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Wesley Baker
“If you don’t mind my saying, Mr. Baker-”
“Nope, none of that, if you please. Just call me Wesley. Or governor. I like it better that way,” Wesley said with a tired smile.
“Alright, sure, but wait and see if you still feel that way when I’m done with my thought,” Milton answered right away. The guy was rapid fire with his responses and quick as a whip, just like always. Wesley was grateful for it; it was good to know that some things never changed.
“I’ll take the chance,” he said in lieu of expressing this particular thought. It wouldn’t do to get overly sentimental in a bar, especially not one he wanted to continue to frequent.
“Well, if you don’t mind my saying so, you look like you’ve aged about ten years in the last month. Is something ailing you?” Milton asked, his brow wrinkled with concern while he poured Wesley’s drink. Wesley’s warm feelings towards the guy only grew seeing the genuine concern.
"What is this, my neighborhood Cheers?" He smiled, accepting his drink gratefully and taking a long, burning sip. Milton laughed heartily and pulled up a stool behind the long, high bar. Wesley hardly ever saw the guy sit down and he felt an absurd kind of special to warrant that kind of attention.
"Sure, governor, where everyone knows your name. Except that, for you, I guess it's always like that. Or most of the time, I expect. Is that about right?"
“Yes and no,” Wesley said vaguely. He was embarrassed by the nod to his standing as sort of, kind of famous. He wasn’t usually, or at least he hadn’t been up until recently. There was a time when he had enjoyed throwing it in his mother’s face just to piss her off. Something felt off about hearing it from Milton, though. It was the same way he imagined it would feel if Liza ever talked about his celebrity outright, which she had mostly avoided the handful of times they had spent together.
"I have a feeling it tends more towards the yes if you don't mind my saying so," Milton said quietly. Ridiculously, the empathy in the bartender's voice made Wesley want to cry. Milton might have sensed some of that feeling, too, because he pulled Wesley's drink closer, topped it off, and slid it back without a word.
“What about your friend?” he asked, changing the subject abruptly, “He going to be joining you today?”
“Right. Adam. Yeah, he’ll be here. He should be here already, actually,” Wesley answered, his tone darker than he meant it to be. Milton, who was back to the task of polishing stemware, raised an eyebrow.
"He got something to do with the gloom you're wearing today?" he asked casually. And dammit, if he wasn't the easiest man to talk to. Wesley thought he would tell the guy just about anything he wanted to know, and that included private information about the show's stocks and standings. He had heard unburdening yourself was good for the soul. He wasn't Catholic, not even a lapsed one, so spilling his guts to the bartender was as close to a confessional as he was apt to get.
"Sort of. It's a lot to get into but let's just say he made an ass out of himself in front of somebody he should have been more polite to," Wesley answered. It was cryptic, but it was the best he could do. Adam was supposed to be there already, and Wesley hoped to avoid decking him in the face when he arrived. When he finally got there, which should have been twenty minutes ago but wasn't, because Adam was just Adam, it was clear that he had already been drinking. He did what he wanted to do just like he always had – just like Wesley had done back when everything had felt easy. It was hard to even be mad at him, once Wesley really thought about it. Adam was who he was, and in a way, Wesley envied him; it was a hell of a lot easier when he had been the same. When things had started changing was anyone's guess. It hadn't been part of the plan. What he did know was that the memory of Adam leering at Liza in the throes of a conversation only he wanted to have made him see red. Adam, who was his friend, looking at Liza like she was a juicy cut of steak. Wesley should have taken his side, probably. Bros before hoes and all that bullshit. Instead, the idea of Liza looking so stricken made him want to punch someone in the face. Adam would have done just fine. It would have felt good, and his fingers twitched with anticipation. Actually, socking someone sounded like an excellent plan. Maybe the thing he was missing, not that he was much of a fighter. He'd always been too busy drinking, doing the show, and engaging in all around fuckery.
“Boss! What the fuck, man? I’ve been looking for you!” Adam’s voice rang out over the rapidly filling bar. It was a funny choice of greeting – like Wesley was the one who’d shown up late and Adam was the one who had been patiently waiting.
"Speak of the devil," Wesley muttered under his breath. Milton shot him a look that told him the two of them were in cahoots. It was a small thing, but one Wesley was grateful for. He thought it would do a lot to keep him from losing his shit dealing with his producer. Wesley turned a little on his barstool, just in time to get a good look at Adam. And had the two of them been friends? Really, truly been friends for the last couple of years in which Wesley's show had served as the bread and butter for the both of them? He knew it was true, but it was hard to feel the truth of it; currently, the best thing he could dredge up for Adam was distaste.
“Bro, you’ve turned into a ghost, you know it? And I’m not the only one who says it either.”
Adam's words slurred. He didn't sound exactly drunk, but it was noticeable enough that Wesley knew he'd already been hitting the bottle. He did sound like a jackass, though, and like he had something going on behind the scenes, too. That was the part Wesley really didn't like: the part where Adam looked like he was up to some kind of shit. It didn't take a genius to understand that whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good for anyone involved. Wesley took another long sip of his drink and told himself to hold his fucking horses. He wasn't himself lately. If he verbalized the thoughts playing out in his head, things were apt to end badly.
"Adam? I say this with all the love in the world-" Wesley started, trying to make himself mean it. Adam's dumbed down eyes lit on him immediately. Definitely drunk. No doubt about it now. It was Friday, after all, and that was when the party started. Wesley had joined Adam on one of his weekend-long benders more than a handful of times. They had called it research and laughed. Now Wesley only found it distasteful. It made Adam look weak, needing to party the way he did. Was that the way he had looked? Was that how he looked to women like, say, Liza Morris?
“Sure, all the love. And all of that bullshit, right? That’s not what we’re talking about, is it?” Adam pushed. Adam was in the mood for pushing. He was going to do it no matter what or who got in his way. Wesley had seen that, too. He’d laughed at the poor schmucks on the other end of Adam’s bullshit. Maybe it was karma, being on the receiving end of it now.
“No, I guess it’s not. Want to tell me what we are talking about?”
"Would do, but there's someone here who wants to talk to you. She seems really fucking eager, if you know what I mean," Adam said serenely. The look made Wesley want to take a shot at him all over again and knew that the two of them would never be friends again. Assuming that they had really been friends to begin with. He looked at Adam levelly, then turned to see what was coming next. He already knew, or at least he thought he did. Still, looking for confirmation was a necessary evil. For Wesley, it brought no surprises.
“Jesus, Adam, is this your doing?” he asked dully.
"No way, man. What do you take me for?" Adam slurred, his eyes wide and offended. Jackass or not, Wesley thought he believed him. He didn't think Adam was malicious or anything. Just a bit of a prick. Also, Wesley thought Adam was a little afraid of Megan. Most people were both men and women alike. Megan had a way of getting to people, for better or for worse. She was hot as hell, making men want her and making women feel like shit. The two of them had gone back and forth for way too long, and she'd done her share of making him feel like shit, too. He always went back. This time he had no intention of doing so. This time he had Liza to make things clear to Megan, for when she decided she wanted to go another round. It was a hell of a plan; only he hadn't really planned what he would do when he had to deal with Megan face to face. Now, he didn't have a choice.
"Truly, man," Adam said from beside him, his face turned towards Megan, too. "I had nothing to do with this. She's hot as hell, but she scared the shit out of me. You know this."
"I do," Wesley nodded, regretting some of his harsh feelings towards the guy. It didn't change his disgust over the way Adam had acted with Liza, and he fully expected Liza to come up in conversation when the Megan crisis was averted. At the moment, though, the two of them were in it together.
“Wesley! Where the hell have you been?”
Megan didn't exactly yell, but most of the people in the crowded bar turned to look at her anyway. That was how things went with Megan. It was the way she liked, it, too. Wesley could see it on her face now, and his stomach turned. She was hot. Adam was right about that. She looked especially hot tonight in her white dress, so tight it could have been painted onto her body. Her hair had been many different colors since the two of them had met, but it was platinum blonde now and piled up on top of her head. Her mouth was cotton candy pink, and her eyes were crazy. He used to think that look was sexy as hell. Now it only made him tired. She must have seen it, too, because she stomped towards him with a scowl and a mission on her face.
"Megan. What are you doing here?" It was a stupid question. Megan was here for him. It was the way she operated. When the two of them had been a ‘couple,’ whatever the hell that meant, she didn't give a shit. When they were done, she was all hands on deck. Especially when he was the one to end it, like this time. Although looking at her face, Wesley guessed there was something else going on here. Megan looked more ruffled than he'd seen her before. She wasn't typically the type for that kind of upset. Something was undoubtedly up.
"Wow. Nice greeting, Wesley. You act like you're not happy to see me," Megan said, her voice high and nasal. That wasn't good. He knew that voice. It meant she'd been into something – something that was no good. Ever since she'd really gotten into modeling, she'd had all kinds of indulgences at her fingertips. Things that gave her too much energy. Things that let her drink long past the point of normal intoxication. Things that helped her get just a little bit thinner than the rest. It wasn't the version of Megan he enjoyed and most definitely not the one he wanted to deal with now. She was ready for a fight. She was spoiling for one.
“This isn’t the right place for this. If you want to talk about something, come to the office,” he said calmly.
“No way. I’m not coming to the office. Are you kidding me? Like I’m applying for a job?”
“I told you, this isn’t the place.”
“It’s because of her, isn’t it? It’s because of that bitch!”
For a minute, the whole room really did stop talking. The word ‘bitch’ hit an impossible pitch, and it couldn't help but be noticed. Wesley stopped too. She could only mean one person. It was exactly what he'd been going for. He had seen the pictures on the cover of the gossip magazines. He hadn't seen them, but there had been photographers at the wrap party. And what did photogs do? They took pictures. They took pictures of him and Liza because she was the woman he had been with and she was new. She was not Megan, and that was reason enough for him and Liza to make the cover. Megan had seen it because she was a voracious reader of that crap. And now she was here, ready to duke it out.
"Hey, let's all take a step back, alright?" Adam laughed his playboy laugh. Megan glared at him, and he held his hands up. Mea culpa and warding off all at the same time. Wesley recognized the move; he'd done it plenty of times himself, back when he still wanted to try and make things work.
“No, I want to know about her,” she insisted, “I want to know about that big bitch. She must really be something, huh? Certainly taking up your time. Too busy to answer a text message now.”
"Stop it, Megan. Don't do this. It's unattractive," Wesley said coldly. It was just about the worst thing he could say to her, and he knew it. He almost felt bad for using it against her. Almost, but not quite. Her response was too predictable. She went from pissed to sugar-sweet on the turn of a dime. She pushed closer to where he sat on the stool and pressed her body against his side. He felt her heart beating too fast, and the heat of her overly exposed skin. She was selling sex and a month or two ago he would have bought it, hook, line, and sinker. Now her diminishing frame wasn't a temptation.
"Come on, baby; I don't want it to be like this. Don't you think it's time for us to make up?" she said in a sing-songy voice. She was pouting now. He hated it. He realized now that he'd always hated it; he'd just been too into the sex to realize it.
"Stop it," he said, pushing her off of him. He barely touched her, really, but she stumbled backward into Adam. He caught her and looked at Wesley with surprise. It was probably supposed to make him feel bad. Instead, it only made him think that Adam and Megan sort of deserved each other. Megan's face twitched again, just as quickly as before. It twisted into a snarl, and she took a step back in Wesley's direction.
“This is a joke, right? You can’t seriously want her over me. Have you actually looked at her? Adam, you were there, tell me I’m right,” she said, looking over her shoulder for confirmation. It was a good way to get him talking. Wesley knew Adam had been dying to talk about Liza. Not because he didn’t think she was hot enough but because he wanted her for himself.
“She was different than your usual type, Wesley,” he said, his voice overly friendly, “you know that’s true. I told that chick the same thing, cross my heart.”
“See?” Megan crowed, exalted, “That’s what I’m saying! She is so a step down. I get it; you were making a point. You don’t have to do that anymore. I’ll be good from now on. Promise.”
“No, you won’t. We aren’t doing this. I’m not doing this with you anymore. I told you that before.”
“But, Wesley-”
“No. I’m going. You two have a good time. Seriously. I don’t care. But I’m leaving.”
Wesley looked for Milton and saw that he'd been watching the whole thing; of course, he had been. Wesley wouldn't have expected anything less. The two of them nodded at each other and Wesley got up to go. There was a good chance that Adam and Megan would hook up at some point. It would have pissed him the hell off before, but it didn't mean anything to him now. What did piss him off was the way they had talked about Liza. Liza, whose body he could still feel when he shut his eyes and concentrated just right. More than that, he didn't like the way he didn't like it. He didn't want to feel anything about anyone. That was the point in Liza's strange position to begin with. He was done with that shit. He was done with Megan, and he was done with the rest of them, too. He just needed some time to let his heart catch up with his head.
