Chapter 1
Chapter One
PARTYING IS SUCH SWEET SORROW
TWENTY-FIVE YEARS LATER…
“ T hree, two, one…bottom’s up!”
Jack threw back his head and emptied the contents of his neon green shot glass into the readied depths of his inhaling esophagus. It burned. He winced. Then it was gone. But the burn returned when Jack glanced over and saw his drinking buddy’s glass still full and glistening with bright liquid luck.
“What the…Mick?! What are you doing?! We’re supposed to be drinking!” he shouted over the party music.
“I know…I know. I’m sorry, Jack! But your country’s so friendly! I promise…one last selfie, and we’ll get ourselves hecka lit , as the youngsters say! Alright, ladies: cheese on the count of three. One, two, three, cheeeeeese! Perfect! Oh!” he exclaimed at seeing the photo. “Would you look at that?! My dears…I need that picture! Would either of you be willing to text it to me?!”
Two girls clad in what appeared to be some futuristic rendition of alien swimwear nodded as Mick gave them his number. Surprisingly, Jack wasn’t jealous of Mick, but he did envy the girls for stealing Mick’s attention.
“Hey, Benny!” Jack yelled at the hulkish man he thought he’d paid to guard their VIP room.
Benny abandoned his post, ran inside, and knelt in close before asking, “Yes, sir?”
“Benny, what am I paying you for, man!?”
“To guard the suite, sir!”
“That’s what I thought too. But here I am…watching the escapees from Area-51 swarming my Oscar-nominated chum completely unabated by your fearsome size!”
“What, sir?!”
“The girls, man! Why did you let the girls in?!”
“Because they’re…they’re hot, sir! And…and…Mr. Morris waved them in, so I thought…”
“You thought?! I told you never to do that! And Mick…” he exclaimed with a turn of his head, “you waved them in?!”
“It’s my fault, Jack!” Mick said. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t aware that you wanted Guys Night to be so X-Y-exclusive! Ladies, I think it’s time to clear out!”
The pretty pair pouted their persuasive lips, but they had no effect on Jack.
“You’ll be fine… that’s right…the exit’s this way. If you’re too drunk to drive, please remember to ET phone home and have someone pick you up, Okay? Okay.”
“You have my number! Feel free to call if you ever feel so inclined!” Mick shouted after them.
As Benny escorted them out, Jack followed closely behind, closing the sliding, soundproof door as soon as the threshold cleared.
“There we go,” Jack said at normal volume as he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out, set it to silent , then immediately put it away.
“Who was that?” Mick asked.
“No one.”
“Oh! Was it Thomas? I do miss the old bloke. Will he be joining us?”
“Nope. Now…where were we?”
Mick grabbed one of the fifteen remaining shot glasses from the circular, golden platter on the table in front of them and said, “I believe I was about to catch up to your one drink lead…”
“Haha! That’s more like it!”
“Cheers,” Mick said before softly placing the glass to his lips and sipping it like a scalding cup of tea. “Ooh! That really kicks.”
It was at that moment Jack first admitted to himself how much he missed Thomas.
“Mick…what are you doing?”
“Pacing myself. We’ve got a long night ahead of us. And besides…I want to remember this. It’s not every day an old chum calls you out of the blue, flies you out to London on a private jet, and gets you into a VIP room at the Luxx.”
“But, mate…it’s not about how much we remember …it’s about remembering forever how much we forgot.”
“What?”
“Never mind. You’re too sober to understand.”
With that, Jack – consumed by depressing disappointment – withered into the room’s black leather booth and dissolved into his own chagrin. He never intended to guilt trip Mick Morris with his childish sulking, but based on the downtrodden demeanor of his American drinking buddy, Jack knew he’d failed to hide his true feelings. After a minute or so of somber silence, Mick’s posture changed. His brow became sturdy and strong. And his eyes glowed with an inviolable fortitude.
“To forgetting!” he said before downing his drink.
Jack smiled. The night was afoot…
“You…you know… brrrrp …‘scuse me. You know what I’m gonna do?” Jack slurred.
“Hmmm?” Mick inquired with drooping eyelids.
“You…er…I’m gonna tell you something…okay? Okay!?”
“No way!” Mick exclaimed. “You d’n’t have…the authority!”
“Do too…”
“Oh yeah…? From who?”
“From…I d’know…yo mama! Maybe…”
Mick thought for a few moments before bursting into laughter.
“It’s not funny. It’s just truth and such.”
“Fine…fine. What er you saying she said you could say to me? Jack? Jack, what’d she say?!”
“I forget…but I do have a question.”
“Well, take a picture; it’ll last longer.”
“Of what…? My question?”
“Yeah!”
“Okay…cleeeeeeek,” Jack said while pretending to take a photo with his invisible camera only drunk people could see.
“Let me see. Oooh! Sexy picture! Now…what did you want to question me about?”
“Right. So…y’know how you’ve been walkin’ around all day talkin’ with that Wilba…Wil…”
“Wilberforce?”
“Right! Thank you. With that Wilmsheshesh accent that almost won you the Academy Award?”
“Mmhmm…”
“Well…why are you doin’ that?”
Mick appeared to think deeply for a few seconds before humming the theme song to Final Jeopardy. After hitting the final note, he made the sound of a buzzer and said, “Oh, I’m sorry. It appears time’s expired. I guess that means I don’t have to answer the question.”
“Crap!” Jack shouted with dissatisfaction, but then a slow smile crept over his face as he asked, “But is that your final answer?”
“Oh no. I hate when you do this, Regis! Now’m second… hiccup …second guessing myself!”
“I don’t blame you, Mick. If that’s the wrong answer - and it is - you walk away with nothing. BUT! If you guess right, you win…a crap ton of British pounds!”
“How much is that in… hiccup …California dollars?” Mick asked nervously.
“That’s not my job…to be your money calculator like that. My job is to ask…the…questions! ‘Kay?!”
“Well… hiccup …do I have any lifelines?”
“Yes,” Jack said as he handed Mick the last of the tequila shots. “One more.”
Mick pounded it back like water and said, “Alright…this is my final answer: I stay in character, so when they call me for th’sequel…I’ll be ready! And this time…I’m gonna take home that gold, naked man statue.”
“Wait, wait, wait…you told me Wilmsheshesh died in the movie. How can you be in the sequel?”
“As a ghost…obulously…”
“But Mick…I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Oh Jack…don’t say that,” Mick said with sudden sorrow.
“Why?”
“Because every time someone says, ‘I do not believe in ghosts, somewhere there’s a ghost that falls down dead.”
Jack thought for a moment, remembered the line from Hook, and screamed, “I do not believe in ghosts!”
As the evening peaked and bled into morning, and their livers had time to metabolize the toxins, all the warbled ramblings gave way to sobering honesty.
“Jack, am I ever gonna work in Hollywood again?”
“Probably not.”
Mick sighed and said, “I know.”
“I mean…you open-hand slapped Walen Stone on live telly.”
“I knowwww.”
“Why’d you do it, mate? Why?”
“Because, Jack…I loved her.”
“But Walen’s a man.”
“Not Walen, Jack. Bonnie.”
“Bonnie? What does she have to do with it?”
“Everything…absolutely everything. You don’t know what living in that world is like, Jack. It’s so turbulent. I went from a washed-up has-been to being nominated for best actor seemingly overnight. But the machine giveth, and the machine taketh away…doing its corrupt imitation of the god I’d let it become.”
“Deep, Mick. Super deep. But what does it have to do with Bonnie?”
“Well, despite losing best actor, I still had plenty of Hollywood influence, and I used some of it to get Bonnie a part in MaidHeart.”
“Oh yeah. The all-female recasting of Braveheart. That was ace! And she was so haawwwwww…” Jack said, catching himself mid-sentence, “haw…nestly believable in that role.”
“Yes, well, from there, she blew up. Her agent called almost daily with parts she’d been offered, and…”
“And you got jealous the phone wasn’t ringing for you, eh ? ”
“No, actually. Not in the least. I was happy for her. I truly was. But eventually, she recognized that Hollywood wanted its pound of flesh - literally - before she’d be offered any serious roles.”
“I don’t follow…”
“Flesh…a nude scene…a ‘love’ scene, to be more precise. So she filmed...”
“The Viceroy!” Jack said before once again recognizing the beauty of keeping his big mouth shut. “Never seen it.”
“Yes, well, I have. It’s unimaginable, Jack: sitting at a premiere with hundreds of people oohing, aahing, and applauding as the person you care for more than anyone else in the world is only partially acting. I knew then what I know now: there was no sex. But their bare bodies were actually touching. He was actually kissing her…and she was actually kissing back. They’re doing things - sex or not - that if anyone there would have left the premier, gone home, and found their better half doing those things with their neighbor, or their pool boy, or…anyone…they wouldn’t hesitate to end the relationship. But since it’s in front of a camera and Bonnie’s getting paid…I have to sit there and pretend like it’s art rather than infidelity.”
“That’s heavy, pal. I’m sorry. So why didn’t you open-hand slap the other actor? Why did you wait for the Academy Awards and target Walen Stone?”
“Well…I wanted to lash out at her co-star, but I just froze. Remember, I’m the crazy one in the theater if I dare question the morality of Hollywood. So, I guess you could say I wussed out due to social pressure. But as I sat there having to watch, smile, and nod every time she leaned over and asked in that beautiful Scottish timbre, ‘Dae ye think tis goin’ a’right?’ I guess I just caved and began a very long bout of suppression.”
“Wow.”
“I’ll say this, though…there was one moment as we drove back home when I almost let it all out – where I almost stood up for myself. She asked me, ‘Sae, what dae ye think wis th’ most believable part?’ To which I replied, ‘The panting.’
“Haha! You did not!”
“I did,” Mick said with a seemingly wounded chuckle. “I suppose it was a bit passive-aggressive, but…I couldn’t help it. She immediately got defensive, made me pull over, assured me I had nothing to worry about, and silenced me with a kiss infinitely more believable than anything I saw on screen that night. But that sort of hurt can’t be kept hidden forever.”
“I suppose not,” Jack agreed.
“Fast forward to Oscar night: we’re sitting close to the stage. Walen Stone presents the award for Best Visual Effects, and he comments…”
“Wasn’t it,” Jack interrupted, “something like, ‘Maybe one of these next nominees could superimpose me with Bonnie Aitken in that scene from The Viceroy and send me the link.”
“Yes. All at once, all that I had pushed down and pent up had no further internal place to go. It just flowed out of me. I walked onto that stage with the slowest of swaggers, squared up to Mr. Stone, and with the speed of an interdimensional being, I slapped him with all the justified fury of a dying William Wilberforce. I then returned to my chair, sat down amongst a silent sea of startled faces, and yelled the eight-word phrase that’s been shared online even more than the ‘woman yelling at a cat’ meme…‘Keep my fiancé’s name out yo’ yucky mouth!” Mick said as Jack mouthed the words. “I’m just a joke now…not even…I’m a caricature of a joke. A meme. A gif. An image rather than a real person. And worst of all…I’ve lost her! Or I suppose she lost me. I’m not sure which is which or if that even matters, but one thing is for certain: I am lost. And to add salt to the wound, I’ve been - how would you say - black-bollocksed from acting. My life’s falling to pieces, Jack. What do I do?!”
“I…” Jack said, hoping wisdom would follow. “I don’t know.”
“Well…no matter. You’ve already done so much. Everyone else I know has either distanced themselves or cut me off entirely. But not you, Jack,” he said with a yawn, “you reached out in a time of need, and for that, I’ll be forever grateful. You’re a good friend.”
Shame consumed Jack Adamson. He hadn’t organized and thrown this get-together for Mick. He’d done it for himself. Mick was nothing more than a potential replacement for Thomas. But as he lay on the floor – empty as always – he was suddenly filled with a feeling he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before: selflessness.
“No, Mick. I’m a bad friend if I’m even a friend at all. I used you, mate. I straight-up used you, and I am so sorry. You ever wonder if you’re a sociopath? What am I saying?! Of course, you don’t! You have no reason to. You’re Mick Morris! You’re kind and caring and good, and even that didn’t stop me from treating you like a means to an end. I’m sick of me, Mick. I’m just so sick of me! But I’ll tell you what…I’m gonna help you, pal! Whether it’s with Bonnie or some other woman, I’m gonna help you! And if you can’t act again - fine! I’ll help you find your new passion and fund it even! You want to direct? I’ll find you a project! You want to produce? I’ll help you produce! Why, I’d help you become the greatest executive producer the world’s ever known! I promise, mate…I’m gonna be the chum you…”
A sudden burst of snore caused Jack to sit up. Mick was fast asleep. And despite the small puddle of drool forming on the table’s hardwood, planked pillows, Mick seemed rather cozy and comfortable atop his makeshift bed. At first, Jack felt offended.
“ How rude! How could he fall asleep when I’m in the middle of bearing my…” Jack thought before recognizing the selfishness he’d just denounced.
He forced himself to feign sympathy, and even though it didn’t come naturally, Jack felt some relief. A true sociopath wouldn’t have even cared to fake it. At least, not without a semiconscious person in the room to give him credit. With slow and focused energy, Jack rose to his feet and stumbled over to the door. He cracked it and found Benny fighting to stay awake at his post.
“Benny, I think we’re ready to go…and Mick might need some help.”
They carefully left the building, and once outside, Jack said, “Benny, you can let go of my arm. I’m stable enough.”
“Are you sure, sir?”
“It was eight shots almost five hours ago…if I haven’t keeled over yet, I won’t now.”
The mountain of a man seemed to hesitate.
“The valet’s waiting, mate.”
Benny looked over Jack closely as if his job depended on his next decision. He then glanced up at Mick, draped in the sweetest slumber over Benny’s right shoulder.
“Alright, sir,” he said. “But please don’t fall.”
In one quick motion, Benny let go of Jack, pulled out the ticket, handed it to the valet, and steadied his employer. The valet took off to fetch the car as Jack and his guard waited in somewhat awkward silence.
After a moment, Jack asked, “Benny, do you think I’m selfish?”
“No, sir.”
“If this were Undercover Boss , and I had on a wig and glasses, would you give the same answer?”
“Yes, sir.”
Jack paused once more, then asked, “When’s the last time I did anything nice for you?”
“Payday was Friday. That was nice.”
“And before that?”
“I suppose two Fridays earlier; also payday.”
“Forget payday. Have I ever done anything nice for…I don’t know…your feelings? Or is it always just with money?”
“Permission to speak freely, sir…”
“Yes, Benny. Of course…”
“Well…I just…I don’t like it when you’re drunk, sir.”
“Am I a selfish drunk?” Jack asked.
“No, sir. But a man…asking another man about his feelings like this…it’s just not done. I feel…violated, sir.”
Jack saw relief span over Benny’s face just as the Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up to the curb. Coming in at under a half-million pounds, it was the least impressive car in Jack’s entire fleet. But on nights like this – when he needed more than two seats – it was the best any manufacturer could offer.
Benny hesitantly leaned Jack against the car, despite Jack’s insistence that he could stand on his own, and quickly opened the front passenger-side door. He unloaded his unconscious cargo, buckled Mick’s seatbelt, and shut the door. He then turned to help Jack but was waved away.
“I’m fine, mate,” he said as Benny nodded and ran around to the other side of the vehicle.
Just as Jack opened his door, he heard a raspy yet feminine voice coming from behind him.
“Nice car…”
Jack turned around to see three unbelievably gorgeous and moderately wasted women giving him the same suggestive stare he’d seen hundreds of times before.
“Thanks,” he said without any interest whatsoever.
“What does a girl gotta do to get a ride in one of these things?” she asked.
He knew what that meant, and he knew he really didn’t want what he suddenly found himself wanting.