I Always Will

Moran's Plan

Riley

Row has texted me several times this afternoon, giving me updates on her spa day with her mother. I think it's good, they are spending time together. I'm happy Row is taking some time for self-care instead of caring for me. I also suspect she would be upset if she knew what I'm contemplating doing.

Well, Little-Miss-Do-As-I-Please-And-Ask-Forgiveness-Later-With-Kisses will get a taste of her own medicine this afternoon, because I can't stay trapped in the house a bloody minute longer.

I'm going out.

I sit behind the wheel of the van with the hand controls, contemplating whether I should try to drive this behemoth while I can, or simply call an Uber and let the idea of driving fade away with so many other aspects of my independence.

My self-determination

My manhood.

Fuck it. I'm not a child. If I'm going to have to live like this—with dead feet—I'm going to have to accept driving a vehicle with hand controls. I want to check it out, this one time, before I'm stripped of the right to drive. Next week, the court case for my drunk driving charge finally comes up on the docket. Most likely I'll end up with a license suspension for six months.

I press the ignition button. A little spark of something inside me flares at the sound.

"You sure aren't a jaguar, are you?" I mutter as I experiment with the hand controls and lurch my way down the drive.

It's not difficult to master the hand controls, especially if you aren't Street, who drives like a maniac. After a few winds around our neighborhood, I cruise the drive-thru of a local coffee shop for my usual order. From there, habit takes me downtown. Before I know it, I'm in the lobby of the Colossal building, staring up at the abtract Colossus that holds court in the lobby.

He stands firm, legs planted apart. Perfect sculpture, perfect balance. I sigh, staring down at my walker. Striding across the lobby, full of plans, using any opportunity to execute deals with passing-by Colossal executives was a thing I once took for granted. Now, I shuffle along, hoping to go unnoticed.

Of course, when the elevator door opens to take me to my office, Angelo Moran, President of Colossal, blinks in surprise to see me.

"Riley!" He doesn't exit, but slides to the side, making room for me. I guess he's intending to ride back up with me.

"Angelo," I say, as I punch my floor button.

"I'd heard you are back on your feet. That's great." He claps me on the back. "So everything is coming along, then?"

No, Angelo, not everything is coming along.

"I'm nearly fully recovered, thanks. This..." I shake the walker, "is just a transition aid. They tell me I'll be leaving it behind soon."

"That's good," he looks at the walker with a mixture of skepticism and pity. "That's good," he repeats. "Listen...do you have a moment?"

"For you, I have as many as you need."

This can't be good. The President  of a major record label doesn't come to down from the top office to a talent agent's  leased space. We are expected to go to him. I'm getting the del Marco treatment, here. Which means, he's taking the time to deliver bad news personally, because I'm Matt's son-in-law. Ex. Whatever.

Ariadne looks like she's seen a ghost when I walk into my agency. She's on a headset, walking and talking all through the small suite.

"I'm going to have to call you back," she says, as Angelo pushes the glass door, holding it for me.