by J. O Mantel
“I don’t know, it’s a stretch.”
“So you pay out his contract, then he’s not tied into the show.”
“I’m not sure I can do that to Lloyd. Deacon is the face behind Mind Crimes. The show wouldn’t be what it is today without him. Tell me, how would you feel if someone approached you and told you they wanted to take Ethan from our series, so they could use him in their brand-new show? P.I’s leading man on another network?”
She considers me for several minutes before glancing back down at the magazine and then back to me.
“I’d be pretty pissed.”
Giving up on my coffee, I get out of my seat and wander over to the small kitchenette located in the corner of my office. I rinse my mug then place it under the spout before popping a pod in the coffee machine and pressing the button. The machine comes to life and fresh coffee pours into my mug. When it’s finished, I walk back over to my desk and sit down. Nicolette still has her head down, coffee in one hand, and the magazine in the other.
“What’s it called?” she asks suddenly.
“Excuse me?”
“Your show, does it have a name?”
“Yeah it does. It’s called Tainted Love.”
“That’s the last of my stuff,” I say to Deacon, grabbing my bag and placing it in the trunk of the Uber.
“I wish you’d let me drive you to the airport.”
“You know I’d love nothing more than to spend every moment alone with you until I get on that plane. But you have a show to film today, and you can’t let anyone down by being late. Besides, Christmas is just around the corner, and before you know it, you’ll be on your way to New York to see me.”
I lean forward and press a kiss to his lips as he wraps his arms around my waist.
“Call me when you get there,” he orders.
“I will. Have fun on set.”
He gives me a noncommittal grunt as we pull ourselves apart and I open the door to the Uber. After sliding into the front seat, I lower the window and poke my head outside.
“Love you,” he says.
I say nothing, but smile slightly as I wave my hand out the window and watch the figure of Deacon get smaller and smaller through the mirror as we drive away from the house.
Home sweet home.
I toss my bag in the center of the living room and slump into the couch while letting out a loud sigh of relief. Due to a mechanical fault with the plane, my flight was delayed four hours, and after a not so pleasant flight, I’m glad to finally be home and away from the craziness of Deacon’s hectic lifestyle. We’ve been dating for a long time, but I still can’t keep up with it all, and the truth is, it’s not the life I want.
I’ve never mentioned any of this to Deacon because I know the moment I do, we’ll be over and that will mean I won’t have him around to pay for everything anymore, and let’s face it, I kind of enjoy taking advantage of his millions and letting him squander his money on me.
I get off the couch and make my way to the kitchen, where I open the fridge, grab the bottle of beer from the top shelf, then close the door. I unscrew the lid and take a long swig of my drink, then slump back down on the couch and reach for the remote. Mindlessly, I flick through all the channels until a breaking news segment interrupts the broadcast. The headline reads Peak of Global Financial Crisis hits America. I change the channel again and again, only to find the news is the same on every network.
Further reports state that the crisis has tanked Wall Street, with the stock market and the Dow Jones reaching an all-time low, almost the worst they’ve seen since the Great Crash. I get up and let my feet carry me over to my laptop, which is resting on the desk by the window. I open the lid and log into the online banking system and immediately check my accounts. I make some transfers between my accounts and ensure my money is safe, and do a final check on the other small investments I’ve made with Deacon’s help, before shutting the lid.
I’ve spent the past fifteen years working for an I.T. firm here in Manhattan; it’s not the highest paying job in the world, but I’ve got my benefits, and thanks to Deacon purchasing this home, I haven’t had to worry about a mortgage.
Before ever meeting in person, Deacon and I chatted for some time online. We’d exchanged photos, phone calls, and life stories through Skype—enough to get to know one another until we could make our schedules match.
It wasn’t until a Valentine’s Day benefit that the two of us first met face-to-face. The organization I work for was invited to attend the benefit, thanks to their hefty donation. Deacon was already an established star on Mind Crimes and Hollywood’s newest it man with his killer looks.
“When I See You Smile” by Bad English was the song we danced to that night, and afterward we headed to the bar at the venue, where he bought me a drink. People approached us throughout the night, asking Deacon for his autograph as they posed for photos. Some of them looked at me curiously.
By the end of the evening, we were flirting with one another, and I was finding it increasingly difficult to keep my hands off the guy. So, many drinks later, the two of us were in a cab on the way back to my shitty apartment that I had at the time. We were barely inside the door when Deacon lunged forward and crushed his mouth on mine before sliding my jacket down my shoulders and tearing my shirt open. He awkwardly walked me backward along the foyer until we reached the laundry, pressing my ass against the doorjamb as he unclipped the buckle of my belt and slid his hand inside my pants. He dropped them and my underwear down to my ankles, and after awkwardly rolling on a condom, he slid his cock inside me for the first time. It was the best sex I’d had.
News of the crisis continues to flood newsfeeds all over the television, with claims stating that the financial downfall has significantly affected production companies and movie studios across the United States. It’s just as well Deacon bought this house, because at least I know I’m secure and am guaranteed to have a roof over my head. As another headline scrolls across the screen about television studios, I frown. It’s been ages since Deacon mentioned being on set to film the show. So if he hasn’t spoken to me about it, then maybe Mind Crimes is in trouble, and if that’s the case, that means Deacon is out of a job with no income … and with no income, that means my lifestyle and expectations are threatened. There’s no way I can allow this to happen.
My phone vibrates, and I reach into the pocket of my jeans and pull it out. I look at the caller ID to see Deacon’s name flash on the screen. Bringing the phone to my ear, I answer, “Hey.”
“Hey. I was getting worried, you didn’t call me.”
“Sorry, long delay due to a mechanical fault with the plane. Have you seen the news?”
“I have, it’s everywhere.”
“Have you heard anything from Lloyd? Is your job safe?”
There’s a brief pause before he finally says, “I haven’t spoken to Lloyd, or heard anything from anyone down at the studio.”
“So no one’s said anything during filming?”
His pause is slightly longer this time. “Not a word.”
I slump back into my seat, letting out a sigh as I run a hand through my hair. I have a niggling feeling the guy is lying to me. Almost every single headline I’ve just watched says that studios are suffering. There’s something he’s not telling me, which means there’s more going on here than what he’s letting on.
“How does this kind of thing even happen?” I ask.
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t look good.”
“Lucky you have your money in fixed deposits, though, right?”
There’s another pause on the end of the line, prompting me to lean forward in my seat. “Deacon?”
“Not quite. Mom and Dad have their trust fund, then there’s the limited money I have in my personal savings account, but I’ve been investing everything else and if shit really hits the fan on the stock market, I could lose everything.”
“What do you mean y
ou could lose everything? And what do you mean, limited money?” I ask, getting to my feet as I begin pacing the room.
“If the market continues to drop, all my investments and everything I have could be liquidated. All I’d have left is my salary. I don’t have enough to put into a fixed deposit.”
“Are you telling me you have no money?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all.”
I tune out the rest of what he’s saying as I lean over the island in the kitchen and tap my fingers on the granite countertop. Deacon’s salary is what’s kept me in the lifestyle I’ve gotten used to. I’ve never had to worry about money before, since he assured me that the two of us would be okay, but now he seems uncertain.
I’ve been trickling money each week into an offshore account I set up when I started working in IT, keeping it there for a rainy day. Looks like that rainy day is coming. But when I checked the balance, it’s not quite as healthy as I’d like it to be. If Deacon loses his job, he can’t pay for everything, which means I have to. I need to top it up somehow.
My money has always been my business, and I intend on keeping it that way.
“So what are you going to do about it?”
My last remark comes out harshly, but there is no way in hell that I’m going to use my money to support the two of us.
“How is this just my problem?” he asks through the phone.
“You’re the big shot celebrity earning the millions, you figure it out.”
I end the call and slam my fist down on the kitchen counter, then stalk over to the fridge and grab another … actually, two bottles of beer. I pop the top off one and start chugging as I wander back to my laptop and ponder what to do next.
I scrape my fingers on the keyboard and flick through several open tabs, when an idea hits me like a bolt of lightning. I let a smirk morph into a huge grin and begin tapping away at the keyboard. I grab my phone and open my address book, hitting the Call button when I get to my colleague’s number. He’s head of our I.T. firm and and a little loose with his business ethics, and he’s just the man I need to help me. I wait for the call to connect, but it goes to voicemail when he doesn’t answer.
“Brahden, it’s Brodie. I really need your help with something important, can you please give me a call back on my cell?”
I end the call and place the phone beside my laptop. “If Deacon goes down, there’s no fucking way he’s taking me down with him. I’m not going to lose everything I’m entitled to.” I hear my phone ping with a message. When I look at the screen, there’s an invitation from a friend to a party tonight, and although I’m tired from waiting at the airport for hours, I’ve already downed a few bottles of beer, and now I’m thirsty for a party. As for dealing with Deacon … my partying days with him are now over.
I close the lid of my laptop and type my reply to the message, then hit Send as I get to my feet, pull my shirt over my head, and make my way to the bathroom. My phone rings and when I look down at the screen, my grin widens as I answer.
“Hey, Brahden.”
As the doors slide open at JFK airport, I’m immediately met with Deacon’s warm, caring smile from where he waits beside a car, wearing his usual Clint Eastwood hat and shades, to hide from the media. I tug on the handle on my suitcase, pulling it behind me as I walk through the doors and quicken my pace toward my brother. Thomas and the girls follow me, and when I reach Deacon, I spread my arms and wrap them around his waist, embracing him in a tight hug.
“Oh my god, I’ve missed you,” I say.
“It’s good to see you, sis. Have you been eating? You feel thin.”
I pull away and glare at him, “Excuse me, are you saying I was fat?”
“Ah—no, that’s not what I’m saying at all, it’s just—”
“I’m just messing with you! It’s good to see you, little brother. I’m so sorry about Brodie.”
“Yes, well … we don’t have to talk about him,” Deacon says.
“Uncle Deacon,” Sophie and Bianca scream in unison.
He moves away from me and to the side, stretching out his arms as the girls slam into his chest and he wraps his arms around them. You wouldn’t know my girls are in their late teens and in college by the way they act every time they greet their uncle.
“How are my two girls doing?” he asks.
“We’re doing great,” Sophie replies.
“I’m actually tired, and I could really do with some of Nanna’s eggnog right now,” Bianca says.
“Hello, Deacon.”
Thomas brushes past me and leans in to hug his brother-in-law, and when they pull apart Deacon smiles as he reaches for my bags and ushers us into his car.
When we get to my parents’ place, Mom embraces us at the front door with her usual warm welcome. Once we’re inside the living room, Dad throws his arms around me and pulls me in for a hug.
“Hi, honey,” he whispers.
“Hey, Daddy.”
His hugs are always warm and fuzzy, and they make me feel happy and safe whenever I’m around him. He greets Thomas the same way, before hugging both his granddaughters, and pressing kisses to their cheeks. I look up and see Deacon shrugging out of his jacket, keeping my eyes on him as he hangs it over the couch before making his way to the loveseat by the fire. As the girls and Thomas talk with Dad, I wander over to the fireplace and sit down on the armrest, before placing a hand on Deacon’s shoulder.
“What’s going on, Deacon?”
“What? Nothing. You know me, always thinking about something.”
“It’s Brodie, isn’t it? That lying son-of-a-bitch is an asshole for what he did to you. If I ever come across the guy in the street, he’s going to wish he never met me.”
“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me, sis. What Brodie did was—”
“Unforgivable?” I offer.
“I just can’t believe I was so blind to see it. It was happening right under my nose, and all I could think about was screwing the guy. In the end, he screwed me.”
I’ve never seen my brother like this. We’ve spent our entire lives looking out for each other and protecting the other. Now Deacon’s the one who needs help, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to when he won’t even open up to me.
“Okay, that’s it. Get your jacket, we’re going out.”
“Excuse me?” he replies.
“You heard me. I’ll meet you in the car.”
“But I thought—”
“No buts. Get your ass off this seat, put your coat on, and wait for me in the car.”
I see the hesitation in his eyes, but my brother knows better than to argue with me because he knows I always win. I walk over to Thomas who’s standing with my dad and the girls and I pull him aside.
“Hey, I know we just got here, but I’m going to take Deacon out, he’s a mess. Maybe if we’re alone he’ll open up and talk to me.”
Thomas looks over my shoulder at Deacon and I can see in his eyes that he knows I’m right.
“Go. This is what you’re good at. Your brother needs you.”
He presses a kiss to my temple, then I pick up my jacket and shrug into it, before turning around to head to the front door.
“Are you still here?” I ask my brother who hasn’t moved from the couch.
He rolls his eyes before finally getting up and dragging his feet to the front door.
The buzz of shopping malls this time of year … it’s absolutely crazy. Every year I dread coming here for fear I’ll get trampled in a stampede as everyone races to the toy store for the latest craze. We push our way through the crowds and I can’t miss the long line of parents and their children who have gathered to get their photo taken with Santa.
“Thank god I don’t have children,” Deacon says, as we squeeze through a bunch of people.
“Come on, we used to love getting our photo taken with Santa when we were kids.”
“Exactly, when we
were kids, not mine. I don’t envy you and Thomas at all, taking the girls every year. Why anyone in their right mind would want to come to a shopping mall just days before Christmas is totally beyond me.”
“Oh, stop it! The reason we’re here is to shop and spend some quality time together, and I want to cheer you up so you can forget about that prick.”
“Um … you saw me at Thanksgiving.”
“Which was three weeks ago. That’s like a lifetime in female years.”
Making our way around the line of people who are waiting to meet Santa, I look up on the stage to check out the man dressed in the big red suit and hat.
“How about it?” I ask.
“How about what?” he replies, turning so his eyes meet mine.
“A photo with Santa.”
“Not a chance in Santa’s sleigh are you going to convince me to sit on Satan’s … I mean Santa’s lap,” he retorts.
“Don’t look so disgusted. Thomas and I still get our photos taken every year with the girls. I don’t care what people say, you’re never too old for a photo with Santa. Besides, they make great family Christmas cards. Now that I think about it, you and I have never had our photo taken at Christmas time, just the two of us.”
“And there’s a reason for that,” he replies, sarcastically.
“Deacon Francis Eugene Brady, you are getting a photo with me and Santa.”
If there’s one way to get my brother to listen to me, it’s to address him by his full name. Our parents had this thing about long names for their children, and while I was named entirely after several female daytime soap opera actresses, my parents decided to get creative with Deacon and add a little extra.
“Shhh, you know I hate it when you call me by my full name, especially in public.”
“Does that mean you’re going to listen to me?”
“Maybe.”
“Deacon?” I push.
“Fine!” he says, waving his arms in mock surrender.
