“Come on, you think she didn’t figure it out?”
“Even if she did, she wouldn’t have said anything,” I say, “and my therapist can’t.”
“Okay, then, they made a lucky guess,” he says, that edge back to his voice again. “They’ve accused you of a lot. Throw a bunch of darts and something is bound to stick. But I don’t know why you’re stressing. You have people for this. Let the grown ups handle it.”
Few things are more infuriating as a grown man than having someone tell me to let the grown ups handle things.
“Did you fuck up?” Jack’s voice sounds incredibly hopeful. “I bet you fucked it all up, didn’t you?”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I tell him, “but even when I suck, I’m damn good.”
He snickers, not bothering to hold back. I realize how those words sound the moment I say them, and Jack being Jack isn’t going to let it slide. “Is that how you keep landing these roles? Blowing your way straight to stardom?”
“Fuck off.”
“You know, now that I think about it, you do talk about people riding your ass a lot.”
I laugh at that one, strolling through the hotel lobby, wearing an old white t-shirt and sweats, looking like I ought to be in bed. Wish I could, frankly. I tried calling Kennedy but got no answer, so instead I called Jack and well, you know how it is.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” I tell him. “At least I’m doing something.”
“I’ll have you know I’m doing something as we speak.”
“What? Whacking it to tentacle porn?”
“Christ, are you spying on me, man? How the hell did you know?”
“I figured it was either that or you were trolling dating sites using my picture.”
“Ha-ha, you’re the last person I’d use to pick up ladies,” he says. “I’m not sure how you even get them, running around looking like that.”
“Like what?”
“Sweatpants,” he says. “Pretty sure that t-shirt has holes in it. And those Nikes are filthy.”
Brow furrowed, I glance down at myself. “Are you spying on me?”
“Would I do that?”
“Yes.” I look around the lobby, my gaze shifting outside the front doors, spotting him standing along the curb. He waves. “That’s creepy as hell, Jack.”
“Creepy is my middle name.”
Hanging up, I slip my phone in the pocket of my sweats before strolling out of the hotel, meeting him on the sidewalk.
I haven’t seen him in a while. We’ve only hung out in person a handful of times. Our lives are so different that the opportunity doesn’t happen often.
“Am I going to have to get a restraining order?”
“Probably,” he says. “I was in the neighborhood, knew you’d be here, so I thought maybe you’d want to do something.”
“Well, I was on my way to the gym, but any excuse not to work out tonight is good with me,” I say. “What do you have in mind? Video games? Fast food? I’m going to have to draw the line at prostitutes.”
He grins. “Something much more exciting.”
“What’s more exciting than that?”
A meeting, it turns out. You’ve gotta be fucking kidding. Thirty minutes later, I’m sitting in a dim basement, listening to another alcoholic’s sob story. They take turns sharing before the room goes quiet. An awkward silence. Those are a nightmare for an actor.
Fuck it.
I stand.
“My name’s Jonathan and I’m an alcoholic.”
They welcome me. Half of them probably recognize me, but I don’t care. As many of these as I’ve been to, this is the first time I’ve spoken, always too worried about my damn image.
So I tell my story, not sugarcoating. I tell them how much of a fuck-up I was. My daughter went the first few years of her life without a father because I chose it all over her. The drugs. The alcohol. The movies. The red carpets and the parties and the people I didn’t even like, but I humored them because they were famous.
The meeting ends a few minutes after I finish.
As we’re leaving, Jack turns to me and says, “So, how about a drink?”
I laugh, shoving him. “I don’t think I could’ve chosen a worse sponsor.”
“Yeah, you suck at making decisions.”
“I’m getting better, though.”
“Are you?”
My phone starts ringing. I glance at it. Kennedy.
“I’m gonna prove it right now,” I say, shaking the phone at him, “by choosing my family over a drink with your dumb ass.”
We go our separate ways as I answer the call. “Hello?”
“Hey, you,” Kennedy says, her voice quiet. “How was your day?”
“Long,” I say. “Yours?”
“It was okay,” she says. “Sorry I didn’t answer when you called earlier. I wanted to, but Maddie insisted I didn’t.”
My stomach drops. “Is she still mad?”
“No.” She sighs. “She heard Meghan say you should always play hard to get, because it’ll make a guy want you more if he has to wait. So she said not to answer yet and then you’ll love us even more.”
“Well, who can argue with that?”
“Right? Which means I can’t talk long. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
“I appreciate it,” I say. “I’m actually heading back to the hotel to get some sleep. Just got out of a meeting.”
“A meeting-meeting or like… a meeting?”
“Whichever of those is for alcoholics.”
“Ah, well, that’s good.” She pauses. “I’m gonna go before she catches me. Have a good night.”
“Goodnight, baby.”
I look up when I reach the hotel, pocketing the phone, my footsteps slowing when I see a handful of people lurking. They spot me, so I stop, signing some autographs and chatting, taking a few pictures before going inside.
Instinctively, I look around, always on alert. And for the second time in a week, I see a familiar face in the lobby bar.
This time, though, it’s Cliff.
He’s sitting alone at a small table with what looks like a glass of scotch. Never have I known Cliff to drink alcohol. I take a few steps that direction, curious, when a guy slips into the chair across from him and picks up the glass.
Something strikes me as familiar about him, but I’ve seen a lot of faces in my life, so it’s not always easy to place them. I watch for a moment, the two men casually chatting, before the guy downs the rest of the scotch and stands up to leave.
He makes it halfway through the lobby before his eyes flicker my way. He looks surprised to see me, which is funny, because in that moment I remember where I saw him.
He followed me that morning when I walked Madison to school. He works for Hollywood Chronicles.
The guy turns away and keeps on going, which makes this whole thing even funnier, because I’ve never known any of them to pass up the chance to provoke me.
“Hey, Daddy!”
Madison’s grinning face takes up my whole phone screen. Guess the self-imposed ‘make him wait’ strategy has been abandoned, considering she’s FaceTiming me at seven-thirty in the morning.
“Good morning, beautiful,” I say. “You getting ready for school?”
She nods, shaking the phone as she does. “I already got my clothes all on, and Mommy said we had some minutes, ‘cuz I got my backpack ready early.”
“So you decided to call?”
“Uh-huh, to remind you so you didn’t forget.”
“Forget what?”