2. Cameron
Icouldn’t quite gather my thoughts after the run-in with the gorgeous taxi thief. She was obnoxious, yes, and loud, and demanding, but there was no ignoring the way she’d looked. Dark blonde hair pulled up in a messy chignon, a tight blouse and ass-hugging skirt that made her look like she was cosplaying a naughty secretary, and brown eyes so dark her pupils disappeared. The woman was hell in heels, and she kept invading my thoughts, despite how much planning and rearranging I now needed to do for the busy day ahead.
The text from my friend Tyler this morning had me worried, hence my needing an ASAP cab. My driver Jimmy was already on his way to my place to pick me up at my usual time, but he was driving in from the Bronx and wouldn’t be here for a while yet. Meanwhile, I had to get over to Tyler’s place to see him before work. I wasn’t in the mood to make the trek back up to my penthouse given our historic building’s ridiculously slow elevators, so I reached out to my house manager, Daniel, to make the necessary arrangements for a temporary driver. He texted back immediately without asking for details, but that was the beauty of our working relationship—ten years of supporting me meant Daniel could read my mind. Invaluable in business situations when every minute lost meant money down the drain.
And even more important in this scenario when Tyler’s demons might be getting the best of him.
I scrolled to my last text exchange with Tyler, the one that had spooked me into running out the door without my wallet. The latest garbled message was apologizing because he couldn’t come over to walk Boris due to “rough night” prior. Of course, Daniel could step in to find someone to walk my beloved giant schnauzer, but that wasn’t the point. I’d tasked my oldest friend in the world with dog walking because I could pay him well, and more importantly, because it made him accountable for something other than himself. It got him out of bed and into the world, where he was forced to interact with people, because Boris loved everyone and always wanted to make new friends. Tyler and Boris had become something of a fixture around town, to the point where people knew both of their names and assumed the loveable black dog was his. Without the daily dog walks, I worried Tyler would spiral into depression over the state of his life. Sudden stardom, nonstop adulation, then an equally fast descent into obscurity when his sophomore album tanked. No matter how much he loved music, playing to groups of ten people in a dank basement bar couldn’t hold a candle to his memories of selling out stadiums.
The drugs had become part of his lifestyle during the height of his fame, and now…I didn’t know if he used them to remember the glory days or to help him forget them. Either way, he’d been leaning harder and harder on that crutch lately. Around me, he stuck to booze, but who the hell knew what he used when I wasn’t around? And even the alcohol had been getting out of hand, which was probably the explanation for said “rough night.” I could only imagine the trouble he’d gotten into.
A black Town Car slid up beside me, and the driver jumped out.
“Mr. O’Connor,” he nodded as he opened the door for me.
“Hi Robert,” I said. I hadn’t seen the gray-haired man in months, but I never forgot a face. One of the few lessons I took from my father.
I tallied up my many stressors on the drive to Tyler’s dingy apartment. My friend’s mental state. Our company’s current PR nightmare. The marketing campaign to counter it. I’d always had a lot on my plate as CEO, but lately the pressure was getting to be too much. I sighed, closed my eyes, and leaned back against the headrest.
And the first image that popped into my mind was the fucking gorgeous spitfire on the sidewalk.
Normally, I wouldn’t even have acknowledged her, but there was something about her insistence that she was right, and her fearlessness in calling me out, that intrigued me. No one stood up to me, and it was a shock to discover that I sort of liked it. Sparring with her had been…fun?
“Would you like me to wait outside Mr. Boyd’s building?” Robert asked as he parked.
I hadn’t even realized we’d arrived.
“Yes, thank you,” I said as I slid out of the car. “I won’t be too long, then I need to head to the office.”
New York was just starting to wake up after a long winter, but you wouldn’t know it from the state of Tyler’s Washington Heights neighborhood. The area was rundown, bleak and gray in every season, and depressing as hell. I’d offered to put him up in a rental closer to me, but his pride wouldn’t allow it.
I jogged up the narrow stairs to his place above a fast-food restaurant, ignoring the pervasive hot grease smell and hoping it didn’t permeate my clothing. How did he live here? I rapped on his door, only to discover it was open.
“Tyler?” I peeked in, just in case he had company. My friend still managed to score his share of beautiful women, both groupies who remembered him from his glory days as well as new fans who couldn’t resist his smoldering charm.
“Yeah?”
I followed the sound of the groan through the dim, messy apartment and discovered him face down on the couch, surrounded by beer bottles and an empty pizza box. I sat down in a chair across from him.
“Dude. What are you doing?” I asked.
“What does it look like I’m doing? Sleeping,” he slurred, not even bothering to open his eyes. “It’s like six in the morning, I should be asking you what you’re doing. I already told you I can’t walk Boris today.”
“Ty, it’s nine forty-five. You’re not supposed to walk Boris until two. I came to find out why.”
He finally sat up, squinting at me. It was then I saw the cuts on the side of his face and a light blue bruise on his cheek that was probably going to turn purple by the end of the day.
“Why are you such a pain in the ass?” Tyler yawned and fell back against the couch. “You annoy me, dude.”
“Thanks.”
I knew better than to take his insults to heart. He’d always been a bear when he was hungover. Which was another conversation we needed to have.
“How’d you get that shiner?”
He scowled at me, then touched his cheek and winced. He answered with a shrug.
“Not cool, bro,” I said. “If you got so drunk you can’t remember how and why you got a punch to the face, then we need to have a serious conversation. I’m worried about you.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he growled at me. “Not now, okay? I’m still waking up; I don’t have the headspace for a Cameron O’Connor intervention.”
I threw my hands up in submission. “Fine. Just know it’s coming. Now, as for Boris…”
Tyler sighed heavily. “Yeah, I know, I know. He needs his Uncle T, and no other dog walker can compare. Got it.”
“You think I’m joking, but I’m not. The last chick who subbed for you claimed to be an expert dog walker but she was terrified of Boris.”
“Well, that’s stupid, because Boris is a total teddy bear,” Tyler yawned. “Like, he doesn’t even try to chase the pigeons. He’s a gentle giant.”
It was true. My eighty-pound dog looked intimidating with his piercing eyes and beard, but he was a purebred goofball.
“So will you be there today or what?” I asked Tyler. Even though he was hungover, I knew getting some fresh air with a good dog was exactly what he needed.
He stared at the ceiling doing some sort of mental accounting, then finally fixed his gaze on me. Sometimes I saw glimmers of the guy I knew—the guy who was creative and fun, filled with a passion for life and music. I still hoped he’d find his way back to that version of himself.
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll be there. But not for you, because you annoy the shit outta me. For him.” The corner of his mouth crept up.
“Of course not for me. I’m the worst friend ever, I know that,” I joked back.
Tyler warmed to our familiar ritual. “You are, dude. I mean, you freaking bought me a new guitar when I misplaced my last one. It didn’t have any dents or scratches on it. Easy to tune, and incredible sound. Ugh, what a dick move.”
I ignored the fact that Tyler had forgotten the guitar in a club after getting wasted.
“Exactly. And I force you to walk a rabid monster through the streets of Manhattan. Who does that?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “I freaking love that dog.”
“Same.”
“At least something good came from that breakup,” he mused. “You got yourself a little heartbreak buddy.”
“The only good thing to come out of my relationship.”
“Hey, Carolina gave you the ring back, you beat me on that too,” Tyler said, still trying to spin the shitty story into something positive. “Roxy freaking kept the one I gave her. Not like I’d want to recycle the cursed thing, since I had it designed for her, but it might have been kinda fun to smash it with a sledgehammer or something. Symbolic, you know?” He stared into space silently for a few seconds. “Never again. Any guy who blows that kind of cash on a chunk of rock in a hunk of metal is out of his mind.”
“And there’s the reason I hired you to walk my dog and not write my ad campaigns,” I said dryly.
Tyler blinked and then his mind clicked back online. “Oh yeah, how’s that engagement ring campaign thingy going?”
I could tell he was fighting hard against his hangover. I was touched by his concern, but that was Tyler. The rock star with a heart of gold.
Or former rock star. Which seemed to be the core of his issues.
I sighed loudly. “The campaign is scattered. Messy. No one knows their head from their ass, and I’m doing everything in my power not to lose my shit on the entire team.”
Veritique was still trying to dig out from an avalanche of bad press. We weren’t the only jewelry company highlighted in that big exposé about sub-par working conditions in South African diamond mines, but all the other companies had the good sense to take some face-saving actions. My dad was never one to apologize, though, and he sure as hell wasn’t one to allow public pressure to “make” him do anything—even to save his own skin. Which was why he’d gotten ousted as CEO, leaving me in the hot seat to try to make things right and get our reputation out of the toilet. So far, it had been an uphill battle. We were taking a beating every damn day.
“You’ll figure it out. You always do. You’re a winner, Cam.” His face shifted into a frown. “Wish some of that luck would finally rub off on me. Reflected glory, you know?”
Tyler looked around and found an unopened bottle of Miller Lite next to the couch. He propped the top of it on the edge of his pock-marked coffee table, then brought his fist down on it, sending the cap flying.
“Dude, seriously? Now?”
I hated that I sounded like a parent, but I wasn’t about to let it slide.
“What? It’s hair of the dog!” He tilted it up and gulped down half the bottle. “I’ll be fine.”
“Ty…”
He threw his hand out at me. “Stop. You’re in my house, so just stop.”
I refrained from saying anything else as he downed the rest of the beer. I hated seeing my friend like this. He was backsliding, big time. I reached for the only thread available.
“Please don’t walk Boris while you’re drunk, okay?” I said in a quiet voice. “He’s a powerful dog. He could pull you down or run off. I need you to be able to look after him.” And yourself, I added silently.
“I love that dog,” he shot back at me, defensive as hell. “I would never put him at risk, and I’m pissed you even suggested it. Jesus, you’re turning into an old woman. You know that? Nag, nag, nag. It’s getting tiresome, bro.”
He leaned forward to scan the floor, and I figured out he was looking for another beer. It didn’t matter how busy I was, I needed to break through whatever darkness that had a hold on my friend.
“Breakfast. You and me. Now.”
Tyler’s eyes widened in surprise. “Do you really have time for that? I’d have thought you’d be too busy.”
I felt a little ashamed that he was right. I hadn’t been making enough time for my friend. I stood up. “Never too busy for you, bro. Let’s go. Greasy eggs and hash browns, stat.”
He nodded and got up slowly, wobbling once he was standing. “I could go for that. But not one of your fancy restaurants, okay? I don’t think they’d let me in.”
I scanned him. The ripped black t-shirt, holey jeans, and beat-up face would definitely raise eyebrows at Balthazar, but no one would outright forbid us entry. Given who I was, I could get away with just about anything. But he was right—this was a day for diner food.
My work could wait.
We headed downstairs, and Tyler turned to me suddenly.
“Before I forget, are you coming to my gig at The Sty?”
The West Village bar was indeed similar to a pig sty, but right now it was the only type of venue he could book.
“Of course. Maybe if I’m there I can run front and keep you from getting another black eye.”
I flashed a “wait” signal to Roger idling in the car as we started down the sidewalk, and he nodded back to me.
Tyler punched my arm. “Oh man, remember that bar fight we got into after our gig at that house party? You hit that guy over the head with a chair!”
I grimaced at the memory. Our friendship had started off in a high school garage band, The Torture. I’d dreamed of being a drummer and badgered my parents into buying me a fancy drum kit and lessons from top-tier musicians. When I’d seen the post about a local guy needing a drummer, I’d jumped on it. When we finally met, I didn’t care that Tyler was from the other side of the tracks. I just cared that he could play guitar like no one I’d ever heard. As for him, all he knew about me in the early days was that I was a moderately talented drummer who liked partying as much as he did. He’d never mentioned how I always picked up the tab, or how I seemed to have unlimited funds for anything we needed, like posters and t-shirts. I liked being a normal kid with him. Our band was a brief escape from the demands of being an O’Connor.
“My fighting days are over,” I said. “And yours should be too.”
He shot me a look, and I knew it was time to shut up and enjoy being together.
And forget about the endless list of work shit I needed to deal with. For now, I leaned into being just another guy in search of the perfect breakfast burrito.