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“Well, then you should always ask Quaid for a second opinion moving forward.”
“He’s not an artist.”
She practically growled Paul’s way. “Yes, he is. He’s a writer and a hell of a good one, but he hasn’t turned that into his whole identity. You have to be more than an artist. You can’t say you’re an artist so that gives you some free pass to do whatever you want. You’re also a son and a brother and a friend, and, Paul, you are also an addict. Say it.” Now her bad cop was coming out.
“I’m an addict. I will die an addict. I do not have to allow that fact to ruin my life. I have a disease and I can choose whether or not I give in to it.” He took a long breath. “Oh, I’m choosing it, aren’t I? I’m setting myself up to fail.”
He could learn. “Yes. You’ve put an enormous amount of stress on yourself, and it’s going to push you to the edge. I know you want everyone to see you as cured or something, but you’re not. You need to rebuild trust with them by showing them you are willing to put your recovery and sobriety first, way beyond your pride.”
“His name is Patrick Whedon. I’ll get you the information and the payoff amount,” Paul promised. “I’ll text him now and let him know he’ll have the full amount tomorrow.”
She breathed a deep sigh of relief as he brought his phone out. “I’m glad. This will put Quaid’s mind at ease. He wants you to be safe.”
“He wants me to be gone.” Paul’s voice shook a bit as he typed on his cell.
“You have to be patient with him.”
“I spent an enormous amount of my life making my brother uncomfortable. Shouldn’t I give him what he wants?” The sound of a text going out pinged through the car. “Shouldn’t I honor his wishes?”
“He doesn’t hate you. He’s scared of you,” she pointed out. “He’s scared for you, and he’s scared for himself at the thought of losing you. That fear comes out as anger. It usually does in men because you’re taught it’s not manly to be afraid or to have feelings that don’t involve lust or rage. Deep down he loves you but he’s afraid to feel it because if you die, he’ll have to feel that, too.”
“Do you think he still cares about me?” The question sounded like it came from a child afraid of being alone in the world.
But weren’t they all just scared kids who wanted to make sure they were worthy of love and care? “Yes. But you have to care about him, too, and part of that is taking care of yourself so he doesn’t worry.”
Paul sat back and they were silent for a few moments. Another ping signaled a text, and Paul looked down. “He said that’s fine. If he gets his money tomorrow, my luck should change. I always trust the wrong people. Like my production partner. That asshole did everything wrong and he’s still suing me to take all the rights.”
“Like what?” Her legal mind was whirling now.
Paul shook his head. “Everything. He was supposed to arrange for our insurance. He said he did and then I find out he never paid the company the premium. We did all thatwork and if anything had gone wrong, I would have been screwed. I still could get screwed if anyone found out about it.”
Jayna tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Is that in the contract? His duty to secure insurance for the production? It’s written into the contract?”
“I’m pretty sure,” Paul replied. “But I can’t out him for that because it would make me look bad, too.”
“Did he tell you that? Is that what he said?”
“Yeah. He’s right, too. Who’s going to work with me in the future?”
Oh, she was taking that guy down and getting Paul his rights back. “Everyone, because we’re going to prove that not only did you attempt to be the responsible one, he then attempted to blackmail you to cover his own dereliction of duty. If I get this right, I might be able to void that contract. I need to talk to some entertainment lawyers, but we might have a way out.”
“Really?” Paul sounded hopeful for the first time in hours.
“Really.” She would have to prove that Paul didn’t know it was going on during production, but she would bet these guys did everything through texts. “I’m going to need your text conversations with him and all your emails to and from him.”
“Sure,” Paul agreed. “You can have anything you need. I kept it all. My dad told me to always keep a paper trail, and at first I thought that meant I should print things out, but Quaid told me just not deleting things is enough. I keep everything. You might want to avoid any emails from a woman named Valarie. We might have been sending pics for a while now. You know. Fun selfies. Of parts that you probably should not see.”
“I will not open anything that looks like it might containa venereal disease,” she agreed, her outlook sunnier than it had been before.
“Jayna, do you think we have some time before Mom needs me?” Paul asked quietly.
“I think she’ll be with doctors for hours. Why? Do you want some food?”
“I think I would like to go to a meeting. I think I need to.”
There was always an AA or NA meeting somewhere. And they were heading into NOLA. She could find him one. “I’ll get you there.”
She drove through the night, certain she could make at least one thing right in her world. Whatever her world was.
