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CHAPTER ONE
REID
People suck. Period. If I weren’t America’s most eligible gay playboy, I’d probably recluse at home and never leave. But turning into a shut-in isn’t entirely possible when I’m expected to appear at all of Hawaii’s high society functions. Basically, four to five nights a week.
My head shakes at the latest headline to swarm social media from a rag site called Sploosh, getting every fucking detail wrong about me imaginable.
HOTEL HEIR, REID FAIRCHILD, JOKES ABOUT SELLING HIS BODY ON ONLYFANS TO BENEFIT DILAPIDATED SCHOOLS IN AFRICA—SAYS HE ISN’T SPENDING A DIME OF HIS OWN FORTUNE.
Grrrr. That’s not what I said at all. What I said at actress and human rights activist, Cherry Truman’s party last week was,“our publicists would have a field day if they found out we pondered starting an Onlyfans.”In no part of that particular statement did I allude to any charitable organization benefiting from such a thing. These gossip sites thrive on twisting the truth every fucking time.
What conversation did spark four minutes later, was if I’d be willing to join her cause, where my answer was a resounding commitment. I replied,“I might run this past my board of directors at Fairchild Resorts Group to see if we can make this a corporate venture.”
The tabloid site would also be pleasantly surprised to find out that I wrote a personal check in the amount of ten-million dollars to the ‘Save Education United’ fund. Check number #1213 to be quite precise. I’m willing to bet that they don’t care, neither have they ever. If they actually had to stop cutting public figures down to size, they’d sooner stop reporting on fake journalism altogether than to publish anything worth reading.
Speaking of publicists. Veronica is on the other end of my speakerphone, inches from my hand as I finish scanning a business proposal. Something our board of directors is expected to come up with a decision on by Monday. And because I’ve been out on the town every night this week, I haven’t had the time to complete this sooner. Much less spend a solitary hour in my meditation room.
“I’ll set the record straight, Reid,” Veronica says. “Nothing to worry about here.”
A sigh falls from my lips. “Thanks doll,” I reply, relieved as all get out.I don’t fucking need this stress right now.“I have to hurry and finish reading this document for my meeting on Monday, so I’d better let you go.”
She practically screams through the telephone. “You’re gonna be late for Jimmie Lein’s benefit tonight!”
“He’s gonna have to get in line,” I bite back. “This takes precedence—I’ll get there when I get there,” I stammer breathily.
Our call wraps soon after Veronica finishes chiding me for not following my schedule so closely.I suppose it’s a good thing I don’t have a boy in my life to occupy more of my time. Otherwise, I might never get anything completed at all.Ten pages remain in this proposal, and I’ll be afforded just enough time to shit, shave, and shower. Precisely in that order.
Time passes quickly, finding myself within the conclusion.Projected profits, yadda yadda yadda—looks fine. Whatever.I’ll put my stamp of approval on the Turnkey Investments proposal, so long as it makes us the shitload of money that Scoval Holdings Corporation promises in a subsidiary called'Turnkey Investments Group.'Father would be disappointed I didn’t inherit his business acumen. Since I hardly know how to balance an account ledger, most of this corporate jargon honestly goes right over my head.
Scurrying to my master bathroom leaves me wondering how the rest of the board will vote. Apparently, our entire corporation will be required to take part in finding tertiary investors or some shit like that.Seems straight forward enough.At least this is one thing my late father would be proud of me for, making the company fatter stacks. I’m willing to wager the board is committed to the same goal.
A quick dump and fast once-over with my beard clippers allow enough time to prepare for the fastest shower I might have taken as of recently. I’m such a fan of water, so they’re usually a whole experience for me. The longest shower I’ve ever taken was an hour.And I didn’t regret using the entire canister of L’Occitane moisturizer I had to slather all over either.Blanche on The Golden Girls is correct when she told Dorothy that beauty doesn’t have a price tag.
“Alexa,” I shout to the device on my bathroom vanity. “Play‘Reid’s pumped up jams’on Spotify on‘upper-level group.’”
The only bitch after my own heart responds to the command, as I strip from my joggers. Music from the playlist swims at a loud enough volume when I file into the spacious shower made from black slate. “HandClap” by Fitz and The Tantrums accompanies me as I graze a soapy loofah from one shoulder to the other.
This is the only kind of music I listen to, besides Tibetan bowls or frequency vibes in the meditation room. I’d risk having my gay card revoked if my ears are ever forced to bleed from Britney, Mariah, or Whitney.Okay, I digress.Taylor is definitely the exception because I applaud her ambitious spunk. If my father would’ve known her, he’d be forcing me to tear a few pages from her book. Another high tempo dance song plays, all the while I finish lathering conditioner in my hair.
I’m not looking forward to this benefit. There must come a day very soon when I can sit on the couch and cruise Grindr in front of a Schitt’s Creek marathon. Actually, it’s not so much a benefit as it is a silent auction on wigs and garb worn by the elite drag queens of our time. Of which, the proceeds will be donated to an organization focused on preserving the rights of drag queens from here to Miami. Especially Florida.Fuck that guy!
* * *
Jimmie lives among other famous actors in the Waikiki Winds Estates of Oahu. I glance at my watch, its sheen glinting from a ray of sun peering in from a window on my jet.Fuck. Veronica was right. I’m definitely gonna be late.My main residence in Lahaina is a six-thousand square foot abode set on just shy of ten acres. Bouncing from island to island is second nature to many busy people down here. The other thing I’m used to is frequently being late, since most of these jumps from island to island are still twenty to fifty minutes long in one direction.
At least I have a few minutes to find some solitude from here to there. I thumb over to the Headspace app, settling on some calming sounds to give every nerve in my body some reprieve.I’m not going anywhere tomorrow. And that’s a promise.The world is going on‘Do Not Disturb’mode once I return home by the early morning hours tomorrow. Jimmie’s shindigs are never short, because he can’t seem to ever shut up long enough for anyone to get a word in edgewise.
No sooner do I lock my phone screen to shut my eyes, when the device buzzes in my left palm. It’s a Google Alert which I keep forgetting to remove.If I had any fucking time to myself, I might be able to remember shit like this.The alert is about my ex-partner, the young prick who ripped my heart into pieces after I found he’d been cheating on me with half the gay population of Honolulu. To be perfectly honest, there are occasions when I find these alerts useful. And this is one of them.
ACTOR WADE LEARN TO STAR IN NEW BLOCKBUSTER HIT—“HARD MEDICINE” BEING FILMED IN MAUI, HAWAII MID TO LATE JULY
Fuck. Just when I thought I’d never have to see him in the flesh ever again.This news doesn’t bode well for a decent chill session. Not when the boy who ruined my life will practically be smackdab in my very own backyard in basically a week or two. I lightly toss my phone onto the sofa cushion next to me, shutting my eyes in the process.
The flight seemed to go quickly, as we’re just about to land at a private airstrip on the outskirts of Hickam Air Force Base. And yet I have precisely ten minutes before Jimmie Lein writes me off as a no show. As if he’d deny one of his top benefactors access to his mansion at the base of Hawaii Loa Ridge.Of course I’ll be late.He probably expects nothing less of me. Just as I’m about to climb down into my private town car, the phone chirps with an incoming text.
R, We have a dire situation here and neither Archie nor Dottie are answering me back. You’re my last resort, obviously.
Now I’m definitely running late for Jimmie’s silent auction. This particular cry for help is from the front desk employee at one of our supreme properties on the coast of Kuhio Beach. I’m always at the bottom of their emergency list. But usually if it gets this far, some fuckery has ensued.
