Chapter 2
I’ve been on reporter cloud nine since Senator Maxwell called his press conference announcing Max Callum was his son. What a jackpot. There has to be so much more to the story and I’m determined to find out what it is.
Senator Maxwell has always given me the creeps. There’s something about that man that just doesn’t sit right with me. And that wife of his. Her fake tits and fake nails and Botox induced surprised face, just pure yuck. I would never have guessed Max was any part of that.
Today’s press conference will shed new light on everything. Joshua Seymour, the band manager for Liquid Regret, called exclusive press in for their response to the senator’s announcement.
Noise at the front catches my attention. These men are gorgeous, every last one of them. Max looks like he hasn’t showered in a week and has spent every night with his mouth attached to the lip of a bottle. The poor guy has a story to tell. If he doesn’t tell it tonight, it will be my personal mission to get it out of him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we called this press conference today to discuss some of the events that have come to light over the past few weeks. As always, these men are my priority and at any point if I feel like this conference is getting out of hand, I will end it.” Joshua is stern as his passive aggressive threats do nothing but amp up my desire to capture the story. “I will open the floor to questions as soon as Damien is finished discussing what is next for the band.”
I zone out while D’Rey talks about the tour and the next album. My eyes are focused on Max as he attempts not to fall asleep at the table. What the hell is wrong with him? This is not the Max that the world has seen. Chance leans over and asks him something and Max just smirks.
Chance sits back in his seat and glares in my direction. I’d take it personally but I really don’t give a shit. He’s entitled and annoying as hell. His harem of women proves he’s not someone I want to associate with outside of my job. He’s just someone I can use to get more information. I make a mental note to buy a better push up bra.
I stand to ask a question. Max’s no comment answer pisses me off. I can be a relentless bitch when I want to be. I fire off another question before they can tell me to sit down.
“So you’re saying that none of the things Senator Maxwell said were true? He didn’t fund the band? He’s always been a very reputable man.” I gag to myself as I ask the question.
“Listen, babe. We’ve lived in neighborhoods you don’t even know exist. We’ve lived in places where we had to fight the cockroaches for space on the floor so we could sleep. We’ve hustled pool, we’ve won instruments in poker games. I’m pretty sure we’ve had weeks at a time when we didn’t have a hot meal. If that is what you want to call funding his son’s dream, then I suppose he did.” Chance’s voice is quiet but I know he wants to yell at me. His eyes warn me that I’m dangerously close to crossing the line.
“While he sat in his warm house with power and running water, we were performing on the streets and working odd jobs to make ends meet. Reputable or not, that’s our reality,” Damien chimes in.
I sit down and my brain goes into overdrive. I knew there was more to the story. This is going to turn into a battle of he said, he said. But, these men look genuine. It’s a stark contrast to the senator’s smug story.
Questions about the senator’s political future are rapid fired at the men and they handle it with as much grace as possible. The bitch in me is awakened and I want to push the envelope just a little more.
I stand up and aim my recorder at Max. “Do you think your actions or lifestyle will have a negative impact on his run for the vice presidency?”
Max is on his feet in an instant. I know immediately I’ve pushed too far. For a brief second, I feel guilt. It’s washed away the second Max drops the bomb on the crowd.
“Katrina is it?” I nod my head at him. “No. I don’t believe my lifestyle will impact dear ole Dad in any way. Want to know what I think might impact his road to The White House? Maybe the fact that his wife allowed random men to come over and rape me. Perhaps it was the fact that they would drug me, shoot me up with God knows what until I passed out and abuse me in ways no child should ever know. Over and over and over again. Maybe what will impact his dream is that he knew about it and allowed it to keep happening. Or that he gave me money every month to keep it quiet. Hush money that mostly went to charities for other families of abuse. Ironic, isn’t it?”
I’m stunned into silence. A sick feeling takes over and I sit down in an attempt to quell the nausea. I don’t know Max personally but his hurt rips my heart in two. The crowd is buzzing and I can’t say a word. Max is being pulled off stage but his eyes are still locked on me.
“So, to answer your question, no, Ms. King, I don’t think my lifestyle will be what keeps that piece of trash out of office. I think it will be karma that does that.”
Tears pool in my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. I don’t cry. Not for anyone. I pushed him to expose his most personal secret. I know I can’t take all the blame but somehow, I can’t help but feel personally responsible. I need to figure out a way to make this right. I need to find a way to get Max alone. I need to let him tell his story the way he wants it told.
I see all the other reporters outside the gate. Their flashes are going off and I know Max is close. I came up from the beach and snuck around his porch before jumping the fence and finding myself alone in his front yard. I’m shocked the others didn’t follow me.
As Max pulls into his driveway, a photographer comes out of the bushes and snaps a picture before he runs off. When Max spots me on the front walk, he’s out of his car. If looks could kill, I wouldn’t be breathing. I steel myself for a fight. I need him to listen to me. A shitty childhood is something we have in common. It’s too late to fix mine but it’s not too late for him.
“Katrina.” He spits my name in anger. “Get the hell off my property before I call the cops.”
I put my hand up. “Wait. I just want to get the story right. I’m not like them. I don’t want to expose every skeleton in the closet. I just want the truth.”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I can’t trust anyone in the press. Maybe you aren’t like the rest of them but I’m done talking and you need to get off my property.”
“Max, I can tell the story you want me to tell.” I’m persistent and I can see the anger flash across his eyes. I’ve lost him.