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“Tomorrow?”
“I told you. You have your first shoot, for the client.”
“Right. So, what time should I be there?”
“How about ten?” Liam says. “That should give the makeup people plenty of time to prepare before the photographer arrives.”
“I will be there at ten.”
“Great.”
“I’ll send back the limo soon,” I tell him before he’s left.
“Take as long as you need,” Liam says and gestures to the driver. “Steven’s one of my best men. He’ll come pick you up tomorrow whatever time you give him.”
“You don’t have to do that, Liam. I’ll get my friend to drive me.”
“Nonsense,” Liam says. “I insist.”
I watch him go inside his impressive home.
“Where to, sir?” Steven asks.
I don’t know why but I find myself oddly dumbfounded. “You know how to get to Naples Avenue?”
“Of course, sir. I know the place.”
He starts driving.
“Thanks, Steven.”
“No problem, sir.”
The Philosophy of Fight
TEAGUE
I can hear the blood pumping in my veins.
My head is filled with fluid that’s swishing away inside my skull, ocean waves lifting me above it all so I see myself in the cage as though I’m a spectator even though I’m not…
Put two fucked up people in a cage who are angry enough or desperate enough to murder one another and all the crowd wants, is more blood. I’m not sure if I’m more disgusted by their primal blood lust or mine because I want the same thing. Only, I would appreciate if the blood flying about wasn’t mine. But these cage fights have taught me some things; mostly about myself, the rush you feel every time you realize you have the power to bring someone down, or the way it feels to have your blood be so hot that you can’t feel a thing—not until the adrenaline is gone and you’ve had time to recuperate. Then, it always hurts worse than it did any time during the fight but that’s why God created Vicodin.
Just like that, I’m back in my body, figuring out my next move because this is the last round and I’m worn out and I’m sure so is that other guy whose name I can’t remember—the only reason I remember my name is because there are people shouting it in loud voices like a chant… Teague Teague Teague Teague…
When my bare, raw and bleeding knuckles connect with the other guy’s face there’s more blood and there’s no way to tell if it’s from his face or my own hand because we’re already pretty messed up.
This fight, it’s like a drug.
More potent than anything I’ve ever had and trust me I have an extremely sketchy record when it comes to chemicals that make me feel good.
All I can smell is blood and sweat, all I can taste is blood and sweat…
And then something happens.
And I don’t know what it is but suddenly people are cheering and someone grabs my wrist and my arm goes up in the air.
