The Bad Boy Next Door: Lance & Chastity (30 page)

The next morning, Lance whispers me awake. “Hey. I need to get to the office. You wanna come with or sleep in? Either is cool with me. If you need to spend time with your Dad, go for it.”

“Oh. Uh, well, do you need me to come in with you?”

“It never hurts to have a pretty face in the room when you’re trying to close six-figure investment money. But it’s up to you. Your sister is what matters.”

I’m touched that he’s so understanding. But I want to be there for him too. He dropped everything to help me find her. The least I can do is go into the office with him. “Can I have a few minutes to shower and dress?”

“Sure. Meeting isn’t until eleven. Take your time.”

Two hours later we’re on our way to Beverly Hills for the meeting. Once again, Micah drives his Mini Cooper and Beaver comes along. After we park the car and walk toward the office, I joke to Lance, “You really ought to consider getting your own car.”

“Money is tight right now, otherwise I’d buy you one.”

That catches me off guard. “Me? I meant you.”

“I meant you too,” he grins.

“Are you serious?”

“You need a car more than I do.” He sounds serious. “I have the bike.”

“That’s sweet, Lance. But I seriously meant you. Your dad looked uncomfortable on the back of your motorcycle the other day.”

“True. But you shouldn’t be dependent on your Mom or whoever else for a car. Anyway, we can worry about that later. Now we need to focus on this pitch.” He smiles, holding the glass door for me.

The modernist office building is on West Pico Boulevard near the Fox Studios and the Avenue of the Stars. The building is three stories, colorful and boxy. It belongs to a movie producer named Lou Buchanan who wants to expand his portfolio beyond feature films. So he agreed to take the meeting with Lance on the grounds that he could produce the video for Lance at cost in exchange for a hefty piece of the back end, meaning profits. I learned the term from Lance.

Unfortunately, Lou and Lance butt heads from word one. Lance has a very clear vision of what he wants. So does Lou, who is a silver haired guy who’s at least sixty, but has the energy of someone much younger. He bulldozes Lance into a corner, wanting to change Lance’s entire concept and asks for a much larger percentage of profits than Lance expected going in.

Lance is not pleased.

Lou smiles like the last-minute chameleon that he is. “With all that money coming out of my pocket, I need to make it worth my time. You understand.”

Lance gazes out the huge picture window of Lou’s third story meeting room at the golf course on the back side of the Beverly Hills Resort. He says thoughtfully, “Yeah, I understand.” He smiles. “I don’t think we see eye to eye, Lou.”

Lou hops to his feet. “Suit yourself, son.” He leans over the table and fires out his hand to shake Lance’s. “I’m sure you’ll find someone willing to take a risk on your idea.” It’s a subtle insult.

“No doubt,” Lance grunts, pumping Lou’s arm over the table.

“Pleasure meeting you, son. Good luck.” He’s out of the glass board room before I can even blink.

I whisper, “I think you insulted him.”

Lance scowls, “I think anyone who says no to Lou Buchanan is insulting him.”

“Good point.”

“He sure has a hot secretary,” Beaver says.

“Shut the fuck up, Beaver,” Lance groans.

“You should ask her out,” Micah says. “Since we have nothing to lose at this point.”

“Great idea!” Beaver grins.

We make our way downstairs. As Beaver said, the secretary is indeed an attractive brunette woman who’s just a few years older than me and looks like she belongs on a movie screen, not behind a secretary’s desk.

Outside on the busy street, I ask, “So what now?”

“We ask another investor,” Lance says. “And we keep asking until I run out of people to ask. Or someone says yes.”

“Do you have any more meetings lined up?”

“Not yet. But I’ll find somebody with money to throw around.” He looks around. “Where’s Beaver?”

The front door of the building opens and Beaver comes walking out.

“What the fuck, Beaver? Where’d you go?” Lance asks.

Beaver holds up his phone, “Digits! I got digits!”

“Bullshit,” Lance chuckles. “The only digits you got are the ones you jerk off with.”

“Huh?” Beaver says, confused.

Lance holds up a hand and wiggles his fingers. “You know, the ones attached to your hand?”

Micah and I both laugh.

I say, “Nice vocab, Lance.”

He grins and winks at me, “You like that? I’m a fucking dictionary when I wanna be.”

I nod, still giggling.

Beaver shrugs, “I don’t care if you dicks don’t believe me. I got digits.” He jams four fingers at us like he’s flipping us off with all four. “These and hers.”

“We don’t believe you,” Lance chuckles.

I completely agree with Lance. The secretary was way too cute for Beaver, especially when he’s wearing vintage high-waisted striped polyester pants and a faded Dungeons & Dragons T-shirt that is so thin you can see his pale skin through the material. He looks ridiculous.

We all climb into Micah’s Mini and drive back to Lance’s downtown office.

Lance doesn’t mention the meeting the entire drive. He just stares out the window, lost in thought.

I think back to his comment about buying me a car. Especially the part about money being tight right now. I really don’t know the details of Lance’s financial situation. He keeps all that to himself. He could be teetering on the edge of bankruptcy and I wouldn’t know it. I mean, I haven’t even received my first paycheck yet.

Will it bounce when I try to cash it?

I don’t know.

++++8++++

LANCE

Fuck.

That bottom feeder Lou Buchanan the Douche Cannon was my last real shot at funding. I knew he was a long shot going in, but I didn’t expect him to piss all over my idea like that.

Now the only people I have left to call are small money people. No one big enough to fund the entire project. If I can get enough of them to sign on, maybe I’ll make my budget. The hard part is getting that first person to put their money on the line. No one small time wants to be the first investor. They need confidence that other bigger investors are willing to take a risk. So I’ll have to play a shell game and hope no one figures it out.

The fucked thing is, I’m running out of money quick. If I don’t find funding soon, I’m gonna have to close up the downtown office and work out of the house. I bet Chastity would love that. No more glamour. Just folding chairs and tables and the fucking cardboard boxes we still haven’t put away because fuck, I don’t have real furniture at home.

I think if I dig deep, I might be able to find one more big money guy who’ll listen to my pitch for the video. He can probably fund the whole thing and then some. But he’s a snake. No guarantees with him.

The only guarantee I have right now is if I get one more serious no, the house of cards that is my career comes tumbling down, all London Bridge and shit.

Fuck.

Why did I have to go and get Chastity fired from her job? Then trick her into thinking I had the yellow brick road all paved before her in gold? I’m sure it’s too late for her to get her job back scooping ice cream.

I am such a dumbshit.

A real chip off my dad’s dumb block.

Fuck.

I heave a sigh and stare at the band of pink and purple to the west as the sun sinks, standing on my driveway. I wonder if Chaz and her Dad are having any luck finding Charity?

“Lance?” Dad asks behind me. He stands in the garage, next to his Harley, which is collecting dust.

Speak of the fucking devil.

The thing that really kills me about my cash flow problem is if things go south, I don’t know how the fuck I’m gonna take care of his ass.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, Son.”

Seeing him and his hog looking like nobody cares about either of them makes me want to cut my guts out. I hate his ass for what he’s done to himself. He used to be my rockstar. When I was real little, he was sober. I was lucky enough to have a normal dad for a few years. Around first grade, when I was six, he started drinking. I don’t know what happened that threw him off the wagon. Something between him and Mom. Maybe. I don’t know for sure. I was too young and he never talks about it. I just see the effects. He’s a run down wreck. Like his Harley. It used to be a diamond.

Fucking alcohol.

“Son? Can I ask a favor?”

“Yeah, what?” I sound more irritated than I feel. As it is, I feel like shit.

“I was wondering if I could borrow some money.”

“Money is kind of tight right now, Dad.”

“It’s for something important.”

“Yeah? For what?” I almost add,
You want whiskey, you old booze hound? How about a coffin instead. You’re gonna need one soon anyway.

“I need to buy a bicycle.”

I hold in a laugh. “No shit?”

“Yeah. I found a good one on Craigslist for eighty bucks. It’s a mountain bike. Looks good in the picture.”

It makes me sad that my dad is asking me for eighty bucks. The fact it’s eighty bucks for a bicycle is also pathetic. It’s not something big like:
Son, that earthquake we had caved the roof in. Insurance won’t cover it and repairs could run forty thousand easy and your mother and I can’t cover it unless we take out a second mortgage.
No, it’s:
Son, I’m a washed up drunk. I can’t hold down a job since your mother ran off. I don’t have a license because I drink and drive too much so I need a bicycle to get around. While you’re at it, can you spot me an extra five dollars for a tire repair kit and a used bicycle pump? Nothing worse than getting a flat when I’m bicycling from here to nowhere.

“What do you need it for?” I grunt.

“Thought maybe I could ride around town and keep an eye out for Charity.”

I stare at him for a long time. I want to believe him. I really, really do. “John and Chaz are supposed to meet up with her for dinner tomorrow night. She’ll probably come home then. You sure you need a bike?”

“What if she doesn’t? What if she changes her mind? The kid already ran away. Who’s to say she’ll come back?” He’s thinking about Mom and it makes me want to puke. “With a bike, I can keep an eye out for her all around town. And I don’t have anything better to do anyway.” That’s for fucking sure. “Maybe I’ll find her.”

But he won’t find Mom.

Fuck.

His story is good and he sounds so damn sincere. But he is so good at lying, I can’t say for sure he’s not going to use the money for booze. Fuck it. I open my wallet and hand him one-sixty, scowling. “Get a good bike.” Today, I don’t give a shit if he uses the extra money to buy booze. Maybe he’ll surprise me and do like he says and he’ll be the one who finds Charity. This entire moment is so sad and pathetic I just want it over with.

He takes the money but hands back half. “The bike is only eighty.”

I almost tell him to keep it, but I can tell his sense of self-respect is on the line. I take the four twenties and put them back in my wallet. “If you need new tires or anything, let me know.”

“Okay,” he smiles meekly, “but I’ll be fine with eighty.”

I wish eighty bucks was all I needed to be fine.

Sometimes, I have to wonder what the fuck I’m doing with my life because it doesn’t seem to be going the way I planned. Days like today I feel as fake as TH3 PH4NTüM.

Just a bullshit shell of a man who’s nearly out of money and half way to being his washed up dad.

Fuck.

++++8++++

CHASTITY

“Do you think she’ll show up?” Dad asks nervously.

“I hope so.” I turn around in my outdoor seat, scanning the sidewalk behind us. Cars whiz by on South Glendale Avenue. Evening traffic. We sit near the walk up window of Taqueria El Tapatio, which is an old A-frame building in front of a laundromat and a Mexican market called El Pipil. Charity told us to meet her here. It’s exactly the kind of divey place Mom would totally avoid.

Dad looks at the taqueria building thoughtfully, “I think this place used to be an old Wienerschnitzel.”

“A wiener what?”

“Never mind. Do you think Charity took the bus? Maybe that’s why she’s late.”

I shrug. “Who knows.”

Dad starts drumming his fingers noisily on the table top. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.” He shoots to his feet. “You want some chips and salsa? Why don’t I get some.” He is super anxious.

“Sounds like a plan.” I watch him while he leans down to talk to the Mexican guy through the walk up window. I can’t hear what they’re saying over the traffic on Glendale, but they’re laughing at something. I think Dad needs to keep himself occupied. He walks to the table holding one of those red and white checked paper trays full of chips and a red ketchup bottle of salsa.

The second he sets them down, Charity walks up out of nowhere. She looks tiny and helpless but also tough and scrappy at the same time. She wears a black skirt I recognize, black leather boots I don’t, and a garish Affliction hoodie with black and white graphics of skulls that I’ve never seen before. Mom would freak if she saw Charity dressed like this. The hood is up, covering her blonde hair even though it’s warm out.

“What up, peeps?” She winks at Dad and does a sarcastic wave like this is no big deal. She’s trying to act cooler than usual.

“Charity,” Dad grunts, throwing his arms around her in a huge bear hug, picking her up off the ground.

“I’m choking!” Charity laughs, waving her arms. “Cough, cough!” She actually says the words cough, cough while patting Dad on the back.

He releases her and rolls his eyes while rubbing her back, “Such a comedian. Sit down with your sister, Chair. Have some chips and salsa.” Dad motions to the seat next to me.

Charity looks at it warily. “Mom isn’t waiting in hiding to jump out with a net and a Taser to catch me, is she?” Charity looks around in every direction.

I snort, “No. She doesn’t know we’re here.”

She gives Dad a pointed look.

Dad looks hurt. “Do you think I’d tell her?”

“You better not,” Charity warns.

Dad gives her a strange look like he doesn’t know what to make of her attitude. But I think he’s trying to keep the peace. “I didn’t tell her, Chair. She has no idea we’re meeting you. Please sit.”