by Noah Harris
“Mimosas, huh, Rita?” she asked, deadpan. Rita snickered behind her hand, and Ronnie gave both of them an apologetic look. Jack watched his pink lips curl into a bashful smile and swallowed thickly.
“I was feeling a little on edge. Rita suggested something to calm me down. It doesn’t hurt that it’s delicious,” Ronnie said, leaning forward and laughing. Frankie cleared her throat and glanced up at him. This is the guy? He held back an amused smile. Ronnie was charming, cute even, and Frankie was a hard ass. “Anyway, I just want to thank you for helping me. Both of you,” he said, looking sincerely at both of them. “All of you, actually. I haven’t met Clara yet,” he said, and Frankie interrupted him.
“You probably won’t. You’re just here for us to make sure you don’t get killed. Clara’s not really interested in anything but that.” Ronnie went quiet and twirled his glass in his dainty fingers.
“Okay, well, let’s get on with it,” Jack said uncomfortably, looking pointedly at Frankie. She pressed her lips together and guided him away from Ronnie and Rita, through to the room past the kitchen, Clara’s least favorite room because it had a television. Portia’s favorite room because it had the only television. The carpet was more worn in here, the design muddied. The television was enormous and suspended on the wall, and the windows were huge and took up nearly the entire opposite wall. Frankie looked around, tapping buttons on her tablet.
“I think I’m just going to do the same in here that I did upstairs in Clara’s room. Too many damn windows.” Jack nodded, looking around. She was right. Too many windows to see through, to shoot through. Frankie was referring to the sheet metal paneling she’d put over the expansive windows in Clara’s bedroom. “Why don’t you go give Ronnie the spiel while I work on this?” she asked, looking back at him. He visibly hesitated, and she grinned. “Better you than me.”
“Yep,” he sighed. “Got it.” Back in the kitchen, Ronnie was giggling with Rita about something. “Ronnie.”
“Jack,” Ronnie said, glancing with laughing eyes at Rita, who just waved him off playfully. Jack felt himself get irritated with their whispering and walked past them into the same sitting room they’d sat in the night before. Ronnie followed him silently, thankfully getting the message.
“Sit,” Jack said, standing beside the couch. Ronnie sat dutifully, putting his nearly empty mimosa down on the side-table. Jack leaned down and put a coaster underneath the sweating stemless glass. “There’s a few rules we all need to follow in this house when it is under lockdown. You especially, as the target. If you don’t follow these rules, you could put everyone at risk.” Jack could tell Ronnie had sobered up under the pressure of his gaze and took a deep breath.
“Okay, I can do that. I really appreciate this so much, you know, and I don’t want to cause any trouble or get anybody hurt, just for me,” Ronnie mumbled. Jack nodded and sat down in a chair opposite, feeling suddenly guilty for making Ronnie feel like a burden.
“Well, we…we took the job, so don’t feel bad about it.” Ronnie nodded jerkily, looking at the floor. Desperation churned in Jack’s stomach, he needed Ronnie to smile again. He was a little obnoxious, a little annoying, but it was almost like a breath of fresh air for Jack.
Ronnie tapped his fingers anxiously on his thighs, and Jack sighed heavily.
“Look, I said don’t feel bad about it. Buck up.” Ronnie half-smiled out of necessity. “I’m just going to get this over with, okay? First rule, even though the house is safe, you still need to alert us whenever you go anywhere so we can keep track of you. Right?”
“Okay,” Ronnie said, lacing his fingers together to stop them from their incessant tapping.
“Second rule, don’t leave this house by yourself, under any circumstances. You shouldn’t have any reason to leave, but if somehow you do, you let us know, and either Frankie or I will go with you. Understood?”
“Yes,” Ronnie said. Now his hands were wrapped around his knees, his shoulders hunched forward. Jack fought the urge to smooth his hands on his legs, to stop him from all this anxious fidgeting. He looked so small.
“Third rule, there are a few rooms in the house that are off-limits to you. I’m not going to tell you which ones because, from experience, that just makes people curious. If you run across a locked door, just keep walking.”
“Okay.”
“Okay. That’s it.” Ronnie nodded and let out the breath he’d been holding, and Jack studied him. His cheeks were still flushed from the mimosa, how many had Rita given him? And he seemed more comfortable slouched than he did standing up straight and bouncing off the walls. Ronnie apparently noticed him watching and smoothed his hair.
“Have you and Frankie J worked together for a long time?” he asked timidly, and Jack chuckled. He noticed Ronnie looking him over, but he hadn’t expected questions, this getting-to-know-you game.
“We used to be married, actually,” he said, knowing the response he was about to get. Oh, well, in that case…and then the inevitable backing off and awkwardness. He’d never faced it himself, but Frankie J had plenty of times. Neither of them had much luck dating, but Frankie was the only one who’d ever really tried to get back out there. For him, his failed marriage to Frankie, the lack of intimacy they shared despite their efforts, his absence as a parent…it had all amounted to too much, and he decided the time and energy put into something, just to watch it crumble, wasn’t worth it.
“Oh, well, it seems like you two are still close. That must be nice,” Ronnie said kindly, and Jack looked at him cautiously.
“Yeah, it can be.”
“All those pictures on the mantle.” He pointed to one of Jack and Frankie at one of Portia’s recitals. “Is that one while you two were still together? Where are you guys, there?”
“Our daughter’s dance recital when she was very little.” Ronnie looked up at the other pictures, interested. Jack, though, just remembered feeling awkward, out of place. Frankie had seemed to know everyone there, constantly running off to talk to other parents and leaving him in the dust with Clara. At least she’d also been strange, aloof and uncomfortable, just like him. They’d stood together most of the night while Frankie flitted around, chatting and socializing. He remembered wondering if he really knew her, at all. They’d gotten divorced shortly after. It was one of the only pictures Clara had taken of them, together.
“Is that her?” He was looking at the picture of Portia at her community performance of Swan Lake, directed by one of the shifters in Clara’s flight, where the swans had been replaced by dragons. Jack nodded, and Ronnie suddenly let out a laugh.
“What?”
“You were smiling.” They looked at one another for a moment, Ronnie smiling, and then Jack looked away. “Why did you and Frankie J…I’m sorry, I’m prying.”
“It’s fine,” Jack said, surprising himself. Ronnie’s curiosity about Jack was so innocent and genuine, he couldn’t help but want to indulge him. There was no judgment in his questions. “Why did we get divorced?”
“Yeah,” Ronnie said shyly. Jack looked down at his hands, linked together and leaning on his thighs. He wasn’t sure if there was a definite cause, just an amalgamation of all his mistakes and their lack of romantic chemistry. They’d mistaken friendship for love.
“We just didn’t click anymore.” Had they ever? “We’re still friends. I’m still Portia’s father. I still live here. We’re just friends, now, not spouses.”
“Why do you still live here? Isn’t it…is it hard?” Ronnie’s eyes searched his, and he looked at the floor. Yes.
“It’s not hard. We’re friends. Clara is like my mother. I take care of her, Frankie takes care of the house, Fiona takes care of her affairs.” Ronnie nodded, and Jack could feel him watching. He tried not to think about the way his place in the family, his role, had changed over the years. He felt…unneeded. He wasn’t a husband, he was a friend. He wasn’t a son, he was a protector. He was barely a father. He clenched his jaw and looked into the hallway.<
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“I’m sorry if I asked too much. I didn’t mean to upset you,” Ronnie said softly, and Jack cleared his throat, trying to make it sound like an offhanded laugh.
“You didn’t upset me,” he assured him, and Ronnie gave him a small, knowing smile.
“Right. Well, it’s nice you still live with your family. Do you…are you dating anyone?” The words came out choked like Ronnie was debating whether he should say them as they were coming out of his mouth. When Jack looked at him, his cheeks were inflamed even more than they had been. He grabbed his mimosa and finished it in one gulp.
“No,” Jack said quickly. Ronnie nodded and looked around the room interestedly. Jack watched him with amusement. Maybe it was his age, or maybe his experience, or maybe Ronnie was just far too easy to read. “It’s never really been a priority, not after my marriage ended.” He was telling the truth about when he was younger, sex was a much more significant part of his life. Now, he felt like he was better off alone. He messed up every relationship he had, and it was because of his past. And the thing about the past is that it can’t be changed.
“Right, I understand that,” Ronnie said, but his voice sounded smaller, disappointed. Jack suddenly realized he’d said the wrong thing, or had he? He didn’t know how to approach this situation. It was the first time he’d felt a pull this strong to anyone, man or woman, and he had experience with both. But at the same time…was it the smart thing to do? Or would it all just end in tears and shouting, like always? And, like always, would it be his fault? He’d been alone, celibate and closed-off in every way, for so long. He didn’t know how to be anything different. Rita entered the room and replaced Ronnie’s mimosa as if on cue, and they both looked at her, grateful for the interruption.
“What? Did I interrupt something?” Her eyes were full of mirth.
“Of course not,” Ronnie said, patting her hand and taking the mimosa. She glanced at Jack, and he maintained the eye contact stubbornly. Finally, she shrugged and left, leaving them in silence, with each of them avoiding one another’s eyes as Ronnie worked on his new mimosa.
“Is he in there? Rita!” Jack heard Portia’s voice echo from the kitchen, and he stood up quickly, striding over to the doorway.
“No way, Poe,” Jack said as she nearly flew over to the room.
“Hi, Ronnie. I’m Portia,” she shouted, leaning around, under and over Jack. He groaned and let her pass, and Ronnie stood up abruptly, looking astounded. He quickly regained his footing, and Jack realized he was used to putting on a show and hiding his true self. Portia bounced over to the couch and sat down, patting the cushion beside her.
“I thought your mother told you to stay in your room?” he tried to keep his voice even. Portia was at the age where anything could set her off, and now he knew she was going through the dragon equivalent of puberty, well…she needed to stay calm. Plus, he didn’t want to do anything to make her resent him more than he was sure she already did.
“I was not going to sit in my room on my phone when Ronnie Redcliff is having mimosas in our parlor,” she said with a roll of her eyes. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and patted the sofa more insistently. Ronnie sat down, his smile seeming to morph into a genuine one. Portia was amusingly pushy when she was excited.
“I saw your last Instagram post, and I tried to make the smoothie here, but I think it was missing something because it was disgusting,” she said, and Ronnie burst out laughing.
“Did you add vanilla yogurt?”
“No,” Portia said, looking like she’d been punched in the gut. “That makes so much sense.”
“I like to use yogurt made with coconut milk, you should try that,” he said, almost secretively, and she nodded thoughtfully.
“I try to drink dairy alternatives as you say,” she said, and then glanced up at Jack. “He thinks I’m being a hippie.”
“It’s better for you,” Ronnie affirmed, and then he looked up at Jack with raised eyebrows. “It really is.”
“Right,” Jack said with a chuckle, and then sat back down in his chair.
“Can I show you my Tumblr?” Jack smiled absently, thinking about her response to him mispronouncing it the day before. “It’s a little creepy, but I think you’ll think it’s cool.”
“I’m sure it’s not creepy. I’d love to see it.” Ronnie glanced at Jack with an amused smile when Portia ran off, shouting over her shoulder that she’d be right back with her laptop.
“You’re good with your fans,” Jack observed, and Ronnie shrugged.
“I like kids. People. I like talking to people.” Portia skidded back into the room as Jack leaned back comfortably in the chair, impressed with Ronnie.
“Okay, here it is. I’ve been making these posters for your independent movies, and then, here are some posts. People really like these, where I analyze your growth from character to character, like your acting and the parts you get.”
“These posters are phenomenal. Can you send me the link? I’m going to send them to my agent,” Ronnie said, leaning in closer to the laptop. Portia looked at him like he was an angel descended from the heavens, but Jack was looking at her. He hadn’t realized how much effort she put into chronicling Ronnie’s career, and how inspired she obviously was by him. He felt a surge of gratefulness to Ronnie for influencing Portia to be such a healthy, kind, dedicated person. It was her personality, but Ronnie’s online presence, whatever it was, had helped her stay the course as she grew.
“Yeah, I mean, are you sure? They’re not really that good,” she said, looking at Jack for help. He stood up and walked over to them, leaning over the back of the couch. The posters were bright technicolor, looking like the vintage movies he and Frankie used to watch when they’d first started dating. Ronnie was right, they were phenomenal.
“Poe, you’ve never shown your mother or me your artwork,” Jack said, patting her on the head. She shrugged silently, and he tried not to feel guilty. She probably thought they didn’t care about her interests because, well, they’d never acted like they did. “These are great, Poe.”
“Your father’s right,” Ronnie said, looking up at Jack with a smile. Jack felt his stomach stir when their eyes met like they were bonding over the encouragement of his daughter. It felt, strangely, like parenthood. What he assumed it was supposed to feel like, what he’d always missed out on. “Send these to me, here, I’ll put my phone number in your phone. Send me the link, okay?”
“Okay,” she breathed excitedly, grinning at him. He took her phone and punched in his number while Jack went to sit back down, and then Portia put her laptop down beside her and threw her arms around him. “You’re so cool,” she said, and he laughed.
They talked more, about her detailed analyses of his character development, the roles he took, his Instagram presence, his interviews online, and on television. Jack had no idea what they were talking about the majority of the time, but it seemed Portia had finally met someone who could keep up with her. He was smart, witty, following her stream-of-consciousness way of talking, and replying in his own unique, clever ways. He was nearly ten years older than Portia but he related to her far better and far more easily than Jack or even Frankie ever had.
Portia kept looking over at Jack excitedly as if she couldn’t believe her eyes, and he’d smile, chuckle and give her a thumbs up. He felt like he understood Portia, through Ronnie, in a way he never had. And Ronnie had never seemed to feel so comfortable and natural as he did now, sitting in their parlor next to Jack and his daughter. Jack was, oddly, feeling the same way.
Thunder cracked overhead, penetrating the walls just enough that you could hear it rumbling through the clouds. Then the rain started, heavy, pattering violently against the windows and the roof. Rita had brought them lunch, and they ate, Jack silently, Portia and Ronnie chatting in between bites as the rain massaged the manor.
Not more than an hour had passed when Frankie J wandered into the room. Or at least, her eyes were so glued to her tablet that it s
eemed like she meandered in by accident.
“I’ve got something from the underground network,” she said suddenly, and then she tore her eyes away to look at Jack seriously. Portia and Ronnie went quiet, and Jack bolted out of his chair to look over her shoulder at the tablet. Perry Johnson. Male. 43. 5’7. Blonde. His address followed, as well as his career details and the people he was associated with. Ronnie’s name jumped out at him.
He looked up at Ronnie, and Ronnie stared back at him fearfully.
“We should talk outside first,” Frankie said quickly, seeing the look on Ronnie’s face. “I need to brief you before we brief him.”
“Alright,” he said, and then he looked at Portia.
“Take care of your new friend,” he said, and she nodded seriously, patting Ronnie’s hand. The familiar gesture made his heart stutter in his chest. She was more like him than he realized, sometimes. Frankie led him out into the kitchen, and they sat on the barstools at the island.
“So, Perry Johnson. He used to be Ronnie’s agent. He was also Lucy Lazenby’s agent, as well as some guy named Travis…”
“Travis Caulfield,” he remembered. Portia and Ronnie had talked about him in the parlor, and she’d also mentioned him the day before.
“Right,” Frankie said, looking at him curiously. “Anyway, here’s the interesting part, you don’t hear about it often, although I’d never heard of any of them, that’s beside the point, but Johnson apparently made off with most of the money they made from acting when they were young, and now he’s been auctioning off their personal information.”
“Fuck,” Jack said, shaking his head. “This guy’s a piece of work.”
“Sure is.” They returned to the parlor where Ronnie and Portia were still sitting together, although Ronnie looked significantly paler. The anxiety on his face was also obvious in the quaking of his hands, and Jack sat on the chair closer to him. Frankie sat where he’d been before.