Kilty as Sin

by Amy Vansant

  He’d expected the audience to join in during the last bit, but they only stared at him. Pulling back from the mic, he sniffed and smoothed his kilt before trying again.

  “Ah’m sorry. Whit did ye want noo?”

  “Tell us what you wanted to tell us,” prompted TeeTee. “When you were up there. Before you started singing.”

  Broch realized he didn’t remember what had brought him down the stairs.

  “Er...”

  “You said something about the man’s bath towel?”

  “Oh. Och. Aye.” He lifted his arm to run a hand through his hair as whispers erupted to his right. Ladies were pointing at his arm. He lowered it.

  “Uh...I hae a hook oan mah door. Tis whaur ah hing mah towel. Ah thought mibbie the lady’s husband didnae ken ‘twas thare...”

  The audience broke into applause, mixed with a heavy dose of laughing and murmuring as they worked together to translate his brogue.

  The blonde on stage lifted a magazine from the coffee table in front of her and began to fan herself.

  “Kimmee, what are you doing?” asked TeeTee.

  The woman closed her eyes. “I’m imagining him in a towel...”

  More laughing. Broch felt his cheeks grow warm. He began to raise his hand to his head again and then stopped, remembering the reaction it had inspired the first time. Instead, he rubbed his knuckles. He didn’t know what to do with his hands.

  Niko motioned for quiet. “So you’re saying she should make it easy for her husband to hang the towel.”

  Broch leaned to the mic, his lips brushing the rough metal. “Aye. Git him a hook.”

  Niko nodded. “That’s good advice. What’s your name?”

  “Brochan.”

  “There’s nothing broken about that,” mumbled Kimmee into her mic, much to the delight of the audience.

  “Where are you from, Brochan?” continued Niko.

  “Scootlund.”

  The audience began murmuring again.

  “Do you have a love question of your own for us?”

  “A loue quaistion?”

  The audience urged him to share.

  “Are you in a relationship, Brochan?” asked TeeTee.

  “Please say no!” screamed someone from the audience.

  A ripple of laughter ran through the room.

  Broch chewed on his lip. “Aye. Ah think ah am.”

  “Awww...”

  TeeTee pursed her lips and crossed her arms against her chest. “I was going to ask him if there is anything confusing about his relationship, but I think we can all agree he sounds pretty confused.”

  The audience clapped, giving Broch a moment to collect his thoughts.

  Mibbee ah dae hae a quaistion.

  There had been something bothering him in his personal life.

  He leaned into the mic again. “Mah wummin doesn’t wantae git merrit.”

  His own voice boomed back at him, quieting the audience.

  “Your girlfriend doesn’t want to get married?” asked Niko.

  “You snooze you lose,” said Kimmie, pretending to stand as if she was going to claim him as her own.

  TeeTee put a hand on Kimmie’s knee to settle her. “Why doesn’t she want to marry you?”

  Broch sighed. “She says she wants tae huv a go me foremaist.”

  The three other women scowled, but TeeTee sat up straight, slapping the seat beside her with her palm. “Honey, you aren’t the easiest thing to understand so forgive me if I heard this wrong, but are you saying she wants to have sex with you first? Try out the merchandise, so to speak?”

  Broch felt his cheeks grow warm. “Aye.”

  The audience gasped and hooted.

  “And you don’t want to?”

  Kimmie held out a hand. “Wait. Is she not your type? You’re not leading that girl on are you?”

  Broch didn’t understand her question. “Eh?”

  “Well, you are wearing a skirt...”

  The audience laughed as Broch scowled. “Tis nae ah skirt. Tis ah kilt.”

  Kimmie cocked an eyebrow. “I think you know what I’m saying.”

  “He is in awfully good shape,” mumbled Niko.

  Broch grimaced, unsure where to go. “Ahm waantin’ her tae be mah wife.”

  TeeTee pointed at him with a violet nail. “Oh, you’re saving yourself for marriage?”

  Broch put his hand on his chest. “Nae me.”

  “You’re saving her for marriage?”

  The audience gasped.

  A crash echoed from the back of the studio. Heads turned, including Broch’s.

  Catriona appeared at the top of the stairs, out of breath, the doors behind her bouncing off the walls before shutting. The two bouncers split to allow her access to the stairs. Spotting all attention pointed in her direction, she grimaced before hustling down the stairs.

  Broch grinned. “Guid day, Catriona.”

  Catriona slipped on a stair, caught herself on the back of a chair, apologized to the woman sitting there for clipping her ear, and then jogged the remaining steps to wrap her hands around Broch’s arm. “What are you doing on set?” she hissed tugging him back up toward the door.

  “The man coudnae fin’ his towel hook and ah—”

  “Excuse me.” TeeTee’s voice echoed through the studio. Catriona stopped tugging and turned to the stage, her expression pinched.

  “Where do you think you’re taking that man?”

  “I’m sorry TeeTee, he works for me, er, Parasol Pictures. He’s new.”

  “Are you his girlfriend?” asked Niko.

  The crowd hushed, awaiting an answer.

  Catriona looked at Broch and then back at Niko. “Um, what?”

  “Are you his girlfriend? The one who wants to try him on for size before you get married?”

  Kimmee shook a finger at her, grinning. “You’re naughty, girl.”

  The crowd exploded with laughter, clapping.

  Broch had never seen Catriona turn that particular shade of red.

  “Uh...”

  She glanced around, her interest settling on the large cameras pointed at them.

  Looking down, she spoke in a low tone. Broch could barely make out what she said over the exuberant crowd.

  “If you never do another thing for me, you will follow me out of here right now.”

  Catriona smiled and held up a hand before heading up the stairs. “Sorry for the interruption.”

  Broch watched her go and then hurried after her.

  “Where are you going? Don’t go,” said one of the ladies behind him. It sounded like Kimmee, but he didn’t turn.

  The crowd called to them both, begging them not to leave as they made their way up the stairs and out the door into the Los Angeles sun.

  As soon as they cleared the studio, Catriona threw her back against the wall of the building, her head in her hands.

  “We’re going to have to have a discussion about privacy, and crashing shows, and—” She looked up, her attention locked on his kilt.

  “Why are you wearing that?”

  Broch grinned.

  Chapter Three

  “Queens over nines.”

  Tyler Bash smiled, revealing his cards. He’d been on a losing streak. The worst losing streak since he lost almost five thousand dollars to his college roommate a few years previously.

  Five thousand didn’t seem like much now. He wished he was down five thousand. He’d done the quick math in his head after the last hand and between last week and now, he owed the house nearly eighty thousand dollars.

  Just saying the number in his head had knocked the wind out of him.

  But queens and nines will pull me from the brink.

  This would be the hand that reversed his luck. After he’d won the cherry role of Ionic, the boy superhero, in Parasol Pictures comic book franchise movie, he swore he’d never be broke again. When he received his first check, he knew he’d never be broke again.

  He’d never s
een so many zeros.

  He’d spend most of his first check on his new Hollywood Hills mansion. He’d paid off his college loans too, to prove to his mom he could be trusted with his own money.

  Right.

  Feeling flush with what was left, he’d gone a little crazy with his poker-betting. Unfortunately, that flush feeling never reproduced itself in his cards.

  He needed this win.

  Act like you’ve been there.

  Nope. Can’t. Maybe it was the bourbon, or maybe he wasn’t that good of an actor, but he felt too giddy to hide his recently whitened teeth. He reached for the pot.

  “Just a second there, new blood.”

  Robert Williams, star of stage and screen, sat across from him, his cards still hidden, resting against his chest.

  Tyler felt the blood drain from his cheeks.

  No.

  The old man unfurled a grin of his own. The tips of his gray mustache were tinged with yellow from cigarettes, but his teeth were as white and fake as his own.

  Robert Williams looked like a cagey old lion about to steal dinner from the young cub.

  No. No, no no...

  Tyler felt bile rise in his throat. His arms remained outstretched, his hands flanking the pot.

  Please no.

  The old man laid down his cards.

  “Kings over threes.”

  There they were. Three kings lording over his Queens.

  The other players, all of them movie stars in their own rights, erupted into jeers.

  “That’s going to hurt,” said Fiona Duffy, pushing her own cards towards the center of the table. She’d been the one to introduce Tyler to the room. He’d said he liked to play poker and she’d told him about the celebrity game. He’d been so excited to play...how had things changed so quickly?

  Tyler tried to move but his body wouldn’t listen. Robert had to push his hands aside, the big, gaudy ring on the old man’s right hand scraping against Tyler’s sweaty palms.

  “I’ll take that.”

  Robert scooped the chips from between Tyler’s hands and, with a wink, began stacking them.

  “Sorry, kid.”

  No. No, no, no.

  It took a moment, but Tyler found the ability to move again. He tried to blow off his loss with a joke, but his mouth felt too dry—he coughed trying to speak. Leaning back, he dragged his frozen arms with him until he found a way to bend them at the elbows and put them in his lap.

  Again, he did the math in his head.

  One hundred and thirty-seven thousand dollars.

  That’s how much he owed the house.

  I don’t have one hundred and thirty-seven thousand dollars.

  Technically, he’d been in debt before he even walked into the celebrity game, but the group knew the part he’d won. Comic book movie money was nothing to sneeze at. Fiona had cleared the way for him with the regulars.

  I was so excited...

  He glanced at Fiona now and she shrugged, her lips pressed tight, head dipping sideways-right towards her bobbing shoulder. How she’d managed to say sucks to be you—maybe next time, idiot with a gesture of her body he wasn’t sure, but he’d heard it as loud as if she’d screamed it in his face.

  One hundred and thirty-seven thousand dollars is nothing to these people.

  Tyler’s attention roamed the table from the sitcom star to his left to the sports hero on his right, taking in every Hollywood icon in between.

  What was I thinking?

  He didn’t belong with these people—people he’d grown up watching on television.

  Who do I think I am?

  A brief flash of nerves chilled his skin as he realized the stars sitting at the table with him weren’t even the scariest things in the room.

  His gaze rolled in the direction of the people sitting on the outskirts of the room. A big man with slicked-back black hair and spider’s web tattoos sat next to Dez, a petite woman with a hard expression. Next to them sat a tall, gaunt man with cheeks hollow as a corpse’s. He wore a black glove on his right hand. Tyler had no idea why.

  The ghoul’s ice blue eyes stared back at him.

  Tyler looked away.

  He’d thought blue-eyed Skeletor had arrived with Fiona, but the way he stared—now he felt certain the ghoul had to be security for Alain, the Frenchman who owned the game.

  There was one good thing about all three heavies sitting in the room with them.

  They’re all in the same place.

  Tyler tapped the edge of the table with his fingertips, trying to look as casual as possible.

  “Deal me out of this one, I’m going to hit the little boy’s room.”

  He flashed his most charming smile and caught Dez watching him.

  Distract her.

  “Can I get a vodka rocks when I get back?”

  Sans smile, Dez nodded.

  Smooth. That was a nice touch. Now everyone knew he’d be back for the vodka.

  But he wouldn’t be.

  Hell, no.

  He intended to be a distant memory before the ice even started melting in that vodka.

  Tyler stepped into the hallway and took one step toward the bathrooms before scampering on his tippy-toes down the hall to the back door. Holding his breath, he tried the knob.

  Please, please, please—

  It turned.

  Thank you, Jesus.

  He cracked open the door, slipped outside onto a wooden deck and hurried down the steps.

  Heart ping-ponging inside his chest, Tyler turned the corner of the building and entered the alley between Jay’s Joint and a donut shop. His car was parked out front. It was a Volvo. He’d kept the car his parents had handed down to him.

  How mature was that?

  He was capable of making a smart decision. He didn’t buy the Maserati he’d wanted so badly.

  All good decisions from now on.

  I’ll never put myself in this position again.

  No more playing poker with the big dogs.

  No gambling. No drugs…except a little weed. No drinking past midnight except really massive parties…

  He glanced up and saw the lit window where the game was playing on the second floor of Jay’s. He hugged the building a little tighter.

  He already felt better. He could see his trusty Volvo on the street. Tomorrow would be a new day.

  First, he had to pay off his debts. Alain was a reasonable guy. He had to be. The people at his poker games were famous. He couldn’t just knock them off or break their knees. There would be press. Paparazzi and whatnot.

  Tonight he’d go home and get a good night’s sleep. Then tomorrow, he’d make arrangements to repay Alain—

  “Where you going, Tyler?”

  Dez appeared so suddenly in front of him, Tyler stumbled backwards as if she’d pushed him.

  Quick. Answer her.

  “Hey, uh—hey, Dez. I’m, you know, stretching my legs a little.”

  He peered past her, looking for the big guy or the blue-eyed corpse man. They were nowhere to be seen. He released a jagged breath. That had to be a good sign. Little Dez wasn’t going to rough him up.

  Dez licked the corner of her mouth. “You need to settle up before you go. You know that, right?”

  She clenched a fist and released it. In her sleeveless top, by the light of the street lamp, Tyler saw the muscles in her arm bulge and relax.

  Dez is ripped. How did I not notice that before?

  “What?” He jerked back his neck, expression pinched, as if she’d wounded him. “Of course I know I have to settle, wait, you didn’t think I was trying to sneak out, did you?” He laughed until Dez’s stare made him feel like a giggling idiot. His chuckles grew softer and farther in between until they died.

  Dez pulled something from her boot. Tyler didn’t know what it was until she flicked her wrist and a small black, cylindrical object telescoped into a baton.

  He put out both hands, fingers up, palms facing Dez. “Whoa. Easy. You don’t have
to do anything like that.”

  “I’m afraid it’s looking like I do.”

  “Seriously? Look, yes, I may have played a little too deep tonight—”

  “And last night.”

  “And last night. And no, I’ll be honest with you…I don’t have what I owe on me. But I just signed a multi-million dollar deal. You know I’m good for it.”

  She took a step forward. “I don’t know you at all.”

  He clapped his palms together in mea culpa. “Easy, Dez. Stop. Please. You can’t mess me up. I’m due on set in a couple of days.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “Well it kind of is. If I lose my part, I’ll never get the money to pay you back.”

  Dez made a show of scratching her chin, pretending to be deep in thought. She came to a conclusion. “Nope. Still your problem.”

  He smiled to demonstrate he’d appreciated her little pantomime.

  Everyone thinks they’re an actor in Los Angeles.

  A thought crossed his mind and he pointed at her. “The studio. Don’t forget them. The studio will be pissed if you mess me up right before production starts.”

  Dez cocked her head. “Will they? Are you saying it’ll be hard for them to find another fresh young face in Hollywood willing to play a superhero for millions of dollars?”

  “I—” A different kind of fear washed through Tyler’s nervous system. Now even Dez and her baton didn’t seem so scary. What she’d said about his part—that was the thing of nightmares.

  What if the studio replaces me?

  Dez took another step forward.

  Tyler felt the panic rising in his chest. “Dez, look, we can work this out. I can get you the money. Next week—”

  Dez’s chin raised, ever so slightly.

  For a second Tyler thought he’d captured her attention, but his relief proved short-lived.

  She’s not looking at me.

  She was looking past him, over his shoulder…

  Tyler heard the dirt crunch behind him.

  Oh no.

  Something struck the back of his skull.

  He saw sparkles—like a burst of fireworks—and then, nothing.

  ~~~

  Fiona watched as Dez and the large man with webs on his pudgy arms walked by carrying the boy, Tyler, between them. They humped him to a car, opened the trunk, and threw him inside.

  Not so good at poker, that one.