“What’s the password?” he asks.
“Um…e-excuse me?” Jameson stutters.
“The password. You have to say it before I let you in.”
I intercept the buzzer and let Jameson up.
“Hey! He didn’t know the password. You told me not to just let anyone up.” Okay, have I shared that Owen can be a little inflexible?
“Yes, Owen, I did, but this is the guy who’s helping me with all of this book crap. He’s the one getting me spots on television, so you can share the password with him once he gets up here.”
“That’s dumb.” He flips me off.
My phone continues to buzz. The caller ID reveals it’s Dorothy. I hesitate to answer but realize that it’s either now or later that I will have to speak to her. She’s persistent when she doesn’t get her way.
“Dorothy, I can’t talk right now. I am running late and—”
“Listen, I need to talk to you. I had a vision, and I can’t shake the feeling that something bad is on the horizon.” Did I share that Dorothy believes she is psychic? Yep. Lucky me. I’m just grateful that she isn’t a mind reader.
“Well, I am going to have to call you back. I’m already running late.” Click. I breathe deeply and exhale in order to deal with the next issue at hand: the visitor at the door. Jameson.
He glares at me. I glare at him.
He pauses and then says, “You look like hell.” As he eyes me, I feel judged.
“Always doling out flattery. Let me grab my stuff, and we can leave. Oh, and Owen, this is Jameson. Jameson, my brother, Owen.”
“Hey, Owen! Great to meet you.” He smiles. Wow, his lips do move away from the permanent scowl he’s always wearing.
“You didn’t know the password.” His eyes narrow at Jameson.
“Well, maybe you can tell me what it is. I’m so glad someone honors the safety code. Your sister needs help in that area.” He eyes me.
“I know, right? She’s the worst. She won’t listen to me. I’ll think about giving you the code. Later.” And with that, my brother strolls away.
Jameson smirks at me. “Your brother is funny. At least he’s mindful of being safe. By the way, you have a keyboard imprint on your face.”
“Well, I was busy writing last night and fell asleep doing it. I was inspired!” I gloat, proud of my diligence.
Jameson takes a quick glance at the screen. He snorts. That’s when I realize the product of my inspiration is page after page of absolute gibberish.
Jameson
The emails regarding Addie have been overwhelmingly positive. I can’t keep up with all of the demands as I sort through the many requests for her presence. I am also continually pestered by the conversation we had the day before. You know, the one where I referred to her as a job. I was such a gigantic asshole. Being a NAVY Seal taught me not to feel, not to get attached, and I used to think that was a good thing. I can’t help but continue to carry it through my everyday interactions. Always in control. Never ruffled…until now. Addie is complex, but the added factor of her brother and the love she feels for him draws me to her even more.
Harrison strolls into my office and leans heavily on my desk. The lights of the bustling NYC skyline twinkle from the expansive windows.
“Let’s get out of here. I could use a drink.”
“Man, you have no idea.” I sigh.
“Is Addie difficult?” He looks concerned.
“Difficult? Annoying, frustrating, and sarcastic describe her best. I mean, I have been on missions that were less complex than her. She needs to come with an instruction book. Oh, and she eats chocolate from the bottom of her purse. Who does that?”
The corner of Harrison’s mouth tugs. “You like her.”
“She’s a client. It’s just hard when she’s so resistant to being in the public eye. It’s foreign to me—most of our clients beg for it.” I am in defense mode.
“Uh, huh.” He chuckles, slowly nodding his head.
“Can we go drink now and talk about something else? What’s going on with you?”
“Just keeping people happy. Living the dream and hoping to get some action tonight, so come on. Maybe you need to get laid, too.”
Christ, I can’t remember the last time I got laid, and oddly enough, I have no desire to scratch that itch.
We arrive at a hip bar in the West Village. Honestly, is there any bar in New York City that isn’t hip? The corners of the bar feature leather sofas that give the place a cozy, intimate vibe. It’s crowded with high-end clientele, all dressed in designer clothes. We settle into a corner spot, and women start eyeing us immediately. An attractive blond at the bar winks at me. I contemplate my next move, but I feel nothing. Normally, I would buy her a drink, make idle conversation, and head back to her place. Nothing has felt normal since I met Addie, and I can’t understand what it is about this woman that has me so off-balance. Our waitress returns with our drinks—whiskey neat for me, craft beer for Harrison. The amber liquid trickles down my throat, an instant relief. I close my eyes to enjoy the flavor.
“You’re awfully quiet. Any of these women catch your eye?” He wiggles his eyebrows.
“Nope. Not in the mood tonight. Just looking to relax and catch up with my friend.” Honestly, I would prefer drinking alone and possibly into oblivion, but I did that for far too long. Isolating. Drinking to forget. Quenching my guilt. Guilt over being the only survivor and not being there for my mother. But the alcohol-induced haze was a temporary fix. It only exasperated my PTSD issues.
“Tell me about Addie. Nina raves about her.” I am intrigued. Harrison and Nina have a tenuous relationship. The air is thick with sexual tension when they’re together. The sparks are palpable but generally overshadowed by Nina’s coldness toward him.
“Addie is different. She doesn’t want the attention. She’s resistant to me being in charge. Her sass is annoying, and I can’t begin to tell you how frustrating it is.” I take a long drink, letting the alcohol take effect. He smirks at me and raises his eyebrow. “What?” I bark.
“Nothing. I mean, you certainly seem a little edgy. I just wonder if maybe this woman is inching her way into being more than a client. You have always been closed off, but more so after your mother died. It’s okay to feel again.” He sounds like Dr. Phil.
To feel again. The idea seems so foreign. After everything I have been through, the thought of allowing myself to become attached to someone scares the hell out of me. Loss and sadness are already my constant companions. Maybe I am too broken to be fixed. All I know is that in order to survive, I must keep a wall up. It keeps me protected, always has. I don’t think I could survive another loss.
“Addie isn’t my type,” I say this as if I’m trying to convince myself.
“Jameson, your type are the ones that don’t require anything of you. The faceless women that serve a purpose, and then you discard them. I don’t believe you’ve ever had a girlfriend.” He’s challenging me.
“Of course, I have. Plenty,” I counter.
“I’m talking long term. Commitment.” The “C” word is as bad as the “R” word. This conversation is making me squirm. It’s uncomfortable, and it’s making me think about Addie. I finish my whiskey and raise the glass to the waitress, indicating I need another. Harrison observes me, nodding as if he is all-knowing. Asshole.
I turn the tables. “What about you? When did you have a relationship that lasted longer than a week? Tell me what the deal is with Nina. You all seem to have some sort of history. And she seems like she can barely tolerate your existence.” The waitress returns. I grab the glass from her. Taking a long drink, I stare at him, challenging him back. Two can play this game.
“Touché. I just haven’t seen you undone by a woman before, so it makes me curious. And there is nothing with Nina. She just doesn’t like me.” He shrugs. “Let’s talk
about sports. I feel like I’m starting to grow a vagina as we delve into our relationship issues and feelings.” He snickers, and I laugh.
“Cheers to that!” We clink our glasses and talk about ESPN.
Dorothy
Everything is abuzz with the new sensation: Addie Snyder. That bitch. I am so sick of everyone asking about her. Everyone is so enamored. I’m not about to let my cousin-in-law reap all the success. After all, I’m due something from her and my spineless husband. After Matthew came back empty-handed from his visit with Addie, it was time to flip the switch on being nice and pretending that I’m interested in her life and her retarded brother. I am going to get a piece of Addie’s success or die trying. Fortunately, my plan is already in motion.
“I know that look. What are you up to?” Matthew inquires.
“Oh, nothing. Just reading about Addie and how she’s taking the world by storm. I’m super happy for her. Wouldn’t this be a great time to find your uncle? A reunion for Owen, Addie, and their father would be a wonderful story.”
“Why would that make her happy? My uncle abandoned them. He cut off all contact and fell off the face of the earth. Wait a minute. Are you trying to stir up something that would tarnish her success?”
“Matthew, I can’t believe you would think that. I just feel like maybe there could be some resolution; uniting a family that was torn apart. You know, love heals and I just want to help facilitate the process. Wouldn’t this be a nice time for Addie’s family to come back together?”
If anything, I am an excellent actress and I hope that my dear spouse believes my intentions. We have been together for a while. I steal things in order to pay the bills. I get arrested, am immediately released, and then Addie gives us money to continue this ingenious cycle. We have the ideal marriage. I don’t think this is a good time for her to finally find a backbone.
“Why are you staring at me? Can’t I be happy for your cousin? She’s our family. I want to see her get what she deserves.” I grin.
Let the games begin.
Addie
Nina warned me about reading the stories and comments people write about me. Even if there are positive ones, there are always those individuals, because they lack purpose or perhaps a soul, who will do their best to murder your character. Well, like a petulant child, I didn’t listen.
First, I found a sweet article about my book from someone who received an advanced reader copy. Then there were a few about my television appearances. George will be pleased—they loved how I looked. Then I saw it—a picture of my long-lost father. It’s recent; age has changed his hair to salt-and-pepper. He was always an attractive man, and he’s still tall and slender and impeccably dressed. I would have recognized him anywhere. Except there’s a vacant look in his eye. Cold. Unfeeling.
The headline is misleading: “Bestselling author, Addie Snyder, keeps disabled brother from knowing father.” I will give them credit. It is a solid piece of fiction.
There’s a recent photo of Owen on his way to work and another of us at dinner. It’s creepy. Invasive. And I am pissed. How in the hell did this happen? Okay, I know what you’re going to say. That I am now in the public eye, and this is fair game. Yes, of course, you’re right. Don’t get cocky though. I don’t admit that easily. But as uncomfortable as this is for me, Owen didn’t sign up for this. The circus has come to town, and someone is the ringmaster. I just want to know who. Not many people know the story. For fuck’s sake, I don’t even know all of it. One day, I had a family. Imperfect. Dysfunctional, but we were together. Then, poof, my father disappeared, never to be heard from again.
The odd part is that my mother never seemed alarmed by that turn of events. She seemed relieved. They never fought. Honestly, they barely interacted; but as a child, I thought that was typical. Shit, she didn’t interact with anyone unless they served a purpose—her children fell short in that area.
As I continue to pop chocolate to mitigate the anxiety that’s bubbling, I think about my next step. So I text Nina.
Me:
Okay, you are going to be mad, but I just looked myself up on the internet.
Nina:
Were you ignoring me when I told you not to do that?
Me:
No, it was opposite day, so I did, you know, the opposite.
Nina:
How old are you?
Me:
Depends on the day.
Nina:
I am coming over and confiscating all electronics with internet capability.
Me:
That seems a little extreme. Can we pause this argument for now and address the elephant that is now on Page Six?
Nina:
Okay. I am mentally filing this away. What happened?
Me:
There is a story about my father with recent photos of him, along with several of Owen.
Nina:
Well, shit. Okay. Take a breath. Are you eating chocolate? If not, then start. Do you want me to come over? Have you called Jameson?
Me:
Breathing. Many chocolates popped. No, you don’t have to come over, and I haven’t called Jameson.
Nina:
You need to call him. Meanwhile, let’s meet for drinks tomorrow night. Give yourself a breather.
Me:
If you eat bar food, I will come.
I laugh because, at this moment, I can practically feel Nina shuddering at the thought.
Nina:
Ugh. Alright. See you tomorrow night at seven at our usual haunt.
Me:
Can’t wait. The wings are calling you.
Nina:
I’ll eat extra kale at lunch to prepare.
I dial Jameson’s number and hope he has a large shovel to clean up the shit that is hitting the fan.
Jameson
Women are always attracted to me, but tonight the field holds no appeal. They lack in most everything, and the fact that I have no physical reaction is alarming. I nurse my drink, watching Harrison effortlessly work the room. After a while, I wave goodbye and head out into the chill of the night. I could have taken a cab or gotten on the subway, but I walk instead in the hope that it will help clear my mind and allow me to process the discomfort I’m experiencing.
I have money. I even have a few friends, but ever since I met Addie, the emptiness has become palpable. I don’t want a relationship with a woman. It’s too much effort. Plus, being involved means the possibility of loss. Abandonment. Heartache. I had a front-row seat to my parents’ disaster of a marriage. The anger I had for my philandering father percolated through the years as I watched my mother live in a land of denial while Dad slept his way through various cities as he traveled. When he was murdered, I didn’t shed a tear. The walls I built shielded me from feeling. I might be considered a womanizer, but the women I go to bed with know the score. No strings. Purely physical and never emotional. If they get clingy, I cut them loose. It might make me a bastard, but at least I’m an honest one. Commitment isn’t on my agenda; I just need to keep reminding myself of that fact where Addie is concerned.
In mid-thought, my phone rings, and speak of the devil, it’s Addie. I could ignore it, but seeing as it’s eleven at night, I figure there must be an issue.
“This is Jameson,” I answer, know
ing that by acting as if I don’t know who’s calling, I’ll irritate the shit out of her.
“Really? That’s how you’re going to answer the phone? Seriously, your phone tells you it’s me, right? Do you know how to read?” she spews.
The annoyance in her voice is music to my ears, and I smile. “Oh, hey, Addie. Sorry, I haven’t gotten a chance to add you to my contacts yet. What do you need?” It’s a lie, but I enjoy taunting her.
“What do I need? You haven’t seen the story trolling the entire internet. Everyone knows now. I thought writing a book would be a source of celebration. I worked so hard to complete this story, and now its success is bringing me misery. I didn’t want anyone to know.” I hear soft sobs coming through the phone. Now I feel like crap.
“Okay. Relax. How bad could it be? There is no bad publicity. It keeps your name relevant.” I’m trying to sound upbeat but can barely believe my own bullshit.
“That’s it? Well, mister publicity guru, the media has gotten wind of my long-lost father. On top of that, Owen’s pictures are splattered everywhere. I don’t want to be in the public eye, but I don’t have a choice. My brother does.” She sounds exasperated.
I am at a loss. The emotion seeping through the phone is something I’m unprepared for, and apparently, I need to find her father before he comes crawling out from whatever crevice he’s hiding in and nip this in the bud.
“Calm down. I have a friend who is a PI. Maybe he can get a location on your dad. Do you want to find him?” I ask.
There is silence.
“The man who left us is not my father. He abandoned the family because Owen wasn’t what he considered normal. My mother was an emotionless shell who drank herself into oblivion, disappearing for days at a time. I essentially raised my brother, so no, I don’t want to find him, but I do want to save my brother from any pain. He never knew our father, but I did, and frankly, Owen didn’t miss anything. I mean, there were moments that were special—moments when I thought that he loved me; but they were few and far between.”
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