314 wt-1

by A. R. Wise

  “I want a rematch.” Stephen pointed at Jacker’s controller on the table.

  “No!” Rachel swiped the game controller off the table and snatched the battery pack off the back of it. “Game over. I don’t want to sit here all night watching you two play video games.”

  “Then what do you want to do?” asked Stephen. His tone started off like a petulant teen, but then changed as he decided not to pick a fight with her.

  “I don’t know.” She pulled her feet up onto the couch, under her butt, as if nestling in for a long chat with a girlfriend. “Let’s just talk.”

  Jacker and Stephen both groaned simultaneously.

  “What?” asked Rachel, amused by their dour faces. “What’s wrong with talking? I’d like to get to know the guy that’s going to be driving us around for the next few days.”

  “I’m getting a beer,” said Stephen with a defeated groan. “Who else needs one?”

  Jacker raised his hand and then Rachel asked for one as well.

  “So, Jacker, how’d you get that name?”

  The big guy snickered and ran his hands through his shaggy, curly head of hair. “That’s a complicated story. The short version is that I’m a computer nerd. Have been ever since I was a kid.”

  “Did you grow up with Paul and Alma?”

  “No. I met Paul just this year, at the tattoo place near his apartment.”

  “What was it that made you two start hanging out?” Rachel’s questions came quicker than Jacker seemed prepared for.

  “I don’t know. He’s a nice guy. We just sort of started hanging out a lot.”

  “Okay,” said Rachel. “Do you ride a motorcycle like he does?”

  “No.”

  “Do you get a lot of tattoos?”

  “Jesus,” said Stephen from the kitchen. “Give the guy a break, Rachel.”

  “What?” she asked as if defending herself. “I’m just trying to get to know him.”

  “No you’re not,” said Stephen as he brought Jacker a beer. “You’re going into reporter mode. Stop it.”

  “It’s okay,” said Jacker. “I’m sure it’s weird to have some stranger staying at your place right before hauling you through a couple states. I don’t mind answering a few questions.”

  “See.” Rachel was quick to stick her tongue out at her husband. “So, do you have a bunch of tattoos hidden under that shirt?”

  Jacker was wearing a long sleeve, black shirt with a band name that Rachel didn’t recognize. He pulled the sleeves up to reveal bare arms. “Nope. I never got a tattoo.”

  Rachel was surprised and furrowed her brow. “Then how did you meet Paul at a tattoo place?”

  “My friends hang out there,” said Jacker quickly.

  Rachel adjusted her position as Stephen sat down beside her. He handed her a bottle of beer and then the glass that she’d left on the kitchen table from earlier. She started to pour the beer, but then Stephen took it away from her claiming that she wasn’t doing it right. She ignored his tutorial on properly pouring the beer and continued talking with Jacker.

  “So what about Paul and Alma?”

  “What about them?” asked Jacker.

  “Alma told me how they’ve been an on-again-off-again couple ever since high school. What do you think of their relationship? Is it healthy?”

  “Good Lord,” said Stephen. “Did you really make us stop playing Call of Duty to talk about relationship crap?”

  “Yes.” Rachel slapped Stephen’s knee. “Now shut up and let us talk.”

  “Today was the first time I met Alma,” said Jacker.

  “Oh really?” asked Rachel.

  “Paul talks about her a lot, but they’ve been broken up ever since I’ve known him. He’s been working up the courage to ask her out again.”

  “No kidding? So he’s been pining for her all this time? That’s sweet.”

  “Sweet or super creepy,” said Stephen, which earned another slap on the knee from his wife.

  “It’s romantic, not that you’d know anything about that, asshole.”

  Stephen groaned and shook his head. “Please. I’m a fucking Casanova. All my girlfriends say so.”

  “Ha, ha,” said Rachel blandly. “Very funny, jerk.”

  “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone more in love with another person in my whole life,” said Jacker. “Paul was a mess when I met him. I kept trying to convince him to forget about her and move on, but he was determined to win Alma back. I figured he’d get over it after a few weeks, but he didn’t. I’m happy that everything worked out like it did. He deserves a chance to show her how much he loves her.” Jacker spoke as if lamenting an old, lost friend. There was a distant sadness in his words.

  Rachel scooted over to the side of the couch to be closer to the loveseat that Jacker was sitting on. She put her left hand on his arm and then clasped his hand with her right. “Hey, you okay?”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Jacker unconvincingly.

  “Thinking of your girlfriend?”

  Jacker shrugged and didn’t look at her. “I guess.”

  “It’s okay to be sad,” said Rachel. “I can’t imagine how tough this week has been for you.”

  “It’s been shitty.” Jacker continued to avoid eye contact and he tightened his grip on her hand.

  “Here, honey,” said Rachel as she got a box of tissues off the coffee table and handed it to the big guy.

  “Oh crap,” said Stephen. “Hey, Barbara Walters, stop making our guests cry.”

  “Shut up, Stephen.” She gave him a dismissive wave.

  Jacker chuckled as he took the tissues and wiped his eyes. “He’s right. You’re pulling some sort of chick-flick voodoo on me. The last thing I wanted to do tonight was start thinking about Debbie.” He laughed uncomfortably as he wiped his eyes.

  “Give the guy a break, Rachel,” said Stephen.

  “Okay,” said Rachel. She moved back down the couch, away from Jacker, and back into Stephen’s arms.

  “I need a shot,” said Jacker. “Do you guys have any hard liquor in here?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Manipulations

  March 11th, 2012

  It was past midnight when Paul and Alma got back to Rachel’s apartment. Jacker was smoking a cigarette on the front steps when they pulled up. He waved at them and Paul stopped Alma from approaching once he turned off the bike.

  “Do me a favor, babe,” said Paul. “Just head on inside. Let me talk to him.”

  “Why?” asked Alma. “What’s the matter?”

  Paul didn’t want to say. “Just trust me on this one.”

  Alma set her helmet on the back of Paul’s bike and then walked towards the apartment. She waved at Jacker as she passed before Paul sat down beside his friend.

  “They went to bed,” said Jacker. “Door’s unlocked.”

  “Okay,” said Alma. “See you guys inside in a bit.” She was hesitant to close the door, as if afraid to leave Paul alone with the big man.

  Once the door closed, Paul got out a cigarette and lit it. The two of them sat on the steps in the chilly night air and smoked in silence.

  Jacker finished his cigarette first and flicked it out into the street. “I almost lost it, man.”

  “I know,” said Paul. “I could see it on your face when I got here. What happened?”

  Jacker looked back at the apartment to make sure the window wasn’t open. “Rachel was asking about Debbie, and it just brought it all back, man. She didn’t mean anything by it. She’s just one of those people that ask too many questions.”

  “That’s her job,” said Paul.

  “I know. I’m not mad at her or anything. I just had a tough time dealing with it.”

  “You stink like bourbon.”

  Jacker cupped his hand over his mouth so that his breath went back into his nose. “Do I?”

  “Yeah, man. Bad.”

  “I hit the bottle pretty hard. I’m not sure I’m like you, Paul. I don’t know
if I can drink and still be sober. I pounded shots, but man, I’d give anything for a hit.” He looked at the crook of his arm. “I think drinking just makes it worse for me.”

  “Well then don’t drink.”

  Jacker snickered at the suggestion. “Easier said than done, brother.”

  “No truer words have ever been spoken, but we’ve just got to deal with it.” Paul nearly finished his cigarette as they sat silent for another long moment. “Tell you what, I’ll quit drinking too. We’ll quit everything together.”

  “No, man,” said Jacker. “You don’t need to do that. You’ve got your shit straight. Don’t go switching it up for me.”

  “Hey, Jacker.” Paul punched his friend on the shoulder and smiled. “How about you shut the fuck up and let me do something nice for you for a change?”

  “Honestly, Paul, you don’t have to do that.”

  “Remember a couple months ago, when I called you in the middle of the night, high as a kite?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “I was crying like an asshole, and you came right over to pick me up. You bought me dinner over at the Mexican place on Taft.”

  “Uncle Julio’s,” said Jacker, recalling the name of the restaurant. “Fucking amazing burritos.”

  “There’s something I never told you about that night.”

  “What’s that?” asked Jacker.

  “I was going to hang myself.”

  Jacker sat up straight and grimaced. “What the fuck? Are you serious?”

  Paul nodded and glanced back at the front door to make sure Alma wasn’t eavesdropping. “Yeah. I’ve still got the noose back at my place. It’s hanging in my closet as a reminder of how low I got.”

  “Fuck, man,” said Jacker. “I wish you would’ve said something. I could’ve…”

  “You did everything you needed to,” said Paul. “If it weren’t for you, I’d be dead. But I had a person I could rely on, and I owe you for that.”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” said Jacker.

  “Yes I do.” Paul put his hand on the back of Jacker’s neck and squeezed as he shook the man back a forth a little. “I need you, big guy. So if turning down a few beers here and there will help you out, you’d better believe I’m going to do it. Understood?”

  “Okay, but you’ve got to do something else for me,” said Jacker.

  “If you ask me to give you a blowjob, our friendship is going to get mighty awkward all of the sudden.”

  “Oh,” said Jacker. “Then never mind, I guess.” They laughed and then Jacker said, “Throw out that noose. Or better yet, burn it.”

  Paul stamped out his cigarette on the step and then put out his hand for Jacker to shake. “Deal.”

  Jacker shook his friend’s hand. “By the way, Alma is fucking gorgeous, man.”

  Paul looked back at the door to the apartment. “Yeah, thanks. She knocked my socks off when she got back from shopping with Rachel. Don’t get me wrong, I always thought she was beautiful, but holy shit. A hair cut and some make-up go a long way.”

  “It’s more than that,” said Jacker. “She loves you. Any idiot can see that. When she’s with you, she looks happy. Bear with me here, cause I’m about to sound like a chick, but seeing you two together has made me believe in love again.”

  “Holy shit, bro,” said Paul. “You are sounding like a chick. What the hell did they do to you in there?” He pointed back at Stephen and Rachel’s apartment.

  Jacker laughed and then threatened to punch Paul, who feigned a flinch. “I’m serious, man. The past six months that I’ve known you, I’ve been trying to convince you to give up on her. I wanted you to move on because I was worried that your whole ‘true love’ thing was bullshit. I just wanted to tell you that I was wrong. Seeing you two together…” he shrugged and tried to come to terms with what he was feeling. “I don’t know, it just makes me feel good. I never felt that way about Debbie. I think I stayed with her because she didn’t bitch too much when I touched her boobs.”

  “Fuck that whore, man,” said Paul. “We’ll find someone for you. You’re too good a guy to be wasted on a tramp like that.”

  “Two years clean,” said Jacker, “right down the drain because of that bitch.”

  “Every day’s a struggle, man,” said Paul. “And every day sober is a win. Doesn’t matter if it’s been two years or two days. You’re the one that taught me that.”

  “Does that make you my sponsor now?”

  “Shit,” said Paul as he pretended to be deep in thought. “I guess you’re right. Oh man, you’re fucked.” They laughed and Paul reached into his pocket to pull out his sobriety coin. He offered it to Jacker.

  “What’s this for?”

  “I wouldn’t have it if it weren’t for you. Figure I owe it to you.”

  Jacker took the coin and clasped it tightly.

  * * *

  “Wake up, freeloaders!” Stephen was chipper and loud as he came into the living room where his guests were sleeping.

  Alma threw a pillow at him. “It’s too early to be so happy,” she said and pressed her face back into Paul’s side as they lay on the couch

  “Today’s the big day,” said Stephen as he went into the kitchen. “The van’s all packed, and we’re ready to go. I’ll buy some breakfast on the way.” No one responded, so he spoke louder. “Come on, guys! Let’s go!”

  “Holy shit, dude,” said Jacker. “Is the sun even up?”

  “It’s almost seven,” said Stephen. “Come on, we’re already running late.”

  “In my world it’s impossible to be running late for anything at seven in the morning,” said Jacker, but he sat up anyhow. His hair was standing straight out on either side of his head, making him look like a clown as he sniffled and yawned.

  “That’s some serious bed head, brother,” said Paul.

  “You try sleeping on a love seat, see how good you look in the morning.” Jacker stood up and stumbled forward, unbalanced. “I feel like shit.”

  “Alma,” said Stephen as he came into the living room with a stack of papers. “Can you do me a favor and look over this real quick? It’s the waiver for our show. If everything looks good, just sign and date the bottom of each page. Cool?”

  Paul took the papers because Alma didn’t want to get up yet. She kept her head pressed into her boyfriend’s side.

  Alma groaned and finally sat up. “Can’t we take showers before we go? I don’t want to be in a van with a bunch of stinky guys all day.”

  “I already took one and Rachel should be getting done soon. I’ll kick her out of the bathroom and make her do her hair in the bedroom. She takes for freaking ever to get ready.”

  “It takes me a while to wash and dry my hair too.” Alma instinctually reached for her long hair to drape it over her shoulder, but discovered it was gone. “But I guess not anymore. I forgot it was gone. God, that’s weird.” She ran her hand through her newly short hair. “It’s like having a phantom limb or something.”

  Stephen heard a hair dryer turn on in the bedroom. “Sounds like Rachel’s out of the bathroom.”

  “I’ll jump in the shower next,” said Jacker. “Give you three a chance to go over the papers.”

  “It’s pretty basic,” said Stephen. “I added in a clause about giving you final say on any portion of the show that features you, or anything about your history with Widowsfield. I even included the footage from the school in there. I want to make sure you know that I’m not trying to be deceptive or anything. It’s all there. Look it over and let me know if you have any questions.”

  Stephen went to the kitchen to make coffee, but watched Paul and Alma as they read the contract. Alma looked it over first, and pointed out a few things to Paul who then took the papers and started reading. The entire show depended on Alma signing the contract, and Stephen was nervous as he waited to see if she would sign. His heart was racing, a side effect of the pills he took every morning to help him get going. When he first started takin
g the diet pills, he was just trying to lose a few vanity pounds, but they’d become an essential part of his routine now. Coffee hardly had an effect on him, and a few weeks ago he had to go up to four pills each morning instead of the recommended two, but he craved the energy they gave him. He’d never been so productive in his life.

  He drummed on the counter as he waited for the water to boil. “Come on, you fucker,” said Stephen as he stared at the water in the pot. “Boil, already.”

  “Stephen,” said Alma.

  He was startled by her voice. He’d fallen into a bit of a trance as he stared into the pot of water, and jogged back into the living room to see what Alma needed. “Yep?”

  “I didn’t expect to get paid,” said Alma. “Rachel already bought me so much stuff. I feel bad taking more money for doing an internet video.”

  Stephen and Paul looked at one another. Paul hadn’t told Alma about the network deal, which surprised Stephen. Even though he’d asked him to keep it a secret, he expected him to tell his girlfriend.

  “It’s okay,” said Stephen, and he wondered if Paul was testing him. Was the biker waiting to see if Stephen would be honest? He decided not to risk it. “You should know the truth. We’re hoping that the show goes beyond just being an internet thing. Do me a favor and keep this part quiet, but we got approached by a cable network about possibly turning this into an actual television show.”

  Alma looked concerned, which was exactly what Stephen was afraid of.

  “Oh,” she said and looked back down at the contract. “Wow.”

  She was reconsidering; Stephen could see it in the way she started to study the contract again.

  “It’s the same show,” said Stephen. “Everything’s exactly the same, and we might even just use this as a test show. It might not even make it on the air.”

  Alma set the contract on the coffee table.

  Stephen could feel his show slipping out of his grasp. Alma was going to refuse to sign. She was going to back out. “I’ll do whatever you need, Alma. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do what I can to accommodate you. This story depends on you being a part of it. I need you, Alma.”