Markus Najbreit’s Audition

“You’re one of Mr. Samuel’s men?” Tiffany asks me. She looks at me curiously, the faint surprise from my entrance having worn off already.

I take a seat facing her and chuckle, saying: “It’s more the other way around.”

“What, you’re one of his women?” she says, smiling in spite of herself.

“Not exactly,” I say, smiling back. “Here, let me show you something.”

I put finger to my lips, pulling out a slip of paper and a fountain pen from my breast pocket. I scribble down something on the paper and pass it to her.

It takes her less than a second to read what’s on the page, and then she looks up at me in disbelief, eyes widening, her head ever-so-slightly tilting to the side.

I keep my finger on my lips.

It’s Markus she mouths back at me, looking back at the slip of paper.

“Neat, isn’t it?” I say casually.

“But why—”

“And I assure you, he means no harm, but he figured this would be the only way that he could ever get a chance to meet you. He’s a real big fan,” I say, pulling out a heavy black pouch from the inside pocket of my blazer as I speak my nonsense for the microphones. I casually drop my phone into it, hand the pouch to her, and gesture for her to put hers in, speaking all the while. “So he went through some unusual measures to try to set up this meeting, which is why I’m here, you know, on my and Mr. Samuel’s word, he’s just…”

It’s at this point that she quietly slips the phone into the pouch. I gesture for her to seal the pouch up, and she does.

“We can talk safely now, phones are in a mobile Faraday cage,” I say, pointing at the black pouch.

“Oh wow, it’s really you, Markus! I never would have guessed, and then you came in, what in the world?” Tiffany says, the wonderment bursting out all of a sudden. “You look different from the pictures! Cuter? Can people get cuter when they grow older?”

Cuter? Not quite the impression that I wanted to make, but at least she took the revelation about as I expected: fully in stride, and in good humour too.

“Got a slight makeover,” I say, gesturing at my face.

“Not unusual in Hollywood,” she laughs. “But Father’s really been on your case lately, hasn’t he?”

“Tell me more,” I reply, only half ironically.

“Oh no, straight to business? You don’t want to catch up with your baby sister?” she teases, sliding out of her chair and sidling up to me.

She leans in, her musk surprisingly deep and sweet, and for a second, I think she’s about to kiss me, but then her head fits into the crook between my neck and shoulder, her arms wrapped around me, and I hug her back.

“It shouldn’t have taken us twenty years to meet,” she says, pulling back to look me in the eyes.

“It shouldn’t have,” I echo, feeling the faint warmth of her skin through my hands. “Father shouldn’t have kept us apart.”

An expression of concern suddenly crosses her face, and she unhugs me, reaching for her phone, before she looks back at the black pouch sitting on her chair and stops herself. She picks up the pouch, hefting it in her hand, as if suddenly feeling its weight for the first time.

“Father… he knows that you’re here,” Tiffany says, and I feel a familiar panic start to course through my veins again.

“Do I need to run?” I ask, reflexively checking the room for exits, but I already know the truth. There is only one: the door I came in from. And Father’s bodyguards are standing guard right outside that door.

“I don’t know. But Father knows you’re in LA,” she says, putting a hand on my arm. “He cornered me at the family dinner this month. Father told me that he knew you were in town, and told me to share everything that I knew with him. I didn’t say anything, I mean, I told him I didn’t know anything, because I didn’t, but…”

“But I wasn’t in LA on March 5th. I was in Boston.”

Tiffany looks at me, confused. I sit in my chair, wondering what Father could have possibly been playing at, and then the implication hits me.

“Fuck,” I curse.

“If you need to run, I can…” Tiffany’s voice drifts off. She’s not sure what she can do, she’s not sure what she’s willing to risk.

“No, not that,” I say, holding up a hand. Then: “Fuck!”

She has the grace to let me regain my composure in silence. It takes a couple seconds.

“So you don’t know why Father did in Erin,” I say.

“It didn’t have something to do with you?” There’s a soft horror to her voice as she realises how much trouble she may be in.

“Father’s not just been tracking your phone, he’s been playing you guys too,” I say, her answer confirming the last bit of it. “He thought that I would reach out to one of you girls, and so, he must have bluffed during the family dinner, telling each of you, including Erin, that he knew where I was. And of course, I was with Erin, and she told me, and I spooked, and I jumped the gun, pulled the trigger, unleashed twenty versions of myself into the world, when that was exactly what Father wanted. He didn’t know where I was, and I gave him exactly that by tipping my hand. And then I gave him Erin, too.”

“Well, fuck,” Tiffany says. I gave her a half-hearted smile for the moral support.

“And we thought the threat was credible too—Vidocq was in Boston, after all. But in hindsight it’s obvious. The only one of my sisters who could track Vidocq was Erin, so of course, Father put Vidocq in Boston. That way his threat sounded credible, even if Father actually had no leads. That’s why Vidocq was holed up in that damn hotel room the whole time. He was just sitting there, doing nothing. FUCK!”

“The people outside will hear,” Tiffany says, putting a calming arm on my shoulder.

It takes me a number of seconds for me to gather my wits, figure out the next step. Tiffany watches me anxiously, eyes flitting to the door, as if expecting somebody to bust it down any second.

“The next family dinner is in five days,” I say at a more reasonable volume. “Could you help me with something?”

“I can’t lie to him. He was the one that taught me to lie, to act,” Tiffany quickly says, but I shake my head.

“Not necessary. I should get going soon, but I’ll need your phone number. I’ll text you something from a burner phone, and all you have to do is forward it to Father,” I say.

“Okay?” Tiffany says hesitantly.

“Don’t worry,” I say, patting her on the shoulder. “Big brother will take care of you.”

She gives me a reassuring smile, and then leans forward to peck me on the cheek.

“You take care of yourself first.”