Page 78 of Sexy

“I’ll call ya later, OK, Sam? If he comes back—”

“I know, Fletch. Don’t worry. I called the guardhouse and told them not to let him in again.”

I let out a sigh and a little bit of the tension I’ve been wearing all week slides down my shoulders.

“Thanks for understanding.”

She gives me a weak smile and I figure that’s all she’s got right now, so I take it and make my way to the front of the house.

It’s a spectacular house. It’s not my accomplishment, so I’ve never had any reason to be proud of it. But I do love it. And I love that Shelly is growing up here. Just like me and Walker, only without the rivalry.

I don’t know why my brother hated me. First child syndrome? Jealousy of the new baby? But it doesn’t make much sense. How much jealousy is a one-year-old capable of anyway?

We are sixteen months apart in age. A fact that definitely contributed to the demise of my mother’s social life, and then later, her interest in life. She’s not even dead, like my dad. Just cut out of the family for lack of ambition after he passed.

I guess I can’t blame her. I see first-hand what having one kid does to Sam. Imagining her with two little ones that close in age is enough to make me cringe. It’s nothing against Sam at all. It’s just a lot of work taking care of one infant, let alone two. I know. I’ve been there.

So I can cut my mom some slack. My dad was more like Walker than me. Transient would be a good word to describe him. Ask any kid if that’s a good quality in a father and even an eight-year-old like Shells will tell you no.

I imagine her thinking that of me as I drive south along the lakeshore. It’s late afternoon now. I didn’t even get to stay an hour before I got called away. Does Shelly think I’m transient because I stay down in South Tahoe most nights?

I hope not. I do my best.

I lose myself in thought as the miles pass and the minutes tick by. I barely see the beauty of the landscape around me anymore. Tahoe is part of me. I don’t leave often. And the fact that Walker knew about my trips to New York and LA has me unsettled.

Does he know who I am?

He might. It’s not like I’ve been super-secretive about any of it. I just figured no one much cared.

But apparently someone does. And it figures it would be Walker. I imagine all the reasons why he came back. Money tops the list. But I don’t owe him shit and he’s not getting one dime out of me.

Sam is second on the list. And that’s the more realistic one, considering that the outfit he was wearing today must’ve cost him about five grand alone. He’s not out of money yet.

I try to imagine a scenario where she’d choose him over me and come up short. Sam would never do that. Never. She’s the most loyal person I’ve ever met.

But… she could. She could still love him.

And if she does, Fletch, then she does. You can’t change the way people feel about each other.

And that line of thought brings me back to Tiffy just as I pull onto Lake Parkway and wind my way past the golf course towards the Landslide, their bright copper towers gleaming in the late-afternoon sun. Blinding, almost. The perfect metaphor to describe what goes on inside.

Name your poison—gambling, drugs, stripping, sex—you can get it inside. Those guys at the tables tell themselves it’s their lucky day. They snort coke in the bathroom and stuff tips in the bras of the cocktail waitresses. Hell, I tell myself that shit too. It’s my lucky day every night I go out on stage and come back with a pile of money.

I pull up to the valet and leave my delusions in the backseat when I get out. It’s a job, Fletcher. Nothing more.

But Tiffy didn’t feel like a job last night. Tiffy felt like a possibility.

Just your delusional mind, trying to justify why you’re not a no-good piece of shit.

Whatever.

I stop by the front desk and smile at Kristen. She’s not too bright, but she tries hard to please and she always smiles. I like her for those reasons alone. “Hey, Kristen, you got a package for me?”

“Oh, yeah, hey, Fletch. One sec.” She finishes typing on her keyboard and then slips behind the partition that separates the front desk from the office. She appears again, barely a minute later, and hands me a thin box with my name on it.

“Thanks, babe. Oh, hey,” I say, turning back to her. “Have you seen Tiffy today?”

“Earlier,” she says, going back to typing on her keyboard. “Maybe a few hours ago?” She looks up and gives me a smile. “Not since then.”