Page 15 of Chained
“You bet! I own an apartment in New York City, a mansion here, and a sweet little place in Hawaii, on Maui. I just got back from Paris the other day, and tomorrow I’m off to fucking Tokyo, man. It’s crazy.” He shook his head in wonder.
“And Mr. Whitaker represents you, huh?”
Jayce’s smile widened, becoming almost manic. “Of course. He fucking owns me, right?” A bark of laughter. “He made my dreams come true. I can buy whatever I want. Get any chick in my bed—or any guy, for that matter.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I have my own goddamn paparazzi.”
Terry’s exhaustion had disappeared, and now he jiggled a leg restlessly. He feltgood. Strong. Invincible. He loved the music coming over the speakers—didn’t recognize it, but loved it—and he wanted to get up on a table and dance all night. Where was Edge? He wanted to dance with Edge. Wanted to howl at the fucking moon.
But somewhere in the back of his brain, he knew it was the cocaine speaking, and he tried to maintain his cool. “That’s amazing. You probably have to work really hard for it all.” Had he paused too long before responding?
“I work fucking hard, yeah. If you want to make it in this biz, you’ve gotta be ready to make sacrifices.Serioussacrifices.” He wasn’t smiling anymore, and there was something off about his expression.
“Like what?” Just a gentle push, because God, Terry really wished he had enough evidence to wrap this thing up and return to his ugly office downtown. He was done with Whitaker and his fancy friends and his fancy house and his stupid fuckingtests. Done with the entire state of California, in fact. He wanted real winters with snow, for Christ’s sake, and real people who weren’t the product of plastic surgery and the right mixture of drugs, and real dogs who wagged their tails and barked at squirrels and slobbered on you.
But Jayce was still there, wasn’t he? And he leaned in closer. “Gotta give up everything, man. Big fame has a big price.”
Now Terry recognized what was in Jayce’s face: a terrifying mixture of sorrow, despair, and fear.
Before Terry could find the right words to push some more without being obvious—without breaking Jayce, who suddenly looked fragile—Whitaker whisked Terry away. Off to the next producer, the next director, the next former ingenue grown brittle around the edges. The room had become oppressively hot, but Terry didn’t want to take off his jacket. Every sound rubbed at his skin like a cheese grater. All the colors looked too bright. His heart rattled in his ribcage, and JesusChristhe needed something to drink.
And then, just after he’d had too much, the guests disappeared. Notpooflike a magic trick, but melting like ice in springtime. Going, going, gone—until nobody remained but Terry, Whitaker, and the dog. Even the music had ended.
Whitaker gazed solemnly at him. “Who runs the world, boy?”
“Uh… politicians?”
“No. They pass laws, that’s all, and they’re slaves to the people who elect them and the people who give them money. If youreallywanna control things, you need a fat bank account and the media. Then you can tell the people what they want. For fuck’s sake, look at the last president.”
“Reagan?”
“Yeah, Reagan. He didn’t get elected because he was a brilliant fucking statesman. He bought that office with money and fame. Give someone celebrity and cash, and the rubes’ll vote him in every time.”
The coke wasn’t making Whitaker’s message any clearer. “Okay,” Terry said.
“I got money, boy. More than you can imagine. And movie stars? I got them too.”
Oh. “So you can run the world?”
Whitaker gave him a slow, thin smile. “Yeah. Or enough of it to satisfy me, anyway. The good news is, I’m willing to bring some people along with me. Take ’em from nowhere and give them their own little chunk of the world. Maybe you can be one of those people. But I have a price, and I ain’t talking about my commission.”
“What’s the price, Mr. Whitaker?”
“We’ll talk about it later, when I make a decision about you. Meantime, you think about how much you’re willing to pay.” He thudded Terry’s back with his palm. “Good night. We’ll chat later.” He whistled at the dog, who trotted over; when Whitaker strode out of the room, the dog stayed near Terry.
If he could have, Terry would have left for his apartment right then. But his car had disappeared, probably hidden away under the house, and the front gate was locked. He wasn’t certain Whitaker would let him out. But even if he had, Terry didn’t have enough yet to satisfy Townsend and the Bureau. He hadn’t collected all the pieces to the puzzle.
And then there was Edge.
“I hate this,” Terry whispered to the dog, who gazed at him.
Terry was able to retrace his steps to exit the house, which was good, because he didn’t see another soul. Except the dog, of course, who trotted at his side.
The outside air was blessedly cool, improved even more when Terry removed his jacket. While he was at it, he took off his shoes and socks, groaning with delight at the sensation of grass on bare feet. He headed toward the guest house, but when he reached the door, he couldn’t force himself to go inside. Too confining. Instead he dropped his shoes, socks, and jacket on a wrought-iron bench and, after skimming out of his trousers, abandoned them too. The dog looked at him askance.
“I’ll keep my underwear on,” Terry told him before taking off at a sprint.
He had no destination, but he needed to sweat the toxins out of his body and work off all the pent-up energy from the party. As he ran around the outside of the guest house, the dog at first seemed alarmed and stayed close on Terry’s heels. But by the third circuit, the dog had relaxed into a lope, and fuck, the beast finally lookedhappy. Panting, tongue lolling, paws beating an easy rhythm against the lawn. A full-speed dash for Terry was an easy pace for the dog.
Naturally Terry wore out before the dog did. He bent over, hands on his knees, gasping, near the front door. Even though his lungs burned and his muscles complained, he felt better by far than he had inside the big house.
