Chapter Two

The loud banging on the door wakes me from my deep slumber. I turn over to look at my watch—seven o’clock.

Who the fuck?

I rub my eyes vigorously, the memory of last night flashing before me, reminding me why I’m beyond exhausted.

A faint glow filtered through the room. Her silhouette teased me, and my heart thumped so loud I was certain it would pop out of my chest. She lifted her blouse over her shoulders. Fuck, this was it. This was what I had been waiting for. Her hands reached for the bottom of her tank top, gliding it just above her stomach until she stopped. She focused on something else. Walking over to the nightstand, a smile widened across her face as she placed the cell to her ear.

An hour later, I sat still behind the bushes, irritated by the length of the conversation. No doubt she was talking to him. Fucking asshole, can’t even leave her alone for an hour. Considering he was in London for an annual conference, you would think he’d be all business.

Her movements changed, and my boredom shifted. I positioned my binoculars, hoping to continue what I had come here for. Instead, I saw the slow drop of the blinds covering my view, and she was out of sight.

Fucking hell!

I kicked the rock beside me in frustration, a stupid move as the pain ricocheted throughout me. God, you’re a fucking loser, Julian. Just like every other time I had done this, the lust was soon overcome by guilt. I was a sick bastard, and I knew the only reason I allowed myself to do it was because it replaced my addiction to cocaine.

Surely, stalking Charlie was healthier, right?

It was my perverse way of justifying what I knew deep inside was just plain wrong.

I hear the voice from outside the hall, and it sounds vaguely familiar. I stumble to the door wearing only my boxers and a wife-beater. As I peek through the peephole, I see the face. Scrawny looking with an odd blemish here and there. I rub my eyes—no way, this can’t be who I think it is.

“C’mon, Uncle Jools, open the frickin’ door!”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Reluctantly, I open the door to Tristan, my nephew.

“Tristan? Why and what the hell are you doing here?”

He barges in, throwing his duffle bag on the floor and placing a small bag that was draped over his shoulder gently on the coffee table. Oh, fuck no, duffel bags are never a good sign. They are the sign of a drifter looking for a place to stay. He can’t stay with me. I’m a nomad born to wander the earth alone. I enjoy peace and quiet. I can’t have a kid living here.

“Mom said you’ve gone off ya nut and need some company.”

He makes himself at home, sitting on the couch, placing his feet on the table with his hands behind his head.

I run my fingers through my hair to calm myself down, but, of course, it doesn’t work. “Tristan, you can’t stay here.”

“Why not? Place is big enough for both of us.” He lifts a magazine from the table and cringes. I’m not wrong in thinking finance literature isn’t his taste.

My place isn’t huge. It’s a one-bedroom apartment on top of some seedy massage place downstairs but it’s all I can afford right now. I’ve blown so much money on coke forcing me to downgrade luxuries like a secure apartment. It isn’t such a bad place, fairly modern inside but really cramped.

He’ll have to sleep on the couch.

What, so now you’re thinking he can stay?

“I don’t have time to take care of a minor, Tristan. I’m busy enough with work and… stuff.”

He will get in the way of your night activities. Find him somewhere else to stay, the sadistic voices in my head are screaming at me.

“Minor? I’m twenty-one. I’m old enough to drink, gamble, and root. I’m in California, the babes here are bangin’ hot! Just outside there was this blonde… she wanted to invite me in for iced tea and shit, but I swear… and I swear… she was going commando. Totally wanted to fuck me.” His Aussie accent isn’t lost on me, although his slang is.

“Tristan, why on earth are you back in the States?” I run my hands through my hair, bothered by his sudden appearance. “Josie wouldn’t just send her firstborn to her incapable brother. Remember the last time I took care of you? I almost dropped you on your head.”

“I was like a year old… that was so twenty years ago.”

I know my sister well enough to know she loves her son, and the thought of shipping him off would’ve sent her into a depressive spiral for days, not to mention Josie thinks I’m irresponsible with no future.

“Truth? Husband number four doesn’t like me.” There’s a change in the tone of his voice. His eyes shift toward the window, my cue to change subjects and make sure I make that long-distance call to Josie to find out what the fuck happened. Fuck, that asshole better not have laid a finger on him.

I let out a breath, not believing I’m allowing him to stay here. Where else can he go? I have been a lousy uncle, so I guess I at least owe him this.

As I continue to look at him, I notice how much he’s changed since Thanksgiving five years ago. Josie constantly emailed me pictures of Tristan when they moved to Australia because of husband number three. That ended like a bad train wreck, and so she moved onto husband number four. Tristan has grown into a man. Well, okay, maybe a man-child. He’s slightly shorter than me, his physique hidden behind a baggy T-shirt with the Green Lantern symbol on it. His hair is scruffy and untidy, the bleached blond making him look like an Aussie surfer, and probably why he’s sporting a tan as well.

“Okay, listen, you can stay here, but only for a couple of weeks, and I want to lay some ground rules.” Fuck, when did I become so parental?

“Deal.” He smiles.

“Number one… pick up after yourself. I don’t tolerate slobs.”

“Well, how do you explain your bedroom?”

“A momentary lapse of concentration that will not happen again.” No, Roxy will not happen again.

“Right, so you screwed your brains out with a chick who gave great head, but in the daylight, her face belongs on a wanted poster?”

“Rule number two… my life is private. You want to stay here, respect my privacy.”

“What are you hiding, Uncle Jools? Some weird BDSM fetish? Somewhere in here is a secret entrance to your cave?”

“Rule number three… please stop calling me ‘Uncle Jools.’ Fuck the respect bullshit. Yes, I’m your uncle, but Julian is acceptable.”

“Okay, well now my rule, and I only have one.”

“You’re kidding me, kid?” I have to laugh at this one. Tristan and rules?

“Actually, two. No coke in the house. I don’t want to find you OD’ing on some line you did.”

What the fuck? The nerve of the kid!

“I don’t do that shit anymore.”

“Well, you used to, so just don’t. Get some help or something.”

“And two?” I ask, annoyed.

“If I stop calling you ‘Uncle Jools,’ you stop calling me ‘kid.’” He holds out his hand to shake on it, something I reluctantly do.

“Great, now for the pièce de résistance.” He opens the zip to his precious cargo and reveals his PlayStation 4.

Video games?

Talk about juvenile.

The last time I played was Legend of Zelda back in the nineties. Right before Chelsea—don’t fucking go there, not now.

“Listen, ki… Tristan. I’m not a video game kinda guy. Since it’s your first day in Cali, how about we head down to Venice Beach?”

“Awesome, bro!”

“Yeah, awesome.” I shake my head before letting out a small laugh.

The first laugh I’ve had in months.

***

We walk along the esplanade, and like always, entertainment surrounds us whichever way you turn. One can spend hours here just watching the different acts desperately trying to drum up a crowd for a little bit of cash. People of all ages glide past us on roller-skates, some on Segways. Ladies in shorts and bikini tops will casually walk by, their sun-kissed tans and long hair shimmering in the sun. Tristan stops every so often, his feeble attempt to flirt with the hoard of girls, not that effective.

“So, you’re an Aussie? Do you know the Hemsworth brothers?” They giggle.

“Sure! Jason and Keith? In fact, I went to school with them.”

It’s cringeworthy. I don’t have the heart to tell him they are referring to Liam and Chris, but feel like I need to when they walk away in a fit of laughter.

“Snobs,” he yells out.

“Uh, kid… I think they were referring to Chris and Liam Hemsworth.”

“Don’t call me that, and who?”

“You know… the two Aussie actors.”

“Oh… Thor! I knew that. Mate, the women here are hot! Damn, I’ve been missing out on so much in boarding school…” his voice trails off as we walk past the weights area where Arnold Schwarzenegger wannabes are showing off and trying to be the next big thing.

“How do you think I can get guns like that guy?” Tristan points to a somewhat slim guy, though his forearms are nicely cut.

“Gee, ki… Tristan, you’ll need to start taking steroids or something. Have you even finished puberty?”

“Nice one… not! I might have to check out the local gym. You’re not bad, what do you bench?”

“I don’t go to the gym. I do weights at home.”

The gym is where you meet beautiful ladies who have a fucked-up past with a shitload of baggage. Lesson number one—the type of women who rip your heart out of your chest, stomp on it in front of your very own eyes, then throw it back in your face saying, “Ha-ha, loser.”

“Like Bruce Wayne?” he blurts out, followed by a chuckle.

“How original. I haven’t heard that before.”

“Really? Because you really look like—”

“Sarcasm, Tristan. Look it up.”

We walk a little further past the juggling performers before stopping at a coffee cart. I order an espresso and offer to order Tristan one since the kid looks broke.

“Coffee?” He raises his brow like I just asked him if he wanted a glass of cyanide. “Mate, that’s old people’s drink… I’ll have a milkshake.”

“Milkshake? That’s a child’s drink,” I mumble beneath my breath.

After grabbing his milkshake from another shop and my espresso, we find a bench to sit at looking out over the ocean. It’s a lovely day, as beautiful as you can get in LA. I’m still not used to all the smog, not when you’ve visited some of the most picture-perfect beaches in the world. Still, it’s a refreshing change to be outdoors.

“So, are you still a journalist?” Tristan asks.

“Yes… for the meantime.”

“Why the meantime?”

“I’m looking into other things.”

“Like?” He slurps on his milkshake, following it with a loud belch.

Jesus, no class.

Should I even bother going into my aspirations? He’s fucking twenty-one. His resume probably consists of a string of fast-food chains. I’m not used to these types of conversations with other human beings. After moving to LA, I struggled to meet friends, especially when I was so high on coke all the time. My dealer was my only friend, or enemy, whatever the fuck you want to call him. All my friends are still in New York living the high life I left behind.

“I don’t think journalism is for me anymore.”

It’s the honest truth, and it is something weighing heavily on my mind of late. The passion, ambition, and desire to succeed in journalism no longer ignites the spark within me. I’ve tried multiple times to put pen to paper. However, nothing but utter nonsense comes out. I have no idea why I told him I am thinking of changing careers. Maybe because there’s a part of me hoping Tristan can gain some sort of lesson from my mistakes.

“But didn’t you go to college to study that shit? Isn’t it a bit too late to change your mind now?”

“Perhaps… I don’t know.”

“See, that’s the reason why I didn’t go to college back home. What’s the point?”

“For academic reasons? To make sure you’re educated enough to follow a career?”

“I don’t need a career, I’m happy bumming it.” His response is so chilled, so absolute.

Great, I have a bum on my hands. Josie obviously thought dumping him in boarding school would work wonders.

He continues to ramble on about skateboards and competitions, but I’m distracted. I know what time it is—Thursday afternoon, four o’clock, and just like clockwork, it happens… she’s here.

Yes, there’s a reason why I suggested we take a stroll down to Venice Beach.

Charlotte’s with a woman who I often see with her, but I don’t recognize her by name. She has blonde hair and a stunning figure. They’re wearing their workout gear, Charlie’s stomach protruding from underneath the tank top.

I remember the moment I discovered it about three months ago. Her stomach popped overnight, and there was no denying she’s pregnant with her second child. I went on a bender after that, straight lines of coke every night and a mixture of pills. My dealer has practically moved in. The only thing that pulled me out of it was a warning I got from my boss telling me to get my shit together or I was gone. With my savings account drained, I have no choice but to stay clean.

To do that, I stalk Charlie even more.

It’s a vicious cycle.

One I know has to stop.

I simply don’t know how.

Placing my sunglasses over my eyes, I continue to stare at Charlie making sure she can’t see me. She‘s unbelievably gorgeous. Her hair is cut shorter, just touching her shoulders, and it’s tied back in a ponytail. She and the blonde do these yoga poses, and goddammit, there’s a lot of spreading going on. It’s like porn with clothes on.

I’m lost in my yoga fantasy when Tristan’s voice repeats, “Are you listening to me? ‘Cause you seem to be preoccupied with the brunette and that hot piece of ass next to her. I would have called the brunette a hot piece of ass, but it seems politically incorrect to call a pregnant woman that for some reason.”

I wince at his choice of words. “Do you always talk that way about women?”

“What way? Just pointing out the obvious.” He shrugs, still eyeing them. “How about I go say hello?”

Panic sets in. “No. No, don’t you dare. Plus, you need to stop hitting on women. You’re cramping my suave style. Anyway, we need to go.”

“Why?”

Why, Julian? Quick think of a fucking reason why.

“I’m taking you out to a Lakers game tonight.”

“Mate, are you serious? Fuck yeah, that’s awesome! I’ve always wanted to go to one.”

“Yeah, awesome…”