Pierce
Pierce glanced around at the chaos, trying to decide how to handle the unforeseen boom in traffic. The toy drive was just supposed to be a local event; where did all of these people come from?
The Millennium Mayhem First Annual Toy Drive was looking to be an unprecedented success, one that had blown both Pierce and Razor’s hopes completely out of the water. The whole damned garage was flooded with bright toys and bows and ribbons and strangers with cameras. News vans lined the streets outside, drawing onlookers from the streets, curious to see what all of the fuss was about.
“I’m curious to know what all of the fuss is about, too.” Pierce glanced around, watching as the camera crews tracked down all of his people, doing short interviews on the charity work. Pierce heard the phrase “Bikers Gone Good,” so many times from the reports’ mouths that he wanted to gag. Like we’re the first group of guys to clean up our acts and do something worth doing.
“So, Mr. Normandy, you’re the leader of this group, is that right?” some lady in a red suit was asking him, her stage makeup giving her a strange, clown look in real life.
“Uh, yes. I’m the president of Millennium Mayhem. I organized this toy drive as a symbol of our newfound devotion to the community; all the proceeds and toys will be split up, half going to St. Mary’s Children’s Hospital and half to the Hope for the Holidays foundation.” Pierce blinked at the too-bright camera lights, trying to figure out how to get out of more of these interviews.
“But you were a criminal operation before.”
Pierce winced as the reporter shoved the microphone back in his face. “I wouldn’t say that,” he laughed, then suggestively slow winked at the camera, making the woman in red laugh. “But this year, we made a bit more money than usual. So we’re giving some of it back to the community. Most of the donated money for this has come from Felice Domiano. The rest has come from the profits from our new garage, the MMMC.”
The reporter asked a few more questions, and Pierce steered her away from any questions about Felice. Instead, he talked about the garage and the people who had devoted their lives to it, including Razor and a few of his other past gang members. The press looked a little disappointed as he clearly kept maneuvering around questions about America’s favorite reality TV star.
The cameras packed up eventually and left, leaving Pierce with massive piles of toys and a shocked group of Mayhem boys.
“What was all that about?” Razor asked, scratching the shaved sides of her hair. “That was way more’n we were expecting. Did you call someone, boss?”
Pierce shook his head. “I think this calls for a round of drinks though, doesn’t it, boys?” A cheer filled the room from the men and women who Pierce was lucky enough to have on his side. It didn’t turn out like I thought it would, but it’s not such a bad life. He winced a little whenever he thought about Felice or his son, but at least he still had all of this. After he gave them some money, they brought back several pizzas and a drum of beer from somewhere, breaking open both and passing them around.
Pierce’s phone buzzed loudly just as the last of the pizza disappeared. It was a number he didn’t recognize, but it was the same area code as Felice and Jennifer’s numbers. Frowning, he stood up from the celebration and walked away, putting the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
A familiar, not wholly unwelcome voice answered from the other side. “Greetings! Merry Christmas and all that jazz. How yah been, Pierce?”
“Just fine... Kenneth, right?”
“That’s right. Kenneth Vanderbilt. The one Felice tried to get to make you fake IDs and all that,” he said, chuckling. “Been awhile since you’ve been around though.”
“You helped me get out of jail; I never thanked you for that.” Pierce swallowed hard, not sure exactly what to say to this guy. He seemed like one of those slimeballs who straddled the good and bad parts of the world without having any moral issues at all. Pierce hoped he wasn’t coming back for some sort of reconciliation for helping him.
“Not a big deal, Pierce; the lady was paying me anyway. I just called to see how you were enjoying your Christmas present from me and Jenny.”
Pierce blinked, his mouth turning down into a frown. “You sicced the news vans on us for our charity event?”
“Yeah, some pretty nice work there, wasn’t it? Lucky for the girlies I know people who know people. You’ll be needing all of that good press in a few days. Keep your eyes on the entertainment news on TV, would yah? I think you might find some of the upcoming stories really interesting.”
Before Pierce could question him further, Kenneth hung up. Pierce didn’t like the smug sound of that little dirt bag’s voice at all. What the hell was all that about?
Putting down his phone, Pierce pushed the thoughts of that odd conversation out of his head, determined to celebrate with his boys, no matter what Jennifer and Kenneth were up to.
# # #
Felice
When Felice’s phone rang, she almost threw it out of the window instead of answering. The cameras were in her house again and the producers were arguing over the best way to have Felice and Clay’s engagement play out on screen. Felice’s mother was there, trying to dominate the conversation, and Clay, who was supposed to be in today’s filming, was nowhere to be found. How are we supposed to shoot the engagement shots today if he doesn’t show up?
Felice imagined he was passed out somewhere, his face buried in between some nameless woman’s boobs. But she didn’t bother calling him; if he didn’t show up, it would just be one more day she could put off this fake engagement that she didn’t want anything to do with.
Glancing down at her phone, Felice saw Kenneth’s name flash across the screen. She picked up the phone, stepping out of the kitchen and into the dining room where it was a little quieter. “Hello, Kenneth,” she said, unable to keep the frown out of her voice.
“Good morning, darlin. It’s always a pleasure to hear your sweet voice,” Kenneth answered, his voice laced with sarcasm. “I look forward to our conversations, I really do.”
Felice took a deep breath. “You’re right; I’m sorry. I am glad to hear from you, I think. What can I do for you?”
“I need you tah do me a big favor, Felice. Turn on your TV and switch to channel five. You can thank me later!”
The undeniable sound of a phone being hung up rang in her ear and Felice gaped at her cell phone. What a jackass, hanging up on me. Grumpy and frowning, Felice stepped into the living room, where the cameras were already up and rolling. Felice’s mother and Matt were chatting on camera when she walked in, plopping down on the couch and turning on the TV.
Dolores turned on her almost immediately. “Do you mind, Felice?”
“That you’re doing this in my house? Only a little. This is important.” Felice waved at her to be quiet, and a few of the cameramen had to cover their mouths to keep from laughing out loud on the cut.
Felice flipped on the TV, ignoring Dolores, Matt, and the half dozen still-running cameras around to flip to channel five, as directed. “This better be good,” Felice thought, clicking the TV box controller.
Her jaw nearly dropped to the floor as she saw the news story currently in progress.
“Clay Patterson, boyfriend of superstar Felice Domiano, was outed by a long time secretary for his laundry list of alleged illegal dealings,” the news anchor was saying, her voice and eyes empty of emotion. “The man, who is supposed to be a main player in the upcoming season of the Steel Dom TV show, will most likely be spending the season in jail instead.” The news anchor began to list the charges, a glimmer of glee at Clay’s misfortune glowing in the depths of her eyes.
The cameras zoomed in on the TV and the Domianos’ horrified expressions with glee. This wasn’t the engagement episode they had been hoping for, but they would still get something worth putting on TV.
Felice ignored the sudden uproar around her, her eyes locked on the screen.
In a horrified second, she realized her mistake. “What Clay has done is even worse than Pierce, and I was going to let him raise my child.” Tears sprang to her eyes, blurring the footage before her. “I never should have let him into my life or my house. I never should have left Pierce behind.”
The front door opened and slammed shut. Felice barely heard it over the sound of Dolores panicking and the sound of her own heart breaking into pieces. “What have I done?”
Breathing heavily, Clay tumbled into the living room, his pale face red from exertion. “Babe, you won’t believe what’s going on.”
Felice glanced at him and snorted indelicately. “I might believe it.” She pointed to the screen. “Tax evasion? Embezzling money? Drugs? All of this is true, isn’t it? This is how you made your greasy money?”
“I didn’t hear you complaining when I spent that money on you, Felice,” Clay snapped, his eyes on fire. “But come on, Babe. We’re going to have to make a run for it. Get out of the US government’s reach.”
Felice laughed. “Like I’d go anywhere with you now. Slimeball.”
Clay slapped her across the face, his eyes burning with hate. “So you can go back to your biker asshole? I don’t think so. You’re coming with me.” He grabbed onto her arm so hard Felice was sure she would have bruises.
Balling up her fist, Felice pulled back as hard as she could, punching Clay in the nose with all of her might. Blood spurted from his nostrils, and his head snapped back. Clay yelled out, releasing her arm as Felice scampered back away from him. She knew the cameras were still running, but she ran back to her fireplace and grabbed the fire poker off of the stand, holding it out like a sword in front of her. “Touch me again and I’ll brain you, you stupid douchebag. I don’t want you. No one wants you. You’re just a slimy asshole who can’t see past his own sense of entitlement. So get the hell out of my house. Now.”
Clay touched his face, seemingly shocked at the blood spilling from his nose. Tears streamed from his eyes as he turned them on Felice. “You broke my nose!”
“And next I’m calling the police to tell them where you are! Get out of my house!”
Sirens pulled up the road, screeching and loud, pulling into Felice’s driveway. Clay, looking panicked, stood up, his face full of rage. “This is your fault, you dumb bitch,” he screamed, blood still pouring down his face. “If I go to jail, it will be your fault!”
Felice laughed in his face, bitter and angry. “If you go to jail, it’ll be your own damned fault for all of the illegal stuff you did, Clay. None of it will be my fault.”
The police charged into the house, a thunder of boots on through her normally quiet kitchen. One of them men leapt forward, slamming hard into Clay’s knees and instantly bringing him to the floor. Dolores screamed and Matt dove out of the way and to the couch, not wanting to be caught in the line of fire if Clay tried to flee.
Felice dropped the poker. It clattered loudly to the floor as the police officers swarmed her home. She stared at the police and at Clay with dead eyes. She was exhausted; she felt like she hadn’t slept in a week. Cradling her stomach with her left hand, Felice watched as the police dragged Clay out of her house, kicking and screaming, his curses finally quieting as they shoved him in the back of car.
“This is amazing!” one of the producers gushed, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Nothing makes better TV, Felice!”
“Thank you for your concern; my life has just been ruined on camera, but at least you’re happy,” Felice snapped, her face a mask of rage. Tears poured down her face as she turned on the producers. “You people are the worst, and I want you out of my house. Now.”
There was something icy in her voice that made all of the crew fall silent. They packed up their electronics and cameras and lights and left, leaving Felice alone with her regrets.