Nick Nolan - Strings Attached

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Text copyright 2010, Nick Nolan
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by AmazonEncore
P.O. Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140

Produced by Melcher Media, Inc.
124 West 13th Street
New York, NY 10011
www.melcher.com

Library of Congress Control Number
2010921561

ISBN: 978-0-9825550-1-9
This novel was originally published, in a slightly different form, by Booksurge in 2009.

Author photo by J. Flores

FOR JAIME
AND FOR MARGARET

He was late, but there wasnt a damn thing he could do.

And just like this freeway he was stuck on, his life had become one big gridlock.

Take Tiffany, for example: hed pretty much given up hope of ever moving forward with her again, but then shed called saying she wanted to see him and needed to talk. Shed even sounded cheerful, and hed started getting his hopes upuntil she slipped into her baby-talk voice; that old Shirley Temple routine usually meant trouble was waiting for him up the road.

For the past half hour, all eastbound traffic had been stopped, and only in the past few minutes had the vehicles around him begun to squeeze into the bottleneck ahead made by the fire trucks parked higgledy-piggledy across the lanes.

He eased out the clutch and nosed in.

When he saw the twisted motorcycle and yellow tarp under the semi, he averted his eyes and scanned instead the roadside crowd: some chatting firemen, three highway patrolmen, and what was probably the semi drivera skinny old hick wearing a grease-splattered T-shirt, camouflage pants, and a black cowboy hat. But instead of looking dazed or shocked or remorseful, as Jonathan thought anyone would under similar circumstances, the man seemed to stare down each of the rubberneckers from beneath his Stetson, while his jaw worked a big wad of something, like a cow chewing too much cud.

Jonathan had nearly passed when their eyes locked. Instantly the cowboys scowl cracked, and he smiled, then winked at him and tugged down the brim of his hat in an old-fashioned, black-and-white-movie-type salutation. That this man would howdy him with a corpse beneath his load of gaily packaged dairy products was unsettling. Disturbing even. But then he figured it wasnt often one saw such a young, good-looking guy driving a brand new 1988 Porsche, much less a top-of-the-line Carrera.

Probably thinks Im a movie star or something.

Jonathan returned the greeting with a vacant smile, then dropped the clutch and shot forward onto the deserted freeway, like a fighter jet off a carrier.

Sometime later he reached the cracked heels of the San Bernardino foothills, where the sloping lanes and black-as-velvet curves ascended lazily. He hit the gas and snapped on his headlights; night was coming fast. His tires squealed around a curve as the car fishtailed. He thought about little Jeremy and slowed down. His headlights hit a sign and it lit up like white neon:

Lake Estrella 3 mi.

He continued along the road lined with looming pines and dark-windowed cabins, then downshifted, making the engine wail as he approached, at last, the brightly lit intersection leading into the Estrella Village shopping center. He made a right at the stop, then continued past the fire station in the loop that dropped toward the waters edge. A left led him down Shoreline Drive, past the familiar lakefront mansions behind their long stone walls and curlicued gates. He accelerated up the final rise in the road, then veered around the last bend to where his familys monolithic, Modernist structure sat at the end of a long gravel driveway. He crossed through the open gates, then coasted to a stop.

Filling the open doorway was Tiffanys curvaceous silhouettearms crossed, chin up, shoulder to the jamb. Her pose was languid, reflexively seductive still, in spite of everything.

Hi, Johnny, she offered in baby voice, upon his approach.

Dont start, he replied, stomping past her.

She turned and followed him in after squeezing shut the heavy wooden doors. Once he was inside, his nostrils twitched; since the chalet had only been completed a couple of months before, the scent of milled cedar still hung in the air like a freshly decimated forest.

Im kind of hungry, he said, finally turning to her. Anything to eat?

Rosie left some stuff in the fridge, she answered. Id fix you something, but I gotta run upstairs.

For some coke? he smiled.

To check on our son, she replied icily. Andto pee.

Where is she? I need to give her a check.

Rosie? she asked, raising her penciled eyebrows.

Yes, Rosie. He glared stupidly at her.

I sent her out for some things. You can give it to me.

Thats OK. Ill wait. Hows my son?

Our sons OK, she answered, ignoring the jab. Hes bigger now, and hes getting into everything. Rosies been trying to toilet train him; I get real sick of that shit. She rolled her eyes and his rolled back at her.

Mother of the Year.

I didnt tell him you were coming cause he would of been too hyper to sleep. She crossed her arms. Besides, you were late.

Ill see him tomorrow. Go ahead anddo whatever.

After she left, he made his way to the breakfast bar, dragged out a stool, and lifted himself onto it. Then he yawned. His stomach rumbled. He was both starving and nauseous. He hopped down, crossed the floor to the refrigerator, then opened it, startling a cluster of beer bottles. After grabbing a Pepsi and a half-empty cellophane tube of Oreos, he went back to the barstool and sat, then shoved two cookies in his mouth.

Whatcha thinkin? Shed slipped on a pink ski parka, as if headed outside.

Strange.

Im thinkin you called me here because you want something.

Well. She slipped her hands in her pockets. As a matter a fact, I do.

Too bad, he mumbled through crumbs. Because Im not giving you anything until you tell me what you meant about Bill he chewed, then swallowed being able to make it snow in Hollywood. What exactly did you mean by that?

I said something I shouldnt of. To piss you off.

Youre lying.

Anyhow, I didnt tell you to come here to talk about that old prick. Besides, if youve got a problem with him, you should deal with it yourself. Hes part of your stuck-up family, not mine.

Thats OK, Tiff, dont tell me; itll all come out anyway. And when it does, youll be prosecuted as an accessory. He smiled brightly. Then again, maybe youll tell me when I remind you that one court-ordered drug test will make sure you never see Jeremy again. Or any of my money.

I dont need your money anymore.

Really? He laughed. For Christs sake, Tiff, whos gonna keep him from falling down the stairsor drowning in the lake when youre out whoring for cash?

Im off coke, she stated imperiously. And you know Im not gonna let anything happen to him, and Rosie wont either. What kind of mother do you think I am?

You dont want to know.

And you dont want to know what kind of father, or husband, I think you are.

At least I didnt get knocked up for someone elses money.