia’s drinking from the fountain of youth gets shut down. So, after listening to that nonsense in there, I ask myself is it worth it. I think Mazzi feels the same way, you know. I’ve never seen him so bored; normally he’s bouncing off the walls with ideas and the guy’s sitting there and not even listening.” Join the club, Chendrill thought as he recalled Patrick and his dialogue as Sebastian began to carry on.
Then without as much as a knock, the door opened and it was Mazzi Hegan all red in the face with his hair a mess, and all he said to Sebastian was, “Seb, I need help. I’ve been doing something terrible, I don’t know what to do, I can’t control myself anymore, you have to help me, I can’t stop thinking about sleeping with women.”
**********
Leaving, Chendrill got back into his car and looked up at the window to Sebastian’s office and wondered if the pair of them had stopped crying yet. Fuck me what a morning, he thought, could it have gotten any stranger? Maybe this was normal though, he thought, as he put the Aston into gear and pulled away. Maybe this is just the way it was in advertising and everyone was all fucked up—neurotic and weird—with sexuality issues to boot. Fuck it was strange. He hit the end of the road and took a left onto Cambie. There was something that wasn’t sitting right though, something he was about to snag onto when Hegan had burst in and polluted the room with the disgusting news that he’d been sticking his dick into the one place it had certainly been designed to fit.
Turning right, he made his way north until he hit Hastings and took a right, driving past the junkies and homeless who lined the streets less than a minute’s walk from the police station. He carried on without a thought for the Italian who fed off them and Ditcon who simply pretended they weren’t there. So Adalia had been drinking from the fountain of youth and, according to Sebastian, was about to be shut down. But if Dan was the fountain he’d been referring to, then how had he missed it? And if he had, he hadn’t been doing his job.
He pulled up outside Dan’s mother’s place and parked in the spot which was seemingly his these days and walked inside. The Ferrari was still there, so unless Dan had gone for some exercise, which wasn’t likely, he’d be in his basement. This seemed to be the case when he’d heard him stir right after he’d pulled his lips away from Dan’s mother in the kitchen. Getting right to the point he called down the stairs to Dan’s room, “Sebastian’s told me you’re not allowed near Adalia Seychan anymore.”
Tricia’s jaw dropped as what she’d just heard sunk in and, turning to Chendrill mouthed, “No?” without actually speaking.
Chendrill looked at her and with a shrug of his shoulders whispered, “Maybe? According to Sebastian, she’s been drinking from the fountain of youth and we’re about to find out if Dan’s got control of the tap.”
Before she could say another word, Dan was up the stairs, saying, “We ain’t doing nothing except acting.”
Chendrill saying straight back, “I’m sure at her age she’s the only one acting, Dan.”
Then confirming the speculation Dan simply said, “Yeah well from what I can tell she loves it.”
Dan’s mother stood there, unable to say her son’s name for a moment in shock, then as soon as the name she’d christened him with when he was a soft and loveable baby made its way from the pit of her stomach, the rest followed in quick succession. She said, “Daniel, you disgusting freak, what is that woman, 65? What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”
And Dan said straight back, “No actually Mum she’s 68, but what does that matter, she’s got better tits than you.”
And that’s when his mother hit him straight across his face.
Chendrill took his new girl to the bedroom and held her while she cried as he looked at his watch. There’s no doubt about it, he could have handled that better instead of baiting the kid in front of his mother.
It was almost 2 p.m. and from what he could work out she’d been crying since midday. There wasn’t much he’d said that had helped; in fact, the more he had said the worse it had gotten. Especially the bit about older women being attractive these days, which had just seemed to make things worse. ‘He wouldn’t have been interested if she hadn’t had surgery’ also hadn’t gone down too well either. So now, for the moment, he was keeping quiet and in this quiet he couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like to fuck Adalia Seychan himself.
Another 30 minutes or so passed before he heard Dan appear from his cave below and open the fridge in the kitchen and, making his excuses, he left the room to find Dan digging his teeth into a slab of cheese whilst he wiped the remnants of cooking oil from his right hand onto the dish cloth by the sink. Dan looked up and said with a full mouth, “I thought you’d gone?”
“No, still here.”
“Guys don’t usually stay that long once the water taps turn on. If you know what I mean?”
Chendrill did and, truth was, he could do without the history lesson. So he just said, “Well, times have changed,” and followed it up with, “and so should you Dan if you want her to take you seriously now you’re doing your own thing—so to speak. Why don’t you start by going in there and apologizing?�
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Without looking up, Dan said, “You’re the one with the big mouth not me, so why don’t you stop trying to be dad and mind your own business.”
He has a point, Charles Chuck Chendrill thought, and felt hungry as he watched another slab of the cheese disappear into the void that was Dan’s mouth. After all, he wasn’t Dan’s dad. As quick as a flash, Dan carried on with, “And its just as well you’re not. Because if you were, I’d have gotten your looks and with that chances are high I’d never have gotten a multi-millionaire superstar sucking my dick.” And just as he passed him heading back down the stairs to his cave, Dan heard Chendrill say back, “Yeah, I get you, no teeth can be good!”
*************
Daltrey sat on the edge of her bed and pulled off the bandana she’d been wearing to hide her burns. How long had it been now, she thought, as she felt her burned skin which she hoped would heal soon. She’d been on the boat hiding and done the same in hospital and now she was back at her apartment hiding again—except for when the biker had managed to drag her out. Which had been nice, but out was as far as she’d let it go for the moment. Not until she was used to the way she now looked at least.
What would she have done if she’d not found that phone and called Chendrill like she had, she thought. Would she still be there? Maybe, but the food and drink that belonged to whoever owned the boat had been getting sparse, just as the toilet paper had also. She looked at the nails on her hands—they were getting long now, longer than she could remember them ever being before. But what did that matter with her hair being the way it was at the moment?
It was time to get back to the real world—this she had known for the last while. If she’d had the guts to take on those two kids armed with baseball bats, mugging that man, she was strong enough to start looking into the identity of the brave girl who had saved her life.