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“That was a lot of fun. We should go back there this weekend,” I suggest, still feeling the thrill of winning a million and a quarter Euros.
“We’ll see. They are going to keep my credit here until Monday. Maybe I’ll let you gamble with part of it,” he says, giving me the sexy smile that always sends a tingle down my spine.
“Need anything?” he asks after entering the suite. He stops and pours himself a half-glass of cognac.
“God, no. I think I’m already a little hung over from earlier.”
“Yeah, I have a headache too. It’s nothing that a little hair of the dog won’t cure.” He smiles and raises the glass to his lips.
“I think I’ll just have a big glass of water and get some sleep instead.“ I pour some sparkling water into my glass before joining him in the master bedroom. I’m not really sure what to do or where to sleep, but I really want to sleep next to him. Just in case this is my last chance to do it with a semi-clear conscience.
Trey
Plopping down on the corner of the bed, I look at my phone. I can no longer put off listening to Tyler’s messages. I think back to the last message that Dad left me. I really wish I hadn’t deleted it. I click on Tyler’s latest message and it begins to play.
“I know you are pissed at me, but this is so fucked up,” he slurs badly. “First Vanessa and now he’s taking over the company. I told Dad that Tommy was a fraud,” he says, his voice growing weak. “He’s such a fucking fraud.” The next sound is his phone hitting the floor with a thud and he lets out a huge groan as he apparently collapsed to the floor as well. He must have been completely messed up again. Looking at the time of his message, I try to figure out what time it would’ve been in New York. For fuck sake, it was only two o’clock in the afternoon. That’s not good. I glance down hypocritically at my own rocks glass. I was pretty fucked up by that time here too.
I click to return his call, but after several rings I just get his voicemail. “Hey bud, sorry I wasn’t able to answer your call. Everything will work out, bro. I’ll be back for a couple days early next week; we’ll figure it out. And yes, you still owe me that apology.”
“Is everything okay?” Mandy asks, coming up behind me and placing her hands on my shoulders.
“No. I have a bad feeling about Tyler. He was totally blasted at two in the afternoon. It sounded like he collapsed while leaving me a voicemail. I have this overwhelmingly sick feeling in my stomach.” I turn to look up at her. “I have to call someone.”
“Silvia or Vanessa?” Mandy asks, knowing that those are the two best options.
“I think I’ll start with Vanessa.” I punch her number, hoping that she will answer.
“Where are you?” she whimpers immediately upon answering.
“I’m in Monaco,” I reply, stunned that she wasn’t aware of the fact.
“Monaco? With everything that is going on, you go on vacation to Monaco?” she replies in an obvious state of exasperation.
“I feel like I’m in the eye of a fucking shit storm, Vanessa! I had to get out of the city to clear my head and figure things out,” I explain defensively.
“Well I hate to inform you, but we are all in this fucking shit storm together. The only difference is that you are the one who runs away every time things get a little tense. You are going to die alone, Trey, unless you start to man-up and handle things. You know Tyler has been having problems with his addictions.”
“I know. I talked to Mom about it.” I close my eyes and run my fingers through my hair.
“Silvia is drinking wine like it’s water and chain smoking again. She has a sixty four year old live-in boyfriend who she’s ashamed to take out in public. Do you think she’s the right one to talk to Tyler about getting his shit together?” She practically screams into the phone increasing the intensity of her rant.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I noticed that Mom was drinking again, but I guess I didn’t realize the extent of it.” I glance over at Mandy who has moved to the other side of the room to give me some space.
“You need to get back here and clean some shit up, Trey. At least clear your own name instead of letting the media speculate on whether or not you hired a hit man to kill your father.” She pauses, waiting for a response from me.
“I’ll be back in New York late tomorrow night,” I tell her. “I wanted to see the Grand Prix, but I guess that’s not in the cards.”
