holding the whiskey in his mouth for a second or two before swallowing it down. He poured himself another, his eyes on his agent. “Who was generating buzz? Who were the kids talking about at school? Me? Were they talking about me?”
David looked down at his drink guiltily and tilted his glass, making the ice cubes rattle.
Dirk waited until David’s eyes had moved back to him. “Do you realize Kim Kardashian has four times as many Twitter followers as me? Can you explain that?”
“Well, you know how it is, Dirk.” David coughed into his fist and removed his sunglasses. “She’s a shameless media whore.” He held them up, checking for prints. “And you’re, well, a decent self-respecting person who values his privacy. You’ve always kept your distance from the… people.”
Dirk’s jaw tightened. “Let me ask you a question: Do you think I avoid the public because I don’t like people or because I can’t go anywhere without creating a scene? And if you’re having trouble with that one, let me remind you that the paparazzi recently got into a battle royale over my garbage and one guy nearly lost a finger. I now have to pay someone to stand guard over my trash to prevent those idiots from cutting each other up with soup can lids.”
David put his sunglasses down on the teak table, his nearly bald head bright and beading with sweat. “That was unfortunate. But isn’t that why you live like this.” He raised his drink to the glittering Mediterranean mansion to their backs, its four levels of retractable glass walls reflecting sun, surf and sand.
“I’m not complaining,” Dirk said. “I wouldn’t get much sympathy if I did. And I don’t deserve it. So I have to live behind security walls in a private guard-gated community. Woe is me.” He smiled a self-effacing smile. “That’s how most people would live if they had a choice. And some things won’t change.” He studied David’s eyes, pausing for effect. “Even after phase two.”
“Phase two?” David’s expression was hesitant, but amused. “I’m afraid to ask. What’s phase two?”
“I’m going to put on a show tomorrow,” Dirk said evenly, his face giving no indication as to what show might mean.
“Were you going to run this by me?” David asked.
“Sorry.” A slightly devious smile creased Dirk’s face. “You’ll have to buy a ticket like everyone else.”
“Just give me a teaser,” David said. “Heroin?”
“Not this time.”
“Models?”
“Of course.”
“Location?”
Dirk laughed. He finished his drink and stood up, then stripped off his shirt and reached down for a large canvass duffel bag next to his chair. “You should stick around for this. I made a few calls of my own. The paparazzi helicopters should be here any minute.”
“Helicopters?” David’s eyes bulged in his red face. He glanced down nervously at the bag. “What do you have in there?”
“Racket and balls,” Dirk said, grinning.
“For…?”
“I’m going up to the roof to hit some balls into the ocean. In my thong. Drunk on bourbon.”
David gave him a long exasperated look. “Why would you do that?”
“Exactly.” Dirk stabbed a finger into the table. “Why would a twenty-five-year-old millionaire movie star get drunk and hit tennis balls off his roof in a thong?”
David laughed reluctantly. “Let me guess. You’ve lost it? You’re spiraling out of control? You’ve hit rock bottom? You’re much, much worse than Charlie Sheen?”
“You’re catching on,” Dirk said, as he started for the house. Then he stopped and turned to face David. “By the way—I might slip and take a little tumble.” He paused, laughing. “But don’t worry. It’s all part of the plan.”
Chapter 6
Coping
Felix set off across campus in a lucid fog . That’s what he called the state of mind that was neither lucid nor foggy. Too much lucidity and the reality of his life would overwhelm him, spiriting him away into a
David looked down at his drink guiltily and tilted his glass, making the ice cubes rattle.
Dirk waited until David’s eyes had moved back to him. “Do you realize Kim Kardashian has four times as many Twitter followers as me? Can you explain that?”
“Well, you know how it is, Dirk.” David coughed into his fist and removed his sunglasses. “She’s a shameless media whore.” He held them up, checking for prints. “And you’re, well, a decent self-respecting person who values his privacy. You’ve always kept your distance from the… people.”
Dirk’s jaw tightened. “Let me ask you a question: Do you think I avoid the public because I don’t like people or because I can’t go anywhere without creating a scene? And if you’re having trouble with that one, let me remind you that the paparazzi recently got into a battle royale over my garbage and one guy nearly lost a finger. I now have to pay someone to stand guard over my trash to prevent those idiots from cutting each other up with soup can lids.”
David put his sunglasses down on the teak table, his nearly bald head bright and beading with sweat. “That was unfortunate. But isn’t that why you live like this.” He raised his drink to the glittering Mediterranean mansion to their backs, its four levels of retractable glass walls reflecting sun, surf and sand.
“I’m not complaining,” Dirk said. “I wouldn’t get much sympathy if I did. And I don’t deserve it. So I have to live behind security walls in a private guard-gated community. Woe is me.” He smiled a self-effacing smile. “That’s how most people would live if they had a choice. And some things won’t change.” He studied David’s eyes, pausing for effect. “Even after phase two.”
“Phase two?” David’s expression was hesitant, but amused. “I’m afraid to ask. What’s phase two?”
“I’m going to put on a show tomorrow,” Dirk said evenly, his face giving no indication as to what show might mean.
“Were you going to run this by me?” David asked.
“Sorry.” A slightly devious smile creased Dirk’s face. “You’ll have to buy a ticket like everyone else.”
“Just give me a teaser,” David said. “Heroin?”
“Not this time.”
“Models?”
“Of course.”
“Location?”
Dirk laughed. He finished his drink and stood up, then stripped off his shirt and reached down for a large canvass duffel bag next to his chair. “You should stick around for this. I made a few calls of my own. The paparazzi helicopters should be here any minute.”
“Helicopters?” David’s eyes bulged in his red face. He glanced down nervously at the bag. “What do you have in there?”
“Racket and balls,” Dirk said, grinning.
“For…?”
“I’m going up to the roof to hit some balls into the ocean. In my thong. Drunk on bourbon.”
David gave him a long exasperated look. “Why would you do that?”
“Exactly.” Dirk stabbed a finger into the table. “Why would a twenty-five-year-old millionaire movie star get drunk and hit tennis balls off his roof in a thong?”
David laughed reluctantly. “Let me guess. You’ve lost it? You’re spiraling out of control? You’ve hit rock bottom? You’re much, much worse than Charlie Sheen?”
“You’re catching on,” Dirk said, as he started for the house. Then he stopped and turned to face David. “By the way—I might slip and take a little tumble.” He paused, laughing. “But don’t worry. It’s all part of the plan.”
Chapter 6
Coping
Felix set off across campus in a lucid fog . That’s what he called the state of mind that was neither lucid nor foggy. Too much lucidity and the reality of his life would overwhelm him, spiriting him away into a
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