Daughter? Hmmmm, this sounded interesting. Maybe there was a way to get my father's attention without also getting another hit on my criminal record. "Okay Johnathan, I'll be there. Have your assistant send me the details. When is it?"
"In two weeks. If you have the time, maybe you could come up a few days early? Sandra said Krystal will be coming up for the whole week before. She's a lovely young woman, Julian."
"I'll see what I can do." I hung up my phone without saying goodbye. I never do. On the bed, the blonde I'd just gotten done with was still looking at me. "What can I say? Family drama."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," the bimbo said in her almost too high pitched little girl voice. She had the body of a sex goddess, but the voice of Minnie Mouse. Seriously, fucking her was like listening to a hamster on helium. Total one night stand sort of chick. "Family drama is why I moved out here from Iowa."
Iowa? For fuck's sake. "I'm sure. So . . ." I said, wanting to get out without getting something thrown at me. I've already had to talk my way out of a false rape accusation, and while it was untrue and I prevailed in the end, it's something I'd rather not go through again. I'm no saint, but I am damn sure not a rapist.
"So you said you knew some guys I could talk to about getting a role in TV?" she said, sitting up. "I was kinda hoping you could give me their number."
I grinned in relief. Oh yeah, I had a few boys I could pass this girl around to. "Sure, baby. Hold on." I went over to my jacket and pulled out my wallet, flipping through some of the business cards I kept in there. I found the one I was looking for, a guy who called himself a talent agent named Eric. While Eric could boast to having a few clients who were secondary characters in some decent Hollywood films, most of his clients, especially the female ones, ended up working in the more risqué type of business. In other words, perfect for this Iowa farm girl, bless her heart. Taking out Eric's card, I handed it over to her. "Here you go. Hey, I've gotta get going, there's something I've got to do."
The girl took it and looked at me, and I could see the self-delusion in her eyes. She wasn't the first to look at me that way. It's a blessing, and a curse. "So we can get together another time, right?"
"Yeah baby," I said, quickly pulling my shirt over my head. "Let me check my schedule, and I'll give you a call." I was sure I had her number, but I never gave out my real number to one of these types of girls. She was no doubt looking to use me, but I was using her too, so it all worked out. Not that it stopped the real determined ones from tracking me down. I am Julian Castelbon after all. "I'll see you later."
* * *
Julian
My father's secretary, a withered old battle axe named Patricia who I wouldn't have fucked even if she wasn't older than Johnathan, sent me the information three ways. I gotta give it to her, she's thorough enough. E-mail, text message, and registered delivery via US Postal Service. I was surprised she didn't hire a process server like others have when I've gotten sued. Some of them are pretty damn good at tracking me down.
I was sitting in my own place when the e-mail bounced off my laptop. I've got one of the two penthouses for the building, owned by my father of course, but he hasn't been out to the West Coast since Mom left him. Sitting in my shorts, I was getting ready for a workout down at Metroflex when the computer dinged. I finished pulling a tank top on, making sure to showcase the new ink on my right arm. Then I clicked on my e-mail. Patricia was her normal brief self, which at least I could respect. She didn't like me, but she didn't overly dislike me either. I read her message, then opened the attachment.
Johnathan Castelbon and Sandra Hepburn-Aksoy
Kindly request the honor of your presence at their wedding
Saturday the Fifteenth of June
At eleven o'clock in the morning
Castelbon Manor
Reception to follow
Jesus, Castelbon Manor? Sure, the old place has been in our family since my great-grandfather Wayne Castelbon made it big doing ship building contracts for the Allies in World War I, and then later on for World War II. The manor was actually older than that, having been first built in the early 1800's by some old Yankee trader whose fortune, at least some thought, may not have always been by trading just rum and timber from the Americas to Europe and back. Wayne Castelbon bought the place from the diseased remnants of the family, and had actually renovated the main building, ripping down both wings to put up new ones. Since then, my grandfather and then my father both took the time and money to make sure it was kept up to date in terms of facilities while still retaining the old fashioned exterior. In short, Castelbon Manor was the seat of the family's power, and just another way my father was getting a dig in on me. Seriously, did he not remember that when he married my mother, she'd been only nineteen while he was twenty-two, in a quickie ceremony in Las Vegas? Now here he was giving this latest gold digger a full on ceremony in the Castelbon seat of power, and my Mom got jack shit? Fuck that!