MANIC: Rook and Ronin, #2 Page 4

  For the first time I notice there's a whole team of people over on the other side of the room. There's also a massive bank of monitors, wires going everywhere, camera equipment, and microphones. I look back to the guys and Ford continues.

  "Each of you will have a team assigned. Antoine gets team one, Spencer gets team two, and Rook gets team three. I won't even tell you their names, they don't exist. If you need anything, you ask me. That guy over there sitting at the console"—I look and a big guy wearing a black Metallica T-shirt waves to us—"is our director, Larry. Larry runs pretty much everything but you three. You shouldn't ever need to talk to him, but he'll be talking to me to make sure we're making something people will want to watch when we're done."

  I stop listening after that. I just smile and nod. Uh, huh, I tell them. Sure, yes, I totally have it. No problemo. I'm in. Yes, sounds about right. I give Ford every meaningless affirmation I can think of because I do not give one stupid shit about this show.

  Basically what he said was, I have three dumbasses who get to follow me everywhere. Two cameramen and a sound guy. Plus Ford, because what kind of fun would this be if Ford wasn't tagging around all day long? Of course, Ford assures me he won't be around all the time—sometimes Antoine will need him or Spencer might have a question, but I'm probably the one who will need his guidance the most, you know, because of how young I am.

  He is such a dick.

  The only bright spot of this whole meeting is the revelation that my crew is not allowed in my apartment, but that's only because they have it all wired up anyway, so there's no point in cramming us all in that small space.

  When I'm all out of nods and Ford is finally tired of hearing himself talk, I am excused.

  By this time it's nine o'clock and Ronin never called me. And since Ford was so thoughtful this afternoon when he informed me I'm not Ronin's type, Clare is, I think the worst. I end the day sitting all by myself on my bed, literally huddled in the corner as I try to stay out of the camera. Tomorrow, I tell myself, tomorrow will be so much better than today.

  Today is just a day that had a lot of new stuff in it, a day filled with confusing things, so it felt weird and scary.

  But tomorrow those things will be less new, so I'll be less confused and it will be so much better than today.

  At least I tell myself that.

  But it's a lie and even my damaged psyche understands this, because tomorrow I will be naked in front of all of them and I'm sure, even compared to the whole groping experience I had with Billy that first time I did anything here at Antoine Chaput's erotic art photography studio, this will be scary as hell.

  Because this time I know exactly what's happening.

  And I signed on for every single second of it.

  Chapter Seven - RONIN

  "She didn't respond to the buprenorphine treatment."

  That's it. That's all this asshole doctor says. Like I know what the fuck this drug is and what it means that Clare's not responding to it. I want to punch his fucking face in.

  I take a deep breath instead. "Can you explain that to me? I'm not quite sure what it means."

  "Oh," he says with a smile. "Sorry, I just figured you'd be familiar with treatment. Sorry."

  I stop listening for a second because I'm pretty sure this fuckwad just insulted me. Just assumed because of who I am, I'd be a drug addict, too. Elise grabs my arm and shakes me.

  "… but she's a heavy user, so we think a long-term methadone taper would work better."

  "Right. So what's the problem? Put her on it."

  "She's refusing. She might need to leave. She's playing with us, Mr. Flynn. She thinks she can force us to give her euphoric levels of opiates to relieve her withdrawal symptoms, so she's refusing everything. She's thrown herself into rapid detox four times in the last two weeks, then accepts the methadone to come out of it, and it starts all over again. This is not what we do here. In fact, her manipulation is unacceptable."

  I rub my face with my hands. Now I just want to strangle Clare. "Where is she?"

  He points down the hallway. "Room 23."

  "Wait here, Elise." I disentangle Elise's clutching hand from my arm and head down the hallway. I knock once, then walk in.

  The TV is blaring People's Court and Clare is slumped over in bed, obviously high off her ass from a large dose of opiates. "Well," I say in a soft whisper. "It's gonna pretty hard to have a conversation with you if you're constantly fucked up."

  Her head slowly tilts in my direction. "Help me, Ronin."

  I sit down on the bed and push her hair away from her hollowed and black-ringed eyes and my heart hurts for her. This is so difficult, I hate seeing her this way. She looks nothing like the girl who came to live with us in tenth grade. All I see is Mardee, the day before she overdosed. Clare tugs on my heart in so many ways. It kills me to see her like this, but it's a pain that I'm ready to let go. I can't take it anymore. "I'm trying, sweetie. I'm trying. But you're being bad. They might kick you out and seriously, Clare. You can't come home if they kick you out."

  Her head rolls to the side and the tears spill out. "It hurts."

  I've never taken drugs. Like ever. I'm probably the only fucking person alive who's never smoked a joint. Hell, even Antoine and Elise toke up every now and then. But I've never had the desire. I don't understand this not wanting to get better. I'm clueless. I've read the pamphlets that tell me this is out of her control. Her body chemistry has been changed by the drug and she can't fight it. It's too powerful.

  But I still don't get it.

  "Clare, they're gonna put you on a new treatment and you will agree to it, do you understand me? I can't fucking take this anymore. Why do you want to be sick?"

  "It hurts!"

  "Yeah, that fucking sucks. But you know what? Who gives a shit? It's either take the hurt or die. Do you understand that? You either take it or die."

  "I'd rather die." And then she turns away and mumbles it again. "I'd rather die."

  She calls my bluff. Because I can't let her end this way. I can't.

  I get up and walk out, heading back towards Elise and Dr. Assface, and come in at the middle of a conversation about getting Clare to sign new consent forms. "Mr. Flynn, I was just explaining to your sister that if she had family members here to make sure she signed all the consent forms and followed the program, we'd consider letting her stay."

  Elise looks at me, her eyes pleading. "Please, Ronin. I've had enough. I can't watch another girl die from this shit. I can't do it." Assface walks off mumbling something about privacy and I run my hands through my hair as Elise continues. "I've seen too many girls go down this path, I've had it, Ronin. We need to make her get help. If we stay, she'll listen. We can drag her though this program, she'll get better."

  "And then what, Elise? When she gets back to Denver and she's got all her fucking friends taunting her with drugs? It'll start all over again."

  "Just let Antoine and me handle that part, OK? But I need you to stay here, Ronin. She's always listened to you."

  "Rook is just starting her contract, Elise. I can't stay up here in the Buttfuck Mountains. I need to get back, she's got a shoot tomorrow and I'm her manager."

  "Rook is not dying, Ronin. Rook is getting her picture taken. She signed that contract, you told her not to. So if she's big enough to make that decision, she's big enough to deal with the repercussions. Teach her a lesson about signing shit just to spite you."

  And Elise is right, of course. Rook asked for this, she wanted to do it. She made a big deal about it. It was her decision. "But she never really understood the deal, Elise."

  "Yeah, like I said. Repercussions for being stupid. Clare made stupid decisions too, and if Rook was in dire need, I'd say fine. Put her first. But Clare is family and she is dying, Ronin. If you walk away from her I'll never forgive you."

  And there it is. The ultimatum. Rook or Elise.

  And as much as I hate to do it, I choose Elise. Because what choice do I have? What c
hoice do I have? This tiny woman is my only true blood family left.

  Chapter Eight - ROOK

  Even though I woke up several times during the night remembering to squish myself up against the wall to avoid the camera in my bedroom, I'm ultimately sprawled out, ass cheek fully exposed from my crooked shorts in the morning.

  Note to self: Wear pants to bed from now on.

  I'm annoyed, tired, and in no mood to fight the pathetic excuse for a shower that is my claw-foot tub sprayer system, so I grab some clothes and head over to Ronin's apartment to take a shower in the Beast. It's early, barely five AM, but Chaput Studios will wake soon because these people are morning freaks. How in the world can Spencer be a morning person? I mean, I can see Ford getting up at the butt-crack of dawn, he's got one of those sketchy A-type personalities, I bet. But Spencer?

  Nonetheless, there are a bunch of people already in the studio when I enter and make a mad dash for the stairs that lead up to the apartments. I spy the camera crews and several of the guys—Team Rook, from the panicked look on their faces—scramble together their equipment.

  I run down the hall, press in Ronin's door code, and rush inside before they can catch me. It's stupid, I know, they'll get enough footage of me this summer to embarrass my non-living relatives from the grave, but I can at the very least have an hour of personal time with Ronin's better-than-sex shower.

  The control panel running the multitude of shower heads might as well be in French, that's how much sense it makes to me, but I push several buttons and enough jets come to life to manage a few minutes of relaxing hot water.

  I'm showered and dressed far too quickly, but the clock says it's been almost forty-five minutes, so I make my way down to the studio where everyone is standing around looking at me when I appear. They have a buffet table with food on it and just about everyone has a plate filled with fruit and pastries.

  Spence walks up to me and I try out a forced smile, so, so nervous about what's about to happen. "Hungry, Rook? Grab some chow and we'll get started in about twenty minutes. I've already eaten, so I'll meet you down in the art room, OK?"

  And then the only friendly face leaves me there, his camera team scurrying to keep up with him. Now I'm alone with Ford and my "crew."

  Ford smiles.

  I go grab a plate and pile on some grapes, because the pastries are apple and I hate apple pastries. I think they expect me to go chat with them, but I take my stuff outside instead. The air is still very cool and that is definitely something I enjoy about Colorado. The summer nights are almost never hot. I cop a seat at one of the picnic tables and don't look over my shoulder when the doors open and my team appears. They stand around me, one guy holding a long stick with a microphone on it, the other two filming.

  They don't say hi, and I guess that's normal, we're not supposed to interact with the crews. So I just ignore them and try to eat my grapes. The door opens again and I look back, hoping it's Antoine, but it's not. It's Ford.

  He bellows out, "Good morning, Rook! Ready for today? I can't wait to get started!"

  I bet he can't. I mean, he gets to gawk at my naked body all day, what's not to like?

  "Oh, and by the way, no sneaking off to Ronin's apartment. That's a breach of contract. If we had cameras in there, then you could go about your business, but Ronin refused." He gives me a shrug that says, sorry, out of my control.

  I ignore him.

  "Oh, come on. You have to talk, that's in the contract too. You agreed to interact."

  I get up, dump my plate into the trashcan near the door, then go back inside and make my way downstairs. The crew scurries along after me, but when I look back as I make the third floor, Ford is gone. I smile a real smile for the first time since Ronin left.

  Spencer is whistling as he sets out all his art supplies and he's got his own camera crew, so now we're eight people in this place. Spence catches me sighing and squeezes my shoulder. "Want some tunes, Rook? I like to listen to music when I paint."

  "Sure, put on whatever you normally listen to."

  "Comin' up." He plugs his iPod into a speaker tower and messes with it for a few seconds. "This is what I call my Gettin' Ready for Sturgis playlist."

  "Yeah? Who's on it?"

  "Oh, everyone good, man. Deep Purple, some Zeppelin, some Priest, Sabbath, Seger, Skynyrd… you name it, I've got it."

  I laugh. "I'm not really up on all the cool kids' music these days, but I know an old fart playlist when I hear it." His jubilant mood degrades into something somber, maybe even hurt—so I backpedal. "Uh, well, I like Freebird."

  He shoots me with his finger. "There you go, Blackbird. Freebird suits you. I'll put the whole Pronounced… album on."

  "Well, shit, that's like a whole day's worth of music right there."

  He laughs. "You're a lot smarter than you let on, Rook. Ford over there better be careful with his baiting."

  It takes all my self-control to ignore that creeper Ford. He deserves my undying indifference. "So Spence, how is it you're twenty-two and you still call it an album?"

  Lynyrd Skynyrd blares through the tower and Spence turns it down to a conversational level. "Twenty-three, but I got a vinyl collection that would make your grandfather cry, Rook."

  I sigh again. Thank God for Spencer. He's a good guy, he's easy-going, and he's happy. All three very good qualities when he's gonna have his paintbrush all over my body in like twenty minutes.

  "OK, you ready then?"

  I'm not really, but that's not the answer they're looking for. I try for words, I really do, but all I can manage is a gulp and a nod.

  "Here," Spencer says, holding out a short white robe for me. "Just go get undressed and put this on, and twist your hair up or something, keep it out of the way."

  I grab the robe and follow his pointing finger to a partition that has concept drawings tacked to it and is doing double duty as a makeshift dressing room for me. When I go behind it, I can still see everyone, and they can still see me, because this thing only goes up to my neck.

  "Well, that's not quite privacy, is it?" I say to no one in particular. Which is good, but no one in particular is paying any attention to me, except for my camera crew who seem to think they get to follow me in here. I smack the microphone away. "Get the hell out. You'll see my goods soon enough, you assholes."

  They back off, still filming, microphone hovering above.

  "Rook," Ford starts in, "I won't tolerate things like that. So please, just be amicable."

  Amicable, my ass. But he's right, it's not their fault I made a bad decision. "Sorry," I say as I strip out of my shorts and tank, tie the robe around me, then twist up my hair in a makeshift bun. I have sixteen eyeballs waiting anxiously for me, so I put on a brave face and step out from behind my partition.

  Spencer comes over and takes my hand. "OK, it's gonna be weird, I get it. But Rook, I swear, this is just a job for me. OK?"

  I nod.

  "Besides, today is the catsuit, so what I'm gonna do is spray you up in black, so even though you'll be naked, you won't feel naked. Once the paint goes on, Rook, it feels different. Trust me, OK?"

  "I do, Spencer. I trust you."

  He smiles. "Good." And then he turns and walks over to Ford and they whisper to each other for a few seconds. Ford looks past Spencer's head and eyes me suspiciously, then nods an agreement.

  "OK, both crews, let's take five. Rook," Ford says as he eyeballs me, "this is the only time we'll do this. Understand? The whole point of the show is to watch the girl get painted up naked."

  I say nothing because I'm not sure what he agreed to, and even if it's what I think it is, I don't want to let him know I appreciate that, because he's a jerk.

  When the room is cleared, Spencer motions me over to stand on top of a white canvas drop cloth and then turns to grab his airbrush. "OK, disrobe, girl. I'm ready. He's not gonna ask to come back in, right? He's just gonna have them sneak in. So how about you face the back of the room and I'll keep an eye on th
e door? That way, if they do their job right, you won't even notice when they come back in. Deal?"

  "Deal." I let the robe drop. I'm not as scared as I was a few weeks ago of getting naked—those last few TRAGIC shoots cured me of that—it's just I hate the thought of men leering at me in person. And I don't even have Elise here today to keep an eye on me. She was a big comfort through all the other shoots. And when she wasn't there, Ronin was. Now they're both gone.

  Spencer doesn't do anything stupid like whistle or even stare, he just primes his airbrush on a piece of cardboard, then begins spraying my body. I watch, fascinated at how my skin soaks up the paint. The mixture of color and air makes a cool breeze across my skin and I shiver, which is sorta unfortunate since I'm naked, but what can you do.

  I catch Spencer smiling as he takes note of my new perkiness.

  "So you are a man," I say with a grin.

  He looks up at me with a wink, but true to his declaration of professionalism, keeps his mind on his work. He asks me to lift my arms, and I do, but besides that he is silent. I stay still and he makes his way around me. Spraying up and down my legs, a few long swipes of air across my nether regions, which are smooth because Elise made me get a thorough waxing a few days ago. She even waxed up my arms. I'm hairless everywhere except my head.

  And then Spencer starts on my backside.

  It's not that hard really, and Spence was totally right. Now that my body is covered in black paint I don't feel so exposed. He kneels down and asks me to spread my legs a little, then his paint goes up and down my inner thighs.

  It's sorta erotic.

  In fact I have to bite my lip at this one and I am so glad I'm facing the wall, because Ford and the crews came back in a while ago. That's all I need—Ronin watching TV next spring and figuring out this was almost a turn-on. It's not really my fault, having my body all squirted up with paint is a new sensation, and it's getting done in front of a whole crowd of people to boot. Not that I'm an exhibitionist or anything, but let's be real.