Interlude E: Eric Simonds

“Eric Simonds, the world hasn’t heard any word from you in nearly a month! We’ve been dying for news, but it’s been radio silence from your camp. Do you want to tell us where you’ve been hiding out these last few weeks?”

His agent just about had an aneurysm when she first learned that she would have to cancel all of his engagements over the last month. This television appearance, held one day after Dr. Kee officially signed his release, was the only way that he could get her to calm down and stay on the payroll.

“How do you think I look?” Eric asks instead of answering the question, giving a dazzling smile to the audience and the viewers at home.

The hostess blushes at his question. She’s short, slender, brunette, not really his type, but cute enough.

“As good as we’ve ever seen you,” she says, now fanning herself to play up the moment.

“Well, there’s your answer,” Eric laughs. “I was at a retreat, a real nice place out in the countryside. The kind of place for me to reflect, meditate, eat good food and think good thoughts, that kind of thing. It really does a wonder to your body.”

Dr. Kee really did a wonder with his face. It looks imperceptibly better than his original face, the tiniest of touches that give his face a little more life, a bit more pizzaz. He doesn’t even really know how to describe the difference, himself, even having seen the before and after photos right next to each other. But certainly, it’s miles better than the state in which he came into Dr. Kee’s practice.

“A retreat? What was it like?” the hostess asks. She leans in, intrigued, urging him to speak more.

“It’s a very secretive kind of place,” Eric says. “There’s a couple of my fellow actors and actresses who’ll know what I’m talking about, but really, I’ve probably said too much about it already.”

“Oh come on, surely you can give us just a tiny peek into the lives of Hollywood’s rich and famous?” she asks him. She turns to the audience. “Don’t you want to hear more?”

Their response is predictable. He chuckles, holding up his hands, pretending as if they’ve got him.

“Well, there was a good friend of mine who was there with me,” Eric starts to say, and then he stops, as if catching himself. “But ah… since I was there to accompany them, I shouldn’t say anything more about that. Tell you what, I’ll let you in on a secret technique they teach us over there. A way to be mindful, when you’ve got a moment of quiet for yourself,” he smiles. “You visualise your problems, like a bunch angry red clumps in your head, and then you send them away, one by one, like little puffs of air blowing them away…”

He makes small motions with his hands as he speaks, knowing that it makes him seem more endearing. He hasn’t received a preset question list for tonight, but it was easy enough to figure out what to prepare for.

“That sounds like pure bliss,” the hostess sighs. “You know, maybe if I could just make my kids just… disappear—” she imitates his hand movements “—well, who knows what life could be like then?”

“You’ve still got a husband to disappear after that,” Eric says.

He winks at her.

That’s also good for the numbers.

“Oh gosh, I couldn’t possibly,” she says, blushing again. “But let’s talk about Lightly. Your guys were supposed to wrap up shooting this month, weren’t you? Has the schedule for the film been delayed, or did you work something out?”

“We haven’t changed the release date,” he says. “So those rumours you’ve heard online about the whole movie being cancelled because Tiffany is supposedly being petty over me breaking up with her? Well, let’s just say that I was willing to take a break, give her a chance to cool off and set her head right, before diving back into the studio.”

“So is that what all this has been about? Taking a breather to give Tiffany a chance to reset?” the hostess asks, intrigued.

He has to be careful here, because the wrong word would give Tiffany and her PR team an undesirable opening.

“Yes, I think she’s had a lot to deal with recently, I do feel sorry for her,” he says. “And it’s been a busy time for our family too, of course, now that we’re selling off STX and taking things in a new direction. We’ve had some thinking to do, about next steps.”

The hostess takes his opening and natters on about something or the other, wondering what those next steps his family will take are, and he gives his canned answer with an authentic smile, and the television segment carries on…

Back at home, his dad is not happy with him.

“What were you thinking, letting that girl, Lucia, be in a position to give incriminating evidence about you? And now Claude is out of our hands, he’s living in the Najbreit estate as their artist-in-residence, there’s no way we’re wiping that evidence clean,” Bob Simonds sulks, stomping around the cramped study.

“We’ve talked this over already, dad,” Eric replies, stepping out of the way as Bob brushes past him again.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you managed to fuck my entire life’s work over,” he says, spinning around and jabbing a finger at his son.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Eric says defensively, crossing his arms over his chest. “It was the Najbreit bitches and the Ashworth fucker.”

Bob shoves Eric against the wall, the stench of **** thick on his breath as he pins his son to the wall, a surprising amount of muscle showing beneath his rolls of fat.

“IT WAS YOUR FAULT,” Bob screams, and Eric does his best to not flinch.

He takes a slow, ragged breath, feeling his father’s hands pressing tight against his chest.

“We still got millions out of the deal,” Eric says, slowly. “There’s plenty that you could still do. You could start a new company, enter a new industry, really, the options are… wide open.”

He sounds unconvinced even as he says it. He knows his dad poured his life and soul into that company. There’s nothing that could take its place, now that it’s been ripped away from him.

“There’s only one thing I want,” Bob says. He let go of Eric and stalks over to the window. “****.”