Walter Wallace - Chapter 84

Manny Holdsworth watched as his phone lit up again with a call. He turned it face down atop his wallet, the vibrations absorbed into the leather. The network had been calling him for the past few hours. Once the special with his father got rolling, he received calls from journalists hoping to get an inside scoop. These people claimed to be his friends and colleagues but he had seen a sad truth ever since he had become a story; he was just fodder for other people’s ambition. And he would do the same – he had done before – and he would not feel remorse. He would expect that they would understand. Like this was all just some big game where nothing held any underlying value; they all just agreed to some rules and tried to have some fun. It was sad.

His phone lit up again. He checked it, despite himself; laughed wryly as he saw the smiling photo of Terry Handle, his agent. He lay the device back down, swearing he wouldn’t check it next time – she wasn’t going to call.

Manny was at Casper’s, an exclusive bar that he regularly frequented to drink without the interference of other drunks. Most people could contain themselves around famous personalities while sober, but after a few drinks they generally felt entitled to demand another show from their favourite TV monkey. Casper’s filtered out the muck. They also had a live jazz band on Sundays.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 83

Stevie pulled his car up a block and a half from the Royal Plaza Hotel in Heartsfield. The hotel was busy with activity out the front with camera crews and curious onlookers jostling for position on the sidewalk and threatening to spill out onto the main road and interrupt the traffic. It would not have mattered too much as there was a traffic jam from the inconveniently parked vans and two separate car crashes – not to mention a slight majority of the onlookers appeared to be a rag-tag band of protestors who saw interruption as their main objective.

“Hey look, The Strays are out there,” Phil said brightly. He was seated in the passenger seat and craning his neck to get a better view of the scene.

The pair had driven two straight hours to arrive in Heartsfield shortly after seeing out the end of the Tony Holdsworth special. They had hoped, rather foolishly in the end, to be able to intercept Walter before he was taken away by Citadel Inc for what Stevie imagined to be an unpleasant final chapter. On the way, however, they had heard the news reports, that there was an altercation outside the hotel between two men and Lucy Blues. Dr Blues reportedly claimed she was to escort Walter from the premises and, after getting I her car with Walter she sped off down the street, running red lights and causing the two major incidents.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 82

Sam Tank looked as his reflection in the mirror. He adjusted his tie and smoothed out the fit of his suit. He was smiling; his reflection wasn’t – it was not part of his demeanour to reveal a true emotion. Each expression was a construct of his will and a tool of manipulation. Like a method actor he found it fitting not to let the facade down in between scenes, and coming off the interview with Tony Holdsworth he knew there would be a slew of attempts to gain his opinion from the journalist body. He would give them a soft smile; a warm ambience; he would break them through patience and earnest sense of duty, all the while reinforcing his message, and guiding them to their next conclusive headlines. People like Brian Smithwaite would dictate a headline; Sam would orchestrate one.

The door to his dressing room opened aggressively. Tony Holdsworth came in like a domesticated bear, or an overgrown Labrador, looking to slobber his affection in hugs and kisses – Tony did not know the full boundaries of the game.

“Sammy!” he said, with a buddy-esque gravel to his voice. He reminded Sam of Boss when he was younger, over excited at the success of a powerplay. Sam reciprocated the sentiment, keeping Tony in his vulnerable comfort zone. “We fucking knocked that one out of the park, Sammy!”

Walter Wallace - Chapter 81

Walter Wallace was packing a few of his belongings into a backpack. He was not exactly working at any urgent pace despite the warnings he had been given. His head was in a clouded space. His thoughts moved as though they were enshrouded in the fog, unsure of taking a step forward because it could well be in the wrong direction.

He struggled to grasp the significance of the recent telecast with Tony Holdsworth and Dr Sam Tank. Any pride that he had felt at being the world’s happiest man – which in itself was only a pride that surfaced when he used his position to help people – felt dirty. It had been switched up on him like a practical joke. What help had he been? What good was he? What was the point of Lucy and Sam and everybody making him such a big star if it was just going to hurt people?

His mind was constantly brought back to Lucy. He had put her up on a pedestal, almost idolised her – or at least the idea of being with her – but she had been so weak when he called. Was she hiding from him? Was she planning to run away from him again? She had been just as weak when he was first discovered, when he needed someone to help bear the burden of the spotlight. And now when that spotlight, that magnifying glass, had been turned up, focussing the heat of the midday Sun on a tiny red dot on his forehead she was nowhere to be seen.

Walter Wallace - Chapter 80

Stevie could barely feel his face. The blood had drained so absolutely that he had been unable to stand. The footage of Mark Tanenworth’s final words before raising a gun to his head would be burnt into his memory for the rest of his life. He felt 100% responsible for his old friend’s demise. Mark had practically rescued Stevie from the edge of alcoholism and oblivion, but in return Stevie had exploited and lied to the man, leaving him out in the cold to suffer.

“This is fucking bullshit!” Phil said angrily, gesturing at the television like a tennis player at a bad ‘out’ call. He was looking at Stevie as though he were the referee. Stevie withdrew from himself a little, giving Phil a concurring glance, vainly trying to disguise his undercurrent of emotion.

“What’s up with you?” Phil asked, dismissing the weak charade.

“I knew him.”

“Who? Walter?”

“No. Well, yes, but I mean Mark Tanenworth. The man who shot himself, I knew him.”

“Yeah, well, serves him right; Citadel scum – by birth no less.”

Stevie winced at the crude comment. “You don’t understand; he was my friend.”

“Didn’t you say you pretended to be his shrink to try infiltrate the enemy?”

It was not an attack but Stevie felt the full force of the matter of fact comment. He looked back at the television, swallowing back a hint of a tickle in his throat. He would grieve on his own time, this was too important.