Chapter 2
Chapter Two
WHEN THE LEVEE brEAKS
H e couldn't go through with it. Jack gave the girls a ride back to his place, but when the time came for some pointless promiscuity, Jack left the girls in his room and spent the night out on the veranda.
It was almost five in the morning when dawn’s first light broke over Hyde Park in London. The sky’s neon fuschias and pastel purples gave the Westbourne River a scene worth reflecting. Still, Jack’s eyes were too fixed on the stillness of the distant cityscape to take more than a moment’s notice of the heavens above or their riverine replica below. Jack was jealous. He envied the downtown’s distant peace and calm. He envied the tranquility with which the city slept. But above all else, he envied the fulfilling existences that many of its residents would soon be waking up to.
Any joy Jack had ever felt was merely an imitation of the real thing. He was the Westbourne – ever mirroring that which always eluded him. On his shallow surface, all seemed warm and well, but deep down, his currents ran dark and cold. He longed for the permeating authentic. If only happiness could be bought or bartered for, he’d willingly trade his entire estate for the exhilaration of lasting contentment. But joy was not for sale - not even for Jack Adamson.
A chilling breeze rushed through the veranda, interrupting his melancholy contemplations. The rising summer sun quickly provided warmth, but he still wished he’d had more on than his Loro Piana sweatpants. Then he felt the phone he could have sworn he’d silenced vibrating in his pocket.
“What the…” he said, pulling it out.
It was Thomas. Without reading his pal’s text, Jack silenced his phone – for real this time – and quickly put it away.
“Let it go, Thomas,” he whispered into the wind as if it would somehow carry his message to Hampstead.
It had been nearly three months since he’d cut off all contact. Couldn’t Thomas catch a clue? Jack didn’t necessarily know why he’d felt the sudden inclination to avoid his best mate, but he didn’t need to know why, and neither did Thomas. Yet day after day and hour after hour, Thomas bombarded his mobile – and twice his front door – with useless attempts to force a conversation.
But Thomas texting so early was strange—perhaps a little too strange. Maybe something was wrong. Maybe Thomas, Jada, or one of the kids was hurt and needed help! Jack fought the thought for a moment longer before digging out his phone.
He offered his fingerprint, clicked the notification, and read the text:
Thomas
I’m here. Coming up.
Jack panicked, shot out of his lounge chair, and turned towards the bi-folding back door just in time to see Thomas close it behind him. The pair stared awkwardly at everything but each other until Thomas broke the invisible fence of silence standing between them.
“Hi.”
“Hi…” Jack replied. “I uh…I see Harris let you up.”
“That he did…just like he has the last three years you’ve lived here.”
“And uh…I see you found my uh…my secret key-hiding rock…”
“You mean the lone softball-sized stone sitting outside your front door in the hallway…indoors?” Thomas asked.
“Yes.”
“That I did, yes.”
“Well, good on you,” Jack fired back with obvious sarcasm. “So…whatcha want?”
Thomas scoffed, then said, “You’re a real prat, you know that?”
“Oh, I’m a prat, am I?”
“Yes! What else would you call it when your mate doesn’t return your calls…respond to your texts…come to the door? I’d have thought you were dead if it weren’t for Harris letting me know he’d spotted you multiple times leaving the building. I mean, I had to show up at the crack of dawn just to catch you.”
“Yes, well…I’ve been rather busy,” Jack said as he collapsed back down into his lounge chair and looked out over London.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Doin’ what Jack? Philandering women? How many women you got passed out in your bed right now? Two?”
“Three.”
It was true…yet entirely untrue.
“Congratulations,” Thomas sneered. “You’ve beaten your old record.”
“Only for a Tuesday.”
It would only take the whole truth to shut Thomas up, but that would also sully Jack’s sterling reputation. The fact of the matter was it had been years since Jack brought a woman home from a club or pub. But Thomas could never know.
“How inspiring! What else you been up to? Buying more cars? Running off on more extravagant holidays? Filling the void with whiskey and rum just to piss it all out and feel empty again?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course I do. I know you.”
“Oh really? Well, if you think there’s anything more to it than my busy schedule, do me a favor and tell me…”
“Please. You don’t need to live at 221B Baker Street to figure it out…”
“Good. Go on, then…”
Thomas pulled out his phone, unlocked it, began scrolling through his texts, and asked, “You know I can see the last text you read, don’t you? I sent you a picture. Remember?”
Jack stared forward like a stoic sculpture, refusing to acknowledge Thomas’ question.
“What was it, Jack?
“I don’t remember.”
“Rubbish,” Thomas said in a quiet tone that seemed to indicate he knew he was beginning to break through Jack’s masked persona. “What was the picture of, Jack?”
At that moment, Jack realized this was precisely why he’d been avoiding Thomas all that time. He didn’t want to do or say what he was about to do and say. As the water welled up in his eyes, Jack sighed and said, “It was a picture of Tae holding Talia on Jada’s lap. The caption read, ‘Talia Jazlyn Burke…seven pounds, seven ounces…healthy baby, healthy mom, happy brother…happy dad.’
Jack glanced over and caught a brief glimpse of Thomas holding up the picture on his phone.
“Wow,” Thomas said with a smile Jack could sense. “I don’t think even I could repeat the caption back word-for-word without looking.”
“Which part?” Jack asked with even more sarcasm. “Your daughter’s full name and measurables or the adjectives healthy and happy ?”
“Alright,” Thomas said with a chuckle. “Maybe I am pandering a bit. But you have to admit, it’s impressive for someone who ain’t her father. How many times did you read it to put it to memory like that?”
“Daily, I suppose. It’s not that impressive, considering I’m practically her uncle.”
Thomas waited for a few moments, then kindly asked, “So why haven’t you been acting like one?”
Jack didn’t mean to look, but he couldn’t help it. Thomas’ question was so painfully magnetic. And when Jack turned his head, he felt the inertia force one of the tears he’d hoped dried to roll down the ridges of his tensed and flexed face. Embarrassed, he rushed to wipe the stream away, then flung his focus back towards the city. Almost immediately, he felt Thomas’ hand resting upon his shoulder as he silently shared the scenery of seemingly all of England with his best mate and blood brother. After a while, Jack finally found the words and courage to admit them.
“I’m not happy, Thomas.”
“I know.”
“All the houses and flats…holidays…cars…women…money…Why am I not happy?”
“Because you assume happiness is something you can buy. Listen, mate: happiness is free, but Jack, it does come with a cost.”
With more composure, Jack looked at Thomas and asked, “What did it cost you?”
“I don’t know…sacrifice…I guess.”
“Ooh! That’s an ugly word.”
After saying it aloud, Jack realized his earlier desires to trade everything for happiness may have been exaggerated.
“Well, maybe that’s why you’re unhappy. You haven’t learned to love sacrifice yet.”
“Thomas, who in the world would love losing something?”
“Sacrifice isn’t losing something – it’s investing something. It’s giving away something good in hopes of receiving something even better in the future.”
“So, what good thing did you have to sacrifice?”
“Hmm…well…most of me…maybe even all of me. My time. A lot of my interests. And in a way…us.”
That one stung. Thomas must have noticed the hurt he’d caused because he quickly expounded upon his statement.
“And I’m not saying I traded you in and upgraded to Jada and the kids. I’m saying I sacrificed what we had so you and I could have something even better down the road.”
“You’re stretching, mate. That doesn’t make any sense.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Well, tell me this then, Jack…if we could get in a time machine, fast forward a few years, and take our kids and wives to their first-ever Chelsea match against Arsenal, would you get in that time machine, or would you stay here and go clubbing with me tonight?”
The answer – as well as the immediacy with which his mind responded – frightened Jack. In his life paradigm, the future was never more than an hour away. Three years seemed like a lifetime, but having, for the first time, considered the prospects of raising a family in sync with Thomas, Jack felt a swelling of excitement he’d never felt before.
His blood brother awaited his reply. But before Jack could swallow his pride and concede that maybe Thomas knew what he was talking about, a groggy and labored voice interrupted their conversation.
“Jack, do you have any Tylenol?” Mick asked as he emerged from the front room draped from head to toe in one of Jack’s eiderdown duvets. “My head is throbbing.”
“Mick!? Mick Morris!? Is that you, mate?!”
The thespian blenched.
“Yes, but no autographs, please. I’m afraid I’m having too turbulent a morning to…” Mick said as his red eyes lit up. “Thomas?!”
Jack smiled at Mick’s clumsy and urgent scampering towards Thomas. As the two embraced and began catching up, Jack slipped inside and started gathering the medley of ingredients he’d used countless times to cure his own hangovers. He filled a coffee cup with blue Powerade, into which he emptied an eye dropper of milk thistle and dissolved two tablets of Double Action Gaviscon. That concoction, coupled with three Extra Strength Tylenol, was sure to do the trick. Jack left the kitchen, stepped onto the veranda, carefully closed the door with his leg, and handed Mick the antidote.
“Wash these down with this, but drink the whole thing,” he instructed.
Mick took the pills and cup but appeared too distraught to comply.
“Jack,” he said, “why are you so unhappy?”
“Oh, come on!” Jack exclaimed as he shot one lance of a glance in Thomas’ direction. “I’ve been gone like ninety seconds! You haven’t seen each other in nearly six years, and that’s what you two talk about?”
“He asked what I was doing here so early,” Thomas replied.
“Don’t deflect, Jack. Why are you so unhappy?” Mick asked again.
Jack looked away and shook his head before admitting, “I don’t know…I just want…I just want more. I want…different.”
“He wants a family.”
“Stop, Thomas. Stop projecting yourself onto me, alright? I’m not built like you, mate. I’m not built for marriage and kids…or cottages with white picket fences.”
“Of course you are, you pillock. That’s why you’re so miserable without them. Listen, I don’t know anyone who has all of life’s answers. I certainly don’t have ‘em, but if the last few years have taught me anything, it’s that people are programmed for progress. And when we’re not progressing - not becoming something better than we naturally are - we feel it. We hate it. Trust me, Jack. As someone who used to be stuck in the same world you’re hoping to escape, I know it’s true.”
Suddenly, Jack saw Thomas look over his shoulder towards the sound of the opening veranda door.
“Umm…excuse me,” came the same raspy feminine voice from hours earlier. “Hi, sorry to interrupt, but Minnie and Sarah need to go and get ready for work.”
“They got sloshed knowing they had work in the morning?” Thomas asked.
“Well, yeah!” she replied as if it were a dumb question. “If you ain’t workin’ to party, why work at all, right? So, do you think your driver could give them a lift to Bexley?”
“Umm…” Jack said as he stood, “Benny’s gone home. But I can call you three a hackney.”
“Oh! Umm…well, I was thinking…maybe you could just get them a hackney? I could stay…make you breakfast in bed…give you a massage,” she said as she undressed Jack’s already-naked torso with her eyes whilst biting her lower lip.
Sensing her unwanted forwardness, Jack slowly covered his ninnies with both hands, shielding them from her lustful gaze. He then responded, “Thomas has that covered. Don’t you, Thomas.”
“Oh,” she said with disappointment. “So, you’re the masseuse?”
Thomas glared at Jack before turning to the woman and reluctantly nodding.
“Well, tell this, Mr. Thomas, there’s a new masseuse in town.”
Jack could tell this one wasn’t going away without a fight. But no matter. He was well-equipped with the perfect secret weapon.
“You know…” Jack paused, waiting for the woman to fill the silence with her name.
“Lilac.”
“Lilac. Right. You know, Lilac…I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t know if I’ve ever needed someone more than I need you right now.”
“Great,” she said with a seductive smile. “Let’s go.”
“No. I mean…emotionally. I emotionally need you, Lilac. For you see, Thomas is not just a gifted masseuse; he’s also my father’s lawyer. And unfortunately, he came by this morning to bring me some terrible, horrible, no good, very bad news.”
“What? What is it, babe?”
“My… gulp …my trust fund has been…depleted!”
“Wha…what exactly does that mean?” she asked.
“It means it’s gone! It’s all gone! My father has left me destitute! He’s taken back the money, the flats, the servants and chauffeurs…everything. I’m fricken Prince Naveen of Maldonia!”
Thomas was no doubt sickened by Jack using his dead father in a ruse to chase away women, but Jack could always trust Thomas to go along with any ruse - even the ones that made him sick.
“Oh. Well, I’m so sorry, but in that case, I…” Lilac said, about to leave.
“But!” he interrupted as he ran towards her and took her by the hands, “I suppose I have not lost everything…for I still have you…my sweet, fragrancy, glorious Lilac. Tell me we’re going to make it. Tell me it’ll all be okay! So what if we have to rummage through downtown dumpsters for sustenance?”
“Umm….”
“Shhh…talking is such a meager means of communication when two people feel as we do. Let us sing what our speech canst not devise!” he said as he threw his arms around her, pulled her head into his bare chest, and began singing, “ When we’re starving, love will not let us die .”
With that, he felt Lilac’s arms slowly extend – pushing him away in apparent disgust.
“We’ll be waiting downstairs for that hackney,” she said before retreating towards the veranda door.
“Lilac…Lilac wait! Don’t leave! I need you! Ohhhh, I am fortune’s fooooooooool!” Jack shouted as he buried his head in the lounge chair’s pillow and sobbed uncontrollably.
After a few moments, Thomas said, “She’s gone, mate.”
Jack shot to his feet. “And scene.”
“Wow!” Mick blasted while showering Jack with applause. “I tell you what…if I still had any credibility in LA, I’d be your agent.”
“See! Don’t you see, Jack?” Thomas asked. “Don’t you see why you’re miserable?”
“Are you trying to imply that beautiful, gold-digging hotties throwing themselves at me for all the wrong reasons is somehow contributing to my depression?”
“Umm…yeah. I am.”
“Oh. Yeah, you might have a point. But what am I supposed to do? It’s not like I can just will ‘my Jada’ into existence and wish her here.”
“Well, you’re certainly not going to find ‘your Jada’ at the Luxx of all places.”
“Ha! So, go back to Hawthorne Hall? Is that what you’re saying? So I can find my Jada where you found yours?”
“Well…why not?”
Jack had never considered it. He’d considered going back – just not for that purpose. Hawthorne Hall was Jack’s guilty pleasure. He’d often reminisced about the memories he’d made and the friends he’d met on the vast grounds of Avi MacKinnon’s charming estate, but this time, a flood of forgotten evocations made themselves found. He remembered the fireworks and the archery. He recalled the deer and the caramelized onion. He remembered…Jane Austen…
“Oh, Thomas…” he said. “I forgot about Jane!”
Mick began to rap under his breath: “Muthatruckers all act like they forgot about Jane.”
Thomas and Jack stared back at him, confused.
“Was that…was that Eminem?” Jack asked.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” Mick said. “I suppose I’m still a tad inebriated.”
Jack continued the conversation right where he left off, as if Mick spitting mad rhyme had never happened.
“I can’t believe I forgot her…the wizardess of words. How could I forget about someone whose writings ignited the synapses in my left prefrontal cortex with a raging flame?! I miss that feeling, Thomas! I miss the person I was when I was there. I miss the activities and people and our vow of virginity.”
“Celibacy.” Thomas corrected.
“The celery was fine. I preferred the caramelized onion, but why are we talking about vegetables at a time like this? I’m talking about when we promised not to hook up with anyone while we were there. I thought I’d hate it, but I just felt so focused and productive, and…”
“Happy?” Mick asked.
Jack basked in his memories momentarily, then said, “Thomas…I think you’re right. I want to change. I want progress! I want a wife and kids and…”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down, mate. Real change takes real time.”
“Fine. But what better place to start than Hawthorne Hall?”
“I agree…and I bet Mick would too. You certainly won’t find any Lilacs at Hawthorne Hall, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up. We’re talking about a dozen or so other guests, some of whom are men, some of whom are married or engaged…there’s just no way to guarantee the guest list will include the future Mrs. Jack Adamson.”
“Then I’ll keep going back every week ‘til I find her! Money isn’t an issue. Thomas, I’m serious about this.”
Suddenly, Mick squeaked with excitement. Jack and Thomas swiveled their heads in surprise.
“What?” Jack asked.
Mick’s eyes were wide and giddy and rivaled the brightness of the risen sun.
“It’s just…I must have dreamed it or something, but I woke up this morning with a thought so impressed upon my mind that it’s all I’ve been able to think about all morning…as if…as if an angel had snuck up on me last night as I lay sleeping and whispered it into my ear…‘You, Mick Morris, should be an executive producer….even the greatest the world has ever known!”
“What are you bloody on about, mate?” asked Thomas.
“A show!!!”
“A what?” Jack inquired.
“A show…a television show! Picture this: A shot of Jack wearing full Regency attire and walking down the main stairway of Hawthorne Hall. Next shot: the camera descends the same steps towards a gathering of eligible maidens, all ready to compete for Jack’s affection. The final shot: Jack looks down at a single daisy, or orchid, or…”
“Lilac?” Thomas joked.
“Mmm…no. The lavender would clash with his tailcoat. But he’s holding some sort of flower in his hand. He only has one to give. To whom does he give it? The scene fades to black. Suddenly, the show's title appears in gold letters on the screen…”
“The Bachelor?”
“No, Thomas. This is completely different. It’s Regency themed.”
“Right. Sorry. Carry on…”
“It says…‘The Vermin of the State: Coming This Fall…’”
“Vermin of the State? Thomas, what is he on about?”
“Oh, come now. Did neither of you see Wilberforce ?”
Jack looked for Thomas to bail him out, but judging by his pal’s passive expression, it appeared as though he hadn’t seen Mick’s movie either.
“I’m sorry, Mick,” Jack said. “I heard it was three hours long.”
“I was waiting for the book,” Thomas interjected.
“It’s…it’s fine, I suppose,” Mick said sadly with a hint of quivering lip. “Maybe sometime we could all go see it together?”
“Certainly.”
“Absolutely. Now, what were you saying about a vermin?”
“Right. Well, in one scene of the film, I’m trying to get my son – played by Sean Bean – to settle down and propose to the girl he’s cared for since they were children while also communicating the endlessness of my love for him, whether he settles down or not. The line goes, ‘Robert, even if you never cease to be a vermin of the state, you will always be the vermin…of my state of affection.’”
“Mmm…not enough context. What does it mean, man?” Jack demanded.
“It’s an Elizabethan term for a man who – despite his age – still hasn’t married.”
“Sooo…a bachelor ?” Thomas asked.
“Thomas…why are you raining on my parade like this? Okay. Fine. It may share some similarities with the hit American show The Bachelor. But does The Bachelor have Georgian stagecoaches? Does it have Elizabethan gowns or Regency pantaloons?”
“I’m not sure what’s on The Bachelor, Mick…because I’ve never seen it…because I’m a man!” Jack mocked while masking his secret obsession with the show.
“Listen,” Mick demanded, “that’s neither here nor there. What I’m trying to say is there’s a way for Hawthorne Hall to have the exact female guest list you’re looking for.”
“How? By putting out a casting call?” Thomas asked. “I don’t mean to shoot the idea down, but isn’t that going to bring out the same money-hungry, fame-craving actresses Jack’s been sifting through his whole life?”
“Of course. But it’ll also bring out the kind-hearted, hopeless romantics who believe in happily-ever-afters. And besides, I’m an actor. I can spot a fellow thespian from a mile away. You let me pour through the video submissions of the applicants, and I promise you: Jack will have a mansion house full of eligible…”
“… bachelorettes ?”
“Enough with the B-word, Thomas!” Mick shouted, clearly retriggering his own headache.
“So,” Jack interrupted, “does that mean we wouldn’t have to tell them about my wealth?”
“No. It could be a surprise for the winner at the end of the pilot.”
“Hmm…I like Mick’s idea, Thomas. I think he’s on to something…”
“Mate, you can’t be serious. This isn’t how someone meets the love of their life. If you decide to do this, I won't be helping you. I won’t have any part of you ending up worse off than you already are. And that’s exactly what will happen if you go through with this.”
“It’s your call, Jack.” Mick retorted. “But I’m sure I could round up a film and sound crew in a jiffy. They may not like me after the whole Walen Stone incident, but they won’t turn down work if the price is right.”
“Don’t do it, Jack.”
“Jack, give me the go-ahead, and I’ll get on the phone right now and put down the deposit to rent out Hawthorne Hall for as long as filming takes.”
“Have you considered trying the library?” Thomas asked. “Or going back to church?”
“We’d have to find a host who can really sell the show,” Mick interrupted.
“I’ll go with you. And hey, if you can’t find anyone at church, there’s always online dating.”
“Maybe Bonnie would help me pitch it to a broadcasting company…you know…for old time’s sake.”
“Eh…forget online dating,” Thomas mumbled. “You’d probably fall in love with some girl named Vixen, whose real name is Troy from Portsmouth, who makes his living convincing vulnerable men to wire him funds for his dying grandmother.”
“Eh…forget Bonnie. We’ll find another in. The world’s going to fall in love with you, Jack. And so will Mrs. Right.”
As Thomas and Mick took turns volleying the deficit of his attention, Jack couldn’t help but feel like a cracked ping-pong ball bouncing in every imaginable direction. He trusted Thomas more than anyone. But to have a shot at finding true love under such beneficial circumstances would be difficult to pass up. The decision was not going to come easy. And yet…it did.