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Wesley Baker
“So, governor? What’ll it be?”
Wesley, who was what a more literary-minded person might call lost in thought, glanced up at the bartender with an absent smile. He was a staple at the Horseshoe, a name that had to be ironic because the place was about as far from western themed as a bar could get. It was one of the places Wesley frequented, both because of the strength of the drinks and the bar’s penitent for discretion. Bartenders like Milton were only an added perk. Wesley liked everything about the older gentleman, even if he did insist on saying things like "governor" when he wasn't even distantly British.
"Really, Milton? Do you really need to ask? I'm surprised at you," Wesley said, his grin more real this time, more present. It was a grin Milton the bartender returned easily, and Wesley was reminded of why the guy was so damned good at his job.
"I know, I know. But it never hurts to ask, you know? For all I know you've got a palate that's just changed. Haven't you heard? Everything in our bodies changes every seven years. Don't like what you see in the mirror? Nothing to worry about, is there? All you've got to do is wait seven years. Your palate, along with everything else, will be something different."
"That is a wonderful fact, one I'll be sure to work into my show whenever it seems fitting. In the meantime, I must not have served my seven-year sentence because these taste buds haven't changed."
“Excellent, governor, then a scotch neat it’ll be.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what it’ll be.”
“What the hell, buddy? You starting without me?”
A hand clamped down on Wesley's shoulder, gripping him with a little more force than was strictly necessary. Wesley glanced over said shoulder and saw Adam McClain standing there and smiling. It was the million-dollar, megawatt smile only trust fund babies and top executives could pull off. Fortunately for Adam, he happened to be both of those things. He slid easily into the deep leather stool sitting beside Wesley and snapped at Milton, who was in the process of retrieving Wesley's drink. In return, Milton gave Adam a look that Wesley understood to be dislike, which in turn made Wesley like him more. It wasn't that he didn't like Adam McClain. When everything was said and done, Wesley counted Adam as one of his friends. They couldn't ever be real friends, the kind of friends that talked to each other about personal subjects and issues, but that was okay. Wesley doubted that Adam had many things he didn't feel comfortable talking about. It was probably why the guy always looked so damned chipper. Honestly, Wesley wasn't usually the type to hold secrets locked inside of his head, either, but today that didn't feel so true. Today, his thoughts just didn't feel quite like his own, and he was beginning to regret not calling Adam up and canceling their semi-regular drinking date. He was in need of some good time to ruminate on things, and that was a task better done alone.
"How the hell are ya, Adam?" he asked, shaking the man's hand heartily. For a minute, he thought he saw some kind of question in Adam's face, and when it cleared, he was more than pleased. He was relieved.
"I'm a lot better now, that's for sure. Nothing like the old fashioneds my man here makes," Adam said as Milton approached with a drink for both men. It was a smart move on Milton's part. While Wesley appreciated the back and forth repartee found in many a classic movie between a barkeep and a regular patron, Adam decidedly did not. He liked being catered to and was so sure he deserved to be that it didn't occur to him the bartender might not enjoy it also. It wasn't the kindest thought, and Wesley felt bad about it, but that didn't make it any less true.
“Your drinks, gents,” Milton said graciously.
"Good man!" Adam crowed, toasting the air in front of the older man. He turned to toast Wesley next, grinning from ear to ear. After that, he set out to look around the room, the reason for which Wesley did not need to be informed. Adam McCarthy was, forever and always, on the lookout for a girl to entertain him for the evening. Never for longer than one night, that part was important, but nevertheless, he took the task very seriously. His eyes narrowed as he did his scanning and then he elbowed Wesley hard enough in the upper arm that the perfect glass of scotch neat sloshed dangerously close to the top of the glass.
"Jesus please us, buddy, will you look at that?" He groaned appreciatively. Wesley followed the direction of his friend's eyes. It was more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything else, and one Wesley didn't feel all that great about. The chick Adam was checking out was good looking, there was no denying that. Normally Wesley might have allowed his eyes to linger a little longer, the way he might on a painting in a museum: good to look at but not for sale. This afternoon was different, though. This afternoon his head just wasn't in the game, and he didn't feel like pretending, either.
“Hey, I have to tell you, the woman you sent in my direction this afternoon was pretty great. I can see why you wanted to hire her,” he ventured. He was careful to make his words sound casual, almost like an afterthought, and then wondered why he would care about a thing like that. Adam was one of his show’s executive producers, after all. The guy was one of the reasons The Wild Man’s Mission had been and still was as successful as it was. If there was anyone it made sense to discuss the new production assistant with, Wesley didn’t know the guy. For that reason, he was caught totally off guard by Adam’s look of vague puzzlement.
“I’m sorry, buddy, but I don’t know what you're talking about.
"The new production chick," Wesley prodded gently, "she came in to see me this morning. She seemed kind of nervous, but aside from that, I got a good vibe off of her. I think she'll do a good job."
“Right, that’s good, but I think you got your wires crossed somewhere. Lesley isn’t in town yet.”
"Lesley?" Wesley asked blankly. The name didn't mean a damned thing to him. Of course, it was possible that he had his wires crossed somewhere, but he was pretty sure that wasn't the case. Names were something he had always been good at, one of his specialties, one might even say. It was helpful in his line of work to know who everyone was. It made people feel important and that, in turn, helped open doors and grease wheels. If pressed, he would have bet his not inconsiderable fortune on this one fact; the woman he had hired was named Liza, not Lesley. He ought to know. He hadn't been able to get her out of his head since watching her walk into his office.
"Sure, Lesley," Adam went on, unaware of Wesley's uncertainty and undeterred, "the chick who's going to be working with you. She's kind of a bear if you want to know the truth, but she’s fucking brilliant at her job."
“That’s good to know. What do you mean a bear?” he asked distractedly.
"You know, a right bitch, if we're being frank. She's ugly as sin, too, but I figured that was a plus when it came to you," Adam said with a salacious grin. He dropped Wesley a little wink, and both of them knew where that was coming from. Bonding over partying and picking up chicks was what had brought them together in the first place, and Adam knew Wesley's propensities. Wesley didn't often waste time thinking about how many of his secretaries and production assistants he'd fucked, but he knew the number was pretty high up there. Adam knew it, too, and was likely doing his best to cut the problem off before it could really get going.
"You're probably not lying," Wesley said. He smiled to let Adam know he wasn't pissed but the smiles were distracted, too, and it wasn't fooling anyone.
"Alright, what is it, bro? You want to tell me what's going on?" he asked, tossing back his drink and snapping his fingers for another one. Wesley considered saying nothing but rejected the idea quickly. Adam knew him too well for the bullshit, and he had no qualms about calling Wesley out on said bullshit should the occasion arise.
"You sure you really want to be asking that?" he asked. He sounded like a chick, but he couldn't help it. Every time he got to thinking on the subject of his ex, Megan, he wanted to put his fist through a wall.
"She's back at it again, huh?" Adam asked with a commiserating look. He didn't need to hear anything but that one question to know what they were talking about. That's how much shit Megan had pulled with Wesley over the last two years, on and off, of course. Not that he hadn't pulled his own fair share of stunts in return. He had. He was sure he'd fucked up plenty of times, in fact. When it came to chaos, though, nobody was as good at it as Megan was. He had been the one to end it this last time, and he was determined not to go back again. He'd been down that road before, and he knew where it led. Melodramatic or not, in his own personal opinion, it led straight to a living hell. He wasn't willing to say she was a terrible person or anything like that but when the two of them got together for very long, they became the worst versions of themselves. That was the kind of thing he hadn't started thinking about until recently, but once the idea had planted itself, he couldn't make himself shake it off again. For probably the first time he was coming around to the idea that maybe there was more to his dealings with a woman than a great rack and a luscious ass. Maybe what he was looking for was genuine companionship, as hard as the thought was to swallow. What he knew for sure was that whatever he needed, he was not going to find it with Megan. That, and she was not going to just ride off into the sunset and leave him be.
“You know she’s gunning for you, man, right?” Adam asked, feigning sympathy but with a grin on his face that made Wesley think he was enjoying himself mightily.
"I'm not surprised to hear it, but I think it'd be best if you told me what you mean," he answered slowly, his head starting to really pound.
"She called me up if you want to know the truth. She said she fucked up, her words, not mine."
“Yeah, I just bet,” Wesley laughed humorlessly, “because apologies are her specialty.”
“God’s honest truth, my man. And that’s not all she said.”
"You better just tell me quick. Like ripping off a band-aid, only more painful."
“She said she’s not going to let you go, man. She said she’s got a plan and she’s going to make it work no matter what.”
Wesley didn't doubt that, either, and wondered if Megan intended to make him feel like a man taking his last long walk down death row. He was too tired for this shit, and he was getting too old. If she was coming up with plans, he needed to get one too, and before she ambushed him with anything he couldn't defend. For some reason, the girl from his office popped into his mind then, the girl who wasn't his new production assistant, after all. He couldn't shake the look in her eyes, the way she'd smiled with just the corners of her mouth. He wanted to know who she was and what she had been there for. He had an idea, an admittedly lunatic one, that she might be able to help him with his little problem. For a price, but what did that matter? Everything had a price. You just had to make sure you were the guy who was willing to pay it.
