Delivering His Heir

by Jesse Jordan

  “A decent fucking start,” Dad says, totally missing my point. “You're going to find an acceptable man from a good family, Andrea. If you don't...”

  “What, Dad? Going to disown me?” I ask, angry. “Going to yank me around and order me around? Maybe stop calling me daily like you do now?”

  Dad shakes his head. “You don't even have a clue how much I could fuck up your life. It's pretty simple, Andrea. You disobey me, and your job... gone. Your car... gone. That little bachelorette pad that I've paid for... gone. Your inheritance, your safety net, your trust fund that you're in line to get when you turn twenty-seven? All of it, gone. You want to hang out with barrio trash? Fine, you can go live like them. Go suck down burritos and pork rinds or some shit.”

  “Fire me? You'll fire me over who I'm dating? You're being despicable!” I yell, standing up. “It's illegal!”

  “California is an at-will employment state. And no, firing my daughter for who she dates is not covered under federal or state statutes. Besides, do you really think I'd be stupid enough to fire you and have that in writing? I fire you for any of a dozen different reasons. I've done it before, I'll do it again in the future,” Dad says, grinning triumphantly. “And don't think that you can just get fired from here and go tattle, or go get a job somewhere else. You won't be able to get a job writing up high school football scores in backwoods Kentucky by the time I finish with what I'll put out, Andrea. So, you have a very clear choice. Your boy... or your career?”

  I get out of my chair, and Dad thinks he's won as I go around to him. He even holds his arms out like he wants a hug. “Honey, I know it hurts, and I don't like having to spank you to teach you a lesson, but...”

  Dad's words are cut off as I slap him, hard, across the cheek. “Listen to me now, and listen to me well, Darren Coates,” I growl, stunning him into silence. Not Dad, not Daddy, but... Darren? I've never called him that before in my entire life. “The last thing I need is someone like you trying to control my life any longer. Listening to Chad? In case you forgot, Chad Bronson's facing rape charges, he's a slimy, lying sack of shit who cheated on me with so many other girls that... it doesn't matter. He's a liar and a scum that's been stalking me for months and would lie if he wanted to, just to make sure that I couldn't date anyone. That you even listened to a word out of his slimy mouth says something about you. It tells me that while we might be related by DNA, you're hardly deserving of being called my father.”

  I'm enraged, my nostrils quivering as I keep going. “So, here's the truth. Yes, I'm dating Joey Rivera. In fact, I've slept with him, and I loved it! He's a man, a real fucking man, not some rich bitch trust fund boy who doesn't know what real strength is. He respects me, and he's shown me that I can make it on my own. I don't need you! You want to try and throw a tantrum, cut me off? Go ahead! It just proves my point, you're nothing but a spoiled man-child who wants to control my life like I'm one of your girlfriends. Well, get this through your head, Darren. I'm not your puppet, I'm not one of your Eastern Euro gold-digger models who let you order them around and play sugar daddy for them. So, go ahead, fire me!”

  I turn to go, storming to the door, when Dad recovers, scoffing. “You're so much like your mother.”

  I stop, turning. “What did you just say?”

  He smirks, shaking his head. “I said you're so much like your mother. Fine, I obviously touched a nerve, and you're delusional, immature. Your mother was the same way. I'm going to give you a chance to think about what I've said. I expect your behavior to change, Andrea. If it doesn't, and that includes an apology to me, then I will take action.”

  “Do whatever the fuck you want, Darren. This conversation is over,” I growl, grabbing my bag and going to my desk. Nobody even dares to look at me as I sit down, turning to my computer and pointedly ignoring everyone. I see out of the corner of my eye as Dad leaves, the air in the room feeling decidedly colder in his passing before the conversation starts to pick up again.

  It's about fifteen minutes before Harry Bethlehem comes over, a cup of coffee in his hand. “Hey, 'Dre? Would you like a coffee?”

  “Not right now, Harry. Gimme some time, okay?”

  Harry nods, setting the cup down. “When you're ready, 'Dre. I only got a bit of what happened, soundproofing's good but not perfect, but I saw him grabbing you. That isn't cool.”

  I nod, still staring at my computer monitor. “Thanks, Harry.”

  Harry leaves, nobody else approaches me as I start typing on my longer story about Joey. I don't make a lot of progress, but still, it helps to distract me from the rage inside me as the minutes drag by. It's about eight thirty when Polly comes up, biting her lip. “Andrea?”

  “Yeah, Polly?” I ask, calmed down enough that I can at least look at her. “What's wrong?”

  Polly holds out a folded sheet of paper, her face turning red. “Sorry. I just got this on my desk, the guys upstairs didn't have the balls to bring this to you themselves.”

  I unfold the paper and read it carefully. “Suspended without pay for a week. I see.”

  “The company's policy is that you have to leave the building now, and turn over your access card,” Polly says softly, apologetically. “It's not right, Andrea. I heard a little of what people saw.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and stand up after closing my file on Joey, not saving it. It's not worth the effort, I've seen this happen to three other people. Dad covers his ass very carefully, normally suspending an employee before they are fired. It gives the company a chance to do spin things the way they want. After all, if I reach out, if I try to go on the offensive, I violate the confidentiality agreement that every employee signs and the legal team can jump on my ass.

  One week. In media terms, it's both a short time and an eternity. My reputation can be ruined for years, maybe for the rest of my life, in such a short amount of time. On the other hand, if an employee wants any chance of having a long career, and at twenty two I've got a very long career in front of me still, they usually choose to resign, to not fight a battle they can't win.

  All this flashes through my mind as Polly watches me log off and shut down my computer. “You walking me out, Polly?”

  Polly nods. “I have to. Security's supposed to, but they said I could do it if you went quietly. I told them you would.”

  I nod, giving her a tight little smile. She's just doing her job, and I can tell that she hates this as much as I do right now. “Thanks. Listen, can you tell the folks who aren't in... well, tell them I said good luck?”

  Polly walks me all the way to my car, where I hand her my access card. She looks at it, then sighs. “Andrea, if you need anything....”

  I shake my head, getting in my car. “No Polly, I think we both know, there are only two solutions to this. Either I apologize to my father and let him take control, or I lose my job. You don't need to be in this fight. Take care of yourself.”

  The drive back to my apartment seems hollow like I'm going to purgatory. I take the stairs this time to go upstairs and sit on the sofa for hours, just staring at the wall across from me. I know what I should do, I should be packing. There's no reason for me to delay, I know what's going to happen.

  I didn't tell Polly the full deal. If I apologize, I know that Dad's going to put pressure on me to move back onto the estate. I know my old room is still there, untouched since I left to go to college other than being cleaned once weekly or the few times I stayed over. If I don't apologize... I'm homeless.

  On a whim, I take out my phone, that I realize it is not in my name, and pull up my web browser. I really shouldn't, I should be doing this at a Starbucks or someplace else that has free Wi-Fi, but I just don't have the energy to get up and plug in my laptop, my battery's mostly dead right now. I open my online bank account to check my balance. One thousand, one hundred and ninety-seven dollars and thirty-eight cents. And a credit card in my name. Everything else is in his name. I'm not even sure if my clothes aren't owned by him.

  I clos
e my browser and take a deep breath, wondering what to do. No time like the present I guess, I get up and go into my bedroom, pulling out my luggage. Dad might own that too, I don't know, but I tell myself that he's not that petty. I have one suitcase packed with about ten percent of my closet (where the hell did I get all this shit?) when my phone rings, and I see that it's Joey. I answer it, hoping to keep my voice even. “Hello, Joey?”

  “Hey, beautiful... what's wrong? Your voice sounds strained.”

  He's amazing, he heard it in my voice in just two words. “I've had a bad day. My father... I've been suspended from work.”

  “Oh, shit,” Joey says softly, his voice changing. “I was calling you to warn you, too. Chad came by the studio yesterday, punched James, our publicist. He made some threats, nothing against you. but... Andrea, I'm worried that this guy might turn on you.”

  “Thank you, Joey, but I've handled him before. He knows that I'll call the cops on him in an instant. Is James okay?”

  “Yes, just some wounded pride, but what happened at work? You got suspended?”

  I sigh, nodding. “Yeah. When I came in, my father was there, and he dragged me, literally dragged me, into a conference room where he threatened me to try to get me to break up with you. He said if I don't, he'll have me fired, blackballed from media work, and then kick me out of my apartment, and take my car. Basically, he threatened everything but taking the clothes off my back.”

  Joey growls lightly, and I realize for the first time I've heard him angry. “That son of a... do you need me to come help you?”

  Joey. The first question out of his mouth is to ask if I need help. To offer his strength, regardless of the danger to himself. How my heart both swells and aches, thinking of this sweet, wonderful, strong man, and I know what I need to do. “No, Joey. Not right now. My father's trying to put the screws to me right now. I'm technically only suspended from my job. Listen, I don't want you getting in trouble. You've got your family to look after, and I know my father, he'll call the cops on you the second you get within eyesight. Probably claiming that you're some sort of hardened Boyle Heights gangbanger. He can be ruthless, Joey. And until today, I didn't realize just how racist he is. He hates you for no other reason than that. It might be better... well, it'd be better and safer for you if we just lay low for a while.”

  “I... I see,” Joey says, hurt but maybe understanding. “Andrea, when is this laying low going to end?”

  “I don't know,” I reply honestly, my eyes starting to feel hot and tight like I'm about to cry. “Joey, I don't want to break up with you, I promise that. I care about you, and I want to see you again. But I want your family to be safe, and I know that if my father can just get some time to calm down, it'd be safer for all of us. So, maybe I can call you?”

  Joey's voice is thick when he replies, and I can tell he feels the same way I do, but he's not going to let it show. “I... okay. Just Andrea, one thing.”

  “What's that, Joey?”

  “I do care about you. And it doesn't matter to me, if you need help, give me a call. I promise I'll move heaven and earth itself to help you if I have to. Please be careful.”

  A tear trickles down my cheek as I think of how powerful and wonderful Joey is, slipping down to hang on my jawline for a moment before dropping to the luggage below and soak into the nylon shell of the bag. “I will. Joey. You're special to me, I want you to know that. I promise you, you are very, very special to me.”

  “You're special to me too.”

  “I'll call when I can. Goodbye, Joey,” I whisper before hanging up, unable to do much more. The tears flow more freely now, and I hang my head, sobbing as I think about what I've put at risk. But I'd rather risk my relationship with Joey than risk his safety, or that of Teresa, Maria, and innocent little Angel. I can't risk his future or that of the Fragments.

  I can't do any more packing, not right now. Instead, I stumble out to my living room, opening the cabinet that I don't open often. I hate the fact that my father gets drunk a lot, but right now the idea of wine is about all I can think of. Maybe if I get drunk enough, I won't feel the pain in my heart. I won't feel the desperate need to call Joey back, to beg him to come here to Santa Monica and hold me, kiss me, make love with me and help me imagine that it's all okay.

  The first glass slips out of my hand and shatters in the sink, so I just grab what's in the dryer, a water glass that I used this morning to pour my morning orange juice into. It looks strange, the purplish-red Malbec splashing into the glass, and the first deep drink is rough, harsher than I thought it would be. This is supposed to be a sipping wine, not a chugging wine, and I'm normally into girly drinks anyway. Gimme a Mai Tai over a whiskey any day.

  Still, by the time the bottle's mostly empty, I'm comfortably numb, even if these damn tears won't stop. I finish it off straight from the bottle itself, then try to get up, but I'm too dizzy, I can't really see much. Must be the alcohol.

  Half a bottle only.

  Fucking lightweight.

  Joey

  “So if you want to sign up today, we'll give you two months free membership as long as you put your monthly fees on a credit card or on automatic draft from a checking account,” Jordan the sales girl says, still looking starstruck. It took her two checks of my driver's license before she handed it back to me, and while she hasn't asked me flat out yet, I think she knows who I am. “Uh... so what do you say, Mr. Rivera?”

  Mr. Rivera. Before Four Letters, I think I could count on my fingers the number of people who called me Mr. Rivera. Actually, most people still don't call me that, but once some people recognize me as that Joey Rivera, I'm getting it more often. Actually, if this keeps up, I'm going to change my ID and stuff over to Jose Rivera, that'll help some. While there are certainly perks to being famous, I don't want to get trapped in being famous either. I've met too many guys in bands we opened for who thought their asses smelled like roses because of fame.

  “You got yourself a deal,” I reply, shaking hands with Jordan. “You mind if I get something in today? I've got my gym bag in the car.”

  “No problem. Get your stuff, I'll have your swipe card ready by the time you get back, and we can do the money then. Welcome to our place.”

  Jordan's true to her word, and fifteen minutes later I'm changed and ready to lift. In the two days since talking with Andrea, I've been exercising a lot, and today, I finally decided to do what I promised Rocky and sign up somewhere. It helps to distract me from the anxiety and worry about Andrea. I understand why she said what she did, but at the same time, I feel like I want to talk with her. The problem is, I want to be able to help her, and right now I'm wondering if she feels that the best way I can help her is to back out of her life.

  Yes, her father's a racist asshole with too much money and power as well it seems. Yes, her ex-boyfriend is a creepy bastard who needs to have a restraining order sworn out on him by a lot of people. But all of that seems to have gotten worse since Andrea and I started seeing each other. She's been untouched by the ugliness of his bigoted hatred until now. I know that in the way she's acted around me, and the way she speaks. The concern in her voice, she's genuinely worried for me too. Not just me specifically, but the people around me.

  I can't let Mama and Maria down, and I can't let the other people whose lives depend on the band down. So instead I've sucked it up and said nothing. I say nothing as I push the handles on the incline press, my chest starting to flush with blood. I have a cheap electronic timer clipped to my wrist for timing my rest periods, and even as the fatigue sets in, I'm pushing hard.

  I'm pushing because I want her. I want her right here, where I can protect and take care of her. I push because I haven't had a chance to introduce Andrea to Cora or Rocky or Ian. I'm pushing because I didn't tell her that I'm falling for her, and now I'm angry with myself for not having that chance.

  My whole life, since Papa died, I've done everything for other people, ninety-nine percent of the time. Being greedy for
me meant buying better quality guitar strings than I needed, or spending an extra fifteen minutes sleeping. But whenever my family, blood or music, needed it, I've been there for them. And now I want Andrea, not for the band, not for Mama or Maria. I want her for me and her. For the first time in my life, I'm feeling like I want to place someone or something above the rest of my family, and I've only known her less than two weeks.

  After I finish the lifting I get on the rowing machine, the idea driving me since I remember that Andrea said she's got one of these things too. My back is crying out, and my lungs burn, but the pain helps distract me from the pain of not being able to talk to Andrea. When the timer goes off, I have to take a whole minute to just gasp before I can even crawl off the machine and start wiping up the pool of sweat under the seat, and I make my way out to the parking lot. Halloween is tomorrow, and I'm already feeling like a zombie.

  I get into my car and see that I've got a phone message, a missed call from James. I give him a call, leaning back against the seat to recover some, I'm going to have to start bringing some sort of carb and protein drink if this keeps up. I read somewhere chocolate milk is cheap, and I bet Angel would love sharing some with me occasionally. “Hey, James. Sorry, I was in the gym. What's up?”

  “I just got a call from LifeBeat, they said that they're nixing the magazine article,” James says, the disappointment easy to hear despite how tired I am. “When I asked why, they just said that some new features have come up that they want to run with, but that they'll keep it in mind for the future. Sorry man, I know you said your sister was looking forward to reading it. Did your girl tell you about it?”