63. Will
WILL
“Let’s take Tiffany’s car,” my father said, walking right past his limo. “We’ll be less conspicuous that way.”
“What’s going on, Dad? Do you really have proof that it was Tony and not me?”
“I’ll explain in the car.”
My father shooed away his entourage, including his nurse, and we piled into Tiffany’s Ford Focus. Tiffany drove, Miles took the front seat, and I climbed into the back with Dad.
“Where to?” Tiffany asked.
“Derek’s penthouse.” Dad gave Tiffany the address, and she pulled out without even consulting Google Maps.
“Why are we going to Derek’s? Seriously, Dad, what the fuck is going on? Did Tony leak those videos because Derek fired him?”
“Probably, but that’s not important anymore. James has proof that you were unconscious when Derek was attacked.”
“What do you mean, proof? Is there another video?”
My father pulled a bottle of pills from his pocket and swallowed three. “There is no easy way to say this, William. Tony has a picture of you on his phone from that night, and, according to James, you’re obviously passed out in it. James thinks Tony must have drugged you.”
I didn’t know what to say, but Miles did. “I’m going to fucking kill that asshole. I’m going to squeeze his neck until his eyes pop out.”
Tiffany caught my gaze in the rearview mirror and turned down the radio.
“He must’ve been upset that you won and thought he could derail the rest of your campaign by posting lewd pictures of you online,” my father said.
“Or he’s a fucking pervert,” Miles offered.
“He thought he was drugging Derek, not me.” I closed my eyes and saw Derek returning from the bar, a glass of bourbon in one hand, Southern Comfort in the other.
“Why would he drug Derek?” my father asked. “No, my theory is Derek was about to catch Tony in the act of taking your picture, and that’s when he—”
“Derek fired Tony.”
“I’m not talking about today. I’m talking about the night of the Golden Globes.”
“So am I. Tony didn’t want Derek to be with me, and Derek fired him because . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence. A whole alternate life, the one where Derek and I walked the red carpet hand in hand, died that night, and even though I didn’t want that dream anymore, I still grieved its death.
“Maybe he planned to ruin you both, then. Maybe he thought he’d find you and Derek passed out, only Derek wasn’t, and that’s why he hit him.”
I was less concerned with why Tony did it than with the fact that he did, because that meant I wasn’t an attempted murderer.
“So what, we’re going to Derek’s to run this theory by him?” I asked.
My father handed me his phone. “Look at the last message James sent me and compare it to the others. Notice anything different?”
The text read, He’s already gone. We’re too late.
I looked up. What was so different about that? And who was gone, Tony?
“Look,” my father said, taking back the phone and scrolling up to an earlier message. “James never uses punctuation. He’d rather send two separate messages than use a period, which is really annoying.” He pointed to a pair of gray bubbles higher up. “See?”
Sure enough, none of James’s prior messages had any punctuation, not even a question mark.
“I don’t think James sent that last message,” Dad said. “I think Tony did.”
“Why would Tony have James’s phone?” My stomach tightened, and my pulse quickened. Was James in trouble?
No, Dad was just being dramatic. He didn’t have a new film on the horizon to obsess over, so he was turning real life into a movie instead. Tony was a douchebag, but he wasn’t violent.
Or was he? If Dad was right and Tony had attacked Derek, maybe he was violent. I’d never liked Tony, but I’d never thought him capable of something like this.
“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out,” my father said.
As Tiffany drove into Manhattan, he explained that he’d already been on his way to the school when he’d gotten James’s suspicious text.
“Don’t you think maybe we should call the police?” Miles said.
“And tell them what, exactly? That we think our friend’s been abducted because he suddenly started using punctuation?
By all means, call them. But we don’t have any time to waste.
Esther, who is really quite resourceful, discovered that Tony not only owns property in Morocco but recently applied for a Golden Visa there. ”
“So, what, he’s planning to flee the country or something?” Miles asked.
“Exactly. Now, when we get there, I want the three of you to wait in the car. But keep your eyes on the door. Be ready to stop Tony if he tries to leave.”
My father had that strange glint in his eye, the same one he got right before delivering an Oscar-caliber monologue. Was he enjoying this?
“And what are you going to do?” I asked.
“I don’t have much time left. And you know what that makes me? Dangerous.”
Great, now Dad was quoting lines from Andy’s latest action flick. What the hell?
We couldn’t find any parking, so Tiffany pulled over in front of a fire hydrant and left the engine running.
“If I’m not back down in ten minutes, call the police,” Dad said. “And if they won’t do anything, call the paramedics. Tell them I’ve had another stroke.”
“Dad, you’re being ridiculous. If you’re right—which I’m sure you’re not—and Tony is holding James hostage, what do you expect him to do, buzz you up?”
“You forget that I’m not just your father. I’m also Robert Chapman. I’m pretty sure the doorman will be thrilled to help me surprise my dear friend and co-star, Derek Hall, with an unannounced visit.”
Like I could ever forget that my dad was the Robert Chapman. “Fine, then I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not. It’s too dangerous. Besides, I need you down here to tackle Tony if he tries to leave.”
“Let Miles and Tiffany tackle Tony. Actually, no one tackle Tony. You’ll probably break his leg and get us all sued.”
“I’m sorry, William, but this is something I have to do alone. I’m the one who got James mixed up in all this, and it’s my responsibility to make sure he’s okay. No matter what happens, just know that I love you, and I’m proud of you.”
With that, my dad, who was obviously high, opened the door, climbed out of the car, and loped across the street.
“Maybe we should get out, too. We can flank the doors,” Miles said.
“Is that Theo?” Tiffany pointed to a tall, lanky kid with black-rimmed glasses walking toward us.
Miles shoved his door open and nearly slammed it into the fire hydrant. “Boy, where do you think you’re going?”
Theo jumped. “Fuck, you scared me. What are you doing here? Are you coming for Thai food, too? Is that Will?”
“Thai food?”
“Yeah, Uncle James called and sent me to get Thai food. Apparently, he and Derek are best buds now. Actually, can you guys drive me? The place is all the way on the other side of the park, and it’ll take me forever to walk there and back.”
I frowned. I’d written Dad’s hostage theory off as the delusions of a dying man, but why would James send Theo across town for Thai food? There were plenty of Thai restaurants on the east side, and places that delivered, too.
I was out the door and sprinting across the street a second later.
“Where are you going?” Miles shouted after me, but I didn’t answer—just raced across the lobby and into the elevator before the doors closed.
“I told you to wait in the car,” Dad said.
“I know, but James did this for me, not you.”
Dad was silent for a moment, then said, “Okay, maybe you should come. I am on a lot of drugs right now. I’m starting to see auras. Yours is green and purple. What do you suppose that means?”
There was no way for us to make a stealthy entrance, not with the elevator pinging our arrival.
Dad motioned for me to stay back while he stepped into the apartment alone.
He glanced around for a second, then beckoned to me to follow.
The place looked pretty much the same as it had ten years ago, although I vaguely remembered the rug used to be white.
“You wait down here,” he said in a hushed voice. “I’ll check upstairs.”
“Why don’t you both come upstairs?” Tony called over the loft railing. “It’s a party.”
At first, I didn’t see the gun, but then Tony lifted his arm and the silver metal glinted in the sunlight. Fuck.
Surely Dad noticed the gun, too, but he acted like he didn’t. “We’ve got the building surrounded, Tony. You might as well give up now.”
“Come on, Robert, we both know the building’s not surrounded.” Tony sounded half amused, half annoyed. Then, as if doubting himself, he leaned to peer out the window. “But it looks like my car is finally here. Now hurry up. I’m on a tight schedule.”
Tony kept the gun trained on us as we climbed the stairs to the loft. My chest seized when I saw not only James tied to the bed, but Derek, too. Their eyes went wide at the sight of us. They both tried to speak, but only garbled mumbles came out.
“There’s some duct tape on the nightstand,” Tony said, gesturing with the gun. “Robert, why don’t you tie William to the chair? I’ll deal with you after.”
“You know what this reminds me of?” Dad said, his words slurring. “The final scene in that god-awful movie I did, the one that shall remain nameless. You know the one I’m talking about, William.” He clutched his chest like he was in pain. “My greatest shame.”
“Are you drunk?” Tony asked. “I feel bad for you, William. I really do. Your father is about to duct-tape you to a chair, and all he can think about is his legacy. Who knows, Robert, perhaps after you’re gone, Polly will gain cult status.
You know, one of those movies that’s so bad it’s good, like The Room.
I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s the role you’re most remembered for. ”
Polly was Dad’s lowest-rated film, a silent, black-and-white murder mystery where only one character speaks and appears in color—Polly the parrot, insisting “the Devil did it.” But Polly wasn’t Dad’s greatest shame.
That honor belonged to one of his more commercially successful movies, the thriller The Day You Die.