Do not deviate

May 5, 2020

It’s Tuesday night on the fifth of May. Tiffany had been texting me updates throughout the family dinner, all the way until it formally ended and broke down into smaller conversations throughout the Najbreit Estate. It’s 9 pm here in California, and I rub my shoulders, wincing.

“Still feeling sore?” Ella Sue asks me, looking concerned.

“Yeah, there’s a strange prickling,” I say, giving my shoulders another rub. “But at least things on the East Coast went well. Father’s still supportive of my plan, and it seems like Vidocq’s all but given up hope at this point.”

“So everything’s good then!” Ella Sue smiles.

“Well, except for my body, which is apparently now doing its best to kill me,” I groan, rubbing my shoulders again.

“Hmm… maybe you could try eating me out again?”

I laugh, saying: “Young lady, who broke your sex drive?”

“You never know, it could work,” she says, giving me her best puppy-dog eyes.

In a bid to make up the hundred and fifty points that I’m still missing to buy Internal Defences II, Ella Sue and I have been fucking each other’s brains out, trying to make my score with her hit one hundred. It’s worked, up to a point. Her score with me quickly rose fifteen points to hit eighty-five, tied with Tiffany Najbreit for the highest I hold with anyone, but then it plateaued at that quantity.

We tried getting kinkier in the bedroom, but all I ended up with was a sore chest that probably won’t heal up right, and not a single extra point to my name.

“Much as I hate to admit it, I don’t think sex is the answer,” I say. “We’re going to have to try something else.”

“Well… what if sex is the answer?” Ella Sue says, nudging me.

“I just said that I don’t think sex is—”

“No, no, not sex with me. Remember what you did with Lizzie Kestrel?”

I make a face, but nod, seeing where she’s going with this.

“I’d rather not go for another psycho-lady,” I say. “I think I’ve learned my lesson from that one. Don’t stick your dick in crazy.”

I rub my arm instinctively, even though no trace of the burn scar remains.

“That was the lesson you learned?”

“I mean, that, and, don’t be an absolute dick to people who don’t deserve it,” I say. I pause. “But now I feel weary about hooking up with some girl just to jack up my AMA score with her.”

“Is it any worse than the guys in those bars who are just there to fuck girls?” Ella Sue asks.

“I suppose it’s about the same,” I shrug.

“And how do you feel about that?”

“I mean, if the girl’s into it too… let people do what they want.”

“So go get ‘em, tiger,” Ella Sue says, pushing a finger into my chest. “You better not come home alone tonight.”

As I walk into the dive bar, taking in the smell of sour beer and the hazy neon signs up on the back wall of the place, I realise with a start that it’s been almost half a year since I last stepped foot into one of these places. That must be some kind of personal record for me.

My eyes are immediately drawn to the bar, where there only sits one unaccompanied woman. Looks like she’s the one for me tonight, then.

As I draw closer, I thank my lucky stars that she looks fairly attractive—long brunette hair, a light cardigan over her black top, and a nice face too, I discover as I slide into the bar stool next to hers.

“Wait… I’ve seen you somewhere,” she says, turning to give me a smile. “Hold on, don’t spoil it, I think I got it…”

The bartender shuffles over to me, and raps on the table.

“You gettin’ anythin’, son?” he says in a gruff voice. “Don’t get to sit here if you’re not gonna buy.”

This certainly isn’t my good friend Dave, I can tell you that.

“A GlenDronach 18, on the rocks,” I say, sticking with an old comfort. I turn to the lady next to me. “You want anything, miss?”

“I’ll have another one of these,” she says, twirling the stem of her cocktail glass.

“Sure,” the bartender grunts.

The lady next to me snaps her fingers, saying: “Oh shoot, aren’t you… you’re the one who went to the Getty Ball with Tiffany Najbreit, aren’t you?”

“Claude Ashworth, guilty as charged,” I smile, opening my arms up. “And would I have any reason to know you?”

“Not unless you’re into ice distribution in SoCal?”

She laughs as I shake my head.

“Well, I’m Dana,” she says, just as the bartender returns with the drinks.

Hers is something pink, with a lemon wedge tucked on the edge, while mine tastes just like it used to.

“So, I know you’re not supposed to talk about ‘other people’ in times like this,” she says, air-quoting those words, “but… are you actually going out with Tiffany? There’s so much speculation online, and I know you both said you were only friends, but… I mean, Eric Simonds moved on instantly, so…”

“We’re just friends,” I chuckle. I put a hand on her knee. “There’s a reason I’m here tonight, and not elsewhere.”

“Oh, you think you can do better than Tiffany Najbreit in a seedy bar like this?”

“I think I just have,” I say, winking at her.

She giggles, covering her mouth and looking away.

“You are lying so badly right now, it’s not even on the charts anymore,” she says, taking her chance to touch my arm.

“Me? A liar? An artist never lies,” I say. I take a drink. “Tell you what. You get to me ask me one question, about anything, and I promise I’ll tell you the truth. Then I get to do the same to you.”

“Wow,” she says, and then a thoughtful expression crosses her face. “There is so much that I could ask you about. Especially if you’re close with Tiffany. You’re close with Tiffany, right?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Fuck! I didn’t mean for that to be my question—”

“It’s fine, I’ll give you another shot,” I laugh, polishing off my drink.

I wave over the bartender, asking for another.

“Okay, okay, give me a second, this is a big moment for me…”

“Not as big as something else,” I say, nudging her.

“Shhh….” she says, though she still fails to hide the smirk on her face.

Four seats down, a guy and a girl that have been getting handsy with each other get up and leave the bar together.

“Okay, I got it, this is a good one,” Dana says. “I mean, I know what she says, but Christ, Eric is hot, and Tiffany has that good girl reputation to keep up, and people lie about that kind of stuff all the time… so, you have to tell me honestly, do you think Tiffany Najbreit is a virgin?”

Looks like my girl tonight is quite a gossip.

“Sorry to be a killjoy, but it’s true,” I say. “Tiffany’s a virgin.”

“Fuck, I thought I had it,” she says.

My second drink comes and I put down half of it in one swig. The burn of the **** feels good.

“My turn now,” I say, just as my stomach turns over itself.

What the fuck? It’s like the **** in my stomach doesn’t want to stay down. I’ve had much more than this before, no problem, but it feels awful in the moment. I almost throw up, and have to step away from the barstool just to stop myself from hurling right there on the spot.

“Shit, sorry, let me use the bathroom first,” I say, excusing myself.

“You just want more time to think up your question,” Dana laughs.

“Oh don’t worry, I’ve already got one. It’s gonna kill you,” I smile weakly, and then I make my way over to the restroom quick as I can.

Once inside the men’s room, I rush into a stall and bend over the toilet, dry heaving a couple times, but nothing comes up. Shit. That AMA “perk” is really fucking me over. A wave of nausea rocks over me, and I hold onto the toilet door to steady myself. I need to sit.

I sit on the toilet lid.

The queasiness continues rumbling in my stomach. It feels bad, not as bad as it was a moment before, but still bad. I need to distract myself. I pull out my phone.

There’s a text from Dr. Kee.

What’s the delay? We’ve all seen the pictures from the Getty Ball.

I pause, thinking of Tiffany.

Thoughts, unbidden, of her birthmark, rise to the surface of my mind. Fuck. Am I supposed to sell her out like that? What happens if I don’t? Fuck. I can’t deal with this right now.

I pull out the AMA instead.

Who knows, maybe I’ve already got fifty points with Dana, and I can call it a night.

I scroll through my scores, looking through the names, but I don’t see Dana’s name anywhere on the list. I scroll through it again. No Dana.

Maybe she gave me a fake name?

I go through the list slowly, this time, but no, all the names are ones that I recognise.

“What’s wrong?” I mutter, tapping my phone. “Are you fucking broken?”

Has every person that you’ve ever met shown up on the AMA?

The line of text runs across the screen.

“Obviously not,” I whisper.

Not everyone is relevant to your story.

What?

“What do you mean, my story?” I say, gripping my phone tightly as another wave of nausea racks my body.

You were given the AMA for a reason.

“I don’t understand,” I say, and it’s not just the headache throbbing in my head. What is going on?

Fulfil your mission. Follow the path. Do not deviate.

I stare at the nine words on the screen.

I think I understand.

I put my phone back in my pocket and get up.

“I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t be doing this,” I say, back at the bar.

“What?” Dana frowns. “You mean…”

“It was fun chatting,” I say. “But I have no business being here.”

“You got a wife back home?” Dana asks. “Is that why you’re not going out with Tiffany?”

“Something like that,” I say.

She sighs, brushes her hair back, and nods.

“Well, you’re a good man then,” she says, patting me on the back.

“This should cover it. Keep the change,” I say, dropping a hundred dollar bill on the countertop.

I walk out of the bar and head for home, alone.