Page 2 of Corrupted Tyrant

“But those KEN showrunners, Sam Raskins…” He shakes his head, jaw clenched tight. “The way they treated you kids, tearing you down, warping your self-esteem…” He fixes me with that piercing stare, the one that makes me feel as though he can see straight into my soul.

I know what he’s getting at. The rumors about Raskins and the things that allegedly went on behind the scenes. Word has it that three of my former castmates have come forward on camera in that new documentary, Broken Starlets, but so far, I’ve kept my mouth shut.

Raskins was inappropriate with me. I don’t know why he never went as far as he did with my friends. Dumb luck, I guess. Maury has point-blank asked me about it more than once. I don’t think he fully buys my denials.

“It must have been hard to grow up and age out of kids’ shows. You basically lost your career at seventeen, but babe, you defied the odds! Made a U-turn, began a musical career, and were headlining venues by age twenty.”

He’s building up to something, I can tell. Buttering me up before he lowers the boom. He brings out the big guns as he sighs, his shoulders drooping. “Why are you self-destructing? How many of these public displays do you think you can weather before the public hates you? The drunk and disorderlies, showing your tuchus in front-page headlines, having an affair with a married celeb—”

“He told me they were divorcing!”

“It’s the optics, Candy.”

I bite my tongue, swallowing back all the things I want to say in my defense. He’s right and I know it. I’ve been spiraling lately, unsure of who I am or what I want. My music career is soaring, but I feel emptier than ever. I know millions would kill for my life. That doesn’t make it any easier.

“Do you want to know how many gigs you’ve lost in the last forty-eight hours?”

Shit! I knew my shenanigans lost me money at the box office, but losing gigs? This is catastrophic. My stomach was in knots a moment ago, but now it feels as though it’s whirling in a blender.

“How many gigs have I lost?”

“You had twelve on the books. All but two canceled. And those two? They’re only hanging on by a thread due to my sweet talking. Candy, you need to clean up your act… soon.”

“Are you going to fire me?” I wince as if I’m expecting a physical blow.

“Am I going to do what I promised to do the last three times you fucked up half this badly?” He exhales loudly, the sound harsh in the tense silence. I wonder if this is hurting him more than it is me. No. That’s not possible.

“One more chance, kid. I’m going to give you one more chance.”

Relief sweeps through me like a cool breeze on a scorching day. I’d been dreading this. Out of everything in my life, Maury’s my rock, my biggest supporter, my friend. I don’t want to lose him.

“I’ll stay with you, help you through this on one condition.”

My heart skips a beat as I wait for him to continue.

“I’ve hired someone. Half sober companion, half bodyguard, half drill sergeant.”

I don’t interrupt him to mention that’s one and a half people. I’m on a win and don’t want to spoil it with my smart mouth. Besides, this is new. Maury’s never taken steps like this before.

“Clean out your spare bedroom. He’s moving in. He’ll be your fucking shadow. No, not your shadow. Your second skin. 24/7 supervision, keeping you on the straight and narrow.”

The thought of some stranger invading my space, watching my every move, makes my skin crawl. But I know I’m in no position to argue.

“A live-in babysitter, huh? Sounds like a blast.” I try for glib, but my voice wavers.

Maury’s eyes narrow. “You should be thanking your lucky stars I’m not packing you off to rehab. This is your last shot, Candy. Don’t blow it.”

I swallow hard, the gravity of the situation sinking in.

“Okay,” I manage. “Okay. I’ll do it. Whatever it takes.”

“Good.” He nods, looking marginally less pissed off.

“Your new shadow will be here tomorrow. I suggest you use tonight to throw out all the liquor and drugs you’ve got stashed.”

I start to protest, but he puts one hand up in a don’t-even-start-with-me gesture.

“And for God’s sake, keep your pants on and away from the cameras.” With that parting jab, he heaves himself out of the chair and sees himself out, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the mounting dread in my gut.

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