puppet , Annika. You can’t have feelings for him, or you’ll fuck us all over, Joel included. Use your brain. If you want to fuck him, be my guest. But don’t go falling for him or we’re screwed.” She pointed at her desk, leaning forward as she said the word.
I broke her gaze and opened my vodka drawer, unable to really be mad. Because if the tables were turned, I’d be doing the exact same thing to her. So instead, I poured a shot and said, “Got it, boss.”
NO RAGRETS
Joel
THE SHOP SEEMED TO BUZZ all day, even though the crew was gone, save a lone PA who sat behind the desk on his phone. Everyone who’d had an interview that morning was zinging, high off it, and the ones who were interviewing that night seemed full of nerves. But I sat in my chair, mostly quiet, spending the day working, blaring The Black Keys’ discography on repeat as I thought about her.
Everyone was talking about my blow up, since half the shop and crew had been present for the outburst, but I wasn’t sorry. She was out of line, and I’d been so pissed, I’d barely been able to see as I flew out of the shop and upstairs. I’d planned on watching everyone’s interviews to be certain everyone felt comfortable and that no one was taken advantage of under my roof. But they were on their own after what she’d said. There was no way I could have sat there next to her all morning and pretended what she’d done was okay.
I thought about Liz and Hal, my past that I rarely revisited, never mind talked about, getting dragged out into the daylight for Annika to kick and prod. Especially since she was the last person I wanted to talk to about it all. In front of a camera, no less.
See, when my parents died years ago, they left Shep and I everything they had, which wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to start our own shop. We were kids at that time, Shep eighteen and just coming out of apprenticing, me twenty-one, married to Liz, and sure I had all the answers. Hal had worked with us at the shop we were at, and when we came into the money and opened Tonic, he came with us. We were friends, though the kind of friends based more on proximity than brotherhood. But we were friends.
I thought, at least.
The bigger we got, the worse he behaved. You know the type. The one who thinks he’s the best at everything and jumps at the chance to tell you all about it. The kind who drops names and gloms onto someone he thinks might take him somewhere.
Honestly, I thought Liz had better taste. She and I met when I’d only just moved out of my parents’ house at nineteen and I’d landed my first job at a shop. Liz and I excelled at two things: fighting and fucking. Typically while drinking. I asked her to marry me after a month of dating — pre-fighting. At that point, we excelled at fucking, which was spectacular. So we flew to Vegas and got married in the Chapel O’ Love by a drag queen.
Thus began the longest five years of my life.
Days were long at work, nights were long with cycle of drinking, followed by the fighting, then fucking. When my parents died, everything intensified until the heat of it was almost all I could bear. Shep moved in, and we opened the shop, and the stress compiled, making the days seem even longer until I felt grey and deflated. The fucking stopped. The fighting didn’t, made worse by the drinking.
The night she sent me to the hospital after knocking me out with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s was the last. I kicked her out and filed for divorce. She went to stay with Hal.
Smug didn’t begin to cover it. Hal had always been so sure he could do everything better than me. Run a shop. Handle Liz. So when he walked out the door, taking my baggage with him, I waved goodbye without a regret. I just didn’t know he’d be my shadow for the rest of my days.
It started with him opening his shop, modeling nearly everything after mine. He tried to shark my artists. Tried to copy my life. But in the end, a copy of
I broke her gaze and opened my vodka drawer, unable to really be mad. Because if the tables were turned, I’d be doing the exact same thing to her. So instead, I poured a shot and said, “Got it, boss.”
NO RAGRETS
Joel
THE SHOP SEEMED TO BUZZ all day, even though the crew was gone, save a lone PA who sat behind the desk on his phone. Everyone who’d had an interview that morning was zinging, high off it, and the ones who were interviewing that night seemed full of nerves. But I sat in my chair, mostly quiet, spending the day working, blaring The Black Keys’ discography on repeat as I thought about her.
Everyone was talking about my blow up, since half the shop and crew had been present for the outburst, but I wasn’t sorry. She was out of line, and I’d been so pissed, I’d barely been able to see as I flew out of the shop and upstairs. I’d planned on watching everyone’s interviews to be certain everyone felt comfortable and that no one was taken advantage of under my roof. But they were on their own after what she’d said. There was no way I could have sat there next to her all morning and pretended what she’d done was okay.
I thought about Liz and Hal, my past that I rarely revisited, never mind talked about, getting dragged out into the daylight for Annika to kick and prod. Especially since she was the last person I wanted to talk to about it all. In front of a camera, no less.
See, when my parents died years ago, they left Shep and I everything they had, which wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to start our own shop. We were kids at that time, Shep eighteen and just coming out of apprenticing, me twenty-one, married to Liz, and sure I had all the answers. Hal had worked with us at the shop we were at, and when we came into the money and opened Tonic, he came with us. We were friends, though the kind of friends based more on proximity than brotherhood. But we were friends.
I thought, at least.
The bigger we got, the worse he behaved. You know the type. The one who thinks he’s the best at everything and jumps at the chance to tell you all about it. The kind who drops names and gloms onto someone he thinks might take him somewhere.
Honestly, I thought Liz had better taste. She and I met when I’d only just moved out of my parents’ house at nineteen and I’d landed my first job at a shop. Liz and I excelled at two things: fighting and fucking. Typically while drinking. I asked her to marry me after a month of dating — pre-fighting. At that point, we excelled at fucking, which was spectacular. So we flew to Vegas and got married in the Chapel O’ Love by a drag queen.
Thus began the longest five years of my life.
Days were long at work, nights were long with cycle of drinking, followed by the fighting, then fucking. When my parents died, everything intensified until the heat of it was almost all I could bear. Shep moved in, and we opened the shop, and the stress compiled, making the days seem even longer until I felt grey and deflated. The fucking stopped. The fighting didn’t, made worse by the drinking.
The night she sent me to the hospital after knocking me out with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s was the last. I kicked her out and filed for divorce. She went to stay with Hal.
Smug didn’t begin to cover it. Hal had always been so sure he could do everything better than me. Run a shop. Handle Liz. So when he walked out the door, taking my baggage with him, I waved goodbye without a regret. I just didn’t know he’d be my shadow for the rest of my days.
It started with him opening his shop, modeling nearly everything after mine. He tried to shark my artists. Tried to copy my life. But in the end, a copy of
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