Free TAUT by J.A. Huss Page A

of course. We are alike in that respect. A large mahogany desk, spotless. I huff out a puff of air at that. Because his desk was never cleared off when he was alive. I walk around the desk and sink into the burgundy leather chair. It’s soft. It probably cost more than that girl’s car.
    I slide open the top drawer and take out the key, twirling it between my fingers before inserting it into the bottom drawer and pulling it open. The light oak color of Macallan 1939 is apparent even in the shadow of the desk. Farther inside the drawer are two copita nosing glasses tucked inside some dark purple cloth.
    My dad was a whiskey man and I bought him this bottle at auction after I completed my first job producing a two-week reality show in Japan. I spent my entire salary on this bottle of liquid gold. I told my dad to just drink it, shit, that’s why I bought it. But he said he was saving it for something special.
    That’s a hard lesson to learn. You should never save anything for something special. Because something special might never come and that ten-thousand-dollar bottle of Scotch you admired in a desk drawer will just to go to waste on your piece-of-shit son as he mopes about losing yet another girl to Ronin fucking Flynn.
    I open the bottle and grab both glasses. I pour a little whiskey into each glass, then walk over to the window, open it up, and toss it outside.
    I pour again.
    Apparently I’m secretly hoping the girl will wander down here and join me. Save me from my wallowing. Or maybe just get drunk with me. I smell the whiskey in my glass, then do the unthinkable with such a fine grade of drink. I guzzle it.
    It burns like fuck as it goes down, but after that’s over I’m left with a rather pleasant taste.
    I drink the girl’s glass too, and then pour us another.
    Those two go down a lot easier and the coldness that has permeated my body all day is gone. In fact, my body is so warm I open the window back up.
    Courage, that’s what I’m drinking. It’s not liquid gold, it’s liquid courage.
    I reach into my pocket and take out my phone and turn it on. I’m almost afraid to see what’s waiting for me since I turned it on earlier in the day to make calls. It takes its time powering up and then the damage stares me in the face. Seventeen messages in all since last night.
    I page to the list of missed calls. Rook, Ronin, Rook, Rook, Rook, Ronin… I study them for a moment, then realize she’s got a pattern. She calls on the hour. Ronin’s calls are random.
    Just like him. He has no pattern—he’s random. That’s why luck likes him.
    I hate it. I hate it because Rook does have a pattern. She’s symmetrical, she’s even, she’s… perfect. And he’s… not. I check the time real quick—ten minutes to seven—and then press the number for the other missed calls on my screen.
    “Ford?” my mother asks as she picks up. She knows it’s me, she’s got caller ID, so asking this as a question is irritating.
    “Yeah,” I say.
    “Are you… OK?”
    “I’m in Vail.”
    “Oh.”
    “I was driving to LA and I broke down in Vail, so I’m at the house.”
    “Oh.”
    “I’m fine, I saw that you called, so…”
    “Ronin has been calling. He says you left the party unexpectedly last night.”
    “I was only there for the exit interviews.”
    “Your assistant in LA called, she said you missed your flight.”
    “I said I’m driving. It’s no big deal. I’m just letting you know, since…”
    She waits. She’s not a Pusher. She’s a Waiter. I smile at this. I really do love my mom. She’s kinda flaky and her whole life is wrapped around her charity things, but she’s cute and even if I didn’t love her for being my mom, I’d like her for being someone interesting. “Since there’s a blizzard. Anyway, I’ll be leaving on Monday, so I’ll call you when I get back to LA. OK?”
    She does some small talk before we hang up. She’s always like that. Trying to get me interested in having a long