Filthy Beast(56)

I keep my anger in check, at least until we get out back. Mickey’s alone out there, his children nowhere to be seen. He’s sunning himself, the fucking bastard, and smoking a cigar. In fact, he looks pretty at peace and content, despite the fact that my shit is in shambles.

“Mickey,” I say, walking out toward him. His wife shuts the door softly behind me.

He sits up, surprised. “Jackson, baby, what’re you doing here?”

“We need to talk.” I walk over and stand over him, my arms crossed. I can see a little fear in his expression, and I don’t blame him. I’m a big man. I could tear him to pieces with ease.

“What’s going on? You don’t normally make house calls.”

“Only in special circumstances.”

He smiles and laughs nervously. “You’re freaking me out here, kid.”

“Mickey, do you want to fuck me?”

He hesitates. “You’re pretty and all, but I have a wife.”

“So you don’t want to fuck me?”

“No, Jackson. I don’t.”

“Weird. Because I’m pretty sure you do, considering you’re lubing up my asshole.”

He laughs nervously again. “What are you talking about?”

“I know you want to drop me. I know the studio is thinking about killing Brutally Dishonest.”

He stares at me, clearly surprised, but he doesn’t deny it. I want to kick him in his rat face but I know I can’t do that. I have to keep my anger under control or else I’ll lose it all for nothing.

“Why?” I ask him.

He sighs. “You know why, Jackson.” He leans over and picks up his cigar, puffing away. “Let me ask you something. Why do you want to do this?”

“Be an actor?” I shrug. “I don’t really.”

“Exactly. That’s exactly why I want to drop you.”

“Because I don’t care about this job?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “I’ve done plenty of jobs that I didn’t want to do.”

“But this isn’t like that. Jackson, this world takes sacrifice and commitment. There’s a new guy coming up every single day and if you don’t work your ass off to compete, you’ll disappear.”

“And you think I can’t hack it,” I say.

“You absolutely can,” Mickey replies, exasperated. “Sit down, damn it. You’re freaking me out.”

I hesitate a second before sitting on the end of the chair next to him. He sighs and puts his cigar back down.

“Look, Jackson, you gotta play the game. The studio wants you to jump, you fucking do a backflip. Some producer wants his dick sucked, you choke on that cock. Know what I mean? You have to be willing to get down and dirty for this thing.”

“And I’m not,” I say simply.

“That’s right. You’re not.”

I can’t deny that he’s right. As soon as I was asked to do something that I didn’t want to do, I tried to fight it tooth and nail. Even when the studio tried to give me the benefit of the doubt, and Mickey told me what to do, I just ignored them and kept fighting. I made their lives harder instead of easier, and this business doesn’t take kindly to that.

I can’t deny him that. “But still,” I say. “You said we’d be family.”

“So the fuck what? You said you’d do whatever I told you to do, and you didn’t. We both broke promises.”

I sigh. He’s right about that. I did tell him I’d listen to his counsel. “Still, Mickey, you’re going behind my back. You could have come to me like a man.”

“Hell no, I couldn’t have. You’re not being rational these days. I mean, going to a studio exec’s house? That’s crazy shit, Jackson.”

“So what now?” I ask him. “You’re dropping me and the movie’s dead?”

“No,” he says. “The movie might die. And I might drop you. I haven’t made up my mind yet. But you’re not doing yourself any favors coming to my house and trying to intimidate me here.”

I watch him for a second and I realize that I’m disappointed. I realize that I wanted him to drop me. I wanted him to get rid of me, because that would mean that I’d be done. I wouldn’t have to keep being an actor anymore.

And that makes it all clear for me. Yes, I want to keep doing this job, but I also know I won’t sacrifice for it. I’ll do it on my terms or not at all, but that won’t work. I can’t make those two things happen. If I want to do this, I have to play the game right.

I look at Mickey and I smile. “Sorry, man,” I say, standing up.

“What?” he asks.