Washed Up and Laid Bare

6.

How does someone with an obscene amount of money in his bank account, and the world's movie goers transfixed on him, become a nobody. Sure the vultures were out in force today but he knew better than to think they were out to see him achieve his former status. They had the kind of morbid curiosity shared by those who slowed down to observe a road accident, hoping for gory details to pass on to family and friends. They wanted to see him drown again, and his new assistant had played right into their hands. Sure she seemed to know her way around the political scene but this was a different ball game and if she was arrogant enough to believe she was some one woman show, ready to thrust him back into the limelight and get him a six or seven figure film deal, she was grossly mistaken. The speech had been murder to deliver, but somewhere inside he switched auto pilot on, something he'd used a lot in his latter film making days. He was there but he wasn't there, simply saying lines rather than feeling them. His natural presence meant that he carried it off without protest from the producers or the director, but he was just going through the motions. They were always the same scripts, the same boy meets girl scenario, a different take sure, but it felt monotonous to him. He'd always needed stimulation as a child, something to stop him acting out, and that's what he lacked. Lenny had tried to reign him in, to keep him focussed, but he took his agent for granted. Just like most things in his life. Money included.

Now he was stuck with her, she was content on her meagre pay, and he smiled to himself when he remembered his previous assistants received a much higher salary. Back when money was no obstacle, they'd been given no end of bonuses, a health care package and access to round the clock transportation and exotic holidays. Lana would never have made it this far in his previous life, she was the sort of woman he was more used to seeing serving the meals from a trailer on set.

As he remembered the speech he had just made, he found himself gripping the seat. He'd never enjoyed being told what to say, worse still she hadn't run the speech by him beforehand. It wasn't him, she had professed to know him within the lines she had written and he despised that she could be so judgemental. She didn't know his story, she'd merely watched some videos from when times were tough, read magazines and newspapers and listened to word of mouth from those she knew. The worst part of today were the questions from the journalists, asking him about the lawsuit. Jessica May had been the biggest lapse in judgement of his entire life. He hated that one part of him still missed her, how she had driven him to seek solace in his vices, and how that led to the demise of his life as it once was.

He needed a drink.

Even just a sip of something would be enough. Just somewhere to sit in the sun, remember Thailand and his grand plan to enjoy what he used to love, one more.

They stopped at the lights, and as Eddie and Lana chatted intensely about someone called Phoebe, he opened the car door, and sped away down the street.

He didn’t look back, but if he had to hazard a guess little miss prim was in hot pursuit. Flagging down a taxi and relieved that the older Asian man didn’t seem to recognise him, he breathed a sigh of relief. Just the mere act of breaking free made him feel alive, if just for a brief moment. He asked the driver to take him to a quiet bar, and ten minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of a small, out of the way, Irish Pub. He stepped inside, the earthy scent of hops hitting him, and instantly he could imagine the cool liquid running down his throat. He’d never been a beer drinker, opting for harder stuff with stronger effects, but right now that scent titillated him.

The bar tender, a weather beaten sixty something bearded man in a checked shirt, poured him a pint of ale from the tap, and he took the glass tankard to a booth in the back. Besides him and a guy nursing a whisky glass by the front window, he was completely alone.  Taking his phone from his trouser pocket, he slid it across the table. The screen was alight and it was obvious Lana had tried to call him numerous times. As he fumbled through the menu, he noticed Frank had also tried to call him. Could they not give him an hour to himself? As he tried and failed to lock the phone, the bar tender tapped him on the shoulder gently.

‘No-one will bother you in here son.’ He assured him. ‘Here, take the suit jacket off and put this on.’ He passed him a beaten up baseball cap emblazoned with a college Robert had never heard of. He looked at the man, stupefied.

‘If you sit back here and wear that, no-one will notice you.’

He nodded, understanding the gesture.

‘I was a big fan of yours years ago.’ The man continued. ‘Shame people decided to exploit you and make you out to be someone you’re not.’

Robert looked at him, wondering whether he heard him right. He’d long harboured the belief that there was a universal consensus that he was the bad guy. Here he was being given an olive branch. By a bar tender in a down and out pub somewhere he never would have noticed before. Then again, maybe this guy was hoping to extract some information from him by playing friendly. Perhaps the paps were moments away.

As the bar tender moved along to buff the glossy lacquered counter, Robert shut his eyes, remembering what his Zen Master had taught him about meditation and reflection. Before he knew it, he’d fallen fast asleep, his phone buzzing against the table like a frustrated bee.

‘Where the hell is he?!’ Lana cried, covering her face with her hands. ‘I feel like the babysitter who turned her back and the kid walked out the back door. How hard can it be? I should have sat in the back with him.’

‘He’s not a child’ warned Eddie, scratching his shortly cropped, tightly curled hair. ‘I bet he’s gone home, maybe the paps pissed him off.’

‘And what if he went to buy drugs? Or to buy the services of a p********e? What if he gets snapped with his pants down!’

‘Okay, Lana, I know this job means a lot but please calm down.’ Eddie soothed, ‘Call Frank back and tell him we’ll drive around and see if we can find him. I know how much this job means but…’ he cut off, as Lana’s ring tone sounded, a very professional ‘Ring Ring’ rather than Lady Gaga as per Eddie’s own phone.

‘Hello Lana Carradine.’ She answered. Eddie turned into a side road, craning his neck for any sign of the runaway Robert. He was going to suggest that they head back to Frank’s and see if he’d turned up there, when he looked at Lana and stopped the car right in the middle of the road.