Perfect

HARRY
I pour two drinks from the minibar and hand one to Max. Max sits there all serious with his shaved head and dark shades still on, leaning forward and completely alert as though any minute now he will launch into combat. But at least he accepts the drink which in Max’s world is considered slack. I go to sit across from him on the sofa and he stares at his drink glass.
“Why did you call me?” Max inquires.
“Because, I haven’t seen in you in a while. I wanted to catch up.”
Max stares at me through the shades. “You must think I was born yesterday, kid.”
“We never get to talk anymore.”
“You’re right,” he says. “And that’s never stopped you from asking for a favor. So what is it this time?”
“You told Mother about the tickets.”
“And you knew I was going to do that before you asked me for the tickets.”
“God, it is impossible talking to you!” I say, downing my drink.
“Okay, fine.” Max places his drink glass on the coffee table in front of him. Then, he takes off his sunglasses and places them next to the glass. “You want to play? We’ll play. How’re you doing, Mr. Styles? Fine? Okay. Great! You want to know how I’m doing? I’m glad you asked! I was married to this woman for eighteen years and she just told me she’s divorcing me and taking away my kids, who by the way, are over eighteen and prefer to stay with their mother because their father’s way too busy cleaning up after rich kids who should be able to wipe their own damn butts!”
I stay silent.
And I down more of the alcohol. “I’m sorry, Max.” I pause. “When did she leave?”
“Does it matter?” Max snaps. “She’s gone.”
What Max doesn’t know is that if there’s anyone who knows a little something about being left behind, it’s me. But Max probably thinks of me as some spoilt, rich brat, and I don’t blame him. I can’t because maybe that’s exactly what I am no matter how much I pretend I’m something else.
No matter how much I want to be.
“I had no idea—”
“Harry,” Max says. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go off on you like that. It’s not your fault.”
“It’s not yours either.”
“It has to be,” Max says. “Or else why would they leave me?”
“They didn’t leave you, Max. They just left.”
“What’s the difference?”
I get up to get myself another drink and walk over to the minibar. “There isn’t,” I say. “But sometimes it’s good to know that it was the circumstances and not you that caused something bad to happen.”
“Tell me something,” Max says, when I go back to my seat. “Is this about the #HT news?”
I look up at him. “You know about that?”
“Well, yeah. All of Springvale knows. What the hell were you thinking, kid?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Anyway,” Max says. “What’s done is done. No use crying over spilt milk. Tell me what you need me to do now.”
“Damage control,” I think of the words as Pierre said them last night.
“Damage what?”
“We need to feed #HT something juicy. Juicier than me fucking Natalie Gleeson.”
“Don’t you think that’s a bit of a tall order?”
“I already have something,” I say. “That I think would be juicy enough for #HT. Something that’s going to create a new pathway of interest.”
“You’re still interested in helping her?” Max says. “That’s why you’re doing this, aren’t you? You want people to latch on to the new news and forget about Natalie?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t call me here to tell me all that.”
“I want you to feed them the news, Max.”
Max sighs. He picks up the drink and swallows some more of the gin. Then he leans back on the couch and looks at me. “I’m guessing you have something in mind?”

Notes