Trust Me by Paul Slatter

Author:Paul Slatter [Slatter, Paul]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781794504615
Publisher: TNCS Books Inc
Published: 2019-12-02T22:00:00+00:00

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Rock Mason paced about in his Airstream Classic trailer, which he had refused to set foot in because it was two feet shorter than Adalia’s. He wanted to call his agent, but he couldn’t because he didn’t have one. Nor did he have any money in the bank anymore, hence getting rid of the agent. There had been a day when he’d have told that pompous Brit and his big fucking friend to go fuck themselves and got on a private jet back to his pool in Hollywood. But now all the pools were gone, along with the four wives he’d decorated them with over the years.

Now he was here doing stupid space films with other A-listers who were holding onto their careers better than he could, along with some stupid kid who couldn’t get his helmet off and had a sensitive mother. Now at the very same time he was trying to claw back something that may very well have been gone forever, he was being disrespected by mouthy boyfriends. But no one had to know that. He could keep it together and pretend he still had it all while he was here—same as Errol Flynn had until he’d died in this same goddamn awful city where it rained all the time.

Now he was roughing it in this tiny 31-foot rented Airstream Classic with its tiny wardrobe and a bullshit executive suite at the Sutton, living on a grand a day expenses which he had to use as wages instead of blowing it at the bar every night. Fuck, how had things gotten so bad? But you’re still here doing it, he told himself, as he laid himself out on the sofa of the Classic and wondered if he’d be able to get the girl with the headset on into the Airstream with him for a bit of fun. In his day, yeah, there’d been magic with more than a few when he’d had them in the trailer to watch him masturbate. But up here, now, where everyone wore black and cross trainers and abbreviated their sentences more now than they ever had before, times had changed.

He looked around, there had to be something that he could find that he could moan about for a while instead of that big fuck being rude—get the people in the office worried that he wasn’t happy. He couldn’t get drunk like he used to—that had always worked, but not these days, not like in the 70’s when it was pretty much expected of you. Back in the day when they’d call for Rock Mason and find him lying on the sofa of a proper Airstream trailer out in the desert somewhere he or anyone else could never find on a map again, he’d be there with his top off for good measure, with a bottle of Jack on its side on the coffee table and a crowd around him trying to wake him up—when inside he was fine, just playing the part. Acting.

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