by Scott, S. L.
I’m so fucked.
5
Rad
“I’m walking in now.”
“Walking in where?” Jackson asks on the other end of the call.
“To the restaurant.”
The phone goes silent, long enough for me to make sure I haven’t lost the connection. When I put it to my ear again, he asks, “Are we talking in code because I’m confused?”
I swing the door open and step inside. “Dinner. Tonight. Marlow. Her dad. Your sorry ass. Ring a bell?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rad. You’re having dinner with Bob? I didn’t know he was in town.”
“What do you mean? We’re supposed to be here, pretty much now.”
After giving the midtown steakhouse a quick scan, I approach the host. Wearing a white shirt and a skinny black tie, the host asks, “Do you have a reservation?”
Holding the phone against my chest, I reply, “Marché.”
“Ah, yes. Your party is already seated. Follow me.” He turns swiftly and guides me through the restaurant.
Holding the phone to my ear, I whisper, “You’re already here. You’re such an asshole.”
“Wish I knew what the fuck you were talking about. I’m sitting in my apartment. Just turned on the game. I take it you’re not coming over?”
The host stops at a booth in the corner where Marlow and her father are engaged in a lively conversation. I pause, wondering where everyone else is, before turning around and heading back out before the Marchés have time to notice me. “Are you serious?” I whisper through gritted teeth. “You’re not at this dinner.”
“I don’t have a clue about that dinner.”
I push the door and step out onto the sidewalk, starting to sweat under my suit. I tug at the collar, and gripe, “Why aren’t you here?”
He starts crunching on what I can assume are Cheetos. The man eats them like he holds stock in the company. “Guess I wasn’t invited.”
Motherfuck. I pace the sidewalk with the phone glued to my ear. “How can I get out of it?”
“Doesn’t sound like you can, man.”
“I should be able to on principle alone. She told me he wanted to have dinner. I assumed it was with everyone, not just with me and her and Bob.”
“Sounds cozy.” He chuckles. “But if she didn’t tell you, and then you assumed, I think that means it’s on you. Anyway, bright side—you get a free dinner. Her dad loves to splash the cash around.”
I’m sure, but I’d rather not be here at all. “Yeah, okay.” I roll my eyes.
“Cade is on his way to my place, so it’s safe to say he didn’t know about the dinner either. Just go in, have a good meal, and come over later.”
I sigh. The high I was riding all day after spending last night with Tealey has faded. Rubbing my forehead, I pinch my eyes closed. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Rad?” Marlow calls from behind me. “We already have a table in the back.”
Glancing back over my shoulder, I give her a nod and then point at my phone. “I’ll be right there.” She disappears back inside. I grip the back of my neck and then tell Jackson, “Don’t drink all the beer. I’m heading over afterward.”
Determined to make the most of this dinner, I hang up and re-enter the restaurant, passing the host. “I see them.” I’m hoping this isn’t about his divorce, but a dinner among friends. I remain hopeful as I cut through the bustling restaurant.
Checking my watch, I say, “Right on time,” when I arrive tableside. “How are we?”
Bob is dressed casually in a short-sleeved button-up, repping California to a T, and Marlow is in designer from head to toe, per usual. She has great style, albeit eccentric some days. She smiles. “Fantastic. You?”
“Peachy. No one else is joining us, or everyone’s running late?”
She pats the booth beside her. “Dad thought it would be fun for the three of us to catch up.” Red flags fly up as my gaze darts between them. Not only is there no backup for me in managing Marlow if this goes off the rails, but she’ll flip if she finds out I met with her dad just yesterday. Thanks, Bob.
This should be fun . . .
Reaching forward, Bob and I shake hands. “Good to see you again, Mr. Marché.” I slide into the booth.
“Bob works.” His gruff voice is loud enough to draw the attention of the surrounding tables. “Marlow and I were just discussing cryptocurrency. I’m dabbling. Got any good tips for me?”
“Just dabbling myself. It’s like the Wild West. You never know if you’ll strike gold or lose it all.”
Marlow sits in the middle of us with a big grin, playing innocent. She knew it would only be us when she invited me. It would have been nice to be in on the plan, especially since he’s now my client. The omission means it was on purpose and leaves me in a vulnerable position. Do I treat him like a client or her dad? I’ve known him for years, and we’ve always been friendly and gotten along, but things have changed in the past thirty-six hours. And more than just professionally. I shoot Marlow a glare. I may not know why she only invited me, but everything she does has a reason behind it.
When she whispers, “Don’t hate me,” my face must say everything I haven’t. Moving on like everything is A-OK, she says, “We ordered drinks while we were waiting. Whiskey neat, right?”
“That works.” Make it a double if he tells Marlow I’m representing him before the first course.
“So, here we are . . .”
She’s quick to add, “Let’s order. I’m starving.”
The drinks are delivered, and I immediately take my glass and tip it back, my manners flying out the window. A buzz in my pocket has me slipping my phone from it and peeking down at it. Jackson: Damn, dude. Five minutes in and Miami is up by two. That wager you let ride is gonna be mine.
It’s tempting to shit-talk back, but again, I’m riding the professional line here.
“Everything okay?” Marlow asks, leaning over with the menu in hand.
“It’s Jackson. He’s watching the game.”
“Football?”
“Basketball.”
“Ah.” Returning her attention to the menu, she taps it. “I’m thinking about the halibut.”
I decide on the steak and set the menu back on the table. Glancing up, I ask Bob, “How’s your stay in New York?”
“Lots of meetings. There always are when money is involved.” Setting his napkin on the table, he slides out of the booth. “Will you excuse me? There’s a producer at the bar who I’ve been trying to connect with while here.”
“Sure,” Marlow says, but as soon as he leaves, she looks at me. “I’m so sorry, Rad. I hate putting you in this position, but I was nervous about this dinner, and I knew you would back me up when the shit hit the fan.”
“Why are you nervous, and what shit are we talking about?”
We both glance toward the bar just as Bob reaches it. When we turn back, she grabs a frantic hold of my wrist. “I think he’s going to cut me off, and then what will I do? I’ll be homeless and will have to sell my belongings to Sotheby’s to auction off to the highest bidder or, worse, the only bidder.”
“Slow down, Marlow. Maybe he just wants to have dinner with you.”
“It’s bad news. I can feel it. Something is off.” Tapping a nail to the wood table, she says, “He’s been here for weeks but just told me the other day. He’s been busy in endless meetings, and his current wife isn’t here. It’s fishy if you ask me.”
“Or he’s been busy working,” I say. I’m not proud of myself for lying, but again, this is where we are.
“You’re probably right. I’m glad you’re here anyway. I knew you could temper the situation no matter how it plays out.” Rolling her eyes, she laughs. “He loves you.”
I catch sight of Bob returning and whisper, “I’ll run interference if you need it, but I want you to remember that anything he says, you can handle.”
She nods and looks up. “How’d that go,
Daddy?”
Bob arrives with the server, and says, “Better than expected. We set up a meeting for Friday.”
After we place our order, Bob angles toward Marlow. As much as I don’t want the fact that I already know about the divorce coming out, that beats her being financially cut off. “Marlow, sweetie, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, and Rad being here seems like a fitting opportunity.” Here it comes . . .
Her eyes widen as her breath catches in her chest. “What is it?”
“I know you’ll be disappointed, but I’m getting a divorce.”
I cringe, knowing what comes next.
She blinks in disbelief. “You’ve been married for less than two years.” Not what I expected.
“It was a whirlwind. We met at Cannes. The food. The awards. The parties.” Bob reminisces as if it’s a bygone era. “As you know, we were married before we returned to LA. Not my best decision.”
Marlow drops her head in her hands. “Not even two years.” Popping up, she asks, “Does the press know? TMZ? Page Six?”
“No. Only my attorney, and now you.”
She gasps. “Does Lorie know?”
“Yes. She found out when I caught her fucking the chef for crafts services on her latest film. She’s agreeing to keep this as hush-hush as possible.”
“For a fee, I’m sure.”
“Of course. You know how these things go in Hollywood.”
“I do. Too well because of you. This is humiliating. They’ll stalk you and Lorie, and then they’ll come after me.” She tosses her napkin on the table with anger. “Why can’t you date like a normal person? You don’t have to marry every woman you meet.”
I have her back, but this is not something I can fix for them. Feeling like an intruder to their conversation, I sit back as far as I can within the confines of the red leather booth.
The space allows me to remember how beautiful Tealey looked covered in a blanket on the lounge chair, stars shining down, and the sound of traffic becoming the city’s soundtrack.
I’ve not lived with a woman before, so I’m not sure what to expect. When I lived with Jackson and Cade back in college, that was a mess. Hence, why I now live alone.
Wonder what it will be like to wake up with Tealey there, to have her as the last person I see at night? Will I see her, or is she right that we’ll hardly see each other?
Given I haven’t heard anything from any of the guys, I’m guessing Tealey hasn’t told them she’s moving in with me. Is it something I should do, or is this a secret? I can’t imagine why we’d hide it. We’re all friends. I’m just one helping another . . . another that I’m not sure that I’ve been great at hiding the torch I’ve carried.
Torch might be taking it too far.
Lantern?
Flashlight works, I lie to myself.
Who am I kidding?
I thought I’d see Tealey at this group dinner tonight, which made it worth it to miss a game when I have a large bet on the line. I wonder how long’s a reasonable time to stay here?
When Marlow downs her wine like a shot, I do what any good friend would do. I hold my finger in the air when a server passes by and point at the empty glasses. Judging by his hustle to the bar, I’m thinking he can read my desperation.
Marlow says, “I’m tired of your bad decisions wreaking havoc on my life. Why can’t I have normal parents?”
I might have called her spoiled any other time, all in good fun, because she relishes the role, but this time feels different. She’s upset.
I reach over and awkwardly nudge her in the arm. “I think—”
“Because your mother ran off with an Italian race car driver, that’s why.” Bob’s smarting words cause Marlow to flinch from the impact. “That’s when our lives were so-called ‘normal’ and look how that turned out. So calm down, Marlow.” Yikes. Rookie mistake. Telling any woman to calm down explains his divorces. “You didn’t even like Lorie.”
A red wave crawls from the base of Marlow’s neck, spreading to her jaw and settling in her face. She tightens her mouth, and says, “Don’t tell me to calm down.”
“Listen—”
“No, you listen. I didn’t dislike Lorie. I just don’t bother to get to know them anymore. What’s the point, Daddy, when you’re going to turn around and divorce them so quickly?”
“The point is, I’m a sucker for a beautiful—”
“Too-young-for-you models, actresses,” she says, ticking off her fingers. “Flight attendants, my friends—”
“I married Deandra, so I think that makes her more my friend than yours.”
“Oh, trust me, Daddy. She’s not my friend anymore, but she was in high school and one of the few people I thought I could trust. Why do you think I left California?”
That’s a lot to unpack, and I’m thinking that won’t happen tonight.
The drinks arrive, allowing each of them to catch their breath. Marlow crosses her arms and looks across the sea of people while Bob looks at me. Shit.
Covering her hand, Bob returns his attention to his daughter. “I’ve hurt you and caused you pain. I’m sorry, sweetie. That was never my intention. I’m not always the best with this kind of stuff, so I’m glad you have Rad to rely on.”
Marlow’s scowl softens. “I don’t want to fight with you. I’ll weather the paparazzi storm like I always do.”
“That’s my girl.” Bob grins like he’s saving the day he just shit on. “I have a surprise for you if you’re up for it?”
He knows the way to Marlow’s heart. Her eyes brighten along with her disposition. “What is it?”
“I’ve been so proud of how you’ve pursued your passion and landed a job at the gallery. You’ve really pulled your life together.” Signaling toward me, he continues, “Rad’s in your life, and well, I know living in the city is expensive, so I thought I could help you two lovebirds with a little nest egg.”
Wait, what? Lovebirds? Nest egg?
“Lovebirds?” Marlow asks, sounding just as confused as I am.
He pulls his napkin back onto his lap with a grin. “Yeah, I know you two like to keep things under wraps, as we say in the industry, but I want to buy your apartment. Then you won’t have to carry that burden.” Eyeing me, he adds, “Fewer hours at work means more time to play at home. Right, Rad?”
“Um . . .” I’m thinking now is not a good time—personally or professionally—to disclose that Tealey’s moving in with me. “Right, sir,” I answer begrudgingly, feeling caught between my job and my life.
Although Marlow’s not hurting for money, her dad’s offer is chum in the water. Not sure how she’s planning to break it to him that we’re not together, but by her wide smile, she’s already fallen hook, line, and sinker into this plan.
Since I’m one-half of the future owner of this purchased apartment, I’m thinking now would be a good time to speak up. “Although we appreciate the offer—”
“Thank you, Daddy.” Marlow throws her arms around him. “We’ll take it.”
“Uh.”
She turns to me. “Don’t worry. It will all work out how it’s supposed to.”
Between gritted teeth, I say, “It’s too generous.”
Shrugging, she laughs. “He wants to.”
“I want to. I like to keep things in the family. That’s why I asked you to represent me. You can run interference with the press. You can’t break client privilege, and since you’re dating Marlow, they won’t drag her into the media this time. It’s a brilliant plan.”
And here I thought Marlow was the mastermind behind tonight’s dinner. I think she did as well, but Bob’s outplayed us both. It actually is a brilliant plan. I don’t know whether to be impressed or worried.
He takes a long pull of his scotch, and then adds, “My baby girl snagging a prestigious East Coast bachelor, a Wellington, at that, will bring plenty of good PR. And you won my daughter’s heart, so everyone wins.”
Everyone does not win, namely me.
Two
things:
Firstly—Why the fuck would he assume Marlow and I are dating?
Secondly—Tealey will be pleased to know that I figured out what snagging entails.
I start, “I didn’t snag—”
Her index finger swings in her father’s direction. “Back up. You retained Rad because you thought we were together?”
“Yes, and because he’s good at what he does.”
Shooting me a hard glare, she says, “I wasn’t told.”
“I—”
“Shh!” Holding her finger straight up, she stares at me, and then she bites her lip, her expression morphing from anger to . . . oh shit. As the puzzle pieces fall into place, I realize she’s already two steps ahead. “Weren’t you trying to make partner?”
Am I about to be blackmailed into marrying Marlow?
What the fuck?
My swallow is as deep as the Grand Canyon. “I am.”
“So, winning a high-profile client’s case would help you achieve that?”
“There’s no guarantee.”
“You’re under oath. Is that a yes or no?”
“I’m not under oath, but yes, it would help.”
A smile that could win the title of Miss America settles across her face. “I’d call that a triple win then.”
My phone buzzes on the seat beside me. When I glance down, Jackson’s sent the latest score. Not only have I lost all logic when it comes to this asinine idea but I’m also about to lose one thousand dollars.
At this point, I’m certain my eyebrows have become one with my hairline. There aren’t enough hours tonight to wade through this absurd scheme, but no way am I just agreeing to please them.
They have some solid points, but I need to get out from under this Marché madness, find fresh air, and clear my head.
There must be a solution that serves us better than lying to the world and each other to get what we each want.
And I’d really like to know why Bob Marché thinks I’m dating his daughter. Because that is utterly crazy.