extreme measures, and yet he was beginning to wonder
if they’d be enough. It was only day three of Operation Desperation, as he
secretly referred to it, and already he was having fantasies about gulping down
the rubbing alcohol under his bathroom sink—anything to give him a few moments’
peace from the constant craving. He’d let drinking become such a big part of his
life, had used it to create a buffer from all the things he’d rather avoid. When
he was too bored, he drank. When he was too angry, he drank. When he was too
frustrated or disillusioned, he drank. Alcohol even helped him sleep, if he
consumed enough of it. Now he had to deal with all the emotions he’d purposely
dulled, and he’d never felt more exposed to his enemies, more… raw.
As he glanced around his son’s old bedroom, he suffered a
tremendous sense of loss. That was what he’d really been hiding from—his own
inadequacies and what they’d cost him.
“Simon? Where the hell are you?”
Hearing his manager in the hallway, Simon stepped up to the
window as if he was interested in what was going on outside. He didn’t want Ian
to know he’d been sitting here for an hour or more, just missing his kid. “In
here.”
The thump of footsteps stopped as Ian came to the open doorway
and leaned against the frame. If he thought it was strange to find Simon in Ty’s
old room, he didn’t say. His eyes swept over the stuffed animals in the hammock,
the portrait of father and son taken a few days after Ty was born, the
alligator-shaped rug on the floor and the extensive bug collection hanging on
the wall, but he said only, “Holy shit, man. You scared me. Why haven’t you been
answering your phone?”
Simon turned back to the spectacle of a woman with a camera
attempting to scale his back fence. “Don’t know where it is.”
“Might be wise to keep track of it for the next couple of
weeks, make yourself accessible to Gail and me, don’t you think?”
No, he didn’t. Keeping his phone close by would also make him
accessible to his other friends, and he wasn’t supposed to see them, didn’t even
want to hear their voices. Although he’d promised himself he’d get control of
his life many times in the past few months, now he had no choice. He had to hold
the line without a single mistake. Gail had been right when she’d said he was on
his last chance. His attorney had called this morning to tell him that Bella’s
side had been successful in convincing the judge to postpone the next hearing.
He no longer saw that as a bad thing, since it gave him a chance to prove he’d
changed. But it was absolutely imperative that the next several months go by
“without incident.”
There won’t be anything I can do, his lawyer had emphasized, unless you make this reprieve
work to your benefit....
He got that. He was trying.
“Figured you’d find me if you needed me,” he said.
“You could make it easier. Takes twenty minutes just to go
through this damn house.”
Simon preferred not to talk about why he’d been so hard to
find. He didn’t want Ian to realize he was hanging on by such a slim thread.
Somehow, despite the fact that he’d broken every promise he’d ever made to
himself or anyone else since the real problems with Bella began, he’d managed to
convince Ian and Gail that he could play the part of a sober, doting husband.
Why erode their confidence? Their expectations, their willingness to trust him,
were all that kept him going right now. That was why he’d sent Gail the
necklace. In his better moments, he could acknowledge that his publicist’s life
had been doing just fine until he’d come crashing into it.
He had a habit of bringing people down, whether he intended to
or not. The least he could do was compensate her with a nice gift. “How’s the
campaign coming along?”
Ian rubbed his hands. “Now that the weekend is over, the news
is spreading fast.”
Simon was glad someone was excited
about this. He was
if they’d be enough. It was only day three of Operation Desperation, as he
secretly referred to it, and already he was having fantasies about gulping down
the rubbing alcohol under his bathroom sink—anything to give him a few moments’
peace from the constant craving. He’d let drinking become such a big part of his
life, had used it to create a buffer from all the things he’d rather avoid. When
he was too bored, he drank. When he was too angry, he drank. When he was too
frustrated or disillusioned, he drank. Alcohol even helped him sleep, if he
consumed enough of it. Now he had to deal with all the emotions he’d purposely
dulled, and he’d never felt more exposed to his enemies, more… raw.
As he glanced around his son’s old bedroom, he suffered a
tremendous sense of loss. That was what he’d really been hiding from—his own
inadequacies and what they’d cost him.
“Simon? Where the hell are you?”
Hearing his manager in the hallway, Simon stepped up to the
window as if he was interested in what was going on outside. He didn’t want Ian
to know he’d been sitting here for an hour or more, just missing his kid. “In
here.”
The thump of footsteps stopped as Ian came to the open doorway
and leaned against the frame. If he thought it was strange to find Simon in Ty’s
old room, he didn’t say. His eyes swept over the stuffed animals in the hammock,
the portrait of father and son taken a few days after Ty was born, the
alligator-shaped rug on the floor and the extensive bug collection hanging on
the wall, but he said only, “Holy shit, man. You scared me. Why haven’t you been
answering your phone?”
Simon turned back to the spectacle of a woman with a camera
attempting to scale his back fence. “Don’t know where it is.”
“Might be wise to keep track of it for the next couple of
weeks, make yourself accessible to Gail and me, don’t you think?”
No, he didn’t. Keeping his phone close by would also make him
accessible to his other friends, and he wasn’t supposed to see them, didn’t even
want to hear their voices. Although he’d promised himself he’d get control of
his life many times in the past few months, now he had no choice. He had to hold
the line without a single mistake. Gail had been right when she’d said he was on
his last chance. His attorney had called this morning to tell him that Bella’s
side had been successful in convincing the judge to postpone the next hearing.
He no longer saw that as a bad thing, since it gave him a chance to prove he’d
changed. But it was absolutely imperative that the next several months go by
“without incident.”
There won’t be anything I can do, his lawyer had emphasized, unless you make this reprieve
work to your benefit....
He got that. He was trying.
“Figured you’d find me if you needed me,” he said.
“You could make it easier. Takes twenty minutes just to go
through this damn house.”
Simon preferred not to talk about why he’d been so hard to
find. He didn’t want Ian to realize he was hanging on by such a slim thread.
Somehow, despite the fact that he’d broken every promise he’d ever made to
himself or anyone else since the real problems with Bella began, he’d managed to
convince Ian and Gail that he could play the part of a sober, doting husband.
Why erode their confidence? Their expectations, their willingness to trust him,
were all that kept him going right now. That was why he’d sent Gail the
necklace. In his better moments, he could acknowledge that his publicist’s life
had been doing just fine until he’d come crashing into it.
He had a habit of bringing people down, whether he intended to
or not. The least he could do was compensate her with a nice gift. “How’s the
campaign coming along?”
Ian rubbed his hands. “Now that the weekend is over, the news
is spreading fast.”
Simon was glad someone was excited
about this. He was
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