Playing His Game (The Reynolds Brothers)

by Justine Elvira

  When another day passed and I still hadn't heard from him, I no longer believed he was waiting to call me. He was a coward. That's all that made sense to me. What other reason did he possibly have for not calling me? We were friends before all of this got so complicated and a friend would call to make sure another friend was okay. Autumn still made the same excuses for him, but I knew even she didn’t believe them.

  Then there are the events of today. I woke up like I had the past two days, hoping to hear from a groveling Scott, but as usual, he wasn't here and my phone had no missed messages from him.

  I made a cup of coffee and turned on the television, surfing through the channels to find something to watch... and there he was, sitting across from our local newscaster.

  Was he getting interviewed?

  My initial shock almost caused me to miss the female news anchor's questions so I listened intently to the interview. She asked him what he did for a living, what he did for fun, and how the instant fame of the last few days has affected his life.

  Instant fame? He was famous now?

  He sat up tall and looked her confidentially in the eyes as he answered each of her questions. My eyes appraised his body and I noticed the few subtle changes since the last time I saw him. His skin was paler, his eyes had dark circles under them that someone tried to hide with concealer and his face looked slimmer. I know that's crazy since it's only been three days but he actually looked slimmer.

  Isn't the camera supposed to add ten pounds?

  The anchor asks about me, but Scott changes the subject and starts talking about Jared's production company. I think the interview’s almost over when two pictures flash across the screen. The first picture is of Scott sitting on a director's chair that has Don's production company's name written on it. He's signing a copy of our DVD to a woman who is practically naked. The second picture is of him leaving a nightclub with a scantily clad female on one side of him and Tawny on the other side. Scott himself isn't doing anything damning in the pictures, but the fact that there are even pictures of him out shows that I'm suffering while he's out riding his fifteen minutes of fame.

  The camera moves back to Scott and the female anchor. She asks him specifically about the photo of him coming out of the club last night.

  "Does your instant fame make you a magnet for the ladies, or were you always getting this much attention?"

  Ladies and gentlemen, give this woman an award. That was a hard hitting question right there. She could solve world hunger with her captivating journalism.

  He answers her cockily and she closes off the interview, but not before ruining my life completely.

  "If you're interested in purchasing this video featuring Brayden Boner and Winnie Adams, you can find the purchase links on our website. We'll be right back with sports after this commercial break."

  She said my name. That fucking newscaster, anchor bitch, said my name. That was one thing we agreed to. I signed a contract saying my name wouldn't be released.

  I start to hyperventilate. I'm having a panic attack. I dig through the cabinets in the kitchen until I find a brown paper bag and I start to breathe in and out of it. The bag crinkles and closes and then expands to open.

  In and out, breathe in and out.

  Once I’ve got control of my breathing I leave the kitchen and head back into the room I've been staying in. My phone is on the bed and I grab it to call Scott. It rings once, twice and then goes to voicemail. I hang up and dial again but the same thing happens so I decide to text him.

  Me: CALL ME. IT’S AN EMERGENCY!!!!

  I hold the phone tightly and wait for his call but I get nothing. No text. No phone call. So I text him again.

  Me: PLEASE!!!! I’M FREAKING OUT

  Me: I need you to reassure me right now.

  When another half hour goes by and he still hasn't called I want to cry. It's really over between us. My love for him wasn't enough and now I've ruined my entire life for him.

  My phone starts to ring in my hands and I look down at the screen hoping it's him, but it's not. It's my mother. I don't pick up because I’m not in the mood to talk to her. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone. My phone rings again and I stupidly look at the caller ID in hopes it'll be Scott, but this time it's my dad, and now I know that they know.

  They know that their daughter did the unthinkable. Their daughter had sex on camera for others to see. They know this because that stupid bitch of an anchor couldn’t keep her fucking mouth shut and the news somehow already made its way to Michigan. I feel like I'm losing my mind. Nothing seems real anymore. This has to be a dream. One big nightmare and when I wake up all will be right with the world because Winnie Adams would never shoot a porno.

  When did my life start to fall apart?

  Scott. Scott's when it fell apart. Moving to California is when it fell apart. I don’t want to stay here where everywhere I go I'll be recognized for the video I made. I want to go home. I want to go back to Michigan. My parents love me unconditionally and we'll get through this. Sure, they'll want to probably send me to a convent for the rest of my life, but they'll want to do it lovingly. They won't ignore me after I gave my body to them for the sole purpose of saving their lives.

  I send Scott one more text and then silence my phone.

  Me: I'm leaving. I'm sorry for any trouble I've caused you that's made it so hard for you to call me over the past few days or pick up the phone today. While you're doing God knows what and hating me, consider my feelings in all this. I loved you. I risked everything for you... because I loved you, and somehow I seem to be the only one suffering from our actions. While you're out giving interviews, partying it up at night and living the highlife, I'm stuck getting my name leaked in the press. I'm the one feeling like a whore, hating myself and filled with self-doubt. You did this to me and then treated me like the dirt you walk on at your house the other night. I never thought I'd say this but I regret it. I regret making that video with you, I regret ever sleeping with you and I regret ever meeting you because in the end I got hurt and you got another notch on your bedpost.

  I grab my two suitcases out of the closet and pack my things up quickly. I leave Autumn a note and place it on the kitchen counter before calling a cab company to pick me up.

  I need to get the hell out of California.

  ★★★

  The best flight I can get on with such short notice is to Chicago so I take it. I check my bags and walk over to wait in the long line at security. I people watch because I need anything to help me get out of my own head.

  Once I get up to the conveyor belt I place down my purse and phone and then walk through the metal detector. For the first time in my traveling experience God is on my side. The stupid metal detector doesn’t beep.

  I grip my purse and phone and walk through the airport and to my terminal. I look in each section until I find the correct waiting area for my flight and then I sit down and I can no longer avoid all the thoughts about Scott running through my head.

  ★★★

  A voice comes over the intercom, distracting me from my frantic thoughts. A woman is announcing that the rest of the passengers can now board the 747 I'm impatiently waiting to get on, bringing me from Los Angeles to Chicago. Once I'm in Chicago I'll rent a car and drive the few extra hours back home to Michigan, and I'll have to face my parents.

  I feel like a kid again, nervous about what they'll think of me. I'm going to have to admit how stupid I was. That I let the love I have for this man control my decisions and I did something monumentally fucked up because of it, which probably permanently changes the way my family views me. Yes, I saved the man I love from a deadly situation, but at what cost? My dignity? My self-respect? And what do I have to show for it?

  The man that I screwed up my entire life for could give two shits about me. He got what he wanted and everything is perfect in his world, while I'm hiding and hoping this all blows over soon.

  The phone in my pocket starts vibratin
g for what seems like the millionth time and I don't grab it, don't look at the caller ID, and don't have any desire to. I know who it is. While I know Autumn is worried about me, she's not who I need to be on the other end of the phone. She's not the person who can make this all better. Only one person can do that and he's currently letting his inflated ego direct his life, not even blinking an eye over the fact that I left.

  Stupid, motherfucking, egotistical asshole; I can't believe I let him destroy my life.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Scott

  Winnie: I'm leaving. I'm sorry for any trouble I've caused you that's made it so hard for you to call me over the past few days or pick up the phone today. While you're doing God knows what and hating me, consider my feelings in all this. I loved you. I risked everything for you... because I loved you, and somehow I seem to be the only one suffering from our actions. While you're out giving interviews, partying it up at night and living the highlife, I'm stuck getting my name leaked in the press. I'm the one feeling like a whore, hating myself and filled with self-doubt. You did this to me and then treated me like the dirt you walk on at your house the other night. I never thought I'd say this but I regret it. I regret making that video with you, I regret ever sleeping with you and I regret ever meeting you because in the end I got hurt and you got another notch on your bedpost.

  I fucked up. I thought I was doing the right thing by giving her time and space. My head was such a clusterfuck the other night but I was just so pissed off with everything my brother said that I didn't even think before I spoke, and I hurt Winnie because of it.

  She shared something with me just hours before that I've never had a woman share. No one has ever said those three words to me. She was giving me a gift but I wasn't sure how to receive it. By telling her that I cared about her I thought I was buying myself time until I could say those three words back to her, but then everything went to hell with the release of our video.

  I've missed several texts and phone calls from her today. I read her texts over and over again, confused by some of the things she said. I'm not living it up. I'm doing the mandatory promotion I agreed to in the contract. If I don't promote the movie wherever Don tells me to, then he can come after me for the money he's paid me. It's in my contract. She must not have read her contract thoroughly, or maybe that clause wasn't in hers since she didn't get paid.

  I call her cell phone but it goes straight to voicemail. She must be in a bad area so I wait a few minutes to try again but it still goes straight to voicemail. I reread her text for probably the fiftieth time. What does she mean she's leaving? Leaving me? Leaving my house? I need to clear this up with her.

  I'm in a cheap hotel room in downtown L.A. with Don and his PR guy. I've been on the phone all day with different media outlets asking me questions about the video, and the hotel room door has been opening and closing with magazine writers coming to ask me questions in person for their next article.

  Who knew there were so many outlets of media in the porn industry?

  The truth is the last few days have sucked. I've barely had a minute to myself and if I have to talk about my dick one more time, I might shove it down the next reporter’s throat. I was not cut out for this business. Don reassures me over and over again that we're almost done and that I've almost fulfilled my requirements in the contract, but then some opportunity comes up that he can’t turn down and I'm stuck doing even more press.

  I want to talk to Winnie. I need to talk to Winnie, but I don't want to do it over the phone and I haven't had a free moment to myself over the last few days unless it was to sleep.

  We finish up with the last interview around nine and I'm done. The words sperm, anal, and pussy have somehow become a regular part of my vocabulary in the last few days and I can't take one more second of it.

  "Tomorrow we'll have a lighter day. Go home and get some rest," Don says from over by the small wooden table in the room.

  "Tomorrow? I don't think so. I'm done, Don."

  "You're done when I say you're done, or should I pull out your contract again to show you exactly what you signed."

  Don's a good looking enough guy and I know he's been in the industry for a while, but in this moment he looks like one of those disgusting old men you see in the movies. His greed seeps out of his pores and it makes it hard for me to look at him.

  "Pull out the fucking contract. I've done more than enough for you, Donnie. I signed that I would do a day or two of media and press. This is the end of day three and I've barely had a moment to fucking breathe. Now I'm going to walk out of here and start getting my life back in order. You can try and sue me but I swear I'll fucking win in court and your attorney will be paying my court fees."

  I don't look back as I storm out of the hotel room and run to the stairs. I take them down three at a time until I've reached the bottom and then jog out to my truck. I should go home and shower after spending the entire day in that dirty hotel room, but I need to see Winnie. Giving her time is not working and I have a lot of groveling to do before trying to convince her to come back to the house with me.

  She can't leave me.

  Getting out of L.A. is never easy. Even at nine at night the traffic is a bitch. It takes a while but I eventually pull into my brother's gated community in Calabasas. While I have the clearance to get through the gate, my brother still doesn't trust me with a key to his place so I'm left standing outside the doors, ringing the door bell over and over again.

  The light from the entryway turns on and then I hear the locks being unlatched and the door open.

  "I was sleeping, fucker. What do you want?" Jared asks, rubbing his eyes as he squints in my direction. I pull out my phone and look at the time: 10:13pm.

  "I'm sorry, grandpa. I didn't realize men in their twenties went to bed so early."

  "What do you want, Scott?"

  I push past him and walk inside his house. "I need to talk to Winnie. Is she sleeping too?"

  He watches me confused. "Winnie's gone, man. She went back to South Haven."

  My stomach drops. When she said she was leaving I just assumed she meant she was leaving me. Not that she was leaving the state of California.

  "When did she leave?" I ask a little more demanding than I intend to.

  "This morning. I don't know much except that she left Autumn a note saying she was going. Autumn's tried calling her all day but Winnie won't pick up."

  Fuck!

  "I’ll be the first to admit that I don't know what the hell your relationship with her is like, but after what she sacrificed for you and the shit you pulled afterwards, how could you have expected her to stay, Scott?"

  "I fucked up. That's what I do. I'm a fuck-up. She knows that."

  "You're also twenty-eight years old. You need to grow the fuck up and take responsibility for your actions. I'm your brother and I love you, so I'll always be here. Women like Winnie won't."

  "I'm sorry."

  "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

  "Yes, you are. I'm sorry about everything. I'm sorry that even after everything I put you, Mom, Dad, and the rest of our family through a few years ago, I still fell off the wagon. I've ruined so much in my life and I finally had it good. I should have come to you when all of this started to blow up, but I was afraid I'd lose you. Now I know that could never happen. Sure, you would have been pissed and maybe even beaten the shit out of me, but you're my brother. You would have helped me."

  "I'll always help you, Scott. We're family and I don't like to see you struggle, but I can't help you with this. Winnie's gone and you need to go get some help, otherwise you're going to end up in a similar situation six months from now."

  "You're right. I know you're right, but I need to fix things with Winnie first."

  "And what if they can't be fixed, Scott? Do you even realize how bad you've hurt her?"

  "I know, and I'll never forgive myself for that, but... I love her. I need to try and fix this or I'll regret it for th
e rest of my life."

  Jared's concern for me starts to fade from his face as he breaks out in a grin. "You love her? Did I just hear Scott Reynolds say he's in love?"

  "Shut the fuck up. Yes, you did."

  "Well, if you love her, then go get her. I'm going back to bed so I can hold my sexy as fuck wife and be glad that I don't have to deal with the bullshit you're dealing with right now."

  "Thanks, Jare."

  "And Scott? Next time you owe money and your face is beaten to shit and you think the only option is to make a porno with your girlfriend and market it using my name, call me first so I can tell you what a fucking idiot you are."

  I laugh. "It'll never happen again.”

  "Good. Now leave and go get your girl."

  He locks up behind me and I hop in the truck. Pulling out my phone, I scroll through the screen and hop on the internet to book the next flight out of here. I'll use the plane ride to come up with some kind of plan on how I can win her back.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Winnie

  My head hurts. My face is sore and my body aches. All battle wounds from the endless amount of crying I did last night while listening to Stay with Me by Sam Smith over and over again on my phone.

  Crying really is a full body workout.

  I peel my eyes open and look around the bright room.

  I'm in hell.

  The pale pink walls that hold so many memories of my childhood surround me. On one wall are all of my dance competition awards from my childhood and on the other walls are the signs of my teenage rebellion. Posters of Slipknot, Six Feet Under, Megadeth, AC/DC, and my personal favorite, Dance Club Massacre, cover up the pale pink I was dying to erase.

  I'm lying in the twin bed I slept in for sixteen years of my life because my parents wouldn't let me get a full. The green and pastel floral design of my comforter looks like something you'd bury your grandmother in, but I was forced to sleep under it every night.