by Scott Carter
He nods.
“Let me see your eyes.” She grabs his face and forces his chin up so she can get a good look at his slitty red eyes. “You’re eleven years old. Where did you get a joint?”
“From a kid in grade eight.”
“What kid? I’m calling the principal.”
“Don’t. Do you know what will happen to me if you do that?”
“Why would you smoke marijuana? You know better than that. We’ve talked about drugs. You promised me you’d never take drugs.”
He locks his eyes on her and the words that follow leave his mouth before he can think about their effect. “You give me drugs every day. Three times a day.”
“Legal drugs, Richard. Prescribed by a doctor to help you.”
“I don’t see the difference. Except this one actually made me feel better.”
She rubs at her face and Richard notices that her eyes look like they’ve aged since he entered the apartment.
“I want you to come straight home every day after school,” she says. “I’m going to have Ms. Thompson across the hall check on you and if you’re not back every day by 3:45 I’ll call the principal. Do you understand?”
Richard nods limply.
“I want to hear it.”
“Yes.”
“Alright, go to your room.”
The command is meant to be a punishment, but Richard is relieved. He’s never felt more focused, and he can’t wait to re-read one of his Mil Bennett books.
Eighteen
Barrett met Sidney the night he lost his virginity at Derrick Demoe’s sixteenth birthday party. Derrick’s father ran an international contracting company, and Derrick had a bedroom bigger than most peoples’ apartments. This was your standard rich kid high school party. Music blared, people made out in the corners, and everyone that could fit crammed into the hot tub as if it might be the last time they sat in one.
The gimmick to enter the party was a shot of 151 Jamaican rum that Derrick’s father brought back from his last trip to the island. The shot didn’t look like much, but Barrett spent the next hour feeling like he drank battery acid. Nausea came first, and then later he was convinced there was a hole in his stomach, and neither stage made him the life of the party, so when super-hot Angela Pixie introduced him to her even hotter, year-older cousin, Tammy Blades, Barrett barely feigned a smile.
“This is Kristy.” Angela pointed to a brunette who raised her eyebrows before walking off with a senior that looked in his twenties. “And this is Tammy. They’re both in from L.A. Tammy’s on a TV show there.”
“Cool,” Barrett managed.
“She’s been in all the gossip magazines this year.”
“They’re vultures,” Tammy said with a California twang.
Barrett looked at the curls of her long, red hair, the symmetry of her facial features, and the power of her large eyes and felt completely inferior.
“Have you seen my show?”
“No.” Barrett made a conscious effort not to touch his stomach. “I don’t have cable.”
“Your accent’s cute.”
“My accent? You think I have an accent?”
“Yeah. Everyone here does. But yours is sexy.”
Barrett’s groin tingled like it did as a kid during a roller coaster’s ascent. This wasn’t just stimulating, this was fear. He had no idea what to say.
“Let’s go.” Angela pulled Tammy’s arm. “They’re playing the century club upstairs and someone is about to puke.”
Tammy waved her lacquered nails, and Barrett wished he was just half as cool as her.
Maybe then he could have done more than sit against the wall and hope he didn’t have an ulcer.
The rest of the party, he did his best to run into them again, but he never did. He saw a guy body slam a statue into the pool, he watched a naked, muscle-bound guy on a bad acid trip hump the corner of a couch, and he watched two twins from his math class make out on a dare, but he never saw Angela or Kristy or Tammy. Of course, there were whispers of Tammy and Kristy everywhere. Rumours that Tammy’s breasts were implants, talk that Kristy was a porn star.
Barrett’s stomach finally settled after midnight and he was about to go home when Sidney sauntered into the living room where a few blind drunks were playing beer pong in front of the couch had Barrett sunk into. Barrett had seen Sidney around school a bit and knew he’d transferred a month back from another wealthy school in the west end, but they had never spoken.
“You’re Barrett, right?”
Barrett nodded and took a good look at Sidney. With a dress shirt rolled up to his sleeves, jeans, and thick hair brushed back, he would have fit into any decade.
“I’m your driver tonight.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Do you know Angela?”
“Yeah.”
“I drove her and her L.A. friends back to her place and they sent me back for you.”
“Really?”
“I was surprised too, but I’m on a mission for that brunette Kristy, so they get whatever they want, and apparently Tammy wants you.”
He shook his car keys and Barrett followed him to a Jeep where the Red Hot Chili Peppers flowed through the speakers.
“I’m Sidney,” the kid said, popping a cigarette into his mouth.
“Barrett.”
They shook hands and Sidney pulled off down the street. After a few minutes, he turned to Barrett at a red light. “I need a favour.”
“Okay.”
“I told them all I’m a highly recruited baseball player and that the Yankees are going to sign me next year.”
“The New York Yankees?”
Sidney exhaled, nodded, and accelerated on the green. Barrett waited for more but it didn’t come.
“And?” Barrett asked.
“And I need you to talk me up. Tell them I’m an outfielder, I have scholarship offers all over, but they’re offering me too much money not to go pro.”
“Do you play baseball?”
“I haven’t picked up a bat since grade school.”
“And you think this is going to work?”
“Absolutely. I led in by asking how they thought the Yankees would do this year, and none of them know anything about baseball.”
“What if they ask someone later that does?”
“It only has to work for tonight. But the key is you doing the talking. Hype is everything. If it comes from me, it’s just another guy talking shit, but if it comes from you it’ll build intrigue. Are you in?”
“Sure.”
“Sure is a terrible answer. If we’re going to do this I have to trust you.”
He extended a hand and Barrett shook it firmly.
“Good man,” Sidney said.
The Jeep pulled into the driveway and within minutes they were poolside, where the three girls sat and lay on a bright red rectangular couch that looked like it could fit a dozen people. Angela lay in the crucifix position mumbling something about a joint they smoked, Kristy sat on the couches’ edge and looked at the water like she might jump in, and Tammy sat with her legs crossed so that her checkered capris hugged her knees tight. Despite two ashtrays on a glass table, she laid her cigarette on the glass so that the ember hung over the edge.
“I’m going to put my beer in the fridge,” Sidney said. As soon as he disappeared Kristy tapped Barrett’s leg.
“So he’s a baseball player, huh?”
Barrett had never run a hustle like this before, but the formula seemed straightforward enough.
Credibility.
“Yeah. He’s got a bunch of scholarship offers. Miami, Michigan, UCLA.”
“The Bruins?”
Barrett had no idea what this meant, but her enthusiasm told him to nod along. Wealth.
“They’re all great schools, but the pros are offering too much to resist.”
“What if he gets injured?” Tammy asked.
“The signing bonus alone will keep him flush for years.”
&nbs
p; Tammy pulled back her hair into a ponytail and then released the mane. “My agent is trying to get me one of those for next season.”
And a dash of celebrity.
“The Yankees even had Don Mattingly speak to him after one of their games.”
Kristy perked up. “The guy that dated Cher?”
“She’s old,” Tammy said.
“He’s hot.”
And there it was. Kristy left the deck in search of Sidney and never returned.
Tammy poked Angela until she sat up. “You should go to bed, hun.”
“Okay.” Angela fell backwards.
“No, no, no. Bed.” She helped her friend to her feet and made sure she was steady enough to head off on her own. After a few stumbles, she made it inside and left them alone on the deck.
“She’s hammered,” Tammy said. She lit a cigarette, took a couple of faux drags, and passed it to Barrett. “I learned quick in Hollywood to hold my booze.”
She straddled Barrett’s legs, causing him to fall back, and he hadn’t fully sat back up before she kissed him. Barrett dropped the cigarette and let her lead.
“How old are you?” she asked.
He considered lying for a moment, but he could tell she knew. “Sixteen.”
She giggled. “Are you a virgin?”
This time a lie felt like the only choice. “No.”
She reached over, pulled a diaphragm from her purse and held it an inch from his face.
“So you won’t mind using this?”
Sweat immediately beaded on his lip, and he scrambled for the right response until she tapped his nose with the diaphragm.
“I’m just joking. I’ll take care of everything.”
She flung the diaphragm like a frisbee into the pool and kissed him again.
More than two decades later Barrett reflects on that memory with amazement as he heads to his local variety store for a pack of smokes and wonders what the odds are of meeting a life-long best friend and losing his virginity in the same night. This is the same variety store he’s been going to since he moved into the wealthy neighbourhood, and he likes it because it’s small and packed with stuff to buy, just like any variety store in any neighbourhood.
“Hey Tina, how are you today?”
Tina is in her mid-fifties. She looks up from her gossip magazine with a smile that highlights crooked teeth and sets two packs of his brand on the counter like she’s done it a million times before. He reaches for the packs as she puts an envelope labeled BARRETT FULLER down beside them. “A kid brought this in for you first thing this morning.”
“A kid?”
“Couldn’t have been more than twelve.”
“A boy?”
“No, a girl. Dark hair.”
“You’re sure it was a girl?”
“Unless boys started wearing pigtails.”
He grabs the packs and heads for a bench out front. There’s a pattern here, and it’s wearing him down. Every time he makes some progress, every time he’s able to take his mind off the extortion, another letter arrives. He looks around to see if anyone noticeable is watching, then content that the extortionist isn’t directly visible, he opens the letter.
OPPORTUNITY #3: ACTIONS HAVE CONSEQUENCES. “And Mil learned that day that choices aren’t just about his wants, they have consequences and those consequences affect more than him.” The female you had sex with in her car the other day is a seventeen-year-old, grade eleven student. You have twenty-four hours to donate three million dollars in scholarships to the Empowering Young Women scholarship fund for disadvantaged teens and copy the Once Upon a Hypocrite site as proof, or she will go public about your intimacy, the police will visit your home, and every parent that buys your books will know you had sex with a teenager.
The pressure in Barrett’s head builds until his eyes hurt and he gags. This is someone who sees me all the time, he thinks. This is someone who knows my rhythms.
He hustles home as fast as possible and storms onto the outside pool deck, where a swarthy older man with a bald crown and close-cut grey hair on the sides is skimming leaves from the pool tarp.
“Ahmose. Round up everyone and meet me in the kitchen, please.”
Ahmose nods and Barrett goes to the kitchen to wait. He could have fifty employees, and he knows people who have that many. People to tend to the cars, people to do his grocery shopping, people to buy his clothes, masseuses, personal trainers, nutritionists, therapists, acupuncturists, drivers, dog walkers, dog sitters, and chefs. But he values his privacy too much for any more than the essentials. A cleaning lady, who is off today, Ahmose the pool man, and Danica and Marie, two gardeners who keep the grounds looking like a mansion should. He employs these people because they work mostly outside, during the day, and that reduces the chances of them finding him popping pills or watching pornography.
Each of them has been on the payroll more than five years, and while they don’t converse more than they have to, the years they’ve spent on his property heightens his sense of betrayal.
Ahmose leads the way into the kitchen followed by Marie and Danica. All of them look concerned.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Fuller?” Danica asks. She is the youngest of the three by at least a decade.
“We’re about to find out.” He lights a cigarette and circles around them. “You all have children, right?”
After five years he should know this but they all nod anyway.
“Okay. One of you is fucking with me. At least one of you. I know what you’re doing, so this is how this is going to work. One of you is going to admit you are sending me letters, or all of you are going to be fired, and I’ll make sure none of you work in your industries again. Which means if you love your children and value them eating three meals a day, you’ll confess.”
Marie cries immediately. Loud, panicked sobbing that accentuates the flesh of her fat cheeks. Ahmose hugs her and looks at Barrett like he has rabies.
“One of you confess or all of you lose. I want you to look at each other. Do you really want two innocent people to lose their jobs because one of you is a greedy asshole?”
Danica steps forward. “Please, Mr. Fuller. We don’t know what you’re talking about. We like working here, right?” She looks to her colleagues, who nod in unison. “We need these jobs and we would never do anything to jeopardize them.”
Barrett butts out his cigarette and rolls the tips of his fingers across the lines in his forehead. Everything about the worry in their eyes screams fear, not guilt. It occurs to him that it’s possible they could all be in on it, so he inspects their eyes one more time, but there’s too much shock to be hustling. The maddening part of suspicion is that in the right light anyone can look innocent or guilty, and he’s never felt further from being decisive.
“Is everything okay?” Ahmose asks.
“I need you all to leave; I need my privacy right now.”
Ahmose nods and leads Marie and Danica out of the kitchen. Barrett lights another cigarette and inhales like the smoke can lead him to the extortionist.
Seeing the look of fear in their eyes was unsettling, but this is a process of elimination and he just checked three more people off the list. If only the list weren’t so long.
With the stress reaching stroke-like levels he heads for Sidney’s place and finds him sitting at a round glass table on his penthouse deck. The sun shines, but Barrett would still be wearing sunglasses if it was pouring rain. Sidney is watering a series of brightly coloured plants with a hose and looks at him with concern.
“Tell me she at least looked older?”
“She said she was studying third-year philosophy. I won’t have people talking about me like I’m Polanski. Because with the press and the parents’ paranoia, it’ll be a shitshow. I don’t want people looking at me like I’m a dirtbag.”
“Don’t worry. The donations are doable. And we’ll make it back long-term on the new contract I’m negotiating you. I’ll set the donations up, but you should
write up an announcement for the site so we can at least spin this into some positive press.”
“I’m selling the place in south of France.”
“Not the villa.”
“The demand is for a three-million dollar donation. I’ve got to sell something.”
“We’ll catch this asshole. And when we do, I’ll figure out a way to get everything you’ve lost back.”
Barrett looks at him like he’s not so sure.
Nineteen
“I told you we’re doing something different today.” Barrett watches Richard’s shocked expression as they follow a seal trainer with a mustache and greying hair to the feeding deck above the tank.
The man sets a large bucket of dead fish at Barrett’s feet. “One good enough?”
“Perfect, thanks.”
“You’ve got forty-five minutes.” The man taps his watch and leaves the deck.”
There’s so much excitement surging through Richard that he bounces on the spot.
“How’d you get the zoo to open an hour early?”
“I paid them a lot of money. I need to clear my head, you need to be cheered up, and nothing’s going to do that better than feeding these crazies.” He tosses a fish over the circular deck, and before it hits the water a large fur seal explodes into the air and snatches it in its teeth. Richard steps back with a giggle, and Barrett picks up the bucket and tips it toward the kid. “Let’s go.”
After choosing the largest fish, he takes it by the tail with both hands and flings it onto the floor of their cage, where a seal so fat it’s hard to believe it can move emerges from behind a pile of boulders and swallows the food as fast as possible.
Barrett gestures to the water with a fish. “You know they don’t really club the seals.”
“What?”
“That Greenpeace shit about seal clubbing. You know the videos with all the blood on the ice?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not inhumane at all. They actually kill them with a single spike to the head, no different than they kill cows or pigs in slaughterhouses. The blood on the ice is from dragging them after they’re dead. It creates a gruesome picture, but it’s misleading. There’s a lesson in that.”