I drink some more whisky. The bar is getting busy as all the suits head out for a drink on their way home from work. I want to discuss whatever Jack brought me here for before it gets too noisy.
“What’s going on, Jack? What did you want to talk with me about?”
He eyes me over the rim of his glass and takes his time drinking before he replies. “I’m going back to the States.”
Worry hits my gut. “Why?” That’s the last place he needs to be now.
“I’ve found a new manager, and she wants me back there. She’s got some scripts for me to read. She also wants me to fix my public image, so I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me. I need to get back there and start on that.”
“What kind of work?” I know exactly what kind of work he means, but I want him to say it so I can bring up my reservations.
“Fuck, Ashton, you know how this goes. Don’t give me hell over it.”
“Yeah, I know exactly how this goes, Jack. You make appearances everywhere and schmooze with as many of the players as you can. Parties, events, premiers, anywhere you can go. And eventually that leads to drugs and alcohol, and you’re right back where you are now, only worse, because you never finished the work you’ve started here. Why would you do that to yourself?”
Anger flashes across his face. “Because it’s my career.”
“And here I was thinking you wanted a break from that career. What’s changed?” I’m angry, too. But even more than that, I’m worried as hell for my friend. This is the absolute worst move he could make right now, and I’m fairly certain he’s not going to listen to my concerns.
“It’s what I live for, Ashton. If anyone can understand that drive, I would think it should be you. You live for your work just as much as I do.”
“I do understand that, but why can’t you take the time to get your health under control before heading back to work?”
He shoves his fingers through his hair, and I notice how shaky his hands are. Fuck, he’s worse than I thought.
“I need this. I’m going crazy not working.”
I lean forward. “You mean you need the attention? Is that it, Jack?” I know I’m being a bastard, but I’m struggling to keep my calm.
He finishes his drink and slowly places his empty glass down as he stands. The hurt in his eyes is clear to see, and I regret my choice of words. “So I like the attention. I wouldn’t be able to do my job if I didn’t. But besides that, I want to be back working. I’m lost without it. And fuck you.”
He walks out of the bar, and I resist the urge to follow him. It’s the last thing our friendship needs right now. Jack might be in desperate need of help where his health and addictions are concerned, but at some point, I have to let him realise that himself. I think we’ve reached that point, and it fucking kills me to watch him harm himself in the way he is. All I can do now is pray that his fall isn’t as hard as I suspect it might be.
* * *
“You’re so tense,” Lorelei says an hour later while she massages my shoulders.
I arrived ten minutes ago, and once she saw how tense I was, she dragged me into her lounge room and ordered me to sit on the floor while she sat on the couch and massaged me.
“Jack’s going home.”
Her hands stop moving for a moment before she resumes working on my knots. “Why?”
I fill her in on everything he told me. I’m wound even tighter than I was when I spoke with him, and the words fall out of my mouth. It’s unusual for that to happen. I’ve never dated a woman I’ve shared such personal stuff with.
When I finish, she leans forward against me and glides her hands down over my chest. Her head rests on my shoulder, and she says, “I’m sorry this is so hard for you.”
I wrap my hands around her wrists and turn my face so I can catch her lips in a kiss. When I end it, I say, “You should come and sit on my lap and let me work my stress out with you.”
She smiles. “That didn’t even sound bossy.”
I return her smile. “I’m trying.”
“You know, I think there are definitely times when bossy suits you better.”
“You want me to be bossy, Lorelei?”
“I’m not sure. I’m still deciding. I mean, I don’t want to encourage bad behaviour.”