Island of Despair

We sat there quietly nursing our drinks. I knew what Sal was thinking. Moreover, I knew what he was thinking with - his wallet. He had his sights set on another hit show. For some reason, he'd also decided I was a key to that success. The last thing he wanted was to have to go on the hunt for a new lead actor. Yet, I wondered if he'd had some heartache in his past that endeared him to me in this horrible situation. Sal was a friend and a good guy to have on your side in this town.

My visit the next day to my attorney didn't go as planned - or I should say, how I wanted it to go. He read through the postnup and set it down shaking his head.

"He's covered all the bases, that's for sure," he said in admiration. "That's why he's Charles fucking Wilmington."

"So, what's your advice?" I asked not sure I wanted to know. "What's our next move?"

"Next move?" he answered in a stunned tone. "Nothing - that I can think of anyway. He's put himself in a position of advantage, by putting you in a position of advantage. All you have to do is work, party, fuck around, get laid - discreetly - and when you're finished doing everything and anything you want, go home. There's no clause for breaking any of your wedding vows.

There's no clause for treating her like shit, inside the boundaries of the law, that is. On the other hand, if she fucks up, you get everything - everything in your marriage. I doubt she'd starve with a family like that."

"You're saying that I just have to sit back and take it?" I asked incredulously. My temper was rising by the second.

"I'm not saying that at all," he replied. "I'm saying that he totally overplayed his hand. Mr. Wilmington isn't the kind of man who does that as a mistake. He's pinned you into a marriage. In a house with someone you probably want to strangle at the moment. In effect, he's forcing both you and Maria to coexist - possibly to mature - at whatever level of torment you both choose. All of the guardrails are on her. She can't take the kid, or the money, and run. She can't get caught in the public's eye in any kind of scandal, sexual or not. She wants to get laid, she even has to give you advance notice, or she risks losing her son.

"You're not even a main character here, Chase," he said leaning forward.

"What?" I asked, my voice wandering.

"You're a prop, an instrument." He carried on, his face showing how he reveled in Charles' mastery.

"He's using you to make her see her bad behaviors. When my mother was seventeen, she and the guy she loved, had taken a break from each other for the summer. She got drunk at a party and had sex with some sweet-talking guy, and that guy happens to be my father. When it was confirmed she was pregnant, her parents forced her to marry my dad. They were not compatible. They had zero shared goals, plus my mother was heartbroken about what she'd done to that other guy she loved, and loved her. But my parents made it work. Dozens and dozens of horror stories where they almost didn't make it. They're only two years from their fortieth anniversary. They worked hard and made it. I'm not saying you should, just that it's possible."

I had to think about it. I didn't want to make it work. I wanted to kill them all, but I needed to get my head on straight. If Maria was truly at a disadvantage, then she'd find out quickly, and she'd be running to daddy, whining. But that wasn't accurate, I realized. Daddy had already laid down the law for her.

I finally decided that Sal's advice was best. I needed to get even with dickhead Bronson first. I needed to get my man card back by dealing with Dak and then probably by getting laid. Charles threatened him concerning child support. Knowing Charles, he'd probably bankroll Bronson if he ended up an unemployed actor, or worse. And, he would, if I had anything to say about it.

That first month on the home front was stressful. An icy hue had transcended a once happy marriage. Maria tried, but I was of the mind that she was simply practicing her acting skills. If she asked me to do something I had no intention of doing, I yelled at her. If she asked me to do something that had once been a given in our marriage without asking, I yelled at her. She became quite frazzled, and I became miserable.

As a result, I spent much of my time at the local watering hole.

That put me in a position of being around some very attractive southern California women, who clearly wanted a celebrity notch to describe in their diaries. The three times I took advantage, I was already pretty drunk, and the sex was not memorable. Being careful, I'd meet them at the hotel a few blocks away. I actually felt guilty after the first time. Perhaps it was my conscience, telling me not to behave like Maria.

I began to spend more time at home after that first month. Maria was kind but also gave me a wide berth on days when I was especially angry. It was like we were both learning and practicing a new dance. Matthew needed plenty of his mother's attention, and those multiple interruptions kept Maria and me from even having a meaningful conversation.

Near the end of month two, I got the call from Sal and went straight to the studio. That night, I sat in the living room reading the pilot. Maria nonchalantly asked what I was reading. She knew it was a script. I put down the booklet and looked at her.

"My new part," I told her.

"Sal has a new bit for me. It's the lead in a new TV drama, and no one else is in the mix."

Maria perked up and asked a few more questions about the role. Finally, she wanted to know when shooting began and where.

"The urban scenes," I said, "are being filmed in Atlanta. If all goes well, I'll be leaving in three or four weeks. We'll make sure we've got a reliable nanny situated by then. That should give you... some time to find... you know, some relief."

It took a minute for Maria to understand what I was referring to. When she finally did, she flew out of her chair and ran to her room, sobbing.

Of course, Maria's father called me the following day, to chew me out.

"Chase," he got straight to the point when I answered, "I was very kind in my proposal - much more than I wanted to be. Stop treating my daughter like shit. I'm only telling you once. Next time you'll be introduced to a few new guys on my security team. They'll help you 'understand.'"

"Fuck off, Charles," I spat into the phone. "I went along with your bullshit scheme. That doesn't mean I have to like it - or her."

"That's exactly where you're wrong," he stated emphatically. "Don't test me, young man." I heard the phone slam down disconnecting the call. The old bastard still had a rotary phone, I guess.

Dak's first several payments had been made - in my name no less. I heard through Sal that he'd been offered a small part in a new reality show, but somehow, he didn't make the cut. That was code for 'Sal took care of it.'

On the home front, I didn't apologize to Maria, but I did try to treat her better. That proved very difficult for me, considering she was constantly trying to make conversation, and often would ask when I was going to be... done being mad at her, done shutting her out, and done sleeping separately. On the last night before I left for Atlanta, Maria came into the spare room where I was sorting out my clothes and finishing my packing. I looked up at her, only to find a stark naked beauty hanging onto the door frame like it was a brass pole.

Had I not been going without, I would have told her to fuck right off. As it was, getting laid in Atlanta was a main priority. I laughed a little sarcastically at her attempted seduction, and her smile turned to a frown.

I only nodded towards the bed, directing her with my eyes. As desperate as she was, the nonverbal hint was enough for her.

She moved to lie on her back and spread her flawless legs as I moved my suitcases. I looked down upon her for a moment. Maria watched expectantly, and I signaled for her to spin around on hands and knees. She seemed disappointed, but tough shit - I didn't want her to see my disinterested face. I fucked her with a great deal of force, sweat framing my brow. Maria took it, without protest, I'll give her that. As soon as I finished in her, I went into the bathroom to clean myself. When I came out, Maria was gone. I guess she'd had ideas we might cuddle afterward.

In the morning I had a quick bagel and OJ, before heading out. Maria never came downstairs. While waiting for my flight to board, I received a text from her. Couldn't even say goodbye?

I texted back that I didn't want to wake her. We both knew that was bullshit. My first day was a waste of time, as the crew hadn't had time to sort out the best angles to film the building that was supposed to be my law office. The end of the day more than made up for that, when Sal introduced me to my PA.

"Chase Burroughs," Sal said by way of introduction, "This is Jas, pronounced 'jazz.' Jas, Chase Burroughs." The shit-eating grin on her face, and his, told me she might already know what the job entailed exactly. Jas was an exquisite woman - classy in her dress and appearance, but dripping with outward sexuality. I'm no fan of gigantic breasts, and hers were large, but at least they were proportionate to her nearly six-foot frame. Her brunette hair was shoulder length and shined like a new penny, accentuating her dark brown eyes.

By the fourth day, we had the real sets ironed out, and we'd filmed the show intro - me driving a Porsche Carrera in the downtown area, walking an urban street, in my expensive suit, and carrying a briefcase - the weapon of any good attorney. At night, Jas and I would go out to dinner with other cast members and crew. But that night, it was just Jas and me. When I asked if she wanted to go to a club after dinner, she shocked me.

"How about we just go to your suite?" she asked with a sweet smile and a tilt of her head. She'd been given her marching orders and no doubt by Sal, himself.

As we stepped into the elevator back at our hotel, two large men came aboard with us. I didn't like the looks of them from the get-go. They said nothing until Jas and I both exited on my floor. Jas's room was two above mine.

"Mr. Burroughs," one of the large men said, "Mr. Wilmington would like a word with you, sir." The request wasn't framed as a question. Jas looked worried, but I knew what this was about, and I was furious. I should have at least considered that Atlanta was in Charles's home state.

"Jas," I said, turning towards her, "Go on up to your room, and I'll call you in a bit." She nodded, still looking concerned for my safety. I kissed her on the cheek and headed back down in the elevator. I thought about trying to rattle the two goons, but I just wanted this over so I could get back to Jas.

"This better be good," I said to either of them. They never flinched, maintaining their gaze on the elevator door. I followed them to the lounge, as they book-ended me, and they set us up at a booth near the rear of the bar. Goon One pulled out his phone and tapped his screen then laid the device on the table in front of me. Charles's face filled the screen. His tone was hushed but direct.

"Good evening, Chase," he began, without waiting for a response. "I'm sure you know why we're having this little chat."

"No idea," I cut him off. "But your timing couldn't have been worse."

"I'm sure," he cleared his throat. "Chase, do I need to remind you, perhaps have one of my associates reread the agreement we signed?"

"I don't think so," I snarled. "Are you implying I've somehow broken it?"

"No," he said leaning in closer to the camera. "But you were about to."

"I see," I mocked, "seems to me, I was about to do one of the things expressly laid out in our agreement. Why are your fucking clowns following me, Charles?"

"Language," he scolded. "You were about to break a clause. The agreement explicitly says 'discreet.'"

"I was being discreet, asshole." I was fuming now and I could not curtail my bitterness. I laid into him about watching me and told him he could jam his postnup up his gold-plated ass. Charles seemed unaffected, staring stoically as he let me vent.

"Discreet," he replied when I ran out of steam, "means discreet, Chase. If my guys feel like others can see and draw conclusions - you know paparazzi types - they let me know. Understand me, boy, your discretion is at my discretion. I don't like your PA, either. I've done a background check on her. Tell your boss to get you a new one, or I'll speak to him myself. I figured you for a smarter man, one who knows his limitations when it comes to me."

"And you're starting to piss me off, Charrr- els," I vehemently replied. "Go check up on your slut of a daughter and stop trying to run my life. I told you this wasn't going to go the way you wanted that day in my living room. I'm Chase fucking Burroughs, and I've got enough juice to hold you off. I signed your agreement, thinking you might play ball and be fair. Now I see, you just get off manipulating people.

"You want to learn some hard lessons, Charles? You think you're winning this game? You don't even know the rules, but I'll happily teach them to you."

I felt something being pressed into my chest, under my arm, and everything went black. At some point, later, I woke with a start, flailing about in the hotel pool just off the lounge, with all my clothes on. I tried to scream for help, but no sounds came. One of Charles's security guys pulled me up to the side, and then out of the pool. I was carry-walked to the hotel's delivery entrance and then whisked into the service elevator. I started to regain function as we reached my floor. That's when I began to struggle. Goon two held me in a bear hug from behind, as goon one used the keycard on my room door. I was tossed to the floor, as they entered and quickly closed the door behind us.

Fearing for my life, I stood, ready for a fight to the death. My first feeble swing was easily deflected and the return volley landed hard against my left kidney. I immediately went down. Then I felt a swift and sturdy kick to my right one. I rolled around in agony and took a shot to the balls as icing on the cake.

"Mr. Wilmington wanted you to know," goon one told me, "it's his game and his rules. Don't leave your room until morning." One of them tossed the keycard onto my prone body and they left. Eventually, I crawled to the bathroom and into the shower.

Looking in the steamy mirror afterward, I realized just what kind of beating I'd taken - one that left absolutely no marks. I still didn't know if they'd used a stun gun initially, or a Taser. There weren't any holes in the skin near my armpit, so it was probably the latter.

The next morning found my lower back quite sore. I made my way gingerly down to the studio's private breakfast buffet. When I didn't see Jas, I texted her but never heard back. I was starting to seriously worry about what Charles was capable of, beyond fucking me up, of course. Still, Jas could have just been mad that I didn't call her as promised. One of the admins came up to me while I was eating and told me to stop by Sal's trailer before going to the set.

As Sal saw me coming through the door, he motioned for his two assistants to leave. Once everyone was gone except the two of us, he offered me a coffee and sat me down. I did that with great discomfort too.

"Jesus, Chase," he asked shaking his head. "What happened to you last night?" I spent a few minutes telling him exactly what happened.

"Listen to me," he ordered. "Jas is finished. I had to let her go early this morning. I..."

"What the fuck Sal?" I stammered interrupting him. "Why would you do that?" I could tell by the look on his face that I didn't want to know the answer.

"This Wilmington," he continued, "he's so far up your ass, you're gonna need a colonoscopy to get him out. I was on the phone with the Governor... the fucking Governor of the great state of Georgia at six this morning. He let me know that it had come to his attention that quite a few of our permits were not in order and that he'd be sending some people to all the sites. I was about to defend our process when he took a breath and said, 'If you remove Chase Burroughs PA, don't hire another, and keep him on a short leash, I believe I can look the other way on this.'

"Fucking Wilmington golfs with this guy two or three times per month. They're interwoven into each other's jock straps. What's that saying - a stitch through the timeline? Like that."

"English, Sal," I raised my voice, "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about!"

"This guy," he retorted now with frustration flowing from his features. "He wants a piece of your ass - bad! He's got a shit ton more jizz than anyone I know. Connected in this state, in DC too. He's got the governor in his pocket.

"Here's what's happening now, Chase," he continued. "And don't get upset. I'm hiring you a security team, with the money I'm saving on a new Jas. You're my biggest asset on this project, so it's warranted. I don't want to see you on a stream or social media in the company of a woman. Understand? I'll have to cut you loose, and that will be you breaching your contract. You need to do your job, forget about your personal life - this fucker - and Maria too. Lay low for at least a few months and put everything into this show. I need you. I've got a lot riding on this. And whatever you do, don't piss off Wilmington."

After a ten-hour day, and a walk-through for a good portion of the pilot, I was beat. I'd borrowed some painkillers, and just before going back to the hotel, I'd borrowed more. After dinner with the crew, I went to my room. I decided to check in with Maria, realizing that I'd need to at least stay in touch if for no other reason than to possibly stay a step ahead of her father.

"Hello, Chase," she said jovially, "it's good to hear your voice. How's the show going?"

Funny, she didn't ask how I was doing. I ignored her stupid question.

"Oh, I'm just great, thanks for asking," I deadpanned. "Let's see, last night I was tased, then beaten by your dad's henchmen right here at our hotel. So, I'm doing just peachy."

There was a lingering silence on the other end, and then, "I'm sorry about that Chase." She said sadly. "I talked to daddy this morning and he told me all about it. I heard what you said to him as well because he recorded your conversation. Just so you know, I begged and pleaded with him not to do that again, even though I was irate with what you said about me. He promised me that he'd taken steps with the studio so that wouldn't have to happen anymore."

This fucking family, I thought. Damn, I was going to get my revenge on them, one way or another. I might even be prepared to die doing it.

"I see," I said sternly. "So, have you gotten into trouble yet? Let me guess, daddy is probably looking the other way. Have you been fucking Dak in my absence, or is it someone else?"

"No, Chase," Maria said in almost a whisper. "I've learned my lesson. I want you, and only you. Sure, that sounds like a script in a cheap Hallmark love story, but I'll keep reminding you for as long as it takes. I know you're still mad, and I know you well enough to know that you'll likely be that way for as long as it takes for you to either work through it or to get even. I'm going to help you, tonight at least, to start doing that. I'll wait for you to get home, and then you can pound me into the mattress like you did the night before you left. I'll take all the punishment you want to dole out, but please, stop playing games with daddy. We both know he doesn't like you at all, and if you give him an excuse, I'll... well, I don't know what I'd do without you."

God, she was delusional, among other things. Still, her cryptic warning about her father was probably right on the mark. I told her that I'd keep in touch briefly if I survived her father's wrath. I knew she was upset that her impassioned little speech hadn't softened me at all, but I'd already stopped caring.