CHAPTER 15: THE ORIGINAL DEFINITION OF C.U.N.T. MEETS THE NEW ONE: Take ONE

DAPHNE

“Now look at this little bastard here,” I muttered to myself as I see Michael and his sidekick in mediocrity come into the large workroom. 

He’s bogged down with package after package, as she swans next to him, talking his ear off about whatever bullshit she deems he should pay attention to. It’s already evident what his true role in her drama is meant to be… that of a glorified gofer and an all-around idiot to her whims. Well, he’s welcome to continue his trip upon the Imbecile Express. Although perhaps that should be renamed to the Caravan of Cuntville. I won’t hold my breath waiting for him to figure it out though.

Miranda comes to rest next to me, also watching the show. She also snickers as she hears Lindsay asking Michael if he’s listening to her. “If he was smart, now would be the time to go intentionally deaf and blind.”

I chuckle back. “Dumb is already a given, and not in its proper context.”

“So what do you think they are going to try first?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Brian will be here this afternoon, although it will be after he finishes a couple of things at Kinnetik.”

“But if Lindsay makes a move to speak with him, she’ll be thrown out of the competition immediately.”

“Why do you think she’s brought in Michael Mealymouth Novotny? If she can’t spew her own shit, the man with a chronic case of oral diarrhea certainly can,” I say, watching as she begins to browbeat Michael while she stands there directing him on how she wants everything set up. If there was ever a mix made in hell… 

“I suppose he’s simply taking her shit for the greater good?”

“Honey, you have no idea what his suffering for the greater good could entail.”

“And you do?”

“I grew up with Justin, so yes, I have an idea. The entitled world we’re from gives an education all its own. Too bad it’s going to take a hard fall or seven-hundred for Michael to get the message. Although, it might be worth the price of admission to watch.”

“Ah, just the person I wasn’t expecting to see here,” Lindsay says to me, looking at me as if she wants me to punch her in her elongated, snooty nose.

“Hell’s below, Lindsay,” I respond as a way of greeting.

“The word is HELLO, Daphne.”

“Yes, it is. And now I can provide the correct greeting to you as well. Now what can you do for me other than go away?”

She rolls her eyes and asks, “What exactly are you doing here?”

“Nunya.”

“Nunya?”

“Yes. Surely you know the shortened phrase for none of your damn business.”

“Of course I know it! In fact, I’m getting just a little tired of it being said in my direction.”

“Then perhaps you should get some business of your own to mind, and then it wouldn’t be a problem for you.”

She huffs and deliberately ignores the warning in my voice. “Miranda, I thought this competition wasn’t open to the public. In that case, Daphne has no place here.”

“I beg to differ, since she has much more right to be here than your own... companion.”

“Michael is working as my assistant,” Lindsay responds haughtily.

“Oh really? And how are you paying him to do so?” I ask. “You know every person here has to sign a contract of confidentiality? Also, they have to be given an employment contract for services rendered, beyond what they may make during normal working conditions. So just how much are you paying Michael to be your ASSistant?”

“Michael and I have a private agreement,” she says, trying to maintain her bravado, although she’s paled a bit.

“Well it best become public posthaste then, because most of the makeup artists and other staff are under contract with SAG/AFTRA. It’s for insurance purposes, you understand,” I say, continually enjoying her discomfiture. If there’s one thing Lindsay Peterson is not known for it is planning ahead. 

“Since I was late coming to the competition circuit, I wasn’t made aware of any of those stipulations.”

“Perhaps it’s because you don’t belong here?” Miranda asks, sardonically. “But, be that as it may, Lindsay, I would suggest that you get your gofer registered before you’re disqualified simply because you didn’t meet all of the terms and conditions. By the way, you will have to pay an entry fee for entering the competition, since as you said, you are late with registration and were NOT invited to attend. Also there is a fee for registering Mr. Novotny so that he can become a part of SAG/AFTRA beyond the scope of this competition. Since he will certainly want to use his small notoriety beyond the scope of this television show, he’ll consider it a gift that you are sponsoring him in this way, don’t you think?”

“But if he’s paying…”

“Oh no, dear. That’s not how things are done within the scope of the competition. If you bring him in and he’s not already part of the organization, you’ll have to provide his fees both for registration and for employment. Now that’s not a problem for you, is it?”

“You should run along, Lindsay, and take care of that,” I inject, just to niggle her that little bit further.

“And why are you here again?”

“I’m Justin’s personal assistant, in case you missed the memo. So yes, I’m gainfully employed, unlike you and your little crony over there.”

She laughs sarcastically. “As if! I mean, look at you. You’re a nobody in this business. You’re not even qualified to clean his paint brushes!”

“No, that would be you. But to disabuse you of those notions of stupidity I see swirling in your tiny brain, let me list my credentials which make me HIGHLY QUALIFIED to act in this capacity for the artist known as Justin Taylor-KINNEY.” I take great pleasure in seeing her nostrils flare angrily at hearing Justin’s married name. “I graduated at the top of my class with a dual degree in Business Administration and Pre-Med. Then I graduated at the top of my class from Law School with a concentration in Contract Law.”

“But what does that have to do with Art?”

“I’m best friends with the ARTIST who created Rage…”

“Well, I’m working with the WRITER of said comic.”

“Writer? Bitch, bye! Michael couldn’t write his ABCs in alphabet soup, let alone come up with an original storyline that didn’t center on what he thought Brian and Justin’s relationship was. Sort of like you couldn’t draw if it wasn’t by way of using connect the dots.”

“I beg to differ since I am here…”

“The question is: for how long?”

Lindsay finally took the hint and took her flat ass over to her even flatter ass idiot. I couldn’t help humming the famous song from the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz, as I watch the spit fly fast and furious between them. I can only assume from the incredulous looks, and rapid shaking of his head, that she’d just told him what he needed to do in order for her to stay in the competition. At first, I have to admit that I was proud of Michael sticking to his guns and realizing that this environment was NOT his ministry. But then that asshole-rific, idiotic, dreamy-eyed look came over his face, and I knew the man was once again stuck on stupid at Lindsay’s behest. 

“You owe me for this, Lindsay. And don’t think I’m not keeping a running tab of the money I’m putting out. Win or lose, you WILL pay me back!” Michael forcefully told her as he marched out of the room, presumably to go to the bank.

Noticing Lindsay’s smile, which resembled the most self-satisfied shark, Miranda comments, “Well, don’t that beat all. She really is a leech.”

“Yeah, she is. It’s just too bad that the idiot who should be singing ‘If I Only Had a Brain’ can’t see it. I’m willing to bet that all she had to do was mention being able to speak to Brian, and he went shit-stomping out of here to do her bidding.”

“Shit-stomping?”

“Yep. You never noticed how he always looks like he either crapped his pants or stepped in a load of shit while he’s walking. He would call it his determined walk, while the rest of us call it the post-pooper-scooper shuffle.”

Miranda laughs, and then asks, “Where’s the nearest bank to his from here?”

I thought for a moment and then realization dawned on me. “Oh shit, I’d better call Hunter. The nearest satellite branch of First National Bank is right across from the Kinnetik building. What do you want to bet that since he’ll be so near there, Michael won’t try to happen up inside the building?”

“I will not be taking that bet. I like my money too much,” Miranda answers sardonically, even as I pull my cell phone from my pocket.

I wait only for a few seconds as the call connects, but the minute he answers, I tell him, “Hey, Hunter. You have incoming, and just be prepared for the shit to fly your way…” 

HUNTER:

I listen intently as Daphne fills me in on the events since she arrived at the Alwin building a little while ago. It’s evident that Michael and Lindsay just cannot help themselves. They must always, ALWAYS, inject themselves into places they simply do not fit. I can’t even blame this on their individual upbringings at this point. It has to just be some asshole gene within them- a birth defect of some sort- which keeps them stuck in this perpetual cycle of cuntery!

“Mr. Montgomery…”

“Hunter. My name is Hunter, Charlene. Now what can I do for you?” I tell the receptionist.

“There’s a call on the line for Justin. Although he’s not in, it pertains to the furnishment of your office, so I thought that you might want to take it.”

“Thanks. Will do,” I say, as I head back over to my temporary desk. As I pick up the phone, I can’t help the little thrill which races through me. “Hunter Montgomery here.”

“I… I was expecting to speak with Justin.”

“He’s out of the office right now. But since it’s my office that is being furnished, our receptionist has put you through to me.”

“Listen, Kid. I want to speak with my son.”

It’s then that I know exactly who this is on the phone. “Mr. Taylor, as stated, that’s not possible right now as he is out of the office. I would ask if you wanted to leave a message, but since I’m sure that nothing you say will want to be heard by Justin, I’m going to do you a favor by simply hanging up and forgetting this small conversation ever happened.”

“Don’t you DARE hang up on me!”

“Look, Mr. Taylor. I have a father and you are NOT it. So kindly don’t think you have any say in what I do. Now this conversation is over!”

Before he has a chance to say anything else, I make good on my promise to hang up. Unfortunately, it’s apparent that there are more fires to be put out at the moment, as the commotion at the front desk reaches my ears. “Mr. Novotny, you were banned from the building! So no, you won’t be just bypassing into Mr. Taylor-Kinney’s office.”

“His name is Brian. Brian! BRIAAANNNNN!!!!!!” came the loud, whiny response. 

This must be the day for asshole fathers as I look upon the man who I used to consider one of mine, throwing a tantrum even five-year-olds might envy. I stand and watch him for a few more minutes, even as I dial Frank to make sure he’s in the lobby before I officially make my appearance known. If there is one thing this job is teaching me already, it’s that I don’t have to put up with bullshit from anyone. Already this morning, I had a meeting with the art department after Justin introduced me as his personal assistant for all things concerning Kinnetik JTD. So far the problems have been minimal, coming from a few people who knew me before. 

However, it was quickly established that I wouldn’t be playing their game of run-and-tell-that, when a warning was sufficiently written up and placed within their files immediately. I advised that although I would be fair, I wasn’t going to tolerate insubordination of any kind. Ironically, Murph applauded my efforts, even as he listened to the squawking coming from those disgruntled employees, who were already in danger of losing their jobs. Justin came back to the office, after receiving a phone call from both Cynthia and Murph, to tell me ‘good job’, since he’d known Brian had been having issues with those few idiots since the second week they’d been hired. I have to admit, it boosted my confidence.

But now I’m being forced to face the man who has taken great pleasure over the years in destroying it. I can’t help but feel a modicum of pity and fear for the boy I used to be, trying to claw his way out of the depths of my psyche. That Hunter was so quick to believe that Michael Novotny’s word was gospel since he’d heard the same ‘You’re useless’ diatribe from his own mother. But whereas that Hunter is still alive within me, this Hunter is much more self-assured, which is something neither Rita Montgomery or Michael Novotny ever bargained for. More the fool, them!

I stepped into the lobby, continuing to watch the scene unfold as Michael stands there, still arguing with the receptionist. He even has the nerve to threaten her job as if he has some power here. When he called her a useless, ignorant bitch, I’d heard enough! I step in between him and the woman, who looked as if she was about to take her stiletto heel off to drive it into the heart of the punkass bully any moment, saying, “Michael, I would say it was a pleasure to see you but… well, I don’t like to lie.”

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?!?!” He spits at me.

“Working. Unlike yourself. The question is: what are you doing here?”

“What? You’re giving blowjobs as a high-priced hustler now?”

I smirk, already knowing that he would pull that shit out of his lame brain before this very short conversation would be through. As I said, I’m not the same boy who would have broken down in private at his reference to my past. “No, Michael. I’m not working as anything but what I am.”

“And just what are you?”

“The personal assistant of Justin Taylor-KINNEY within the halls of Kinnetik JTD, Incorporated. Now what are you, beyond an asshole and Lindsay’s personal bank?”

“How dare you?! You don’t get to talk to me that way! I’m your father!”

“NO! Benjamin James Bruckner is MY father! You are NOTHING but an insignificant little prick without a prick. Now, if you’re through causing an undue scene, it’s time for you to leave.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Michael sneered.

I shake my head at him. “As usual, what you should hear you don’t. Yet those satellite dishes on the side of your head hear everything that’s not your business. Michael, my advice is to get a life; stop being Lindsay’s little minion, and find some fucking sense. Frank, please show Mr. Novotny out, and next time he enters don’t hesitate to call the police immediately.”

“I’ll be back, and you can’t stop me!” Michael screeched, as Frank manhandled the squirming man I used to regard as important to me.

“And you will be arrested, so come on back if you want. As hard as it is for your undereducated ass to get a job now, it will be even harder when you have a record. After all, that fuck-off money is bound to run out; have fun letting Lindsay help you spend it.” I waved my middle finger as a final parting shot, closing out the last chapter of ‘Undesirable Parents’ in my life. 

Things were certainly looking up!

LINDSAY

What the hell is taking Michael so long?! He was supposed to be back here over a half an hour ago! How long does it take to go to the fucking bank?! The judges have already come in, and I just know we’re about to get our first assignments. I look over to the other corner of the room where the best lighting is, and want to scream. I should have known that Daphne would have secured that spot for her boss. What a crock of shit!

“Sorry I’m late getting back, Lindsay,” Michael says, coming in. I can tell he’s upset about something, but I don’t really have time to hear him whine and complain right now. 

Turning on my most congenial smile, I answer, “Oh that’s alright, Michael. I’m sure you have a good reason.”

“You’re damned right I do! I figured since I was over by Kinnetik that I would stop in and try to speak to Brian since his little lapdog should have been on his way here by then. But once again, the fucking receptionist wouldn’t let me past her. And then, you’ll never fucking guess who, of all people, was there ‘working’!”

I seriously do NOT have time for this shit, but I also can’t offend my heretofore-meal ticket of the moment. So I ask, “Well who was it, Michael? Someone new that we can use to help us?”

“NO! It was fucking HUNTER!”

“Your son Hunter?” I laugh. “Well what the hell was he doing there? Delivering lunch from the Diner? Or was he being lunch instead?”

“He’s no fucking son of mine! And no, Lindsay, apparently Justin hired his own personal Cynthia in the form of hustler boy.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, that as that fucking teeny bopper is Justin’s personal assistant for his art, my ex-son is Justin’s personal assistant for Kinnetik JTD,” Michael grits out. I can tell he’s pissed that all of his dire predictions about Hunter’s future aren’t going to come to fruition. 

Trying to figure out a way to work this to our advantage, I smile at him. “I wouldn’t worry about that too much, Michael.”

“Why?”

“Because all we’ll need to do is find someone who will want to see Hunter fail as much as you do. Now if that ruins Justin’s business then…”

“Brian will certainly drop that blond boy ass faster than he would a hot potato! Oh, Lindsay, that’s genius. But who?”

“I can’t think of anyone with more than one axe to grind against Hunter than his own mother. Perhaps she’ll be willing to help set Hunter straight. After all, we have to protect Brian’s business so that when he finally comes back to his senses, and remembers who his true friends are, he’ll be willing to let Justin go for the sake of his own self-preservation. And we both know how much he values that.”

Michael grins up at me, and I swear he reminds me of a hyena. But instead of voicing that opinion, I just smiled back gently, while ushering him over to the registration table. No need to cut off my nose to spite my face, so to speak. There will be time enough for me to get rid of Michael permanently, but for now I need him to do what I can’t, without getting myself thrown out of here. There is simply too much at stake! 

But I can’t think of that right this second. Instead, I refocus back to the matter at hand. “Now that we have a plan in place there, Michael, it’s time to get you registered so I can set some wheels in motion here.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“To do my best in this competition, of course.”

“Well that’s a given, but I was talking about Boy Wonder.”

“You forget, Michael, that everything- and I mean EVERYTHING- is riding on my ability to make a strong showing. Once I’m able to do that, getting Justin’s ass to hightail it back to New York will be a cinch.”

“Yeah, well it better be since with this latest excursion to the bank, I have just under five grand left.”

“Oh, Michael. You have to look at the big picture. Besides, Brian will never see us homeless.”

“You really ought to talk to Melanie, Lindsay. You know, try to get back into her good graces. Then I can stay with the two of you while we deal with Brian’s little fucktoy.”

No sooner than Michael mentioned his suggestion is it that I see Mel and her Harley-tartlet, coming into the workspace. I’m tempted to go over there and cause another scene, but remembering the last time, I’m reluctant to do so. I pull Michael none too gently, just slightly to the left to guide us to the outskirts of the large area, instead of right up the middle where we were walking. The last thing I want to do is draw attention to us just now, which was initially my intention. But since they are heading over to where Justin is continually setting up, I think it’s better not to have any more delays.

“Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen, Michael.”

“Well why not? Surely, you can get her away from Leda; you did once before, didn’t you? Plus, I mean if you get back with Mel, maybe she will put in a good word to Brian and…”

“It just isn’t, okay?!” I nearly yell at his persistence. I really don’t want to have to explain everything to him again, especially the fact that there are still some unknown variables, who have been spilling my secrets to Melanie. Ooh, I would really love to know who told her about Charles and Mimi! That’s yet another axe I have to grind. “Well here we are, Michael. Let’s get this done so I can go set up.”  

Thankfully, we managed to get to the table of last minute registrations just in the nick of time, while avoiding detection. It would have been so much easier if we were able to stick to my original plan of making sure Justin and his watchbitches knew that their pronouncements about flouting the rules of the competition weren’t going to deter me from my ultimate goal of getting Justin’s ass out of here. There isn’t anyone ahead of us in line, but I guess there wouldn’t be since everyone has already pre-registered, and this is simply for last minute replacements. Before I can properly make the introductions, Michael is already speaking to the attendant. And wouldn’t you know it, he already sounds like the idiot he is.

“Look, I’m just here to register for the competition.”

“And I asked if you were an artist?” 

“Obviously not.”

“Then it isn’t up to you to register for the competition. However, you can register for SAG/AFTRA in which they will call you if you’re needed.”

“But I’m already working with one of the artists,” he whines, and I just want to chop him in the throat to shut him up. I figure I’d better take over this conversation before his screech has a chance to reach epic proportions.

“Hello, I’m Lindsay Peterson. I apologize for my assistant here. He will also be acting as my main model as well,” I say, smiling and turning on the charm.

“Uh-huh,” he replies, disinterestedly. “Well does he have any experience?”

“I’m right here, you know? And I can answer for myself,” Michael inserts as I try to shush him.

“Michael, please let me handle this. Forgive him; he’s not used to the way things are done in this arena. Now back to the matter at hand, no, he doesn’t have experience as a model.”

“Okay, but you do understand that no handicap is going to be given?”

“I’m not handicapped!” Michael screeches, and just as I feared, the room goes silent.

It isn’t hard to discern that everyone is looking at us, and I can feel the flame of embarrassment color my cheeks as I try to regain control of the situation. “Michael, he didn’t mean it in any derogatory way…”

“It sure felt like it.”

“But that’s not within the proper context.” Although he is certainly correct in thinking you have a limited brain capacity, you unduly arrogant ignoramus! is what I left unsaid. Taking a small deep breath I try to explain the term as I would to a fifth-grader. “Michael, the term handicap in this instance is in reference to providing a series of advantages during the competition. He’s simply stating that although you are new to this line of work, I won’t be given any special accommodations, such as extra time or to be judged on a sliding scale.”

“Oh, okay,” he responds, slightly mollified. “But…”

“No buts, Michael. Now let me finish up with this gentleman so we can get started. Okay?” At his nod, I turn back towards the man sitting here, chewing his gum in annoyance. And honestly, I can’t blame him, nor feel sorry for that masticated object taking the brunt of his impatience. “Apologies. We can continue now.”

“Okay, so how will you be paying him for his services?”

I swallow hard. “Pardon me, but I thought once he registered with the organization, he would receive payment from you all directly?”

“Ordinarily that would be the case, but not this time because he’s also going to be acting as your assistant. The reason we need to know that is for insurance purposes.”

“Insurance purposes?”

“Yes. It’s mainly so that if there is any payment dispute between the two of you, neither SAG/AFTRA, nor any of the sponsoring companies can be held liable to reimburse your employee in your stead.”

Suddenly, using Michael to save money during this endeavor doesn’t seem like such a good idea. I lie so that we can still get registered even as I try to figure out an avenue to make good on my false promise. “Michael and I will come to a private understanding, but he will at least receive minimum wage for his work of the day- be it as my assistant or my model.”

“That will be good, now all I need is for you to sign this form which states that fact.” He hands me a pen along with the contract I’m signing. Then he hands me several other forms, including the confidentiality agreement, and a form of liable in the event I have a wandering eye during the competition and decide to copy a certain style when producing my own work for the competition. That one really chapped my ass, because I was indeed planning to do a version of 'Who Did It Best' when challenging Justin's work directly at the judges' table. But this form clearly has stipulations concerning intellectual property and all that drivel. My heart sinks even further, after I sign those and hand them back to him. He then tells me, “Thank you, Ms. Peterson. Now it's time to get to business of the fees. The registration fee for this competition is three-hundred dollars.”

“Three-hundred dollars? What for?” Michael, once again, screeches drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

“It is for basic insurance where once again, your employer agrees to cover any cost outside of the normal scope of potential injuries. It’s for the use of certain amenities such as electricity and water, since you’ll definitely want to wash off any makeup or paint used after the photoshoots and judges comments. Also, there is an additional fee of which at this level is two-hundred fifty dollars to get you registered into the SAG/AFTRA organization. It’s the standard rate of dues, which lasts for a year with the potential of unlimited work, provided that you are what the producers are looking for. Also, there is the matter of the registration fee for you, Ms. Peterson, which is an additional two-hundred dollars, since you did not register beforehand, nor were invited to participate in the competition from its inception.”

"Well how do you know I wasn't?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Because you aren't being sponsored by any studio or business the way these contestants are. Those who are auditioning as walk-ons will be sponsored directly by the Bloom Gallery, soon to be renamed the Bloom JTK Gallery at the end of the month."

Oh fuck! Justin just bought into the Bloom Gallery?! He's really gotta go!

I stood there in shock for a moment at all I'm being told, and my mind is reeling. First thing though is that I hadn’t realized, when I began all of this, that ruining Brian and Justin's alliance would be so expensive! And then with the contract I signed to pay Michael for his services… Well, I know the money-grubbing, penny-pinching asshole isn’t going to let the matter go so easily. Plus, there is the matter that Justin is basically becoming a fucking institution, even beyond the scope of my initial thoughts.

If I don't find a way to stop him in this arena alone, all of my plans and dreams of being Brian's wife while controlling Justin are going to be ground into dust! So reaching into Michael’s back pocket, I quickly yank his wallet out and pull out the requisite amount of money, before he even has a chance to register what happened. I swear, after all of this trauma, my plan had better work. It has to, otherwise I really will be up shit’s creek with a Michael Novotny-sized paddle! With that done, we head back over to my mediocre workstation to finish setting up, while Michael continues his squawking.

I’m so tempted to tell him to shut the fuck up or better yet, deck him! But I have to keep my mind on the endgame… well, mine at any rate. And if I can fuck up Michael’s life so royally to the point where he can’t come back into Brian’s, that will just be the added bonus in all of this chaos, now wouldn’t it? So yes, all of my actions thus far just have to succeed. After all, every single one of my plans are for my definition of the greater good.