Trust Me

by Paul Slatter

  Sebastian still smiling said, “I loved ‘Boom Boom Love’ Clive.” And so did Clive, it was the song he’d written and known as he was doing it that it would go worldwide and had until the news of a kid saving his life in the sea off Grand Cayman had gone bigger.

  The truth was though, the day he’d been saved by the kid, Clive had wanted to die out there—two and a half miles off shore in the Caribbean on the shallow reef called Stingray City. Clive Sonic standing there in the sunshine with his heart pounding, holding a Stripe, studying the kid snorkelling happily in the water, watching the stingrays beneath him as Clive did the same from his motor cruiser. The kid below in the warm, crystal clear water and Clive Sonic nice and safe and dry above, leaning on the deck’s rail. Both of them there years before watching as the rays lay swishing their tales on the beautiful shallow sand bank. Clive up there waiting for just the right moment when he could leave the sunshine and dive down off the boat to save a child and allow himself to be killed in the process.

  But it hadn’t worked out the way he’d hoped it would that day—that day, when one of the world’s greatest guitarists since Hendrix should have died a hero saving a child. For when the moment came and everything lined up just right, Clive had called out to the child’s parents, “The kid’s in trouble—the kid’s in trouble!”

  And before they’d put down their beers, wondering what the hell was happening, Clive had dived in off the side of the boat into the calm and crystal-clear Caribbean water to save the life of a child who was perfectly fine. Knocking the boys mask from his face as he passed by next to him, he’d pulled himself through the clear blue water and, reaching out, grasped the peaceful stingray with each of his hands, attacking it with such force that he’d hoped it would whip up its tail and sting him in the chest so he could float away unconscious into the warm tropical waters and immortalize himself forever.

  But the stars of fate were not quite aligned that day in the tropics when Clive Sonic’s life was supposed to end. In the frenzy of sand and swirling water whipped up by Clive as he held on, with a vice like grip, to either side of the bucking ray. The kid and the rest of the startled rays fled this predator in tight shorts with a death wish and a number one hit record around the world. Swishing up its tail, the ray caught Clive Sonic’s chord hand as he wrestled around and around, twisting and pulling under the water, purposely sucking seawater and sand into his perfectly healthy lungs until he himself passed out. He lay there alone in a soup of sand, seaweed, and blood—a scene of his own creation. His lungs without air and three fingers on his left hand somehow gone. Then, without a thought for himself, this kid whose life Clive had so courageously set out to save had swam back down and saved him.

  It wasn’t until the next day when Clive had woken in the hospital that the world discovered they’d almost lost the creator of “Boom Boom Love,” which was, at that very moment playing in the sleepy resort island’s reception, and that somehow this brave and daring boy, who’d grown up surfing in Venice Beach, California, had fought his way through a plethora of deadly stingrays and approaching reef sharks to pull the international superstar from the grips of death. The boy was a hero.

  Sebastian, leaned in and offered Clive some more wine without so much of a glance to Clive’s missing fingers as he held out his glass, saying, “Well I’m so glad you’ve decided to stay here Clive when you could easily afford to live anywhere in the world.”

  Patrick took this opportunity to chirp in with his patented line. “Trust me,” he said, letting it hang for a moment, then added, “there’s no better city in this world.”

  Smiling, Clive answered back, “How could I leave, it’s so lovely,” which just happened to be the lyrics from another song he’d knocked out that always did well at Christmas.

  Not picking up on this at all and agreeing nonetheless, Sebastian said straight back, “Oh, that’s why Alan and I came here in the first place. You know he used to love your songs. We had your first album.”

  Clive nodded, not sure who Alan was or why he was there himself, but as always, he’d done his homework. Sebastian String, the man who can make you famous if it takes his fancy. He said, “Alan?”

  Sebastian apologized, then said, “He used to live here with me, but sadly Clive, he’s passed on now.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Clive as he looked around at all the matching plates and wondered if the big guy in the red and blue Hawaiian or if the effeminate guy who wasn’t speaking was Alan’s replacement.

  As if he himself could hear the thoughts floating around in Clive’s pickled brain, Sebastian said after a pause, “Chuck here’s not into guys sadly, he’s my bodyguard. We were out today with little Fluffy on our bicycles in a real rough part of town and as much as we love the bike lanes, we feel the city really needs a change. Don’t we Chuck? In fact, this lady I know, this spiritualist, palm reader friend I see, she’s been telling me that it’s only going to get worse.”

  Chendrill didn’t have a clue as to what this guy, with the dog who sold stylish product and could make you a star, was talking about, and it was the first he’d heard about Sebastian visiting soothsayer type women who read palms. He did know that Keith Richards tuned his guitar so all he needed to do was lay one finger flat across the strings so as he could hit a chord on stage when he was out of it on tour, and since Clive still had a thumb and a forefinger, he was wondering why he couldn’t just do the same.

  Looking up at Sebastian and then to Clive, Chendrill said, “I’m not a bodyguard.”

  “I’m just teasing, Chuck,” Sebastian said with a wave that dismissed everything he’d said before.

  Then he said, “Sorry Clive, Chuck does security and he’s the best detective in the city. We’re lucky to have him, aren’t we Mazzi?”

  Raising his eyebrows and knowing he would normally just say ‘No’ in a tone that left you wondering whether he was joking, Mazzi opted instead to say nothing.

  Sebastian carried on, “Anyway Clive, we’ve been thinking and we feel the city is choking and we were thinking it would be great if you would run for Mayor.”

  Not expecting that one and not particularly liking the one they had now since the man had personally stopped three developments he had his hands on, and despite his prior ignorance to the suggestion, Patrick said, “Trust Me—it’s something we’ve been talking about for almost a year now.”

  Both Chendrill and especially Mazzi Hegan knew Sebastian liked to drop unexpected bombs, but this one took them both by surprise and made Chendrill wonder when Sebastian had actually come up with the idea in the first place. It couldn’t have been just pure coincidence that they’d been out earlier that day on the bicycles touring the bike lanes with Fluffy sitting in the front basket and Sebastian had seen the chaos that was Main and Hastings first hand; he couldn’t have just had an epiphany. The guy was calculated. There was no way he could have been so successful any other way.

  Lying in the same way Sebastian was, so as to let him know, he said, “Yes, it’s all Sebastian keeps talking about. He’s been driving us crazy with his planning. He said that if you’re not interested in doing it, he was going to ask Mazzi here.”

  Mazzi stared at Chendrill thinking, go fuck yourself, you big fucking ape! And what the fuck was he doing here anyway with this guy, who should be wearing a glove. Fuck, this was nonsense, Sebastian making him come to dinner with these morons so he could show off with his ‘surprise’ ideas as he liked to when all Mazzi wanted to do was be at home watching Sissy Hypno.

  He said, “Yes Clive, we think you’d be great.”

  Sebastian carried on, “The city needs a change Clive, and I remember seeing that lovely interview you gave from your bed in hospital in the Caymans after that brave boy rescued you. And that stupid idiot, insensitive reporter guy asked you what you’d be doing now after you’d lost your hand. And you’d smiled and said, ‘well, I guess I’ll run for Mayor.’”

  Clive couldn’t remember this. In fact, he could barely reme
mber being in the hospital. He did remember the long flight home he took via Miami where he’d got stuck in a small seat because of a mix up and was having trouble carrying his bag and eating. But being Mayor? Now he was in his late thirties, so yeah, why not? It was a way to get out there again and be noticed. Be someone. Be the guy who was going to go far and change the city first, then the country second after he’d gotten into politics. Just like the way he was going to be the guy who could have been the greatest guitar player ever had he not been killed trying to save that kid from drowning.

  All Mazzi Hegan had to say at the end of the evening after they’d said their goodbyes and Chendrill had walked Clive down to Belinda, who was waiting in his Mercedes and had forgotten to take the dog, as Sebastian had asked, was, “I heard he likes to dress up as a gladiator when he fucks.” Ignoring it at first as he cleaned up in the kitchen and hearing Patrick agree, then unable to ignore it anymore, Sebastian asked, “Really, how do you know that?"

  Sitting down and looking out of the window to the lights on the other side of the water, Mazzi replied, “Just heard it—you know, friend of a friend, people talk.”

  Patrick agreeing, like he knew it for a fact, then saying, “People talk Sebastian, trust me.” Sebastian ignored him and wondered when the man was going to leave.

  He said to Mazzi Hegan, “People do strange things Mazzi, you know that.” Mazzi did, only the night before he’d fucked a woman and it was still annoying him because deep down inside he knew that a little part of him had liked it. He said, “If you’re famous, nothing’s forgotten. You know that.” And Sebastian did, as the gladiator thing was already worrying him. He said, “What did you think about him?”

  “Shorter than I’d expected,” Mazzi answered. “To tell the truth though, I do remember seeing him in a bar years back rocking out surrounded by an entourage, the way those guys do.”

  “A bar?” Sebastian said back, already thinking that this latest venture was going to be a waste of time if there was ‘stuff’ out there and this bar just happened to be one of the ones Mazzi frequented. He said, “When you saw him Mazzi, did he have girls with him?”

  Thinking straight back to the night before when that girl who was Einer’s friend with the tight dress had kissed him in the club, sticking her tongue into his mouth as the lights had swirled around him and the half-naked dancing guys had watched as they spun about above him on their podiums, he said, “I’m not sure.”

  Sebastian said, “Do you think he’s gay, Mazzi? You know you can’t tell these days, can you? You know a lot of guys mix it up. And if he’s going about dressed as a gladiator, then you never know?”

  Fuck, what is going on? Mazzi thought as he wondered for the first time in his life if he was ‘one of those guys who mixed it up’. Before it would never have entered his head, not even as a teenage kid in Stockholm. Then before he could speak, he heard Sebastian say, “Well it’s early days, we’ll just have to see won’t we.”

  *********

  Clive sat in the back of the limo and thought about the night that had just been and the offer Sebastian String had just proposed. An unlimited resource budget that would put his name up on the billboards across town again promoting him just the same as they were now promoting some scrawny kid in silver undies. Mayor, he thought, Mayor Clive Sonic—Clive Sonic, Mayor. It sounded good. This happy and sweet gay man looking to do what it took to get him there as long as he put in the effort and agreed to do three things once he was there. What about Clive Sonic, Premier of British Columbia? he thought as Belinda drove the car up and over the Lionsgate Bridge towards Vancouver’s north shore. What about Clive Sonic, Prime Minister of Canada? Could be, it had a nice ring to it, but it would be tough to accidently kill yourself when you had the RCMP’s finest watching your every step and trying to do the opposite. What he’d do, he thought, was exactly the same as he was going to do before, but on a different scale and this time it would be better. He’d go from Clive Sonic, the guitarist who lost his fingers, to Clive Sonic, the guy who was going to put Vancouver back on the map and change the city—the guy who could have done so much around here but who sadly, after such a tragedy, was with us no more. Just like that he was back on track; destiny awaited.

  He hit the other side of the bridge, the lights on Grouse Mountain brighter now, lighting the ski run that was yet to get snow. Yeah, that's what I’ll do—with this gay guy helping he'd get the people to love him again. He would get them to love him and trust him—trust me, yeah. ‘Trust Me’. Trust Me! Just like that stupid guy who was at the dinner party and had his picture on the buses all over town always says—but on a bigger scale. He’d say that all the time, ‘Trust Me’. It would be his catch phrase. Then, when everything was lined up and the people loved him and trusted him, he'd leave them speechless with some incredibly tragic end, but this time he'd do it properly.

  ************

  Chendrill arrived back upstairs just in time to go out again, this time, though, he was with Sebastian and the dog. Sebastian happily wandering slowly through the park, taking in the night air, watching the groups hanging around, smoking dope, still trying to dodge the police. Couples together sitting quietly and not speaking, just being, breathing the night air and in love. Chendrill with him, walking slowly alongside Sebastian with little Fluffy in between and wondering if people thought they were a couple, feeling conspicuous, but not caring. He said, “What's this all about making this guy with half a hand mayor?”

  Sebastian sat himself down on a bench and asked Chendrill with his eyes to join him. The light from the moon and the street lamps near the water tailing off across the wet sandy beach. Sebastian smiled to himself as he waited before answering. Then he said, “It’s something that I want to do, Chuck.”

  “I thought you were making a movie?”

  Sebastian laughed to himself, then said, “Paying Chuck, paying, not making. But you know me, I'm a super multitasker.” Then Sebastian asked, “Chuck, are you happy?”

  “In what?”

  “Everything.”

  It was a good question, Chendrill thought. Was he? Kind of. Looking up, he said, “Is anybody really? You see some people who have everything and they look miserable.”

  “I'm not talking about everyone, Chuck, I'm talking about you.”

  Chendrill looked back out across the water then to Sebastian's dog sniffing out something in the grass. He said, “Yeah I'm good.”

  “What about work, are you happy at work?”

  No, he thought, not really, apart from the money and the car, of course, and for the fact he got to hang out with Dan’s mother. He said, “Yeah, I love it.”

  “You see, Chuck, I love having you on the team, but when you're at work, I always feel you wish you were somewhere else. And my gut instinct tells me that you wished you were back in your old job—you know, back on the police force, as a detective.”

  Chendrill looked at Sebastian and frowned; was it that obvious? He said jokingly, “But if I did that, I'd not be able to keep the car.”

  Sebastian smiled and looked out across the beach to a guy letting his dog run free when everyone around knew it was against the rules. Then looking back at Chendrill, he said, “Oh, the car’s yours Chuck. I’ve told you that before.”

  “Then why are you asking if I'm happy? Are you wanting me to leave?” asked Chendrill, suddenly wondering if this nonchalant attitude he'd been carrying around had suddenly come back to haunt him, and if so it was best to know now.

  Then Sebastian smiled and said, “Oh no, Chuck; I'm not letting you go anywhere. I like to see my friends happy so I'm getting you back where I know you want to be, and to do that Clive has to become mayor, then once he's there he'll be dealing with me and the first thing he can start doing once you have your old job back on your own terms is start cleaning up the East Side.”

  *********

  The first thing Mazzi Hegan did when he got back to his penthouse suite was have a beer, then another, then one more, foll
owed by a double Macallan scotch that stung his throat—which was fine, as he’d had worse land on his tonsils. Fuck, he thought, what a waste of an evening it had been, going to a dinner party at Sebastian’s was painful enough without having to be pleasant to some has-been loser who couldn't hold his fork.

  Sebastian was now getting himself into politics for some reason or the other. Probably so he wouldn't have to pay for the meters outside the office, Mazzi thought. They did cost a lot, though, he knew that. He sat down on his leather sofa and thought about the bill he'd seen a year prior and remembered Sebastian saying he'd done a deal for $200,000. He would be after eliminating that or reducing it, and, knowing the man like he did, he'd be happy to part with 4 times the amount to do so.

  He leaned back and put his feet up on the coffee table and looked at his Mauri slow movers. Fuck me, he thought, what was going on? He sleeps with one woman and forgets to take his shoes off at the door—and his socks were down. What the hell was going on? All this… this fucked up, upset feeling he’d had ever since that bitch with the nails had talked him into eating fish. He let out a deep breath and thought about having a cigarette, not that he smoked or had ever smoked—he just felt like it. That chick with nails, long and red on the end of those slender fingers she'd dug into his ass. Yeah, he'd liked that bit, that and the feeling of her tits on his chest when she'd leaned in and licked his face after he'd been down there. The dirty bitch. Not that he could talk with the shit he'd done, but that was natural—at least for him and some of his friends.

  Mazzi Hegan looked at the time. It was almost midnight and there was a meeting in the morning about this stupid film. He screamed out, “Fuck,” just like he always did when he didn't want to do something. What was the point? he thought, what was the fucking point, making a movie when the producer hadn't even read the script, wasting everyone’s time? What he should be doing is calling up one of his ‘friends’ and that girl so he could put on a show like she'd tried to get him and Einer to do. But that was never going to work, not with Einer, even if the guy had dipped his toe in the water when they'd met a while back.