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Lance
The walk into the village was supposed to help clear his mind but it hadn’t worked because with each step he took away from the farm, the urge to turn around and march straight back and confront his dad, again, was overwhelming. Instead, he forced himself to keep going, like when he was a teenager and would storm out of the house in what his therapist termed a petulant rage, slamming doors and marching along the sidewalk. Back then his mom would always come running after him, saying she was sorry before giving in to whatever he’d demanded, as long as her baby boy came home. Glancing behind him Lance saw the grey road was empty and this only enraged him more.
As if his dad would ever come racing after him. It was more likely that when he got back and the negotiations resumed, Joe would give him one of his ‘when I was a lad’ lectures that frankly gave Lance brain freeze. And he really was sick of hearing what ‘my old mam’ used to say. Christ, he was like a broken record. He also did not give one fuck about his dad’s working-class roots, going to school with cardboard in his holey shoes or his paper round, or the outside toilet in the backyard. That sounded so gross, and Lance was both horrified by the thought of ever having to use it, and glad that his grandparents had croaked before he could meet them. No way did he ever want to visit their two-up-two-down terraced house and have to take a leak.
Thankfully it had been knocked down before he’d been forced to join Joe on a pilgrimage to his home city otherwise his over-sentimental dad might have bought the place and kept it as a stinky shrine. His dad had actually cried when he stood on the wasteland where his childhood home had been which Lance found embarrassing and so lame.
At least his Aunt Margaret’s house was decent, bought for her by his dad who was always generous where other people were concerned. It was in Cheshire in a good neighbourhood, or so his dad said. During the visit, Lance had tolerated his two cousins, a boy and girl two and four years older than him, who’d wanted to stay in touch. It had been a total drag, the correspondence to and fro, and soon wore thin because he had nothing in common and as far as he was concerned, never wanted to see them again. His dad and Aunty Margaret remained close so the whole family were regular visitors to France and of course, Wonder Boy Ace loved his northern family and even stayed when he went to visit his Facebook girlfriend, or whatever she was. Hangers-on, blood-sucking money-grabbing leeches, that’s what they all were, and they made Lance sick.
And so had almost every second of the trip to the north of England, being dragged around Manchester in the rain that never stopped the whole time they were there. He also hated going to the football match because his dad had bought tickets in the stands, not a VIP box, so Lance could experience the raw emotion of the City fans. It had been hideous. His dad thought it was cool, that nobody recognised him when they joined the beer-swilling louts at half-time while they ate their pies, never mind the swearing during the match and the ridiculous jubilation when they scored.
Lance hadn’t let on that he wanted to go home, and faked interest during the whole tedious father-son bonding experience. As far as he was concerned, the trip symbolised the sum total of their relationship because ever since he could remember, that’s how it had been between him and his dad, an effort.
Rounding the bend, the rooftops of the village came into sight and Lance hoped that the bar was open because he needed a drink so bad and imagined Nanou’s disapproving look if she caught him drinking at ten in the morning. Fuck her. She and that husband of hers were two more hangers-on, both treated like family not the staff who should know their place. His mother would never let one of her employees behave like those two did, eating her food and living rent free in the grounds. There was a line and those two crossed it daily so if he had his way, they’d be gone, just like Gus.
Hearing his phone ring, Lance pulled it from his pocket and even though the temptation to ignore it was as strong as his need for alcohol, he knew better than to reject a call from his mother so swiped, then attempted to sound pleased that she’d called.
‘Hey Mom, you’re up late. It must be 1am there. How’s it going?’
‘I can’t sleep so thought I’d check in and see if you’ve made progress with your father. Have you spoken to him yet?’ Darlene always cut to the chase, but only recently had she began treating Lance that way and her tone took some getting used to.
‘Yeah, I spoke to him and he’s mulling it over… It’s all good, everything is going to plan so no need to worry.’
‘Hmm, so you told him about how much you owe, and he’s going to give you a job? Because if he’s playing hardball he’ll have me to deal with. He needs to remember who his real son is and get his priorities right for a change.’
Lance began to perspire, and it wasn’t from the effort of walking because he was going downhill. ‘Mom, I told you, leave it to me. Don’t interfere, okay? I can handle Dad, but he needs to speak to a few people and…’
‘Is he going to pay your debts? Because I told you, Lance, I can’t do it anymore. This is the last season of the show, and who knows if or when I’ll get work so what I have I need for the future, and you need to learn to stand on your own feet. So, tell your father the goddamn truth today because I know when you’re lying.’ This was no-nonsense Darlene at her best and the harshness of her words made Lance wince.
‘Mom, please. I’ll tell him, just give me time, okay?’
‘You’ll lose your apartment. You know that don’t you? My lawyers can’t hold those guys off forever and if they get nasty, well…’
‘Mom, stop! I can’t deal with this right now and you know what happens when I get stressed so quit harassing me. Please, Mom, give me a break.’
When Darlene replied, her voice had softened a touch. ‘Okay, okay, but if you don’t speak to your father soon, and tell him everything, I will. Now I’m going to take a sleeping pill and I’ll call you later. All this aggravation is playing havoc with my nerves so for the love of God, Lance, sort it out.’
The call was disconnected before he even had a chance to say goodbye, and the lack of empathy or words of love from his mother struck a chord. As he entered the dreary village, the one everyone else thought was picturesque, Lance tutted his irritation. He really was stuck in shit creek and more than ever, after dear Darlene’s phone call, badly needed a paddle and that drink.
An hour later, he was the barman’s favourite new customer after sinking glass after glass of pastis before ordering a bottle of white wine. He’d paid for the Ricard as he went, intent on getting completely wasted, but had to keep checking he had enough euros in his wallet. The last thing he wanted was the shame of having to call his dad when he ran out of money which would be very soon. He doubted the cash machine would pay out and the thought of his card being declined or eaten made him cringe. The little bar in Herval was Joe’s local so imagine the shame if the son of their famous resident couldn’t settle his tab.
Lance looked around the room that was almost empty, save two locals who were watching horse racing on the huge television, in between sneaking glances at the miserable American in the corner. Most tourists would probably say that the quaint bar with uncomfortable wooden chairs that wobbled when you sat had character, whereas Lance thought it was the pits. The walls were a dirty cream, faded and patchy, with the odd painting hung here and there. Nothing remotely pleasing to the eye; a watercolour of the church or a ring of ancient stones, probably the ones at Carnac that fascinated his dad so much.
He’d never got why people hankered after what had gone before, yet Joe was drawn to relics from the past, the villagers included. Lance preferred the glitz of uptown clubs where everyone knew his name and Michelin restaurants where he and his mother, or actually, just his mother, got the best table. Not dives like this that served three courses of slop. He knew, he’d tasted it.
He’d also tasted the bitterness that failure brings, heard the slam of doors after another failed audition and the whispers as he passed by tables where he’d once been invited to sit and join the in-crowd. He hated to admit those days were gone, but it was a fact, and, as his mother had unkindly reminded him, soon, his apartment would be too. He’d already sold his car and anything of value like the Rolex his dad bought him for his twenty-first birthday. He’d loved that watch because his friends were bent out of shape with jealousy when they saw it.
Lance had well and truly settled into his maudlin mood, wallowing in his own pity helped immensely by his dire surroundings and as he poured more wine, focusing hard on not spilling a drop, he lamented his sorry, self-inflicted state. The lure of the three Cs had done for him… chicks, cocaine and casinos, in no particular order because each went in hand with the others. And what was even harder to swallow, worse than the fact that he couldn’t even get any pills to take the edge of his craving for the white stuff, was that his mother had finally pulled the plug. And now she’d refused to bail him out he badly needed a handout from his dad, and a job. The thing was, what could he do? He was, by his own admission lacking in the qualification department and no way was he getting his hands dirty. Why should he when his father was filthy rich and owed him?
What galled even more was that his own mother was about to feel the sting of the fickle world they orbited so a bit of humility where he was concerned wouldn’t go amiss. Yes, he was pissed with her, but Lance still hoped she’d find work because whatever she earned and managed not to spend would top up his inheritance fund nicely.
It was a waiting game really, wondering which one of his parents would go first because when they did he’d be set for life, especially if it was his dad. However, what to do in the meantime was a biggie and it had dawned on him as he sat in economy during the flight from LA to Paris, that Gus was the solution to all his problems. His job would be perfect, an easy ride with lots of perks plus the kudos of managing Joe Jarrett and best of all, he’d be in a prime position to call the shots whenever his dad croaked.
Even though Lance and Ace would inherit the lot, another hard and annoying fact of life, if he had to share the estate then no way was he letting that squirt muscle his way in once their dad was six foot under. Everyone knew that when a legend dies, record sales go through the roof and the thought of all those royalty cheques, and how much the song rights were worth sent Lance high without the aid of a single chemical. It was now clear Joe would never send Gus out to pasture so instead, Lance needed to persuade his dad to give him a chance, or at least get Gus to hire him and show him the ropes. That would be a start and once he was on the inside, he could take it from there.
The timing couldn’t have been more perfect because with Ace’s birthday approaching, it gave Lance time to work on his dad and then Gus when he arrived for the party. It also meant he could hide out at the farm. Then, once he’d persuaded them to hire him, he could relocate to the apartment in Notting Hill and live there for free, close to the management offices. It would suit him for now, to stay away from LA while the heat died down and he liked London, so it was a cool plan.
All he had to do was put up with Ace and whoever this girl was he’d gone to collect from the airport and ignore that old witch Nanou, and when Jenny flew in, keep out of her way. There was no love lost between them mainly because he didn’t fall for any of her peace and love crap, especially after she told him straight to his face that he was a cruel, mean, spoilt and talentless mommy’s boy. He also hated that his dad had let her get away with it, never mind the weird way they carried on like best of friends not divorcees.
