2
Lex
While I nursed a Newcastle, I quietly ignored the young piece of ass that was giggling loudly in my ear with her cute southern drawl.
Jess’s idea had been great on paper.
In England, there’s a fresh scandal waiting around every corner for you. Brett Barker wants someone wholesome, and spoiler alert, Lex: that just ain’t you, you know?
You’re not just a bad boy.
You’re THE bad boy.
You’ve gotta chill the fuck out somewhere that nobody recognizes you. Lay low for a couple of weeks… maybe find yourself someone out of that damned life. Someone intelligent who can do more than just look good on your arm or your damn balcony.
You need to go to the one place where nobody knows your name… America.
It was true.
Nobody here had recognized me.
Nobody here knew my name.
I couldn’t tell whether to be relieved or offended. Tellingly, I seemed to cycle between the two at any given moment.
Of course, people here were equally obsessed with football, but they were fixated on the wrong one. Over my drinks every night, I’d stared up at the screen as some talking heads loudly and bombastically speculated over sports footage on some asinine show called SportsCenter.
Needs a new name, I thought to myself. I haven’t once noticed them mention even a hint about the most beloved sport on the planet.
So far, we’d been here a week.
It had been my idea to visit New Orleans. I figured, I could disappear for a little while, find one of those pretty Southern belles I’d heard so much about, and kick back and ride out the tabloid cycle.
No harm, no foul.
Jess had been less than enthusiastic about that prospect – she’d wanted to get me away from the party scene, not drop me smack dap into the party capital of the Western Hemisphere. But with a little convincing, she’d been onboard with it.
After all, she could drink her weight in wine, and New Orleans was a city rich with historical significance and culture. I wondered if there might really be some voodoo out in those swamps, and she was eager to at least check out the world-famous port city.
Now, I’d heard the stories of belligerent Americans and how raucous they could be, but I hadn’t been prepared for the Deep South.It seemed that all there was to do down here was (a) drink, (b) drugs, (c) fuck, and (d) stare at the goddamn television.
And I had to stay away from almost all of those things on this little trip… Lay low, stay out of the news, and come back to the UK a kinder, gentler Lex… The kind of Lex who gets his face on a cereal box instead of a tabloid.
Not that it would surprise anyone if I cocked this up.
“So, are ya gonna buy me a drink, or what?” The blonde beside me drawled, snapping me away from my thoughts. “Ah’ll take a Bloody Mary, thank yew very much.”
Maybe she’d be fun for the night, but getting caught with some slutty college student from the US would be a whole new scandal.
Jess would kill me.
“Yeah, piss off,” I muttered absentmindedly, glancing lazily towards her.
She gasped indignantly, wheeling her hand back to slap me. I took the blow, my cheek wincing with pain. I growled menacingly under my breath as she took a step back.
“You’re an asshole,” She shouted.
“Don’t hit me again,” I retorted.
“Hey! What’s going on here?” Some loudmouthed bucko stepped into view, his lustful eyes glued to this chick. “This guy givin’ you a problem, darlin’?”
“Sure as shit is!” She looked proud of herself.
“Hey, you’re that foreigner, ain’t’cha?”
“Might be,” I replied noncommittally.
“Hey! Fellers! It’s a Brit!” He called out with that stupid fucking voice of his, as if I was some kind of novelty in this area.
Then again, this was New Orleans.
I probably was a novelty here.
I’m too conspicuous, I thought to myself. I need to leave a smaller footprint, maybe stop going to the same bar every night… even if they do make the drinks the way I like ‘em…
There were some murmurings as another fuck got up. He was dressed in a plaid shirt, dusty jeans, and cowboy boots. A ten-gallon hat was perched above his face. As he waddled into view, I could see that over a quarter of the room was quietly watching us now.
Not really the kind of attention I wanted.
“I don’t know how you treat the ladies in your part of the world, pahd’ner, but here in the U, S of A, we treat women with respect,” he told me with some sort of misguided authority over me.
The guy looked to be in his upper forties, sniffling a bushy moustache as he carefully summed me up.
I almost laughed…
But I was supposed to be playing it quiet. Tearing up a bar in New Orleans wouldn’t play well if I wanted that sponsorship back home.