Standard Disclaimer:
You must be 18 to read this story, be able to read erotica in your community, not be offended by the contents of it...you know the rest.
This story may NOT be distributed freely, for commercial or non-commercial use. This work is complete fiction; celebs don't act like this in real life…probably.
Any copyrighted names, works, or whatever are products of their respective owners.
Comments and suggestions are welcome and wanted. Please send any thoughts you may have.
Chapter 5: The Relief
7:27 pm. Friday, May 30. Suite 9035. Hilton Hotel. Los Angeles, California.
Michael had been sitting in shock for the last two hours. He was stuck to his seat, in the same position he was in when Kirsten had walked out and left her ultimatum hanging in the air. "Tomorrow or never" she had said. Michael's brain was still trying to work through what had just happened to him. The first thought that had come to his mind was just how ridiculously stupid it was to tell Kirsten even a portion of the truth.
How could he possibly have thought that things would be all right if he told her the truth? That she would actually accept it? Even if she had gone around sleeping with as many men as Michael had slept with women, she still would have reacted the same way. If he had lied as many lies as needed to prevent Kirsten from learning the truth, she would have found out eventually, probably from Elisha or Eliza.
Finding out from one of her friends would have been an absolute disaster. Michael took small consolation in the fact that Elisha was not going to be the one that broke them up. He laughed to himself ruefully.
Yeah, I'm glad that I'm the one responsible for this
, he thought. He supposed common sense should have told him to keep his hands off of anyone but Kirsten.
Where the hell was common sense when I needed it?
he thought.
Any idiot would know that common sense had gone out the window at the same time his pants hit the floor. Michael leaned his head back and rubbed his neck. He was tired of thinking about what he had done. Michael picked up the television remote control and turned the set on. As usual, there was a whole lot of crap being broadcast on every channel. An Oprah commercial started playing. He suddenly found himself getting choked up.
"Jesus Christ!" Michael started wiping his eyes. "This is a first. This is fucking weird." He was trying to talk away the pain he was feeling, the fear that the closest he was ever going to get to Kirsten again was the glass of a television screen or the ink of a magazine. "Fucking Oprah."
After turning the television off he put the remote onto the table and walked over to the minibar. He opened it up and started pulling all the little bottles of alcohol out and tossing them onto the bed. If Michael was going to sit around kicking himself all night, he may as well dull the pain a little bit. Michael twisted open the bottle of scotch, held it to his lips and downed it.
He shook his head from side to side as the alcohol burned its way down his throat. Michael tossed the bottle over his shoulder and picked up the next one. Two minutes later there were seven empty bottles on the carpet next to the bed. On top of the bed was Michael, lying down and staring at the ceiling.
After a few minutes he sat up. "Nope. Not enough." Michael got out of the bed and went to his bag. He fished out a fifty dollar bill and slipped it in his wallet. Then he headed down to the lobby and walked up to the information desk. "Any liquor stores around here?"
The elderly clerk looked up. "Yeah." He pulled a small map out of a slot and laid it on the counter. "There's a place right nearby, maybe a ten minute walk. It's right here." The clerk marked it on the map with a pen and gave Michael detailed directions.
"Great," said Michael as he took the map and began walking away.
"You sure a liquor store is what you need right now son?"
Michael stopped and turned around. "What's it to you?"
The clerk cocked his head a bit as he scrutinized Michael. "I've seen that look before."
"What look? I don't have a look."
"Trust me son, I know what I'm talking about."
"Shouldn't you be wondering whether I'm even old enough to drink?"
"I'm wondering what happened between you and your girl."
Michael looked at him in surprise. He walked back up to the counter. "Have you been spying on me? Huh?! Listening at my fucking door?!" he asked angrily.
The old man laughed. "Spying? Listening at your door? Son, I have trouble listening to the radio. But my eyes are still sharp as a tack, and they see something in you they saw in a mirror a long time ago." The clerk waved a woman away from the desk. "I'll tell you right now that whatever relief you think you're going to get is fool's gold."
"Yeah well, I'll be so plastered it won't matter if it's real or not. Thanks for the map." Michael turned and walked away. The old man watched him leave as he pulled a map out for the next patron.
The directions were impeccable; Michael got to the store in almost exactly ten minutes. The bell attached to the door rang as he walked in. He took a quick look around and grabbed a bottle of Smirnoff's.
"ID?" asked the cashier. Michael handed her his driver's license and the cash. "Okay then." She handed the ID back and rung up the purchase. "Have a nice night."
Michael took the bag. "I will now." He almost jogged back to the hotel. As he was walking through the lobby the information clerk again watched him go by, more specifically he watched the brown paper bag in Michael's hand go by. He shook his head in pity.
Michael entered his room and put the bottle on the table. He went into the bathroom and grabbed a plastic cup. After unscrewing the cap and tossing it onto the table he poured himself a double of vodka. He looked out over the Los Angeles skyline. "Cheers."
12:17 am. Saturday, May 31. Torbin Estate. Bethesda, Maryland.
Joseph was still speeding around the mansion on his Segway, knocking side tables and lamps over like a rambunctious two year old. He had already covered the entire first floor of the mansion; every hallway and every room had provided a new obstacle course for him to conquer. The Segway, however, had rendered them all child's play. He rode back into the foyer of the house and stepped off his machine.
Since it was already dark outside, Joseph could not cruise around his lawns. So he looked for the next natural place to ride in; namely, the second floor of his house. He switched the Segway off and pocketed the key. Despite the lavishness of the home, there was no elevator and the eighty three pound wonder could not climb stairs.
Joseph dragged the machine over to the stairs and struggled to lift it up. Realizing just how out of shape he was, he resorted to dragging it up the stairs step by bumpy step. By the time he reached the top, his face was red with exertion and sweat. He leaned against the railing to catch his breath. After a few seconds he leaned down to inspect the Segway to make sure nothing was broken. While he was down there, Sharon popped her head out of the bedroom door.
"Ohhhh no! You are NOT riding that thing around up here!"
"Jesus Sharon. I can ride my Segway wherever I want to," said Joseph. He turned and looked at her. She was wearing a red silk robe.
"No you can't. You've already nicked three tables AND left scuff marks all over the wood floors! I'm not going to let you mess this house up the same way you've messed everything ELSE up in your life!" shouted Sharon.
"Please be more melodramatic. I think it'll really help."
"Shut up Joe, I'm not being dramatic!"
