Rock Bottom (The Handler Series Book 1)

by Angie M. Brashears

I felt bad for ignoring her, but I didn’t mean for her to sit on my lap. I lean back in my chair and try to avoid her long legs as she inches them closer to mine.

  I almost say, ‘I’ve got a girlfriend’ but that would surely get back to Nova.

  More like a little pain in my ass than my sister in law to be, she’d surely ask. ‘Really, who?’

  And Ofelia is a can of worms better left unopened. If that’s even the name she’s using now.

  When she speaks, I give her my full attention.

  “As I was saying, I’m having a bit of a problem with a stalker. No matter where I go, Rusty’s there. I thought it was a one and done thing, you know, just to get back at Nova?” When she winks, I look away. That’s my friend you’re talking about. To get back, in other words to wound. I’ll never understand women.

  “I thought I made that clear, but he’s got other aspirations. Now he’s moved himself into the high-rise and I find myself staying at the Ritz just to avoid him. The guy just won’t leave me alone.”

  After the crack she made about Nova, I almost don’t help her. Say I’m booked up, out of commission. But this a personal favor for Nova and the Malone’s don’t do family that way.

  “Is this something you can’t handle?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “I’ll take of it.”

  “Like you did with Nova?” She asks, and from the bloodlust in her eyes, I know she heard the whole story. But that’s what the POS gets after stealing from Nova for so long.

  “How deep is he in?” I ask.

  “Balls deep.” She says with a sigh.

  “Is he here now?” I take the opportunity to look around. Hoping to see you in some disguise, maybe glasses and a wig, I just look for your face. Behind parked cars, over the hedge, there’s no one. Not a sign of you.

  Nausea forces me to put the Iced Tea back down without taking a drink.

  “… hence, the color change.”

  She flips the coppery locks with just the right amount of cast. Fishing, but I stop it at a compliment. “The color suits you perfectly Penny.”

  Her eyes beckon, but I stay where I’m at. I don’t take the invitation that I read in her baby blue eyes. It’s there alright. I remain stoic, even when her pinky caresses mine.

  Instead of picking up the hand that is nudging mine, I reach for the check.

  She might be watching.

  “My usual fee is $10,000 dollars, but since Nova sent you, I’ll do it for five.” I say.

  Eager, she pulls her checkbook out.

  But I stop her. “If Rusty’s got both balls in, like you say. I can’t take your check. Sorry. But it’s cash only.”

  Closing her purse she nods. “I’ll have it couriered over this afternoon. How is Nova by the way? Heard her show’s doing great. Sold out.”

  I nod. “She works her ass off.”

  “Still…I mean what’s her life like? Is she happy? Does she have a boyfriend? I don’t read much about her in the papers.”

  She’s vague, fishing again. Hoping I’ll take the bait in my big fat mouth, she waits.

  “That’s because she’s being handled by me and I can’t give you any personal information about her. And I’ll give you the same courtesy now that I’m handling you.”

  Coy, she asks. “What’s that mean exactly. To be handled by you?”

  But I steer it back to business. “It means that I will only stop handling things for you when you’re able to take the reins back. Before today’s over, his name will no longer be on your accounts. If you feel a little Fuckimony is in order, I can arrange that in exchange for a signed non-disclosure agreement.”

  She looks puzzled, then snorts out laughter. “Are you saying I should pay him? For what? All the good fucks we had. No way, tell him I’ve got no more fucks to give. We’ll just call it even. He got to bang the biggest Whimsy artist since…Penny Candy!” By the end, she sounds almost haughty.

  “As the one handling things, I’d advise you to pay up. It’s just good business, plain and simple. Insurance, the same kind you’d pay to an exterminator to make sure the cockroaches stay gone.”

  Her voice drops and for the first time she takes in our surroundings. Fearing microphones in the bushes, she leans forward, and I smell gardenias. Ofelia’s favorite.

  “I’m big on Rated G TV.” Her face looks like she sucked on a lemon when she says. “But my new show, Penny’s Senior Year. Isn’t doing so well without Nova. If one word about this, sordid business, ever get out ever got out…”

  “That’s what the Fuckimony is for. He’s a taker, and he’ll continue to take until your desperate.” I think of how lucky we got with Nova in that psych hospital. If Rusty had shown up before us, the next attempt would’ve probably been a score.

  I clear my throat and continue. “I don’t want to see it get to that. Let’s just call it a sweetener, one that will cause lockjaw to that Rusty nail.” That’s the second time I’ve made that same corny joke and neither time brought a laugh. I’ll have to think of better material for the next ex of Rusty.

  Her face darkens at the memory. Somewhere in there, she misses Nova. I can see it. Against my better judgment, I’m cross contaminating clients here, I say. “You can always call. She took you’re call once right? We’re here, aren’t we? Maybe try again when you’re clear of her ex.”

  She shrugs. “Or you can just tell her, for me. If she ever wants to talk about a Penny Candy reunion.”

  “I’ll let her know. Unlocked?” I ask and hold my phone over hers when she nods. There’s a beep when her file upload is complete.

  I pick up her phone and see her watching with interest. “Would you like the honors?” I ask, handing her the phone.

  The ghost that haunts my heart flees at the sound of her laughter. “Don’t mind if I do.” She says and ceremoniously drops the newest iPhone on the market into a pitcher containing flowers. We both watch as it sinks to rest on the iridescent rocks on the bottom.

  “You’ve just taken the first step on the path to getting your life back. I’m swelling with pride for you. How you doing?”

  Her grin is infectious. “Fanfuckingtabulous. Do you have a girlfriend, Justice?”

  I lean down and kiss her cheek. “Let’s just say, the only reason I’m able to walk away from a fine piece of ass like yours is because I’m married to a memory.”

  Thoughtful she nods. “Married to a memory, I get it. You know what? That would make a great song.” She says. I wave, but I doubt she saw me. She was already jotting notes on the white tablecloth. If that one turns out to be a hit, I’ll make sure the owner gets a framed copy of it, which I’m sure it will. She’s got a lot of Nova in her, just needed some TLC without an actual affair. Man, I should have named the business that. Then I laugh. I’d be on the back pages of Yelp with a name like that.

  The valet pulls up with the top down. “Sweet ride, Holmes.”

  “Simone.” I say and hop in my idling ride like a fucking Dukes of Hazzard, Justice Hazzard. Cause that’s what’s about to go down. A little street justice. That’s how us Malone’s do. The first part, scrubbing her files clean of him, I’ll leave for Pop. Makes him feel like he’s still got a little gangsta in him. The second. Well let’s just say, I feel like it’s a good night to hit something.

  From the Author

  For important release dates and everything Angie, follow me join my mailing list. https://mailchi.mp/887a749f41b9/angie-m-brashears or follow me @AngieM.Brashears on Facebook.

  As always, thank you for reading.

  Today I finished my EIGHTH book. Can that be right?

  Seems like it was just yesterday, while sitting in another Weight Watchers meeting, that I got an idea. They all start the same. With the same fantastical question that unleashes my imagination.

  What if….

  What if someone barged in the door, right now. Flinging powdered donuts as bait, would I have the stones to get out of this plastic chair and follow? I’d have no choice. Right?<
br />
  Hungry for something original, that’s just what I did. I followed Blue and Javi through ups and downs, flans and jelly donuts and The Chubby Chaser’s Series was born. Despite those who say all these adventures couldn’t happen to a fat girl…well, I’m living proof. Big girls get it done…Right, Mr. Brashears?

  I’ve always wanted to write, and I did. In fact, my new series, The Handlers, was written long ago. Lost during an e-waste donation, but it never left me. My daughter, Bre would bring it up and in my quiet moments, between books, I’d think of this story. Anytime I saw another story about the waste of a good celebrity, it would come to me. Just a whisper.

  Where are the people who are supposed to be handling them?

  But it wasn’t ready. More importantly, I wasn’t ready.

  I went on to write stories that raised money for breast cancer.

  Boo right? No.

  Though sick, maybe dying, they’re still people that have a fabulous adventure or two left in them. And it’s okay to laugh, I did. The entire time I wrote dots I laughed and ugly cried. Because that’s what life is about, isn’t it? Finding the ability to laugh through pain. Love and loss. And above all else, do what makes you happy. Thanks to my own personal Handler and love of my life, Jim Brashears, I get to do just that.

  And I can’t forget the face of the revolution, Give Me Liberty, my husband’s favorite. A dystopian novel set in now.

  Hate is Contagious. Be Courageous. If no one’s ever asked, I will. What’s your What if?

  Find what it is and do that. Climb that, make that, write that, draw that, play that…and create. Something that’s uniquely you. I mean, I’ll keep being me. Each of my stories are one of a kind, Angie original’s that you won’t read anywhere else. When you read my stories, all you hear is me. And bonus, you’re never going to find another author with the hashtag #jellyisthenewsexy.

  Pudding shots and dots, I’m always looking for a captive listener.

  But today? I’m out of words. I left them all on the pages.