Page 97 of Jesse

“Yeah,” Zach says, answering his phone. He and I lock eyes. He says, “Yup. He’s here.” Then, “Nope. Hasn’t said anything.” Another pause as he listens to Joey talk. “OK. See you then.”

“What’d he say?” I ask, once the call ends.

“He’s home.”

“From Tokyo?”

“From wherever he was. Said he got on the jet as soon as Johnny called him with the news and he’ll be here in about thirty minutes.”

“Why didn’t Johnny call me?” I don’t know why I bother asking Zach. He doesn’t know the answer to that any more than I do.

“Don’t worry,” Zach says. “I’m sure that call is coming soon.”

“Was Joey pissed?”

“Why would he be pissed?”

“Because it’s always me, Zach. It’s always me they’re after. I’m always the one who fucks shit up.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Well, you did drug her last night, but that was for her own good. You really didn’t do anything this time, Jess.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “I’m the weak link. I’ve always been the weak link.”

“I don’t know. Just wait until Joey gets here and we’ll figure it out.”

So that’s what we do. We wait.

I think about all the other tabloid stories about me. It’s been a while since a good one broke. There was one about a year ago chronicling my self-destruction. Some kind of anniversary issue of me going clean. But the only point of the whole thing was to highlight the fact that clean didn’t get me anywhere. I had run out of second chances and my life was essentially over.

I kind of agreed with them. It was over. There was nothing to look forward to. This consultant business was going absolutely nowhere. They called me an embarrassment to the family name.

But never once did they mention Joey or Johnny. Who also have no future. Who also live off their trust funds. Who also contribute nothing to the world.

It was always just me they hated.

When Joey finally arrives it’s dark and Zach and I are waiting in my living room. I hear the elevator ding on the other side of the doors that lead to my apartment and then they swing open and in he walks.

Joey and I don’t look much alike. He’s got dark hair and dark eyes. We’re the same height and have the same build because we get that from our father, but that’s pretty much where the similarities end.

He doesn’t say hello. Doesn’t acknowledge Zach or me in any way. Simply walks over to the chair across from me, takes a seat, and props an ankle on a knee. All casual, all the time. So cool and unaffected. That’s Joey.

He never had the attention I did when we were growing up. And maybe that’s because he’s the middle child, I don’t know. But I have never been sure if he resented me for that, or was grateful I took all the heat.

“Well,” I say. “What the fuck do you want?”

He stares out the window. Doesn’t even look at me. Then says, “I’ve been thinking.”

I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. Typical Joey.

“About what?” Zach finally says.

“How maybe we should stop hiding.”

“Are we hiding?” Zach asks.

Joey looks at him. Not me, just Zach. “Yeah. We are.”

I want to reach over the coffee table and strangle my brother right now. But I take a deep breath and hold it until that urge subsides. When I let it out I say, “It’s not a big deal.”