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I shift in the most uncomfortable chair in the world. There’s a tiny upholstery nail sticking up in the back left corner. Been there my whole life, but the position of this family is it’s an antique, so we can’t play around with it. If they had this thing recreated not one person would know it’s not from the fucking Colonial era. Nobody’s listening to me today though, so nail in my ass it is. Everything in Boston is important and untouchable. Got it.
My father is blathering through his list of grievances about how my life has no measure. I’m attempting to not snap back at him. I need money and I won’t beg, but I will keep my mouth shut, let them think I agree with everything they’re saying,
“Your brother has it together, it’s your turn.” Nate is marrying a much younger woman, has two divorces under his belt and no discernible skills except beer pong. Yup, he’s got it going on. I give my dad a double thumbs up over my brother’s update.
My mother sighs from the corner. “Darling, look at Sweetie.”
“Are you saying I should get a life like my sister?”
My father blusters and his booming voice says, “She’s got it all, my boy.”
“Cool, I’ll just sign up for a lot of boozy lunches with charity groups, hire two nannies for my children and learn to plant a begonia. Sounds perfect.”
My father slams his hand down, and I nod knowing I’ve gone too far. Dammit. That was not the plan. Shut up, Zane.
“She’s happily married to a man with a secure job, three beautiful children, in a stunning home in a community to which she contributes something back. And has a part time job doing accounting for an animal shelter.”
There is no fucking way she does that.
All of this is to tell me, they get to keep drawing from our grandparents’ inheritance. I don’t because I don’t have third marriage looming or a country club membership.
My television show, Zane Unleashed, has a cult following, but I want to build a larger audience. I don’t have the funds to finish the back half of the season. We’re doing it on spec hoping the Applause Network greenlights us for next year and picks up our back end. We’re not on hiatus but pause. The current season is airing as we speak and doing well but they only have 10 shows. We could try and shop the show elsewhere but that’s an uphill battle. Entertainment based reality travel shows, if you’re not a celebrity, belong on the Applause Network next to housewives yelling at each other and boat crews in exotic places.
“Son, I’m sorry, but your mother and I are done with this. You’re almost 37 years old.”
“I’m 35 years old, Dad.”
“Enough already.” He waves his hand and it’s all very much a movie villain dad from a 90s film.
“I have a career.”
“You gallivant around drinking on camera.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a job. It’s a television production, where I own the show rights, I’m on air talent, responsible for the crew, and I produce and write.”
“You lose money on the show.”
I’m quick to answer, “The money you’ve provided supplements the budget constraints of a show like this. But if we get picked up by the network again with this new angle they’ll assume the costs.”
I pay my producer/director Liesel and her husband, cameraman, Bill, out of pocket right now. I provide their healthcare, their livelihood. I pay for our travel and production. We’re frugal as hell unless I can upgrade with miles but what we make from sponsorships doesn’t cover it. There are two new partners we just brought on but it’s a wait and see kind of thing. They helped finance the first couple legs of the shooting schedule but they need to see the cut footage before they open their purse more. It’s all on me.
“It’s helping me build a life.” I hate that word the moment it comes out of my mouth and I can see on his face he loves it, because I teed him up.
“You don’t have a life, you have a lifestyle. You have no roots. After your divorce you gave away your home. You only took luggage.”
“It’s excellent luggage. And I wanted to see the world.”
My mom stands in the corner with her arms crossed. “We showed you the world.”
“Through your lens, mom. Things you wanted to show us not things I discovered.” I attempt to explain but as usual it falls on deaf ears. Writing my show is the only thing that brings me peace.
Mom has shielded me as long as she could and now it’s apparently time. Or more specifically, my time has run out.
“Son, use your degree. You’re a brilliant tactician. A brilliant financial mind. The company needs you. It will provide stability, and a path forward. And only then, when we believe you have a path to a future, will we release your grandparents’ money to you.”
“It was my grandparents’ money, left for me for when I turned thirty. It’s not yours to lord over us.”
I feel it immediately, terrible thing to say. Jesus, Zane. I’ve been negotiating with him since it was an extra oatmeal chocolate chip cookie before bedtime and I know, when tempers flare, I never get what I want. Stupid. And I sound whiny and spoiled.
