Michael De Santa was a simple man. Or at least, he'd like to think he was, nowadays. However, his life was anything but simple. It was utter chaos for a time, and he was in the center of it all. He was a retired criminal, but still seemed to find ways to get into trouble when Trevor and Franklin are involved. Well, mostly Trevor. The man seemed to live for chaos. Whereas Trevor was a man of insanity and acted out of spite, Michael was more thoughtful and planned accordingly. He took his time when it came to their next big heist, and when they did successfully pull it off, it usually it would be thanks to his amazing planning skills. There were times Trevor did surprise him, however, like back when they did that job in Paleto Bay. But those days were behind him. He claimed he was too old for this, that it was time to put it all down and live with the benefits he's earned from that last big score. He should've just quit while he had a good thing going for him after he sold Trevor and Brad out years ago, which he did, for a time, but it made his life miserable. It wouldn't be until ten years later when Trevor found him again, that the cycle would begin anew. It felt good for a while. He felt he was reliving his glory days with them. He did finally manage to retired for real, however, after they had disposed of Devin Weston, the scum who was going to force Franklin to choose between killing Trevor, or killing Michael. Luckily, the boy had a deathwish, and they all worked together to take down their enemies, saving Devin Weston for last. Retirement was good since then, and his life was actually improving. One could say Michael was finally at peace with himself, and with all that he had done in his life, knowing the words for them.
But peace can only last so long.
Michael heard the alarm before he heard her voice, the voice of his wife talking to someone on the phone in the hallway. It was hard to decipher who it was she was talking to, but it didn't matter. Michael trusted Amanda entirely. Last year, they had a very rough and rocky relationship, one where she ended up leaving Michael for a time. But that was all in the past now. They worked out their differences, getting the family back together, and since then, life had improved. Tracey went to college and is now already starting her second year, and Jimmy had gotten a job doing what he loved: working at a video game store that loved his passion for competitive gaming. Both children finally moved out, as well, thanks to a little help from Dad, of course. Tracey lives in a quaint little house up in Vinewood Hills, and Jimmy had landed himself a pretty nifty apartment on Prosperity Street. Both were doing well, and were happy with the lives they had. It was hard to let them go, to finally move out and live their own lives, but Michael knew it was time for them. He and Amanda did everything they could to help teach their children how to survive, even if their parenting skills were questionable at times. He had a feeling that they would be just fine on their own now. They were ready to face the world, and give it a little spice of their own. And Michael and Amanda? They were living their married life together so peacefully now, that one could say it was almost too perfect. They had more time to spend together, more time to play tennis, to watch movies, to snuggle in bed together. Michael remembered why he fell in love with Amanda all those years ago, as their time alone together reminded him of it all. There were days he wondered if Amanda had similar thoughts, moments when she sat back and reminisced about their days together. He shouldn't doubt her. She was his wife, after all, and their past transgressions were behind them.
Michael sat up in the bed, stretching lazily as he yawned. The voice of Kenny Loggins filled the room, wishing everyone a beautiful good morning before Radio Ga Ga began to play. His hand subconsciously went to the small nightstand next to his side of the bed, routinely turning off his morning alarm, but was instead greeted with the discovery of his radio missing. It took a moment, but his memory of last night was returning, as he realized that he left his radio over on the small desk across the room. "Forgot I set it over there," he said, groggily. Michael stood up from his bed, yawning again as he scratched his stomach and made his way over to the radio. He had set it up across the room in hopes that it would help him get moving in the morning, as the man usually hits the snooze button and falls back asleep again. A bit of movement to get the day going sounded like a great idea at the time. He lightly slams his hand down on the snooze button, stretching with a long, satisfying groan. He was sure it was going to be a good morning. In fact, today was going to be great. This was the day he and Jimmy were going to spend time together on their day off from work. He wondered what they were going to do today. "Michael? You up?"
Amanda called from beyond the bedroom door, which she opened upon calling. He smiled as he saw her, coming over to kiss her cheek. "Well look who's up and lookin' beautiful. Mornin', honey." Amanda shrugs her shoulder with a tiny smile. "I guess." He pulled away from her, a brow raised. "What are you talkin' about, Mand? Don't you think it's gonna be a nice day, too?" She sighs, leaning against the door frame with a shake of her head. "It just feels like one of those days, you know? Like nothing extraordinary is going to happen." Michael wasn't sure why Amanda was talking like this. Normally, she was always cheerful about how she was going to spend the day. Was there some pressing matter on her mind that he didn't know about? "Amanda. If something's bothering you—" His wife waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head again. "It's nothing, Michael. I'm sure I'll figure it out." She peered over at him and smiled, approaching him to run her hands over his chest. "Don't worry, honey. I'll be fine." She kissed his cheek, causing her husband to smile. Michael couldn't argue with her. He didn't want to seem like he was overtly controlling of her. She deserved the freedom she so desperately needed from him some days. He wanted her to enjoy the day all to herself, as he knew that there were days that she needed to be away from him. He understood that.
He nodded his head, taking a hold of her hands upon his chest. "Okay, baby. You know better than me." His wife smiled before pulling away, moving over towards her vanity to fiddle with her hair in the mirror. "So what are you going to do today?" she asked, her brow arching curiously. Michael groaned as he took a deep breath, making his way over to their walk-in closet. He did have a plan for today, and that was to spend it with Jimmy. He remembered that their son had texted him the night before, claiming that there was something big he wanted to talk about. "I was thinkin' about going to see Jimmy. He texted me last night, said he wanted to talk." He searched through his clothes, moving hanger after hanger of suits before finally coming across his button-up t-shirts. He removed his tank top, discarding it in the laundry basket behind him and fetching a fresh white undershirt from the drawer beside him. "Oh yeah?" his wife called from the next room. "What does he want to talk about?" "Dunno. Didn't say," he called back, taking the button-up shirt from the rack before searching for some shorts. Today looked like it was going to be a hot one, and knowing him, he would wound up at the beach before the day was out. Maybe Jimmy would come with him before the sun went down, and walk along the sand before heading home. "Might have somethin' to do with his job. He seemed really excited about it. The boy had over a dozen exclamation marks in that text." Amanda laughed at what Michael said, causing him to smile. He loved hearing that laugh of hers. It was so familiar to his ears. "What are you gonna do afterwards?" The question she asked caught him a bit off-guard, his mind now reeling at the thought. What was he going to do after meeting up with Jimmy?
He had spent the whole day with Tracey yesterday, his sweet daughter trying to show her father how much better at cooking she had gotten. A tiny grin came to him as he thought about that incident, remembering how upset she was when everything she baked for him had burnt to a crisp. He had hugged her tightly, telling her that he was still so proud of her for trying. They attempted to cook a meal together after that, and ended up making a big mess in the process. He remembered them sitting on the floor by the oven, hearing his daughter tell him that she had the best day of her life that night, just spending it with her father while they failed miserably at cooking together. He remembered how ecstatic he felt upon hearing her say that, leaning over to kiss her on the head before laying his head upon hers. Michael's relationship with his daughter was still a bit rough around the edges some days, but that day gave him hope. He thought that, perhaps, he would have a similar experience with Jimmy. He wanted to spend the day with his son, to try and make it the best day of his life before they had to go back to their daily lives afterwards. It seemed like a plausible plan, and one he was willing to stick to.
"I think I'll just hang out with him all day," he finally answered, pulling out his blue shorts from a drawer. "I spent all day with Tracey yesterday. He deserves that much from me. Maybe we'll finally throw the ball around." "Michael," Amanda groaned from the other room. "You know he hates when you bring that up. Even with him successfully completing fat camp, he won't want to play football." Michael felt discouraged at his wife's words. She wasn't entirely wrong, however. Jimmy did post on his Lifeinvader page last year about how much he hated his father for suggesting that exact term. They didn't think that he would check out their social media pages back then, but he did, in hopes that he could come to understand his family better. He suspected that Amanda had to be right about this. She was the mother to their children, after all. Of course she would be right.
"You're right. I won't bring it up when I go see him," Michael replied, finally exiting their closet. "I'm gonna hop in the shower, and get goin'. The sooner I leave to see him, the sooner we can get this father/son thing started." Amanda was applying mascara in the mirror, replying with a simple "uh-huh" before continuing with eyeliner next. "I'll be back before the sun goes down all the way. Don't worry, baby," he said, standing by their bedroom door.
Michael wanted to reassure her that he truly was going to spend the day with just their son, and not go anywhere else. He knew he didn't need to, but felt compelled to let her know anyway. Perhaps it was because of the things they did behind each other's backs last year, and he wanted her to know that he wasn't going to do any of that. Either way, it had become a bit of a habit to him by now. She replied with a nod, still fixing her makeup in the mirror. "The new gardener we hired last month will be here again tomorrow," she said suddenly, blinking frantically when she finished applying her eyeliner. "I still can't believe Carlos moved away from Los Santos. He did such great work on the yard," Michael replied back, shifting his weight as he stood by their bedroom door. "But you said the ladies at work swear by this new guy, so... he must be pretty good." "Incredibly good," Amanda corrected him, putting her makeup away in her kit on the dresser. "You'll get to meet him tomorrow. He desperately wants to meet you." Michael nodded his head in reply, coming over to kiss his wife on the head.
"You look incredible, by the way," he whispered with a smile, looking at her through their reflection in the mirror. He couldn't help but stare so lovingly at the woman he saw before him, that warm smile still gracing the old man's lips as he sighs happily. "I mean it, Mandy. You look beautiful." She looked away from the mirror, avoiding his eyes. Michael noticed an expression contorting on her face, one that he couldn't seem to read. Was she feeling bashful? He wouldn't blame her. He loved letting her to know how beautiful she looked in this moment, like every moment he ever saw her. It was cute to see her like this. "You better hurry up," she replied suddenly, grabbing her hairbrush. "You don't want to keep Jimmy waiting." Michael hummed in reply, standing back up straight. "I'll text ya when I get to his place," he said, finally exiting to bedroom to make his way to the shower across from Tracey's old room.
Amanda was right about this. If he sat there staring at his wife all day, he would've never left home. While the thought of spending the day with Amanda was very enticing, he knew even his wife needed the space. She deserved it after the two of them went to that big dinner date with the other members of the movie studio he worked for. It only made sense. As he turned on the shower and stepped in, he could only imagine how his day with Jimmy would go. Hopefully the boy would like what he had planned. He would retain from asking if he wanted to play football, and instead, ask if he was up for a round in one of his favorite video games. Sure, Michael was incredibly awful at playing them, but he was not going to let that stop him. Anything to make his son happy today. That's all that mattered to him as a father.
"Dad! You actually came!"
"Told you I would, Jimbo! Damn, you're lookin' good."
The men had a nice little laugh before Jimmy had invited his father into his apartment, prompting the older man to look around. The apartment was decently sized, with the kitchen and living room both separated by a single long countertop. His bedroom door was opened, and was obviously messy from the discarded boxers that were on display on the floor. Michael snorted a little laugh to himself, shaking his head with a smile. "Love what you've done with the place. Very you," he teased, patting his son's arm. The young man shrugged, shutting the door behind him. "Yeah. I had to put a lot of me in the whole place. Had to make it my own thing." Michael laughed as he turned to his son, finally getting a good look at him. Fat camp had really done his son some good, as the man was now a lot more leaner than he use to be. He was obviously flabby in some places upon first glance, but the obvious muscle tones were becoming visible on Jimmy's arms as well as his face. He looked healthier and seemed happier for it. It made Michael almost feel a bit ashamed of his own gut, as he still didn't look as fit as he knew he physically was. He was still a fat, old man whenever he looked at himself in the mirror. The young man went over to the fridge, opening it with a hefty tug on the door. "Want a beer?" "Is this one laced, too, Jimbo?" Michael may have laughed a bit when he asked, but the truth of the matter was, he was still wary of accepting drinks from his son after what happened last year. Jimmy let out a dry chuckle at his father's question, grabbing the beers from the fridge and shutting it with the kick of his foot. "Very funny, old man. Just relax. I got some very big shit to tell ya." His son opened the bottles up, a satisfying smoke escaping the lip of the bottles as he brought one over to his father. Michael cautiously accepted it, his son clinking his glass against his own before taking a big swig. Michael looked at his bottle with stern eyes, sniffing it before carefully dipping his tongue into the neck of the bottle, tasting the beer and taking a moment to see if there was going to be an effect. Nothing happened. After a moment, he finally took a swig of the beer as well. It was bitter as it ran down the back of his throat, but nothing he wasn't use to drinking. Jimmy, on the other hand, let a groan emit from him as he tries to quietly clear his throat, still not use to drinking light beer.
"So," Michael began, gesturing with the bottle. "What's this big thing you wanted to tell me?" Jimmy was in mid-swig when his father brought up the subject, his finger halting him a moment. "It's freakin' huge, Pop. You won't believe it!" He gestured to his couch, offering his father a seat as he put his beer bottle down on the little coffee table in front of them. Michael had never seen Jimmy so excited like this before. The man must've been really happy about what he wanted to tell him. "Is it as big as that one time we raced home to save your mother and sister from those Merryweather assholes?" Michael suggested, the memory of that night coming back to him.
It was the night of the movie premiere for Meltdown, a film he helped Solomon Richards bring to life much to the dismay of the deceased Devin Weston. He and Jimmy had made it to the premiere, ready to walk down that red carpet when he learned that Devin had sent Merryweather agents to their home, moving in to kill his wife and daughter while he was away from home. He had stolen a red sports car that had pulled up that night, both him and his son speeding through the streets as quickly as he could to make it home before the men could harm his wife and daughter. He remembered the fear he felt when the gunmen held both of his girls at gunpoint, the apprehension of losing two of the most important people in his life driving every instinct in his body into overdrive. He didn't hesitate in his shots, letting the bullets riddle the men who held his girls captive and striking them dead. He was always a good shot, and never missed. There was a fear about that, however, if he ever did miss. It would've cost him everything that night, but he didn't let it demoralize him. In the end, he was successful in saving his wife and daughter, before going throughout the house to kill the other men that were there. There was no way he was going to allow anyone to hurt his family. He'd die before he allowed that to happen. Of course, even in his old age, he got sloppy and was ambushed upon his return to his wife and daughter upstairs. He thought he was done for that night. In truth, he didn't want to die, but if his death was what determined the survival of his family, he would've happily accepted the bullet. Anything to save them, to protect his family. But fate has a funny way of showing mercy to Michael, as he was miraculously rescued by his own son! He remembered how the boy had flicked off the lights, the house covered in total darkness as he stealthily sneaked up on the Merryweather agent that had put Michael down, hitting them with the brunt end of his bong. Of course, being the typical son Jimmy was, he ended up tea-bagging the soldier, just like he does in his video games he always played. Except, the man he was tea-bagging was none other than his own father.
Michael couldn't help but chuckle at the memory, noticing his son seemingly laugh as he remembered that night as well. "Aw man! Nothing can top that one time I tea-bagged a mercenary! That was the best!" Michael suddenly leaned forward in his seat, cocking his head dramatically to look his son in the eye. "Jimmy," he began, his expression bewildered. "That was me." His son scoffed as he leaned back on the couch, lifting the beer bottle to his lips. "Pfft! I beg to differ, Father." Michael leaned back on the couch as well, an almost poised look upon his face as he peers over at his son with great curiosity. "Oh yeah?" he replied, his hands folded over his stomach. "Then why was your crotch in my face when the lights came back on that night?" Jimmy seemed to have slightly choked on his beer, a tiny cough leaving him as he struggles to find words to bite back at his father. The older man's lips slowly grew into a smug grin, knowing that he was correct once again as his son tried to find the words to respond. "Fuck, you're still a bastard sometimes, you know that?" Jimmy snorted annoyingly, shaking his head. Michael chuckled softly to himself, his pride obviously beaming as he knew he was right yet again. He couldn't help but smugly smile whenever he was victorious. He happened to like winning just as much as his son does in his video games.
The young man jumped up off the couch all of a sudden, slamming his beer bottle down on the coffee table as he moved around it. "Anyway! I got somethin' big to tell ya!" He stood before his father, his fists clenched so tightly, his knuckles almost turned white. It was obvious he had energy to burn as he was overly excited about this huge announcement he had. Michael had leaned forward, his forearms resting against his knees as he watches his son's smile grow on his face. He truly was happy about whatever this big news was, causing the older man to arch his brow "Guess who officially made employee of the month at the game store, all by himself?" Jimmy suddenly jerks his thumbs towards himself, laughing as he shouts happily; "This guy!" Michael couldn't deny that he smiled widely at his son's announcement, the older man clapping his hands to congratulate him. He was extremely proud of the boy, as he knew that this simple task was difficult for a young man like him. Jimmy hated working hard, preferring to play video games all day and not ever have to do anything. But just like Michael and Amanda, Jimmy had improved, and for the better to be named employee of the month at a video game store. It may not seem as grand as robbing banks, like in Michael's youth, but he was still proud of his son, nonetheless. He finally was making something of himself instead of sitting around.
"Fuckin' A! That's great, son!" Michael beamed, flopping back against the couch with the smile still on his lips. "See? I told ya, a little hard work and you can make something of yourself, instead of leeching off of me." The remark caused Jimmy to laugh dryly at his father, the young man coming back over to sit back down on the couch. "I still hate having to do all that hard work, but at least we get to try out the new games when they come in." He picked up his beer and took a swig, gesturing to his game console that rested on the television stand before them. "The boss always saves one copy just for us to try! I'm sure he's technically not suppose to do that, but... whatever, right?! He's the coolest!" His father nodded his head, looking up at the game console across the room. His son was exceptionally good at playing those games. He remembered when he started playing those video games with Jimmy before he moved out, how terrible he was at playing them and constantly losing to his son. He hadn't played in a long time, so he knew he was rusty. He is reminded by what Amanda had said, about how their son hated football and wouldn't want Michael to mention it. He knew that the only way to make Jimmy's day great, was to do exactly what Jimmy wanted. He wanted his son to be happy.
"Speaking of those video games of yours," Michael began, sitting up on the couch again. "I was thinkin' we could spend the day playing one of your favorites. I mean, you've been doing so well for yourself lately, so... a little bit of gaming couldn't hurt, right?" Now it was Jimmy's turn to be surprised. The young man had scooted away from his father on the couch, looking the man up and down with wide, quizzical eyes. "Seriously? You wanna play video games?" he asked his father, completely dumbfounded. Michael scoffed, waving a hand. "C'mon! I think I'm getting better at them! I could actually kick your ass this time," he proclaimed to his son, another smug look plastered upon the man's features. Jimmy immediately got riled up at the claim, the young man's face suddenly lighting up at the mention of a challenge. "Oh you are on, ya old bastard!"
Michael had talked big when he said he knew how to play the game, but Jimmy still showed him the controls anyway, as his father did seem to forget. It was hard to imagine a man like him, a man who had done nothing but rob banks, ran prostitution rings, and smuggled cocaine for a living, attempt to play a video game again. He was not particularly good at it, not like he was at shooting a real gun. When it came to a real firearm, there was muscle memory and a steadiness involved, a discipline that Michael had trained his mind to remember before pulling the trigger. But when it came to these video games, Michael stumbled terribly, his reflexes not as sharp as Jimmy's. They had played round after round, with Michael always losing to his talented son each and every time. There was one time Michael did actually win a match against him, but that was because Jimmy felt bad and let his father win that round. Michael had a feeling that his son basically threw that round to him, as afterwards, Jimmy was back to kicking his butt in the game like the pro he was.
It wouldn't be until about three hours later when Michael finally threw the controller at last, his side of the screen flashing the words Righteous Slaughter once more, indicating that his son had beaten him yet again. He was lucky that the controller didn't shatter when he tossed it, but it still didn't help that he was angry he lost again. "God fuckin' dammit!" he suddenly shouted, the anger and frustration that had built up finally unleashing. He was surprised he held it back for that long, but he was finally at his breaking point. He couldn't take another lose against his son. He knew he was a sore loser, for sure. He didn't deny it. Michael groaned as he flopped back against the couch, his arm draping over his eyes. Playing these video games could be so exhausting! How could Jimmy do it for hours on end? "You good, Pop?" he heard Jimmy ask him. The older man sighed, feeling enervated from the exhaustively intense gameplay. He actually couldn't believe he lost his cool after all this time. It wasn't embarrassing, but it did make the man feel even more awful. Already he felt as if he was ruining his son's day with his personal anger issues. "Yeah. Sorry about that, Jimbo," Michael replies, his arm falling to his side. "You're just so good at this game. I'll never figure it out. Like, one minute, I think I got it, as if I'm really there, but then..." He groans frustratingly as he tries to explain, the words escaping him. He didn't know how to tell his son exactly what he was feeling. If there was one thing Michael still needed to work on, it was expressing his feelings. And not his feelings of anger, but his genuine feelings, the ones that actually came from that place in his heart. But once more, like every other time, the words were lost in the space between them. There was no way he was going to find them now, no matter how long he would search for them.
The older man sighed again, patting his son on the leg. "Anyway, uh... you hungry, Jim? We can grab a bite to eat, and get back to the game after." He stood up, shuffling his way into the kitchen in search of some food. He was starting to feel a bit famished. He knew Jimmy had to be, too. As he opened his son's fridge to see what kind of food he had, he heard his voice. "Dad." Jimmy's voice was oddly soft as he spoke. It forced Michael to look back at his son from the kitchen, his eyes wide with curiosity as to what was bothering him. Was he finally annoyed by his father's presence? He wouldn't blame Jimmy if that were the case. He couldn't deny that he did get pretty heated when he played these games, and that he did feel like a sore loser at times. Was Jimmy fed up with him? Did he want his father to leave? Jimmy turned off his console and the television with the controller and remote respectively, slowly placing both objects down on the tiny coffee table in front of him. He seemed to be deep in thought, his hands folding together as he takes a deep, long sigh. "You wanna... I mean..." Jimmy was exactly like his father, in some cases. Both men had a very hard time expressing how they felt about things. Whereas Jimmy would ramble on and on with sometimes meaningless words, Michael's were always lost somewhere in the ocean between. Which was why he was surprised when Jimmy eventually did find the words, the young man standing up from the couch to gaze his father in the face.
"You wanna toss the ball around, instead?"
Michael was taken aback. Was his son seriously suggesting that they go out and play football instead of video games? Didn't Amanda say that their son wouldn't want anything to do with that? He could've sworn he never even mentioned football at all since he got here, or the term 'throw the ball around' in his son's presence. This had to be some sort of dream, right? "Jim, I— Really?" Michael asked, completely flabbergasted. Jimmy seemed to have shrugged, his voice still soft. "I mean, fuck, if you don't want to, Dad, I get it. I just thought we should—" "No, no, Jimmy, I—" Michael laughed as he returned to his son's side, placing his hands on his shoulders. He knew he was smiling, and couldn't hide that fact. He just couldn't believe that Jimmy — his own son — was suggesting they go out and play football together. "If that's what you wanna do, Jimmy, I'd be happy to! I would love to throw the ball around!" He could feel his smile slowly fade from his lips suddenly, a thought nagging at him.
Was this what his son really wanted? He wasn't suggesting this because he felt it was what his father wanted, right? He had hoped not. He didn't want to do that to Jimmy. The boy deserved better. Michael blinked a bit, looking his son in the eye. "But Jimbo... I don't mind if you really wanna just play these video games all day today. Seriously." He swallowed hard, thinking just as equally hard on his words. "I-I know I ain't the best at 'em, and I'll always lose and get frustrated about it." Jimmy snorted a laugh, nodding his head in agreement. At least they both agreed on that. "But spendin' time with ya is all I care about, son. I wanna do what you wanna do. Even if I hate it. No bullshit." Jimmy smiled a bit, slowly looking up at his father. What was he thinking inside that head of his? He really wished he knew, as Jimmy was one that was particularly difficult to read at times. When he thought he understood him, his son would then do something else to confuse him even more. It was the way the chemistry between them worked. It was an odd thing, but it was one that only the two of them understood.
Jimmy let out a sigh, looking his father directly into his blue eyes. "Dad," his son began, his voice serious as he spoke. "I'm tellin' ya. I really wanna throw the ball around. As weird as that shit sounds comin' from me." Michael could not believe what he was hearing, even after a second time. Was this boy really his son? He observed his features carefully, trying to be sure that this young man was indeed his son. The tattoos on his arms were still the same, his frizzled red hair atop his head was the same as always, his face was still the same, albeit more leaner now, even down to the neck tattoo which read 'entitled' was still the same. There was no denying that he was Michael's son, but this behavior from him was so much more different than what he was use to. Was this the same little boy that Michael had taken to the beach in his youth? The very same one he took to build sandcastles before he grew into the man he is today? This caused the older man to blink frantically as he still gazed on at his son, his chest swelling with that familiar feeling he felt with Tracey just yesterday. He knew it wasn't anything special to any other person they knew, but it still made him feel as if he had done something right within the last year. Not only had he grown as a father and a husband, but his son had grown alongside him, becoming even better than he was already, to some extent.
Michael smiled as he suddenly hugged his son tightly, the young man hesitating before doing the same in return. It was a wonderful feeling, to see how much his son had improved over the last year. It was a long and difficult journey, but one Jimmy still went through, and turned out better for it. He couldn't have been more proud of his son, and that was a rare thing to feel, indeed. "Okay Dad, this hugging thing is getting kinda awkward," Jimmy warned him, tapping his father's shoulder. The older man laughs heartily, pulling away from his son and patting his shoulders. "Alright, son, alright. No more hugging. Promise." Both men backed off from one another, Michael tapping his son's arm gently as he gestures with his head. "Let's eat something before we go, okay? I'm starving." "Sounds good," Jimmy agreed, following his father before stopping him. "And hey Pop?" The older man looked over at him, a brow arching slightly. His son smiled smugly, folding his arms over his chest. "Today's my cheat day." Michael let out a chuckle, digging into his short's pocket to retrieve his car keys. "Let's grab a burger then. My treat. Just... go easy on those 'special' sodas, alright?"
The sunset on the beach was as gorgeous as the millions of sparkles that reflected off the ocean. It was a sight that Michael couldn't get enough of every time he saw it. He loved lounging by the pool in the sunlight some days, drinking his whiskey and reading movie scripts, but it didn't compare to the beauty he saw here. He loved coming to the beach some days, and watch the sun go down behind that water. It was those last few rays of light he happened to like the most. It was as if they wanted to escape somewhere, or catch their own last glimpse of this city before disappearing until tomorrow. It was a prefect setting for a movie, which was why he seemed to enjoy it so much. Michael always had a keen eye when it came to a good movie, especially with how much he loved watching them. It was a good skill to have, now that he officially works at the Richards Majestic movie studio. His life-long dream finally became a reality, and this sunset reminded him of it.
Today truly was a good day.
"How's Mom?"
Michael was snapped back to reality by Jimmy's voice, which called to him as he waited for his father to toss the football. They were doing small throws back and forth with the sports ball, spending the majority of the afternoon here at the beach together. He had almost completely lost track of time, not even realizing that they had spent hours out here throwing the football back and forth. It made his lips curve into a tiny smile as he adjusted his sunglasses on his face. "She's good, I think," Michael finally responded, throwing the ball overhead. "She can't seem to find things to do around the house, now that you two moved out. I like to believe she misses you guys." "Want us to move back in?" He could've sworn that he heard a hint of hopefulness in his son's voice, recognizing that the boy really did miss home just as much as they missed them. However, Michael knew that his son really did like to finally have his independence. He simply shook his head, grinning at Jimmy as he had thrown the ball back to his father. "Of course, Jimmy," Michael began to jest. "Then you can start doing chores around the house, like take out the trash, wash the dishes, and—" "I was joking, you dick!" Jimmy groaned annoyingly. Michael laughed, throwing the ball back to his son who promptly caught it. "Besides, I like this independent thing, even if it is hard. I learned that from before..." His father nodded his head in reply, remembering the last time he went with his son to the nearby Burger Shot to meet up with his son's drug dealer.
It was the first and last time Michael ever accepted a drink from his son, as the boy had it laced with ketamine, a "gift" from his friendly, neighborhood drug dealer. Michael remembered almost next to nothing from that day, only his son kicking him out of his car, and stealing it. Then he had some sort of dream, with aliens and some sort of other space nonsense he barely remembered. He did remember there were monkeys at first, and then aliens that had tossed him out of their flying saucer, sending him flailing through the air as he fell back down to Los Santos, an echo of numerous voices ringing in his ears. The colors and lights from the city were so pretty that night. He wanted to fly forever, to soar like a bird and never come back down. But as Sir Isaac Newton once discovered when the apple had fallen on his head, gravity was a powerful force. What goes up, must come down. He remembered waking up in someone's yard, wearing only his boxers with no recollection of what had happened prior to the dream. He had no idea what he had physically went through in the real world, nor did he ever want to find out. He would've been too ashamed if it was something entirely not in his own control. When he did finally make it back home, still struggling from the final stages of the ketamine, Amanda had left him a note. She believed that he had finally lost his mind, especially from before he was drugged when he attacked her then yoga instructor. She also believed that he willingly took drugs while driving with Jimmy, when in truth, he didn't even know the soda had been laced with the drug. She was already out of the house when he returned home that day, leaving him to stand in nothing but his boxers with that piece of paper, still trying to make sense as to what had happened to him, and where he went wrong. A lot of things had gone wrong that day, things that made absolutely no sense to Michael.
Even with their family reunited and fully recovered since those events, and even improving over the past year, Michael was still cautious when it came to accepting certain things from Jimmy. Especially any jumbo sized soda cups from Burger Shot.
"Right. The day you drugged me and stole my car," Michael snorted, shaking his head from the foggy memory. "That was one time, Pop!" Jimmy retorted, forcefully throwing the ball back to his father. The older man caught it, but it did cause him to lightly stagger a bit. "I learned my lesson afterwards! I also learned that your car, even with all the modifications I added, is still an old man's car. You're still driving that fuckin' thing, too!" Michael smiled as a laugh escaped him, throwing the ball back again. "I love and forgive you, too, son." Jimmy had jumped to catch the football his father tossed back, waving his hand dismissively at his father's comment.
The youth Michael had experienced was not glamorous as his children's lives were today, nor was he as lucky with the things that they have now, compared to when he was growing up. He wasn't born into a fancy house, with fancy cars, and a fancy lifestyle. Michael was the son of a prostitute and an angry, mostly drunken man, one whom he only slightly remembered. The man was barely in his life at all, and every time he spoke about him, the stories changed. He never really knew where the drunkard ended up in the end, but in a way, he also was glad he didn't know. There was a thought Michael had had, about the one thing that he knew he wanted to do differently from his own father. The most vivid memory he had of his drunken father was the beatings. Michael swore to himself that he'd treat his kids better than he was treated. He remembered how his father would beat him when he was sober, beating him even harder when he was drunk, before he disappeared to God knows where. He had told Michael that he would never amount up to anything, something he also thought of Jimmy at one time — a trait from his abusive father, no doubt. Even when he started practicing sports, taking tennis classes as a child, and even making the football team in high school, becoming a quarterback, his father was never short of disappointment. A lot of Michael's anger did come from that man, even his heavy drinking problem at times. But the one thing he refused to do was hit his own children, unlike his father did to him. He could destroy their televisions, refuse to let them embarrass themselves on some competition show, even intimidate them with his angry demeanor, but never would he lay a finger on his kids. Michael was not going to be like his father was. And so far, he had done well by that.
"Are you and mom doing okay?" Jimmy suddenly asked, taking Michael from his thoughts once more. He was holding the ball in his hands, approaching his father with concern in his eyes. "Hm? Oh yeah. We're fine," Michael replied, adjusting his sunglasses upon his face. His son was standing beside him now, gently tossing the ball in his hands. "I find us ways to stay busy together, and when I'm outta the house, she does her own thing. I trust your mother, Jimmy." The young man nodded, finally tossing the ball to his father. "I've been doing really well lately," Michael proclaimed, holding the football firmly and chuckling. "Or... I'd like to think I am, anyway." "That's true. You haven't been to the strip club in over a year," Jimmy remarked, nodding affirmatively.
The thing about Michael and his history with the gentleman establishment known as the Vanilla Unicorn was not at all what most people believed. Yes, the man had a membership there, and was well known by the local bouncers and ladies. However, the man did nothing more than accept a few dances and drinks. But why did he frequent this establishment in the past? In all honesty, when he and Amanda ever got into a fight over some pitiful thing or another, Michael would come here to relieve his stress, to watch the girls as they attentively entertained him with a dance. He didn't care for their life stories or even trying to get into bed with them. If Michael was one thing, he was faithful to Amanda when she was the one who slept around, although his family believed he did this, too. Visiting the establishment stretched this faithfulness many times, but Michael honestly didn't care for sleeping with the woman at the gentleman's club. The girls were all in their twenties, the same age as his own daughter, Tracey. He found that alone distasteful, which was why he never slept around, even when Amanda did it openly. As the year went on, however, and Amanda and Michael mended their relationship together, the visits to the Vanilla Unicorn stopped. He isn't even sure if his membership is still active, seeing as Trevor 'owns' the establishment and would make sure it is, but either way, he didn't care. He was happy with Amanda now, and nothing could change that for him.
Michael finally snorted at the remark, looking his son in the eyes seriously. "That's because I love your mother," he said, wagging his finger. "Back then, we all were fuckin' terrible. Yes, I'll admit I was the shittiest one at times—" Jimmy seemed to heavily agree on this one, his head nodding almost vigorously "—but look at us now. We're better. Not perfect, no, but better. And that's all I want for us, Jimbo." Michael tossed the ball back to his son, who fondled with it thoughtfully as he took a deep sigh. What was the boy thinking about now? He couldn't still need convincing after all that? Michael knew he wasn't the best with words at times, but he thought that he did pretty good. He was honest, at least. "Dad." Jimmy's voice was, once again, serious and soft. It nearly shocked Michael every time he heard it, as he wasn't use to his son being so serious before. "What if Uncle T and Franklin—" Michael felt the pit of his stomach churn at the mention of his friends, the two men who had become his brothers-in-arms. The two men who were also criminals. Criminals just like Michael was. Jimmy scoffed annoyingly to himself, the words becoming hard to find for him until they were found. "Well what if they needed your help again? You've officially retired, right? For good?" Michael approached his son carefully, a gentle smile leaving the older man's lips as his firm hand found Jimmy's shoulder.
"Son. If they need me, then... well, I'll just tell them that I've retired, like I said. They don't need an old man like me no more. I'll just slow 'em down."
That was a lie.
Michael felt that his son could sense that, but knew that he only lied because Michael couldn't hurt his son with the truth. In all honesty, if Trevor or Franklin really needed him again, even if it was so dangerous that he would end up dead, he'd still be there for them. That's what friends are for, right? Funny how that works. Jimmy stared into his father's eyes for a long time before blinking away, sighing. "I guess... you know best." Michael suddenly felt a ping of pain in his chest, coming to the conclusion that his false claim was obvious to his son. He hated lying to him now, especially after all this, but he was trying to think of what was best for Jimmy. He couldn't hurt the boy anymore than he had already hurt him in the past.
"Okay Dad." Jimmy puts the football in his father's hands suddenly, confusing the man. "Throw the ball. Like, really throw it!" Michael's eyes went from the ball to his son, the realization suddenly dawning on him. Michael use to always talk about his younger days to his children, especially to his son (much to his dismay) when it came to sports. In high school, football was the sport that he had learned and became quite good at it. If he hadn't fallen into the life he has now, he probably could've made a career out of it, but fate was not kind to him. Michael's father didn't seem to actually care about this accomplishment, however, and continued to bash him with cruel words and equally cruel fists. But Michael was proud of that time, despite it all. To think that Jimmy still remembered his past glory would bring a smile to the older man's lips. "Oh? Like back in my high school days?" Michael gently tossed the ball in his hands. "I dunno if I've got the strength, Jimbo, but I'll try." Jimmy groaned in slight annoyance, planting his feet firmly in the sand before shouting back, "C'mon! Don't be such a pussy, old man! Throw it for real, already!" This caused his father to laugh, steadying his own footing in the sand as he held the football firm in his hands, winding up the toss for Jimmy as the young man backed away from him. "I'm going long, son!" he warned him, his quarterback instincts returning to him for a brief moment. He could feel his muscles awakening as he began his pitch, feeling it burn as he remembered how far he use to throw the football back in his youth. Within that second, Michael growled as he threw the football, the object twisting through the air like a warm knife cutting butter. His shoulder hurt a little from doing it, but he was happy despite it all. Jimmy and him were tossing the football around, actually playing football together! It was a thrilling experience, his chest swelling as he watched his son readying himself to catch the ball. He knew this son could catch it. He was a Townley, after all.
But unbeknownst to the both of them, Michael had accidentally threw the ball a little too hard, the object flying well over Jimmy's head and towards a figure of a woman in the distance. It landed in the sand beside her feet, luckily, not causing any injuries. Still, it didn't sit well with Michael. "Shit," he cursed under his breath, hoping this doesn't upset the woman for nearly hitting her. He didn't mean to throw it that hard. It just happened. "I'll get it!" Jimmy hollers to his father, jogging over to the female figure as she looks down upon the ball at her feet. Michael watched from this distance as his son seemed to have picked up the football, but didn't return right away. Was he flirting with that girl? Still trying to get a girlfriend, despite not knowing any good pickup lines yet. He would have to teach his son another day. "Hey Jimmy!" he shouted, waving his hand at his son in the distance, causing both his son and the woman to turn in his direction. It was very hard to make out the details on the girl's figure, especially with his tinted sunglasses, but he could tell she was younger than he was by the way she looked. She had long hair in a ponytail, too, which blew around from the ocean breeze. She was barefoot, her black boots held in her hand as she places the other on her hip. Was she talking to Jimmy? After a moment, his son came jogging back, waving the ball in his hand.
The older man greeted him with open arms. "There he is," he laughed as Jimmy returned, patting his son's shoulder. "What took you so long to get the ball?" Jimmy shrugged, giving his father the football. "Nothin'. I was just... Well, that lady over there wanted you to know you have a hell of a throw." Michael was confused. "Who you talkin' about, son?" Jimmy pointed over at the silhouette in the distance, the same one that his son had approached earlier when he went to go get the football. She had her back turned now, seemingly heading home, but Michael couldn't stop the smile that grew on his lips upon seeing her. "She was impressed?" he asked, barely able to make out her the rest of her features from this distance. He hadn't realized how far he had thrown the ball, let alone so far that someone would compliment on the distance. He hadn't played football since high school, but to hear that he still had a good arm at this age meant he was still good for something, right? It made his chest feel funny, but he blew it off as an adrenaline rush that was still pumping through his system. Still, hearing that this seemingly random girl was impressed made him feel good about himself. Jimmy's hand waved in front of his father's face, causing the older man to snap back to reality. "Earth to Pop. The lady ain't interested." Michael looked stunned. "What? Nah, Jimmy, c'mon. I was just surprised she said that, that's all." Jimmy didn't look impressed or convinced, his eyes narrowing as he folded his arms over his chest. "Uh-huh. It's not you were sayin' you wanna go and bang that chick, right?" Michael could feel that strange feeling in his chest again. Was his son suggesting that his father wanted to go sleep with that girl, and actually cheat on his wife? This was an oddly low blow, as the only thing Michael ever did with another woman after he married Amanda was request and pay for a dance, and nothing more. Sleeping with some other random woman that wasn't his wife was not in his nature. Maybe in the past, when he was dating her before they married, but not since the marriage. It was not in Michael's forethought to do something like that. "C'mere you little shit," he growled playfully as he wrapped his arm around his son's neck, leading both men in the opposite direction of the woman. Despite how personally attacked he felt with his son's words, he knew Jimmy only wanted to test him. So Michael figured that he should explain to the boy how he genuinely happy he feels with this life. He needed to understand it from his point of view, just like they did last year when they reunited the family again. "Y'know son. I am very happy where I am right now in my life. You and your sister have finally moved out and are on your own. Your mother and I are happy at home, spending time together like we should. Life is good now."
Jimmy suddenly stopped in his tracks, unknowingly jerking Michael to a stop as well. It caused the older man's brows to scrunch up in confusion, looking at his son to see the young man's face contour skeptically. "Is it, Dad? Is it really as good as you think?" Jimmy's voice was so full of doubt. It actually began to concern him.
Michael looked his son fully in the face now, standing tall as his hand firmly rests on his son's shoulder. "James. What are you asking?"
Michael never called Jimmy by his first full name unless it was extremely serious. Just hearing his father call him that was enough for the young man to tense up. There was definitely something bothering him, but he couldn't seem to get the words out fast enough to explain. "Well— I mean—" His father stood there patiently for him, very calm and cool as the young man tried to find his words. This was a extremely rare trait Michael was exhibiting, even surprising the older man when he would think back to this moment in time. "You weren't as bad as Mom was back then, but—" Michael felt the pit of his stomach churn violently. He suddenly realized where this conversation was going, although he kept quiet just to be sure. Jimmy had groaned as he fought with himself to find exactly what he wanted to say to his father, the young man looking away at first before snapping his head in Michael's direction. "What if she just so happens to meet another guy like that Fabien asshole? But one that actually doesn't bore her and shit, y'know?" Michael could feel that slight anxiety he felt in his chest in the past return in full force, the very thought of Amanda cheating on him again for whatever reason actually causing the older man to pause. He knew that they had worked out their differences, Amanda and him, as well as their children that day. However, there was still that slight fear, the trepidation of Amanda possibly meeting another man that could actually give her even more than what Michael could ever offer her. He was not as young as he use to be, nor as good looking — in his own opinion. It was a thought that did legitimately scare him, especially if it was an extremely serious relationship and not some fling.
Michael had taken a deep breath through his nose, slowly exhaling as he gently squeezed his son's shoulder. "James," he began, his voice deep yet soft as he spoke. "I love your mother. Now we were both fuckin' awful back then. In some ways, maybe we still are." Jimmy lightly nodded, as if he understood that clearly enough. "But we're better now, son. We're doing so much better." "You are? For real?" The boy was obviously not convinced yet, although he did seem to be warming up to the idea. Michael pressed the football against his son's chest, a moment passing before the boy gingerly accepted it. This allowed his father to place both hands on his son's shoulders now, causing them both to have complete eye contact with one another. "Yes. Yes we are. I'd like to fuckin' think we are." Michael took a moment to think heavily on what to say next, wondering what he had to say to convince his son that everything between him and his wife were fine. He thought about the plan they had made, about what they said to one another before they went forward with their life together now. "This year, after you kids left, we made a plan. 'Out with the old, in with the new.' And we've been doing well by that." Michael took a moment again to think of a list of things they had changed in order to move forward with this plan, compiling it quickly enough to finally speak again. "Ava is still with us because there's no replacing her, honestly, but we did reorganized a lot of things. Got rid of old stuff and replaced it with something new, too. Your mother sold her old car and got a new one. I finally threw out our old tennis rackets and bought us new ones, so we can pick up a game sometime. We even hired a new gardener after Carlos left us a few months ago. He's cheap, but man does he make our yard look fantastic! Your mother's really happy about that. I realize that a pretty yard makes for a happy wife, Jimmy."
Jimmy had looked away from his father, his eyes lingering on the football in his hands. There was a lot to process here, a lot that they both had to take time to really think upon. Michael was not sure if he did a great job explaining himself. Perhaps it didn't matter. Jimmy still had his own opinions, even if he would never say them out loud. What more could the older man do or say at this point? "Well... if you really think that, Pop... I believe you." Michael could feel his chest suddenly swell, a staggering amount of relief emitting from the breath he slowly exhaled. He didn't even realize that he was holding his breath. He just didn't want Jimmy to be disappointed in him, to think that just because this random woman complimented him, that he was ready to run off with her. His son looked up at him at last, his expression hard to read. "You have been doing okay lately," he began. "I can see it, and so does Tracey. I guess what I'm trying to say is... we're actually proud of you guys. Especially you, Pop. You're even less shittier and lame than you were last year." Michael actually laughed a bit at that.
He knew Jimmy was right, and even he wouldn't deny it. Last year, Michael was a very angry, frustrated, drunken man at times, a man who let his anger get the best of him mostly. Some of it was probably called for, but most of the time, it wasn't. And sure, most of that anger was because of his family at times, as well. Regardless of it all, Michael knew that — back then, he didn't seem to show exactly how much he did actually care. He was not good at expressing his feelings then, and had struggled all year to find a way to teach himself to show them. It was a daunting task, even for him, but over time, it worked. Michael had become a better man for it, and so had his family. They all had improved, even if there were days where they did struggle, they still came out on top for it.
"But Dad," Jimmy continued, peering between his father and the football again. "If Mom does happens to find some younger, better built, hotter guy again—" He winced at first at the mention of this, but Michael didn't react to it at all. It even surprised Jimmy with how calm his father was, making the boy relax slowly again before stammering. "Whatever you two decide to do afterwards... I just want you to know that I—" Jimmy suddenly chokes up, embarrassed that he was about to say this. The boy never really cared much for saying these words, always feeling that it was a bit wimpy and lame to speak words of affection to a man like his father. It was mostly because of his own anger and frustrations towards Michael at the time, as he was upset that he and his father couldn't see each other eye to eye. It took a long while before he was able to speak again, the words finally coming to him at long last. "I still love you guys." Michael couldn't stop the smile that sprouted on his lips, the words his son said touching his heart. He knew that those words were hard to say. They were words that meant a lot more when they were spoken genuinely, words that were more intimate when it came to his family. No one would ever understand this family, which is why they were the only ones that were truly meant for each other.
Michael abruptly wrapped his arms around Jimmy, his hand patting his son's back. This is twice in one day he had hugged his son so tightly, even if he did promise after the first to not hug his son again. This alone could be a record! He knew that the boy wasn't use to this still, knew that all the hugging, bonding, and deep connections they were having was not normal at all. But what was normal? Normal was typical, common, ordinary. They were beyond all of that. They were not a normal family. His son awkwardly hugged him back, both men taking a moment longer before Michael pulled away at last. "Sorry. I know I promised no more hugging, son." They both laughed suddenly, the tension between them now more relaxed than ever before. "Jimmy. I swear to you," he said, smiling proudly. "Nothing like that is ever gonna happen. I love your mother, and she loves me. I don't need some side woman, and your mother doesn't need some other shmuck. All we both need is each other." Jimmy began to nod his head, smiling in return. "We're going to be fine, Jimbo. We're fine." His son sighed, his own arm wrapping around his father as they stood there together on the beach. "I know, Dad," Jimmy softly replied, still smiling. "I'm just... I'm glad we could talk like this. This day has been really weird, and I didn't realize we were gonna be doing so much... bonding? This is bonding, right?" Michael laughed boastfully, nodding his head in reply. "Yeah, I didn't realize we were gonna be doing a lot of that. But I am serious, Pop." He turned towards his father fully, taking a deep breath before putting his own hand on his father's shoulder.
"This day has been the best. No bullshit."
He did it.
"I'm glad, son."
Michael continued to hold the smile that had planted itself on his face, his chest now full of an overwhelming feeling of pure happiness. This was his goal. He wanted his son to have the best day today, a goal that was definitely difficult to achieve at first. But he prevailed, and now they were even closer to one another than he ever thought they would be. It was a beautiful sight, to see a father and his son — both who were always struggling to understand one another — become so close to understand each other now. He was never going to forget this day, and he prayed that Jimmy never forgets this day either. It was definitely one for the family history books, one that they would look back on with smiles on their faces, and joy in their hearts. It was like the perfect ending to a feel good film, an ending that left the audience feeling content with how it came to be. There was no way that they were ever going to revert back to how things would be in the past, not after this. They were both better for it now than they ever were before.
Michael patted his son's shoulder again, taking a step back to give him some space. "Now how about we head back and relax a bit? I still gotta teach you a thing or two about girls." Jimmy immediately groaned in annoyance, throwing his head back dramatically. "Aww Dad seriously?! I don't need the birds and the bees talk!" Michael laughed as he wrapped his arm around his son's shoulders, beginning to tell him the best ways to pick up girls, and how to flirt with them right as they walked back to the car. Even as he did so, he did peer back one more time to catch a glimpse of the woman that had complimented him on his throw. But the woman was nowhere in sight. There was an strange tingling in his chest. Was he disappointed that she was gone? Did he wonder if he would ever see her again? He mentally shook his head of these thoughts as they finally made it back to his Tailgater, the car bleeping at them as he unlocked it with his car keys. He shouldn't think too heavily on it. It was simply a nice compliment from a stranger, nothing more. Besides, he was happy with Amanda, and this random girl was not going to change a thing.
No matter what happens.
Michael couldn't get enough of the sight of her, of his wife as she twirled on her toes to move from one end of the kitchen to the next. She was wearing her favorite sundress, with the strap sandals she was so fond of. She looked absolutely stunning, making Michael wish that he didn't have to go into the studio today. He was enamored by her beauty, his eyes gazing so longingly at her. It caused him have a goofy looking smile upon his lips. "Michael? What are you staring at?" Her voice caught him off-guard, making the man chuckle to himself as he leaned off the kitchen island's counter top. "Nothin'. Nothin' at all," he replied, smiling handsomely. "I'm just captivated by you, you know? You're the picturesque of a Vinewood starlet, a heroine of your own movie." Amanda's face contoured quizzically, looking her husband up and down with a hint of concern. It caused the man to chuckle to himself again. "I'm sayin' you look beautiful, honey." She nodded her head as she finally understood, returning to grab a banana out from the fruit bowl on the corner of the counter top.
Even if Amanda didn't say much to him lately, Michael was still happy to spend this time with her. Sometimes the best moments were the silent ones, the moments where the air between them was still and calm. It would cause the man to lean on the kitchen island again, his face resting in his hand with a warm sigh. Amanda had peeled the banana and took a bite, not realizing that the very action had gotten her husband's mind reeling. He wondered if she knew what that did to him, what thoughts came to him when he watches her lips wrap around the fruit before taking a bite. A soft shiver trembled up his spine, another long sigh leaving him as he watches her still. What he wouldn't do to sweep her up in his arms and carry her upstairs, to show her the love and appreciation she so desperately deserved. The very idea made that tiny smile on his lips grow into an enormous grin. That would be the plan, then. He was going to get her into the mood tonight. To feel his wife's lips against his, to feel her hands touch him, her nails claw at his back, her voice whispering in his ear... Just imagining it like the perfect love scene in a movie, with soft music and mood lighting to get the viewers going. It reminded him of Rum Runner, one of his favorite movies from Richards Majestic. The love scene in that movie was wild, and while he was lucky he didn't have a wheelchair fetish like the hero did, he still considered that one of the most well put-together romance scenes in the whole film. The music in that scene alone is enough to get him in the mood if he and Amanda ever watched the movie together again. That would be an exciting thought, to sit on the couch with Amanda, the romance scene putting them into the mood. It was a dream he couldn't wait to achieve one day with her.
A harsh knock on the glass of their front door would snap him out of his thoughts, his head spinning towards that direction. "Who the hell is that?" He peered around the corner of the kitchen, trying to see the front door. There was somebody there, but with the way the front doors were designed, it was hard to make out who it was exactly. "That must be Jonas. The gardener I told you about yesterday," Amanda replied, already making her way to the front door. There was such a pep in her step that Michael almost struggled to keep up with her when he followed behind. "He wanted to meet you personally, remember? So make a good first impression." Amanda stood nearby as Michael stretched his neck, adjusting his black turtleneck as he approached the door. He had heard so much about this gardener, saw how good the work around the yard was, but never really did meet the man. They had hired him only a month ago, and even then, Michael never had the chance to finally shake the man's hand. Amanda definitely seemed impressed with his work around the yard, as was Michael when he finally saw it, too. He almost felt nervous at first. He wouldn't come off as some old, grouchy man, would he? No. After the day he had yesterday with Jimmy, he was confident that he was going to make a good first impression. He had to, anyhow. The man beyond this door was the same one who was tending to his yard. His stern eyes widened as he tried to put on a friendly face, finally opening the door.
Greeting him at first the back of a young man's white t-shirt, donning some logo that Michael had never seen before. It said 'Gilligan's Landscaping Services' with the picture of some cartoon sheep tending a flowerpot. It was an odd animal to choose for a company logo, but then again, sheep do eat grass, Michael thought. The figure seemed to be examining the yard before they turned around, smiling a big friendly smile in return. "Hello, Mr. De Santa. I'm Jonas Gilligan, owner of Gilligan's Landscaping. Nice to finally meet you," the man beamed eagerly, outstretching his hand. He appeared no older than in his thirties, with side-sweeping, dirty blonde hair that fell over the right side of the man's face, nearly covering his hazel green eyes. He was quite the handsome fellow, his young, clean shaven face devoid of freckles or any signs of aging. His teeth were a perfect pearly white, straighter than Michael had ever saw. Probably had braces put in as a kid. Michael accepted the customary handshake, discovering the man had a very strong grip. Even the muscles in his forearms were impressive, reacting to their manly handshake. "Nice grip," he complimented, giving the gardener a little grin. This caused the young man to chuckled bashfully, finally pulling away. "Again, I am honored to finally meet you, Mr. De Santa. Your wife has told me so much about you." Michael peered over at Amanda, who was standing by the door with the banana in her hand. She was slowly taking another bite, chewing just as equally slow as she watched to two men talk. It made Michael grin flirtatiously at her, before finally turning his attention back to the young gardener. "So am I. She also told me a great many things about you." The young man looked nervous at first, his eyes betraying his friendly smile. "Don't worry, kid. They were good things, about the yard work." This caused the man to let out a sigh of relief, his hand flying to his heart. "And here I thought maybe the missus was disappointed in my work! I've never had a dissatisfied customer yet, and I don't plan on starting now." Both men laughed, but were interrupted when a distant rumble caught them off-guard. Michael hadn't realized just how cloudy it was today, noting the heavy overcast above them. If he didn't know any better, he would say that it looked like rain. "Looks like it's gonna storm later," he declare, looking back at the young gardener with an arched brow. "You sure you'll be able to finish the yard in time?"
Jonas had looked at the overcasting clouds above, a confident grin growing on his features as he turned back towards Michael. "Sir," he began, full of pride. "Rain or shine, I am here to make your yard look fantastic." Amanda seemed utterly impressed by the young gardener's declaration, happily sighing as she leaned against the door frame. Michael was impressed as well. To hear that this gardener was willing to work in the rain was a feat that even Carlos wouldn't have done despite the large check. Granted, working in the rain might be a bad idea, as the soil would be soggy to work with, but Michael didn't know much about maintaining the yard. That's why he hired gardeners, after all. The young man looked over the yard once again, his hands finding his hips as he nods determinedly. "It already still looks good from yesterday," he continued. "I believe today would be good for a little spruce up. No extra charge." He flashed a charming grin in the married couples direction before moving to his old, green, beat up truck, removing the tools and getting right to work on the yard. Michael watched as the man had put on his working gloves and eye protection, grabbing some landscaping tool he had brought with him before tending the grass around the tree in their yard. He walked backwards until he was beside his wife, his arm finding her shoulder and bringing her close for a hug. "You know," Michael began, watching the gardener work. "He's not so bad. I think I might actually like the guy, Amand. He seems like a decent and honest kid."
Amanda was quiet for a long time, simply nodding her head as she held her empty banana peel in her hand. She, too, was watching the gardener as he worked, her expression seemingly fascinated by him. Michael wondered if he should be concerned about this, but shook his head dismissively. Amanda and him were in a healthier relationship now, and this young gardener wasn't going to change anything. He was simply here to work on the yard, nothing more. "Michael," he suddenly heard Amanda say, her face not meeting his. "Don't you have to work today?" Michael suddenly felt the pit of his stomach churn violently. "Shit." He pulled back his long sleeve to reveal his silver wristwatch, realizing the time. He was going to be late if he didn't leave now. "Oh shit! Yeah, I gotta go!" He pecked his wife's cheek before going inside to quickly grab his grayish-green coat off the chair that sat beside the stairs, immediately dashing back out the door and over to his car. He was lucky that he parked it in a place where the gardener's truck wouldn't accidentally block it, or else he'd be here forever trying to get out. "Hey kid," he called out to the gardener, who looked over in his direction. "Don't work too hard!" Jonas laughed as he waved his hand goodbye, returning to his work afterwards. Then Michael turned his attention to his wife, whom he personally saved for last to give her a special goodbye. "I love you, honey. Gonna miss you. I'll see you right after work tonight!" He threw her a quick kiss as he climbed into his Tailgater, turning the engine over with a satisfying purr before kicking it into gear. Even as he pulled out of the driveway, past the security gate that slowly opened for him, he would look in his rear view mirror to watch Amanda before she would completely disappear from view. He hated leaving her all by herself, but as he told Jimmy just yesterday, he wanted to make sure she had her personal space to herself. Now she could relax with a good book, or even attempt yoga before the rain came, or do whatever it was she did before he came home. He trusted Amanda with all his heart. He knew she wouldn't do anything with another man, especially after they worked out their differences and rekindled their love for one another. It brought a silly smile to his lips. He truly was going to give her the best night of her life in the bedroom. He wanted to, for her. She deserved so much of that. They hadn't made love in months, and Michael — while not desperately begging for it — did want to do it with his wife. He wondered if she wanted it, too.
Richards Majestic was the movie studio Michael loved every film from. It made up the majority of his childhood and young adulthood, as he was able to quote movie lines left and right in his daily life. That's what connected him to Solomon Richards. He was his inspiration in his younger years, still is as they worked on Meltdown together through the terrible actors, and theft of the reel that was to be the final cut of the movie. Meltdown was never suppose to even happen, but Michael made sure it did, as it was his passion to bring this movie — as well as all future movies — to life. He was named an associate producer, a role that Michael took very seriously at his job. The only thing that bothered him was that, after Meltdown, Solomon Richards said he would retire.
Michael stayed on after the man retired, for his love of movies was strong and there was no way he was going to quit this job now. He loved being behind the scenes, watching the movie come to life before his very eyes. And what's more, the movies — while different than to what he was use to — were actually getting good as of late. The talent was actually decent, and the content they were creating was netting the studio even more money than ever before. He can only imagine that Meltdown had something to do with it all. Michael had parked his car as close as he could to the studio's main building before finally stepping out, tugging his coat collar as close to his neck as he could as the storm rolled through. The rain came down hard, loudly thumping against the metal trailers, cars, and buildings in the area as it finally arrived. The studio is only about a half an hour's drive from his home on a good day, but the weather won the race against the retired bank robber. Michael jogged up to the studio's doors as fast as he could to avoid the rain, although the rain still soaked him through and through. "Fuckin' rain," he growled to himself as he entered the building, flapping his jacket on his body. The rain flew off the coat and onto the carpet as Michael took a step further inside, greeting the new receptionist at the desk. "Hey sweetheart," he said in a friendly, charming voice. "Is Mr. Richards in?" The young woman looked up at him dully before returning to filing her fingernails, motioning her head towards the door. "Yeah, he's in." The older man quietly scoffed to himself. He did miss the old receptionist. At least she playfully bantered back, despite her being about twenty years his senior. He decided to let this interaction slide as he entered made his way towards Ira's new office, the office that once belonged to his father, Solomon Richards.
But upon entering, a very familiar old man greeted him instead, sitting in their usual spot behind the desk with their son beside them.
"Solly!"
The older man looked up at Michael, and he practically leaped out of his seat. "Michael!" The two men gave each other a hug, but Solomon suddenly pushed him back. "My heavens, you're soaked! Forget your umbrella, son?" "Yeah. Thought I could beat the rain," Michael jested, but shook his head. "What are you doin' here? I thought you retired, Solly." Ira scoffed quietly, pouring himself a glass of scotch. "He did. He's checking on how the studio's doing." The younger man threw back his head with the shot glass, gulping down the scotch in one go. Michael could sense that Ira was irritated by his father's presence. Ever since Solomon retired, Ira had done everything he possibly could to show his father that he could run this studio, show that he was very capable. And over the last year, he has done that. Ira Richards, while his methods were questionable at times, did run the Richards Majestic movie studio very well, and produced a number of very interesting films that both critics and audiences love. He wasn't sure where or how he was getting greater and greater content, but in a way, it didn't matter. The studio was thriving.
However, it was obvious that today was going to be a bitter one for Ira, for his father was here. And speaking of— "So why are you here, exactly?" Solomon let out a little laugh, leading Michael over to the desk and grabbing a stack of mini printouts of the recent movies they have produced since Meltdown. "I came to see how my legacy has been thriving," Solomon replied at last. "And to be honest, I am actually very happy with the results that I am seeing, Michael. I truly am!" "Thanks, Father," Ira responded half-heartily, downing another glass of scotch. "But Michael... I feel like something is still missing," Solomon went on, wrapping his arm around the other man's shoulder. "Like... well, imagine for me, would you? A film so dark, so gritty, it will make the feint of heart even more... well, feint! A film that will not only knock their socks off, but a film that will make them have to go and change their pants!" Michael was envisioning it. He knew exactly what Solomon was implying, even if he didn't have to say it.
"Michael. What do you think about horror movies?"
Ira's head snapped towards his father's direction, his finger suddenly jabbing at some invisible thing in the air. "Oh no! The last time we attempted a horror movie, it was awful! We are not doing that again! Michael, please! Dissuade him!" Before Michael could even speak his mind, the man's father turned to him with a scoff. "Well that was before I understood horror movies, Ira. I won't deny that. This is a new era! And that means we need to change some things, but also remember what made other horror movies so great. Michael?" He turned to the man beside him, who chuckled nervously as he began to think. "Well," Michael began, clearing his throat. "There was that one movie you made, Zombies in Vinewood, but..." He actually did put thought into what made a good horror movie, similarly to the ones he grew up watching from other studios. There were plenty, even ones from much smaller groups he remembered. Evil Dead, Friday the 13th, 1978's Halloween, Nightmare on Elm Street. All these movies had a few things in common, things that made them exceptionally good and very memorable. He looked between Ira and Solomon, finally ready to give his analysis."Well, if you wanna do a good horror movie, ya gotta have lots of suspenseful and tense moments, a bit of gore — or a lot, depending. There's also the mystery of the murderer, the 'who done it' thing. Oh! And if there's a group, they have to be stupid and split up during a very intense moment. It's practically a trope nowadays."
Solomon began to clap, overjoyed with Michael's analysis. "Correct, Michael! Every single bit of that! I have done so much research into the horror genre that I now practically feel like an expert!" "That's a stretch," Ira scoffed, but his father ignored him. The old man moved behind his desk and grabbed a huge black portfolio bag, unzipping it and pulling out its contents. Solomon had some boards with blown up images on them, stylized like a storyboard of some kind. "Ira, could you get me that thing over there, please? I gotta show you guys this!" Ira begrudgingly obeyed his father and brought over the rolling whiteboard, which his father decided to use as a stand to hold these posters on. The first one was a very lovely sketch of a group of individuals going into what looked like a graveyard, one which held a striking resemblance to an actress they actually worked with recently. Solomon moved Ira to stand beside Michael before moving over to the posters, surprising the both of them how this man was so sprightly in his old age. "Now, listen to this," he began, pointing to the first poster board, before flipping through them as he told them the premise. "A group of young, horny teens go to the cemetery, ready to make it a night they'd never forget, while another of teens are ready to pull the biggest Halloween prank yet! But, unsuspectingly, they disturb and awaken—" He pauses, gripping the board they're on and whispering, "Title card..." He flips the last poster board quickly, and reveals—
"The Gravekeeper!"
The final poster board revealed a very detailed sketch of the titled character, who had a hefty build, carrying a lantern in one hand, whilst wielding a sharpened shovel with his other hand, the skin on his face peeling off to reveal his skeletal structure underneath. The way the character was dressed made him seem like he was ancient, belonging to the 1800's or earlier. Michael was fascinated by the design, looking it over and even getting closer to inspect the artwork. "Spooky," he finally responded, breathless. "It's okay," Ira shrugged, earning him a stern look from Michael. Was he being serious? This was amazing! Whosever idea this was, they had certainly put a lot of time and effort into it. "Solly," Michael began, turning back with a smile. "I think this is a great idea! It is spooky lookin'." "Very spooky, huh? This kid sent in the script and all this artwork, said he wants us to direct it!" That took Michael aback a bit. "A kid did all this? How old—" Solomon suddenly shoves a nicely stapled stack of papers in Michael's hand, cutting him off from his question. "Read it! Read the first encounter with the monster, Michael!" Michael, stunned from the sudden demand, took a moment to compose himself with the newly acquired manuscript. He reached into his coat, searching for something before finally pulling them out.
Last year, when Michael got back with Lester Crest and began to plan that jewelry store heist to pay back Martin Madrazo for an incident that Michael caused, Lester had given him a special pair of glasses to wear into the store. The thing was, back then, Michael's eyesight was perfectly fine. In some cases, it still was. The glasses then were designed with a camera for Lester to see into the store, allowing the man to help with planning the whole heist accordingly. Michael had joked to himself about these glasses, saying that he never need them, that his eyesight would be perfect. However, within the past year, Michael had been straining his eyes with the size of certain text. He didn't understand what it was, but it had bothered him enough when he was beginning to have headaches from straining his eyes so much. It had gotten to terrible to the point that Michael finally gave in, and went to an eye specialist to figure out what the problem was. It turned out that he struggled reading finer-looking print, and that his age was the cause of it. However, the easiest fix to this was to simply buy himself a pair of reading glasses. Michael thought that was nonsense, that he could read just fine. Although, when the headaches persisted, he did give in once again and bought himself a pair. Since then, whenever Michael needed to read anything written in fine print, he had to take out his reading glasses and use them. At first, he hated it because it made him feel old, when he knew he still had a good few years left in him, but over time, Michael couldn't deny that he had come to like wearing them. The glasses made him feel more sophisticated, in some settings.
As he gently nudged the reading glasses upon his nose, Michael began to read the script he was given. It was astonishing! The playful dialogue between the protagonist and their friend, the sudden witnessing of the first character death, the graphic detail of the murder that actually chilled him to the bone. He peered up to Solomon, a happy, bewildered look upon his face. "Solly... this shit is good." "Let me see that script!" Ira snatched the script from Michael's hand, skimming over it quickly before flipping to the next page, and then the next... and then the next. Solomon simply smiled as he watched his return the script back to Michael, silence overtaking him. "Told you. This kid is amazing!" he beamed, bending over to pick up the boards he discarded in his earlier demonstration. "The kid and I—well, Claude is the kid's name—we have been exchanging those... what are they called again? E-mails? Anyway, we have been talking for over a month now, and he has been working on this for a very long time. Told me his dream was to see his movie up on the big screen! But the problem was, he didn't want anyone to steal his idea..." Solomon peered over at Ira's direction, who looked away with a curled lip. It was an exchange Michael didn't understand at first, but it didn't matter after the moment had passed. "So I swore to the kid—to Claude—that his movie was still his own and that I would make sure it would be. So... that's why I'm here." Michael smiled as he bent down to pick up the remaining posters, helping Solomon put them back in the portfolio bag. "That is very noble of you, sir. I can happily say that I am very glad to be working for you one more time." "Oh you and me both, Michael! I still need a good associate producer to help me make this kid's dream a reality! Are you up for it?" Michael slowly took off his reading glasses, smiling broadly as he grasped the man's hand in his, shaking it firmly.
"You know you can count on me, Solly. I'm your man!"
"Hey Amand. Guess who's working on another movie?"
The rain from today was still rolling heavily outside, thudding loudly against their window as Michael was settling in for bed. Amanda was sitting by her vanity, removing her makeup in the mirror as Michael had removed his trousers behind her. "Really?" she simply responded, focusing on her makeup removal. Michael chuckled happily, looking over his shoulder at her as he put his clothes in the hamper basket by their closet. "Yeah. We're calling it The Gravekeeper. I think it's kinda catchy." "Sounds it." Michael adjusted his boxers as he came over to his side of the bed, sitting on it with a sigh and watching his wife in the mirror. With the way the room was setup, his side of the bed was where her vanity sat, so when he awoke in the morning, he could see his sleeping wife behind him through their reflection. In the beginning, that was not what he used the mirror for. In fact, he never used it but maybe once to fix his tie. However, lately, he used it to watch over his wife while she slept, creating a sense of peace in the man that he loved feeling upon seeing her peaceful form. It gave him great joy to see her look so comfortable in the bed, dreaming the night away calmly.
"You excited about it?"
The sound of his wife's voice caught him off-guard a moment, making him think hard on what she said before finally replying. "Oh I'm very excited about it! I think it'll be good for the studio. Plus, it's a horror movie. I've never really worked on one before, but... there's a first time for everything." "Right," Amanda simply responded, throwing her makeup removal wipes in the waste basket beside her. She stood up from her vanity and made her way over to her side of the bed, fixing her nightgown as she pulled the sheets back. "Solomon is back," Michael continued, finally nestling himself under their bed sheets as well. "Oh that's nice," his wife replied. "He was a very nice man. Didn't he retire though?" "Yeah, but... the kid who wrote the script for the horror movie... Solly made him a promise." Michael laid his head on the pillow, sighing comfortably as his head began to sink into the memory foam. "He didn't want anyone to steal his idea, so Solly came out of retirement to make sure the film got done right. And recruited me to help out, of course. I couldn't say no. I thought his reason was very noble!" Amanda seemed to make a sound of agreement, turning on her side to face her husband while they talked. "It is noble, isn't it? The kid must be very grateful." Michael turned his head to look at her, smiling sweetly. "I think he is, too. I haven't even met the kid, and already I can tell you I like him. He is an excellent writer. You should've read the script, Mand. It was amazing!" "I can only imagine," his wife replied, sighing softly.
Michael's sweet smile softened as he gazed up at Amanda, her long, thick hair falling over her shoulder as she leaned onto her elbow, her head resting in her hand. She looked absolutely beautiful, the soft glow of the nightlight behind her illuminating her creating a scenic look, the lamp on his side ever so slightly casting an even softer light upon her features. Somehow, Amanda looked just as beautiful as she did the day he met her. He didn't think he'd ever fall for her, or that he'd ever fall for him, but in the end, here they were, together. He slowly began to sit up as he watched, not even noticing his wife's confused gaze as she saw him reposition himself. "Michael?" He blinked lazily at her, a smile still on his lips. "What's going on? Are you okay?" "I'm perfectly fine, honey. Great, actually." He scooted closer to Amanda, his hand slowly coming up to her cheek and brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. "Hey," he began gently, gazing into her eyes lovingly. "I was thinkin'... We haven't really... y'know." Amanda raised a brow, a perplexed look donning her features. It caused him to softly laugh, his eyes still locked onto his wife's.
He didn't forget what he had planned for her. After the amazing day he's had at the studio, with Solomon's return and the new film that was being produced, Amanda deserved to be given the best treatment tonight. She deserved a queen's treatment.
His hand slipped from Amanda's cheek and to her hip, his face slowly leaning inward to kiss her cheek. He wanted to give her a special night, as he felt that today was spectacular so far. She deserved to feel just as spectacular as the day has been. It was his plan since before he left this morning. He wasn't going to back out on this one. "You look so beautiful," he whispered in her ear. He kissed her cheek again. "I wanna give you something special tonight, honey. Just for you." He moved his lips to her neck, growling softly as his slowly left tongue-filled kisses along her skin, his hand slipping to her caress bottom. He couldn't help but inhale the scent on her skin. She smelled amazing, oddly enough. Was she wearing her favorite perfume just for him? The thought made him smile, his lips giving her skin another tongue-filled kiss before his hand playfully squeezed one of her bottom cheeks. "Michael," Amanda called, her hand pressing against his shoulder. He purred in reply, moving closer to her to deepen his kiss on her neck. He wanted to mark her, to show the world that she was his and no one else's. He was getting so worked up, not even realizing it as he continued to indulge in this pleasure. A part of him didn't want to stop. He wanted Amanda to tell him how much she liked this, how she wanted him to take her as they laid in bed together.
He wanted her.
He desired her.
He—
"Michael, I'm really tired."
He froze in place, his lip mere inches away from her neck as he heard her voice. He was surprised by her words. Why was she so tired? She didn't even work today, and based on their conversation at dinnertime, she didn't even leave the house. He thought it was odd that she felt so tired. Was she simply not in the mood tonight, and used it as an excuse? Michael wouldn't have cared, either way. He'd respect his wife's decision regardless. To that note, he decided to think about what else had happened during his wife's day, to try and solve the mystery of her exhaustion. There was the downpour that came this afternoon when he was at work, the same downpour that continued even now outside. Maybe that was why she was tired. Watching the rain usually made anyone feel sleepy. It was a bit of a stretch, but he suspected that the rain was the culprit. He smiled with a soft chuckle, his finger fixing one of her long locks behind her ear. "Sorry, baby. You're right. It has been an exhausting day, hasn't it?" She nodded in reply, fixing her blankets over her body again before laying down. Michael couldn't tell if she was relieved by this, or if this was the exhaustion overtaking her, but either way, he didn't blame her. "Least the gardener finished up before the rain came," Amanda murmured, finally settling down in the bed. "Our yard looks better, even if it got rained on." Michael chuckled, nodding his head; "Yeah. That guy really knows how to make a yard look good. I'm surprised by the guy's dedication to his work." He watched as Amanda nestled her head against her pillow comfortably, her eyes closing as a sigh left her chest. Michael couldn't help but smile again at the sight of her. She looked so pretty just like this. Michael didn't need to have sex to be happy with Amanda. He realized that over the years he's been married to her. He felt like the most luckiest man alive, just to be sitting here beside her.
"I love you, Amanda."
He didn't need to think on his words. He meant every bit of it. He did love her, even when they fought and she left the house. His heart was always with her. Amanda peered up at him when he spoke his declaration of love, her expression blank for a time before a faint smile crossed her lips. "Goodnight, Michael." His wife turned over in the bed, her back facing him as she lets out another long, tiring sigh. Michael couldn't deny that he felt a twinge of melancholy in his chest when his wife didn't tell him she loved him in return. Normally, she would tell him she loved him every night before they went to bed, a routine that never broke until recently. Was there something more going on that he didn't know? He shook the thought from his head. No way Amanda was doing something crazy. She loves him, and he loves her. Everything was okay. She was just tired, he suspected. Besides, he didn't need her to tell him that she loved him. He already knew she did. He curled up beside her, his arm protectively draping over her body as he gives her one more kiss on the cheek. "Goodnight, honey," he replied, happily sighing as he finally relaxed in the comfort of his wife beside him. Michael was happy with how today went. He was happy with the life he finally desired to live. He had two kids that were finally fully grown and out on their own, his beautiful wife beside him, and a career he always longed to have. Life truly was good.
Wasn't it?
Richards Majestic's next biggest film was on the rise these last two months. The Gravekeeper was all anyone could talk about at the studio. Michael was so elated with how this film was turning out, even if they had to switch the lead actress out at least three times already. The actress that was depicted in the artwork that was shown two months prior outright refused to do the film, which made it harder for the studio to find the right actress to replace her. But even with that, Michael was still glad to come into work every day. Just being on-set, watching the action, giving his input, even taking a shot at directing a scene or two. This was when he was most happy. Movies were his life, and to be here making them now was a dream come true for the man. Granted, there were days when anyone at the studio, most of the time being the actors, would pushed his buttons just a little too much, and would make him angry and frustrated. However, he had learned to keep his cool on the job, and to find enjoyment in the challenges that it gave him. He was actually enjoying his time here, and there wasn't a day that went by where he didn't find this job boring. Each and every day presented a new and exciting issue to deal with, and it made his time here worth it all.
Michael had just left the studio after a successful day at shooting for this picture, exhaustion clinging to him like a tick on a dog. He was ready to come home, to eat dinner, take a much needed shower, and hit the bed. He wondered what his most darling wife was up to. They were having it rough the last couple of weeks, as Amanda was being more distant than usual. Michael tried to think of what he could've done wrong. Did he forget something recently that agitated her? Or perhaps it was simply one of her moods when she wasn't feeling like herself? At a stop light, he pulled out his phone to look at his events calendar, just in case there was an event he forgot or missed. There did not seem to be any important dates happening anytime soon, save for a family dinner date that was next week, but that was just with her and their kids at a local restaurant. He was really good at remembering things as of late, doing everything to be a loving, supportive husband while still focusing on this new picture. That includes giving his wife things she asked him for, even if she didn't really need them.
New shoes? Of course. New clothes? Absolutely. New car? If it helps her get to where she's gotta go, you betcha.
The same went for Jonas the gardener. When his wife asked if they could hire him to replace Carlos, Michael didn't object. She wanted their yard to look pretty, so why would he say no? A nice yard makes the missus happy. It made him feel happier, too, when she was happy. He thought he could pick up a small bouquet of flowers for Amanda before coming home. Surely she'd enjoy that, and it would hopefully ease whatever mood Amanda was in right now. As the light turned green, he began to make his way to the nearest flower shop. Maybe roses would do nicely.
"Here you go, Mr. De Santa. One bouquet of red roses for your wife," the cheerful young lady chimed in, giving the man a delicately wrapped bouquet. Michael could see that these were well taken care of, and its petals shined so brilliantly. "These are damn beautiful. Thanks!" he replied, fiddling with one of the rose's petals. He really hoped Amanda would like them. She was really big into having flowers on their dining room table. She might change out those old flowers for these, seeing as how lovely they looked. "Anniversary?" the flower girl asked, watching Michael take his credit card out and swiping it. "Nah, nah. Just... wanting to do something nice for the missus," he said with a smile. He didn't want to tell her that Amanda was acting weirdly distant lately, and he hoped that this would help his wife ease whatever plagued her, and bring her closer to him. "Aww that's sweet! She's lucky to have a husband like you, doing things just because you can!" Michael felt flattered, but wasn't sure if he could agree with the girl. Granted, Michael and Amanda have yet to have an argument, but it did bother him that she was not herself lately. He knew she wasn't pregnant again, nor was it that time of the month for her.
So what was it?
He bit his tongue as a thought occurred to him. Obviously he had to be wrong about it. Still, the fear was consuming him, that fear of Amanda meeting another man and starting the cycle all over again. It took him a while before he was able to shake his head of the thought. He can't think that. Not yet. Besides, it has yet to occur, so there was no way he could think so low of Amanda. She must be bothered by something, and when he returns home, they'll sit down and discuss it like adults, as they should. He knew that was the right course of action, and it would help set aside his fears, as well as help understand what was going on in his wife's head. "Thanks for the flowers," he repeated again, putting his wallet back into his suit pocket and exiting the shop. He'd have time to think about how he was going to approach his wife on this matter on the way home, he supposed. Or at least try to think of more positive things between him and his wife, and not worry so much over such a silly fear.
As he got back into his car, he delicately set the flowers in the passenger seat. Then his eyes locked onto them, just staring at the brilliantly red petals that adorned each rose. He really hoped that these weren't going to be used as an apology for some unknown problem he didn't know about. He wanted his wife to be happy, and to love them simply because it was just a little something he felt like doing. He wasn't really expecting anything in return, not even a thank you or a simple "I love you" for it. The thought of using these roses to ease Amanda was nonsense, and he decided that they would serve a better purpose just to be given to her as a simple gift for no other reason than that. Michael took a deep breath and started up his car, turning the engine over until it purred perfectly. He had to stop worrying about this. He felt he was losing years of his life over it, from all the worrying he was doing lately. He couldn't stop himself from feeling so distraught, but he knew he had to try. Home wasn't that far off now, so he settled for listening to some music on the radio. A nice song from Kenny Loggins himself began to play through the speakers, Meet Me Half Way which played in a movie Michael remembered watching back in the eighties. It actually soothed him a bit, easing his mind. A chuckle suddenly left him, one that eventually turned into a full on laugh as he stopped at a red light.
In the movies, when the main character was feeling down, all the music on the radio would play sad songs. A trope he recognized quite well. This song wasn't sad, necessarily, but it did make him feel better, put him at ease. Life was good, this song was about love and how good it was when they're together. Michael felt like he was embodying the trope just now, and it made him laugh even harder. What was he so worried about again? He knew Amanda and him were doing great, and that she had to be in a bit of a spat. Michael would do whatever it took to help her out of that spat, to make her feel better. He would always be there for her, and help her whenever she needed it. He knew it would all be okay. He decided that he would surprise her with the roses, firstly. Then, he would sit her down, hands in his, and talk to her. He was going to do whatever he had to do, to make her feel like her old self again. Even if it meant going and beating someone to a bloody pulp for so much as looking at her wrong. For Amanda, he would give her the world to make her smile again.
All the while thinking about this, Michael didn't realize that he finally had reached home. It was a good thing, though. While he was a bit tired, he knew he had a task to do. Amanda needed him, and he wanted to focus on her, to make her feel better. He drove uphill toward his home, pulling up to the security gate and spotting his wife's car beyond it, that familiar bright yellow coupe he bought her three months prior, sitting idle right by the garage. "Good. She's home," he mumbled to himself, driving up to their gate. He took a peek at the roses as the gate was slowly opening. They still gleamed so beautifully in the seat beside him, and it made him smile. He certainly hoped that she would love these flowers. However, as the security gate opened completely, Michael noticed a familiar old pickup truck parked right under the awning of his house in front of him. Upon pulling in, he suddenly recognized it, confusion overtaking his mind. It was the new gardener's truck, Jonas. That familiar dull green vehicle, with the peeling paint job and white lettering on the side, and that little sheep logo. The gardener never comes to the house on a Friday, said he didn't have their house scheduled for that day. What was going on?
As Michael turned off his car's engine, he carefully grabbed the flowers and got out, noting how the gardener's tools were laid out by the bushes next to a part of their front lawn. Did Amanda call him to work on these, to see if he was available? She never mentioned to Michael her feelings about the bushes. Although, that could've been what was bothering her these last couple weeks. She did hate when the bushes were untidy. It didn't stop the sinking feeling that Michael felt in the pit of his stomach, however. Why was Jonas still here? Why was the job half finished? Did he injure himself with one of his tools? Was he inside with Amanda? Michael could feel his heart pound erratically in his chest, his hand gripping the roses even tighter to the point he could swear one of them still had a thorn on its stem. Jonas wasn't inside with Amanda right now, was he? What were they doing in there? He couldn't be doing what Michael thought he was doing, right? He was, wasn't he? Amanda and Jonas were sleeping together?!
No.
He couldn't believe that. He had to give Amanda and Jonas the benefit of the doubt. After all, she was his wife, and he trusts her. They had a lot of problems last year, but they have been working great together since. There was no way Amanda would recede back to her old ways, and sleep around with other men. She wasn't a stripper anymore, and was happily married to him. They were happy together.
Right?
Yes. They were. Of course they were happy.
Besides, if Jonas was inside the house, maybe Amanda was simply patching up a tiny cut he had from working? That had to be it. He'll admit that they aren't the best of people at times, but at least they weren't heartless. They'd offer to help patch up someone if they accidentally hurt themselves on their property. "Calm down, Michael," he whispered quietly to himself at last. "You're fine. She's fine. Everything's fine. Stop getting worked up." He took a deep breath and made his way to the front door, taking the doorknob in his hand. However, the door was locked. Michael was confused at first, but shook his head. Amanda might've accidentally locked the door out of habit. He's accidentally locked himself out a couple times, as well. It was no big deal. He took his keys and unlocked the door before him, entering it calmly and with a clear, if not somewhat rambled, mind. It was very quiet at first, but Michael put it out of his mind. They were probably in the kitchen, as the sink there was closer than the one upstairs in the bathroom. He tossed his keys onto the table right by the front door, delicately cradling the flowers in his hands as he was beginning to make his way to the kitchen. However, not even after Michael had taken a single step further inside, he heard heavy thumping sounds. It sounded like it came from upstairs. Footsteps? "What was that?" Michael decided to take a moment to listen in, quietly standing there and waiting for even the slightest sound. It took a moment, but that same sound came again. They were definitely footsteps, and judging by how heavy they were, they couldn't belong to Amanda.
But if they weren't Amanda's footsteps, that could only mean...
"Shit."
Michael couldn't control the pounding in his chest as his heart raced, his legs carrying him swiftly up the stairs of his home. He held the roses firmly in his hand, being careful not to crush the petals as he walked quickly to his bedroom door. "Not again," he whispered to himself, trying to remain calm. "Not again, Amanda. Please not in our house. Let me be wrong, please." Michael stood right outside the bedroom door, his free hand ready to open it until he heard it. It caused his very blood to run cold, making him freeze in place. "You look very lovely, Amanda." He wasn't crazy. It was Jonas! Jonas Gilligan's voice was beyond this door, with his wife! He couldn't believe this. He wouldn't believe it. It had to be a dream, a nightmare. "You're too sweet to me, Jonas." No. This couldn't be... Was Amanda actually liking this, whatever it was Jonas was doing? No, it couldn't be! They promised that they would do better by one another, that they wouldn't go back to how they were in the past. There was no way Amanda was doing this. She couldn't be! He heard her voice again from beyond the door, giggling as something happened between the two. "I have so much fun when you come over," he heard her say, causing the blood in his veins to grow even colder. "So how are you going to do it tonight? From the front? Or behind?" Michael could practically hear his wife purring as she spoke. This couldn't be real! "I'll take you any which way you want, Amanda," Jonas had replied to her, laughing alongside her. "So long as I get to hear those beautiful screams." Michael felt as if he was going out of his mind. This could not be happening! This was not real! Like a man possessed, Michael stood in front of the bedroom door, steadying his stance as he could feel every muscle in his body reawakening as he began to wind himself up. He hadn't done this in at least a year, but he knew he still had the strength. The muscles in his legs became tense as he readied himself, taking a deep, heavy breath before he forcibly kicked the door opened, startling the occupants inside.
He had truly wished his fears were wrong, that the imagery before him was fake and only just some dream.
For laying on the bed he shared with his wife, was Amanda, her robe slid off her shoulders to reveal her nudity to Jonas, who had crawled upon her on the bed, his blue jeans unbuttoned and in the process of being tugged down by none other than Amanda herself. His shirt was discarded on the floor beside the bed, along with his wife's undergarments that tangled with the man's clothes. The roses that were once in Michael's hand slipped from his fingers, falling with a very quiet crash to the floor, the petals scattering at his feet. He could feel every fiber in his body tense with anger, his empty hands curling up into tight fists. He could feel his knuckles pop slightly from the pressure of his grip. His steely blue eyes were bewildered by the sight of Amanda and Jonas, both who jumped off the bed with a start. "Oh my God!" Amanda's voice shrieked, followed by Jonas's startled voice; "Crap!" He couldn't believe it. How long had this been going on for? Why were they doing this? Why was Amanda doing this, and with Jonas who was almost half her age? What did he do wrong? Where did he go wrong? It was insanity! It was maddening to see his wife with another man once again, and despite how well he was doing to try and hold back his anger, he was quickly slipping. "What the hell?!" Michael shouted, glaring disgustingly at the two of them. Jonas was struggling to try and get his belt buckled again, while Amanda had pulled her robe back over her shoulders. He shook his head at the sight of them, his face contorting into that of pure detestation for the scene before him. How could this have happened? How did Michael not see the signs? When did all of this begin? "Mr. De Santa!" Jonas began, his hands waving defensively before him. "It isn't what it looks like! I promise!" Michael blinked slowly in disbelief, practically glaring holes into the young man's skull as he peered in his direction. He could not be serious. Jonas could sense this, his eyes gazing over at a very distraught and exposed Amanda, who could only glance back at him as she held the robe tightly to her body. His wife was completely nude beneath that robe, intentionally nude for the purpose of Jonas and their acts of adultery. It was then Jonas looked down at himself, seeing the sorry state he was in. His jeans were still unbuttoned, the belt haphazardly buckled but loose. He couldn't make them look any less guilty than their appearance already made them. He shook his head in defeat, knowing that there was no way out of this. "Never mind, it is exactly what it looks like," he admitted, but quickly continued on, his hands back up in self-defense. "—but listen! There's a very good explanation for all this! I swear!"
A good explanation?
Those words would echo in Michael's head as he approached Jonas, who stood by silently as the older man came towards him. There was something there that Michael felt in his chest. It was a feeling that he was doing so well to suppress, a feeling he remembered when he walked in to see her old tennis coach in their bedroom, naked in all but his underwear and socks. It was a nerve that was poked and prodded at, a nerve that felt provoked in the worse possible way. He has been holding on for as long as he could, that feeling now completely conquering his actions and taking control. Michael faced the young man, whose frightened hazel green eyes gazed back into his stern, steely blues. Two months ago, this face didn't bother him. This was a face of a young man who was a hard worker, a man who did everything with his hands. The same hands that also helped themselves to his wife's body when he wasn't around.
Before he could react, Michael's fist flew in a fiery rage towards the young man, hitting him square on the nose. Jonas flew back and crashed into the large pottery in the corner of their bedroom, the glass shattering as it was forcibly pushed back against the wall by his body. "No!" Amanda cried out, her hands flying to her mouth. The young man groaned in pain, his face revealing his now broken, bloodied nose. If this was the boy's first time experiencing this kind of pain, then Michael knew that he had more where that came from. "You shit—!" he began, grabbing Jonas by the hair. He lifted him up off the floor a little, the younger man trying to pry the other's grip from his head. "Please, Mr. De Santa!" Jonas pleaded, but his cries went unanswered as another fist flew and landed a nasty blow. This time, the young man had a black eye, tears finally shedding. "Are you fuckin' with my wife, Jonas?" Michael demanded. "Let him go, Michael!" Amanda begged, although her husband ignored her. Jonas coughed a little, spitting out a small amount of blood that fell into his mouth. "Please..." "Are you fucking my wife?!" Michael's grip in the young man's hair became tighter, his fist striking another blow to his face. It caused Jonas to choke on the blood, coughing as he finally answered; "Yes! I am! I'm sorry!" The amount of pure rage that Michael felt couldn't be describe into words. It infuriated him, that this young man had somehow crawled his way into his wife's heart and mind. Why did she let him? What was so good about him that made Michael inferior? "Stop it!" Amanda shouted as Michael raised his fist again, his anger so strong that he almost didn't hear her, until she would shriek one last time.
"Don't kill him, Michael!"
He froze. It took a moment for him to snap back into reality, but within that moment, Michael realized that he was on the verge of killing this man. Would that be right? Jonas was still young, still had his whole life ahead of him. But he slept with Amanda. He felt conflicted with himself. Should he kill him? Should he let him go? He knew that killing him would make him feel better, would solve the problem of his wife sleeping around again. But would that really solve it? Wouldn't she find comfort in yet another man's arms instead? Letting him live would ensure that Amanda and Jonas would still see each other. Unless this entire situation would discourage the young man from seeing his wife again? Michael didn't know. All he knew was that his fist was trembling, and that his knuckles hurt. He gazed upon his hand, noting the slightly bloody knuckles. Then it hit him. This was him regressing back. He said he was a changed man, a better man, and yet here he was, about to kill again. He couldn't do it again. Not because he is ashamed of killing, or for the fact that he was quite comfortable with killing people. But because he wasn't going to kill someone for something like this. It was wrong, despite how wrong Jonas was for sleeping with his wife. He desperately wants to kill him, but in the end, Michael knew what he needed to do.
He needed to be better.
He knows he is better.
"I am better than this," Michael whispered to himself. Jonas looked up at the older man curiously, coughing as the grip in his hair was released. He felt his body hit the floor, all his weight coming down even harder than he's ever dropped. Jonas didn't understand what was happening, as his eyes searched Michael's in fear. Michael had gazed upon his trembling hands before a scowl filled his features, his blue eyes glaring in the young man's direction. "You're fired, pal! Get the fuck out of my house!" Michael hoped that Jonas wouldn't have the balls to return here, nor to keep in contact with Amanda again. He doesn't know where he went wrong with his wife, but it is his problem to fix. He needed to understand, to hear it from her. He knew she would give him the answer. He only hoped it was one he'd understand. Jonas crawled over to where his shirt was tangled up with Amanda's undergarments, grabbing it and struggling to get to his feet. He was grateful to still be alive after this ordeal. The married couple watched as the young man staggered towards the open bedroom door, grabbing the handle for balance as he tripped over his own feet into it. Jonas took a moment before gazing up at them, his voice hoarse and soft and so full of sorrow. "I'm sorry, Amanda." He slowly walked out of the room, closing the door behind him and leaving the married couple behind. It was unbelievable. Was Jonas seriously thinking about returning? Or was this his way of telling her that he was through? Michael still felt his hand trembling, his knuckles feeling sore and slightly swollen from having inflicted damage on Jonas. Michael held his slightly wounded hand, inspecting it, but this didn't matter to him. He couldn't stop thinking about what's he's done. He nearly killed that boy. He could've killed that boy. He was lucky he was able to resist and stop himself this time. But will there be a next time? What if he did this again? He still regrets the trouble he caused when he tore down that house, chasing that stupid tennis coach of hers. However, he swore to himself that he was going to change, that he was going to be better for his kids, for Amanda, for himself. Yet here he was, his fist throbbing after beating down a defenseless man, simply for sleeping with his wife. Jonas was in the wrong, but in a way, so was Michael.
'I am better than this,' he thought to himself, his eyes blankly staring at his knuckles as he flexed his fingers. '...right?'
"Way to go, Michael, you dick!"
The insult threw Michael off. He spun to look at Amanda, confusion in his eyes. "What?!" "Why the hell did you do that?! Jonas didn't do anything wrong!" Michael shook his head in disbelief. Was Amanda serious? Jonas didn't do anything wrong? So what was all of this, then? A big misunderstanding? "What the fuck does that mean?! He is sleeping with my wife, with you!" he retorted, taking a step towards her. Amanda scoffed annoyingly, not allowing herself to meet his eyes. This infuriated Michael. Why was she doing this? What was causing her to act like this? "Amanda, did you forget what we said last year?!" he continued, expressively thrusting his hands as he speaks. "We made a promise to each other! We said we wouldn't do this shit anymore!" Amanda suddenly began to laugh, as if this was all a joke to her. Was she not taking this seriously? "Well I am so sorry Michael, but Jonas actually makes me happy! You, on the other hand, don't!" That really struck him. He tried his best to show that Amanda's words didn't sting, but ultimately, they did. How was she not happy with him? He had money, and bought her things that she asked for, even gave her cash to go and spend it to her heart's delight. They still had the house, helped their kids move out, giving them a chance to spend more time together, as a married couple should. So why was she so unsatisfied with him? What did he do wrong to cause her to go and sleep with someone else? "Really?!" Michael asked angrily, glaring at her with wild eyes. "Yeah! Really!" Amanda mocked back, imitating her husband. It felt so insulting, and made him feel humiliated. But he couldn't back down. He had to get the whole answer from her. There was so much more to this than she was telling him. "Why?! Why aren't you happy with me, Amanda? What the fuck did I do wrong?" Amanda glared back at him, her own expression bewildered by his question. It was a look Michael had only seen one other time before, a look that told him that she genuinely couldn't believe that he didn't realize what the problem was. It was one of the many things Michael did fear, which was his wife believing that she was unhappy with him.
"What did you do wrong, Michael?" Amanda asked him, a dry, sarcastic laugh leaving her as she took a fearless step towards him. "I'll tell you exactly what you did wrong. You, are, boring." Michael blinked profusely as he staggered back, the one word he feared the most with her becoming a reality. He did everything he could to keep his composure, but even that was staggering. Amanda could sense this, however. She was always good at sensing these things. She was becoming bolder, now moving to stand directly in her husband's face, practically snarling at him. "That's right. I am bored with you, Michael. For the last five months, I have felt extremely and utterly bored of you, and the life we live!" Michael moved away from her, shaking his head in disbelief. How was he boring? He gave her everything! He couldn't even look at her, even as she kept on going. "Our life isn't exciting anymore! I just can't stand to do anything with you! Whenever we would go out for any social gatherings, all I see is you being the 'big shot' movie producer, and me as the trophy wife — it's boring! Boring, boring, boring! Oh God, and don't even mention the last time we had sex together! I was bored out of my mind from that, as well! The same tireless way you use that mouth of yours, thinking it'll get me going!" Michael ran his hand over his face, pushing back his loose locks of hair with a deep, shaky sigh. The truth was finally out. Somehow, within the last five months — a length of time he didn't even realize she felt for so long — he had somehow manage to create a rift in their marriage again. He thought he was so careful this time! He was more accepting and open to his wife and kids, trying to be more helpful and calm as he did things, even doing everything he could to please and impress Amanda, and not make her feel bombarded by his advances. It was tearing him to shreds on the inside, how much all of this was actually hurting him. He had to fix this, but he didn't know how. How could he make himself less boring?
Although, he did wonder if this was even his fault at all. He hadn't slept with anyone at all, and stayed faithful to his wife since Day One of marrying her. How could he be the one who was in the wrong?
"But Jonas... Jonas makes me feel special."
Michael's head lifted at the sound of his wife's declaration, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach.
"He treats me like I deserve to be treated. He makes me feel like I can do anything, and everything. He didn't care I was married to your sorry ass. He loves me, desires me, and makes me feel truly special. An enduring quality you obviously lack!"
He turned to face his wife, asking her in a calm, but angry voice. "What exactly is wrong with you?!" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He knew that he always found a way to make his wife feel special, too. So what was Jonas doing that was different from him? How was that gardener better than him? "There's nothing wrong with me!" Amanda retorted, pointing at him angrily. "It's you that's the problem!" Michael shook his head; "Nah. No, now you... you know that ain't true, Amanda." He took many deep, shaky breaths as he locked eyes with his wife, doing everything to remain calm with her. It was going to be difficult, but he had to try. Getting frustrated, even with Amanda egging him on, was not going to solve the problem. He had to show her that he is willing to do anything to fix this. Perhaps another reminder that he has been doing better. He snorted a deep sigh through his nose, opening his mouth to take one last shaky breath before speaking. "Now, I know I'm not a perfect man... but I have been trying my damnedest to be better for you! And I think I've been doing pretty okay for the last year! Not perfect or great some days, but most were okay! Didn't you see that?" His wife was staring at him, a blank expression fixated on her features. Michael wasn't sure if he had gotten to her, or if she was actually taking the time to think on what he said. He knew that she knew he was doing good, even with the slip up moments ago. She had to admit that he did a good job stopping himself, right? He didn't even think he was capable, but was glad he found the strength to resist his urges. A part of him still wants to go and kill Jonas Gilligan, but he was smothering that feeling. He had to.
Amanda suddenly began to chuckle to herself. It was a quiet chuckle at first, one that seemed to be dry and weightless. Michael didn't seem to understand. Why was she laughing? What was so funny about this? Amanda shook her head as her laugh grew louder, a sullen look now creeping on her face as she glared up at him. "Well congratu-fucking-lations, Michael," she began, practically snarling at him as she began clapping her hands. "Let's all give Mr. Doing-So-Great a big pat on the back! What, you want me to give you a trophy instead?! Just like they do at those movie awards you enjoy so much?!" "What— no!" Michael responded, shaking his head angrily. "No I don't want a fucking trophy, Amanda! I want my wife to see that I love her, and would do anything for her!" Amanda seemed to pause as her husband spoke, his words seemingly striking some chord within her as she seemed to be taken aback by this. She seemed to gaze back at him with familiar eyes, eyes that told him that she did hear what he was saying. Does she finally how much their love means to him? He was breathing heavily now, his hand wiping across his mouth as he tried to steady himself. Arguing with him always exhausted him, more so recently than before. Michael ran his hand down over his thick stubble chin, gazing back up at his wife as he took a step towards her, his eyes compassionately searching hers. "What do you want, Amanda, baby? I'll do anything for you... anything at all!" Amanda's eyes gazed away from her husband's a moment, as if she was thinking deeply on something. Michael wanted to see her eyes, to understand what she could possibly be thinking. It worried him that she was avoiding his eyes. He was serious when he told her that he would do anything for her. He loved his wife enough to sacrifice so much for her, even his own lifestyle to make her happy. He was willing to do anything to fix their marriage for her.
Amanda finally gazed up at Michael with large, doe-like eyes, her voice gentle and soft as she spoke at last. "Anything..?" Michael could've sworn that he saw a flicker of light in his wife's eyes, one that gave him hope. Was she going to give him this chance? Was she going to tell him what he had to do to make all of this go back to the way it was? He didn't care if he had to fly to the moon and back to make her happy, he'd do it. Amanda was his wife, and he was not going to lose her again. He couldn't. He watched her carefully, anxiously waiting for her to speak to him, to tell him what she believes he should do to solve this once and for all. Amanda's soft, downcast eyes dared not look directly into Michael's, as she seemed to have been giving herself some time to think this through. He decided to give her this time to think, to take the time to tell him exactly what it is that he has to do. He was ready, willing, and able, even though he was physically exhausted after both work and everything he had endured here at home. When Amanda looked back at up at him again, Michael shifted his weight, his eyes locking onto hers, the anticipation causing him to suddenly feel jittery. The only problem with this inclination was the answer his wife would give him.
"Then get out."
Michael could swear he could hear his own heart cracking.
"What?" he asked quietly, his steely blue eyes searching his wife's for an explanation. Amanda growled in frustration, suddenly shouting at him again. "I want you out of this house, Michael! Go drink, or fuck some whore, I don't care! Just get out and leave me alone!" Michael's face contorted into one of pure disgust at the suggestion his wife threw at him. How could she tell him that? He retaliated, his eyes glaring deeply into hers as he took a step towards her. "Bullshit! I am not going to go fuck some random woman, Amanda! I told you I wouldn't do that shit when we got married—" "I don't fucking give a shit, Michael! Just get the fuck out, and don't come back tonight!" Michael stood there, his breath heavy, his fists shaking, his body trembling with anger. He wanted to shout at her, to yell at her until he lost his voice. He wanted to say so many things to her, to tell her that kicking him out was wrong and she knows it. How could she do this to him? He has given her everything, and never asked for much in return. It was as if she had taken a knife and stabbed him, cutting him deeper than any knife wound he had actually experienced. He desperately wanted to say something, to beg, plead, to outright scream and tell her to let him stay. However, he realized that he did tell her that he would do anything for her.
Anything.
Including leaving the house for the night.
"Goddammit!"
Michael stormed to the bedroom door and flung it open, the door slamming against the small couch that sat right by the wall that hung a large painting of his wife. He didn't care if he scuffed it at this point. He had to get away, to leave as his wife had requested. Well, more like demanded. He was pretty sure of that. Still, it enraged him that Amanda wanted him to leave. What would that solve? It wasn't going to stop her from seeing Jonas, or to help Michael understand how he can be less of a bore to her. His black leather shoes clicked rapidly as he made his way down the stairs and to the front door, angrily grabbing the handle and yanking on it. He fought with it for another moment before finally flinging the door opened, slamming it shut on his way out. He did not want to come back now. Maybe it would be good to get away, to leave and try to forget all of this. A drive through the neighborhood might be just want he needs. He approached his car, his hand reaching and grabbing the handle to open it. However, it didn't open. He tried opening his car door again, but struggled with the handle fiercely. Did he lock his car? He couldn't remember. Michael patted his pockets for the car keys, trying to find them so he could unlock his car door and drive away from here. It took a moment for him to realize that his keys were not on his person, for he left them in the house. The same house where his cheating wife still resided. The same house where said wife told him to leave and not come back. "Fuck!"
He was so distraught. Now he had no mode of transportation, for there was no way he was going back inside to grab his keys. He would have to wait until tomorrow to get them. He couldn't stay outside his house all night. He had to get out of here. He had to get away from Amanda and cool off. As Michael snorted angrily to himself, he made his way over to the secondary security gate, which was a metal door that stood at the end of a small path in his front yard. He thrust it open and promptly left the property, squinting as his eyes made contact with the sun. The sun was setting over the distant Los Santos sky, but its beauty did not bring him comfort. It scorched him, burned him deeper than any wound he had ever felt. He simply began walking. He didn't care where, so long as it wasn't here. He started back downhill, back towards the small shopping strip of southern Rockford Hills. He didn't pay too much attention to where he went from there. His mind was all that preoccupied him now. It was full of so many questions. Questions he had about Amanda. Why would she do this? Why didn't she come to him when she first began to feel bored of him? Was she afraid that he wouldn't understand? He'd find a way to understand her, if she had given him the chance! Now he was left more angry and confused as to why she ran into the arms of another man. Now Jonas filled his mind. Why did the young man do this? Didn't he realize the risk of sleeping with a married man's wife? Amanda told him that, apparently, Jonas didn't care that she was married to Michael. Was their marriage not a boundary to him? He groaned quietly to himself, his face falling into his hand as he continued walking down a street. Despite how badly he wished he had strangled Jonas to death, he knew killing him would be wrong. His hand ran over his face, rubbing against his thick stubble chin once again. He knew that he did the right thing by letting Jonas live, even if it meant allowing them to continue to see each other. Killing him would've solved nothing. It wouldn't have helped Michael understand why Amanda felt the way she does. If only he could understand her. Why wouldn't she give him the chance?
'You should've killed him when you had the chance.'
That was a voice that Michael had not heard in almost a whole year. He recognized it, too. It was him. It was his own voice in his head. This voice only came out when he thought of dark things, of 'evil' things. He always did struggle with his good and evil sides, trying to do what was right to outweigh all the bad he had ever done in his life. He didn't think that the voice would ever come back after all this time. He thought that he was careful enough to avoid the voice from coming back. Michael suddenly chuckled to himself quietly. He felt like he was going crazy with how ridiculous this all seemed. The voice wasn't real, and was simply a figment in his own mind. Completely imaginary. 'Are you seriously trying to write me off as some imaginary thing? Really, you fat fuck? That's low, even for you.' It was still there?! Michael shook his head, noting the crosswalk sign indicating that he could cross the street. Was he actually going insane? The voice suddenly continued on in his head, bickering at him. 'Honestly. That asshole slept with your wife. Why did you let him go? Are you actually giving up on Amanda?' Michael rubbed his face, trying to ignore the voice. He wasn't going to allow himself to go crazy tonight. He needed to get rid of this voice as soon as he could. Maybe a distraction at the club would help. The dancers usually are what help him forget everything. Just like they did for him last year when his life was practically in shambles. 'What, are you thinking about going to the strip club? You always go there after fighting with her. You are one sad fuck.' Michael stopped in his tracks, an unsettling feeling creeping into the pit of his stomach. He realized that there was no escaping that voice. It would always be with him until the end of his life. Wherever he went, whatever he did, it wold follow him. That 'evil' side of him. He couldn't escape himself.
But he could do better than himself.
He realized that the strip club was a place he kept away from so well within the past year. He wasn't about to break his streak by going there now. Doing so would only mean that he would be regressing back even more, and he couldn't allow that. Michael saw the way the sun gleamed on the building across the street, its glass shiny and new. He recognized this street. Across the street, right in the alleyway between the two rows of stores was the jewelry store known as Vangelico. The very same jewelry store that he and Franklin robbed that day, to pay off the Mexican drug lord that he accidentally angered when he chased that damned tennis coach of Amanda's so long ago. Despite the reasons, he had to admit that he never felt so alive in such a long time. He missed that rush of adrenaline, that chaos that made up every fiber in his being when he looked upon the glistening jewels that he would snatch up. Times seemed so much more simpler then. He wondered if he could still pull off a heist, like he did so many times last year. What a rush that would be to—
Michael shook his head. He was going to do better than he was before, that included thinking on past glories and successful heists and robberies. He had to be better than he once was. He decided to put the strip club far from his mind, and never think of going there again. He was going to go somewhere else, maybe even someplace new. That'll show his evil side. 'What do you think you're doing?' The voice almost sounded curious in his head. 'You're actually not going to the strip club, huh? That's funny. You think you're so clever. It won't matter. You're going to trip and fall like you always do. You'll see. Plus, you're gonna have to live with the fact that Amanda cheated on you, because you're a lousy, good for nothing bastard who can't even satisfy his wife in bed anymore. A real pity.' Michael was just about done with this damn voice in his head. If there was a way to extract voices like this one out of one's head, he would've done it by now. Of course, telling anyone about this tiny voice in his head would only solidify the fact that Michael has officially gone insane, despite how 'sane' he appears. He knew there was no way he could escape it, but he knew he could ignore it for now. Maybe then, it'll actually shut up and stop patronizing him.
Michael took out his cell phone, looking through his contacts list for the number to the cab company. He wasn't going to get very far on foot, as he could already feel his knees becoming weak from how far he has walked from home. Since he knows the new proprietor of the cab company, he could only hope that they would get here even sooner than they use to. When he found the number, he began to call it, listening to the ringing tone on the other end. It rung about two times before someone finally answered. "Downtown Cab Company, in transit since 1922. Raul speaking." "Hey, yeah. I need a cab," Michael responded, looking at the street signs. "I'm on the corner of Portola Drive and Eastbourne Way. Where that horse statue is?" The operator known as Raul seemed to be shuffling some papers around on the other end of the phone. Perhaps he was looking at a map to indicate where Michael was? "No problem. I'll have one there in a couple of minutes," he finally replied. Michael felt relieved. The sooner he was in a car to go somewhere, the better. He desperately wanted to forget tonight, and he needed to figure out where he was going to go from here. Maybe to one of the local bars he frequents? "Sounds good, thanks." Michael hung up, putting his cell phone back into his suit pocket. This would be a good opportunity to think on where he was going to go. There were many bars up and down this side of town, some even closer on foot. He had a multitude of choices thanks to what time it was. Most bars would be opening up now. 'Gonna go drink your memories away?' The voice had returned. 'You stupid fat fuck. Just like dear ol' Dad. Drinking away your life until you drop dead. You might as well. You're gonna be drinking a lot if you plan of forgettin' this night.' The voice was causing Michael to feel bitter, his lip tightening into a grimace. He wish he could tell it to shut up, but there were people around, walking up and down the streets. He couldn't let the voice win by letting others think he was crazy. He simply shook his head, trying to ignore the voice. 'Can't get rid of me that easily, Mikey boy. Nice try.' Michael quietly growled to himself, his hand pinching his eyes before the sound of a car horn took him by surprise. The cab he called for had arrived, and right where he needed it to be. He made his way over to the cab and got in, letting out an exhausting sigh. "Where you headed, homie?" the cab driver asked, leaning over his seat to look at Michael. "Whoa! You kinda look like shit, buddy. You okay?" "Just... take me a bar. Any fuckin' bar. I don't care." Michael began to rub his face with his hands, his fingers pushing into his eyes. He simply just wanted to forget everything. The affair, Jonas, Amanda, the voice in his head, all of it. He wanted to forget it all and never have to think of it again.
The driver began to make his way to a nearby bar, driving off in an unknown direction. Michael hoped that they would soon reach their destination, as he knew there was a bar right around the corner. That bottle of whiskey sure sounded sweet right about now. Enough shots of that, and he was bound to forget everything. As he threw his head back with a sigh, his hands fell to his sides. It was then that Michael discovered a flyer rolled up into a ball beside him, nudging his hand. "The hell is this?" He picked up the paper ball and began to unravel it. It was advertising a brand new underground nightclub in Vespucci Canal, a one Maisonette Los Santos. Michael had never been to a nightclub before, let alone an underground one. Surely there would be drinks there. It was almost too perfect in a strange sense. It was someplace new, a place where no one would be able to recognize him. It was the ideal place. "Hey," he called to the cab driver, showing him the flyer. "Know where this is?" The driver looked over his shoulder, noticing the flyer. "Oh yeah. I know where that is. Pretty boppin' place from what I hear. Lots of the younger crowd love it there." Michael felt like this place was even more perfect. If only a younger crowd of people came here, then that meant that there wouldn't be many people who wold recognize him there. He wasn't in the mood to be noticed and talked to after the day he's had, especially with Amanda. The thought of her and Jonas made his blood boil again, his voice deep as he slaps the flyer to the cab driver's chest. "Change of plans, pal. Vespucci Canals." The driver took the flyer and turned in his seat, looking at Michael curiously. "What? You wanna go to the nightclub? You sure, buddy?" The glare that Michael gave the driver was enough to scare the man back into his driver's seat, his hands taking the wheel and beginning to change his route.
"I-It's no big deal! I'll take you there!"
The drive was a bit relaxing, but Michael didn't really get to enjoy it as much as he would've liked. Between his lingering thoughts of Amanda and Jonas, the voice still acting in an imperious nature in his mind, and the hopes of drowning it all with booze, the trip from Rockford Hills to Vespucci Canals was a grueling one. He couldn't wait to finally arrive at this nightclub and order some whiskey. He knew he was going to need the whole bottle at this point. The driver turned onto a street and then came to a halt, nearly jerking Michael in his seat. Did they arrive yet? Why did the driver stop in the middle of the street? The cab driver turned in his seat, looking over his shoulder at the older man. "Alright, brother. Here we are." Michael looked out the window, but all he could see was the small shops and a outdoor dining area before him. He could also see the canal where the housing was all set up. There was an alleyway behind the chain of shops down this street, but he couldn't see anything. "Where's the nightclub?" he asked, peering over at the driver. "See that alleyway?" He pointed, both witnessing a couple disappear down the very alleyway they were watching. "That's the entrance to the club. Just have your ID ready before you hit the door. The bouncer's gonna check it." Michael nodded as he took out his wallet, paying his fare to the driver before getting out. "Thanks for the tip," he grunted, shutting the car door behind him. "Have fun, buddy. Don't get too wasted!" The cab driver zoomed down the street, leaving Michael on the sidewalk. Was he certain the club was here? There didn't seem to be anything to indicate that there was anything here.
Just then, Michael's ears picked up a sound coming from down the alleyway. Music? It wasn't anything Michael was use to listening to, the electronic drums pulsating and beating to a simple rhythm. He decided to follow that sound further into the alleyway, which got slightly louder and louder the closer he got. As he rounded the corner of one of the buildings, he saw it. A group of people standing in a line right outside a door. Posters of all kinds were plastered all over the walls and littered the ground around it, of DJ's that were known to play here. The bouncer was looking at the IDs of the couple that Michael saw earlier, his stern eyes glancing up at the two of them before giving their IDs back. "Welcome to Maisonette Los Santos. Drink responsibly." The bouncer let the couple pass, both laughing excitedly before quickly making their way inside the club through a door. The line didn't seem all that bad; only three people, if Michael included himself. This was starting to look like an interesting place. It was out of the way and hidden, but still visible to those who were seeking it out. At least now Michael can say he went somewhere new. He waited patiently for his turn, keeping his wallet handy before finally making it up to the bouncer. The young man in front of him flashed his ID quickly to the bouncer, beginning to make his way to the door before he was stopped. "Nice try, kid. Let me see the ID." The young man scoffed, taking the time to fix his spiky blue hair before begrudgingly giving the bouncer his ID. The large man looked between the ID and the young man, scanning it over and over before shaking his head. "Kid. I don't know who you got this forged ID from, but they need to work on their craft. I can see that this is an obvious fake. What are you, sixteen?" "Seventeen!" the kid corrected before growling angrily. "Dammit! Now I'm never gonna get in!" The bouncer laughed, shoving the fake ID back to the kid's hands. "Nice try. Go home and study. This ain't a place for kids like you." "You're not my dad!" the young, blue haired boy shouted, crossing his arms. "Way to ruin my fun, asshole!" He stomped past the bouncer and disappeared into the alleyway, giving way for Michael to make his approach.
The bouncer looked Michael up and down, a small snort leaving him as he outstretched his hand, "ID." Michael opened his wallet and presented his identification card, letting the bouncer take it and inspect it. The man squinted hard as he looked between Michael and the ID card, as if he was trying to decipher something. "You grow your beard and hair out recently?" the bouncer asked, looking up at him. Michael peeked at his own ID, realizing that his picture was when he had short, cropped hair and a clean shaven face. He hated the way he looked in that photo, but at least it was better than his police photos back in the day. "Yeah? Why?" The bouncer studied the older man's face for another minute more before looking down at his ID again, taking a device from his pocket and scanning Michael's card. A blue light emitted from it, flashing a moment before becoming stationary. "Michael De Santa," the bouncer read his name aloud on the identification card. "As in the movie producer? The one from Richards Majestic?" "Assistant Producer," Michael corrected, in a tired voice. He usually never corrected anybody when it came to his job description, but for some reason, he felt the need to correct. Perhaps this was an effect from discovering his wife with Jonas? He was feeling pretty inferior with his own job, now, seeing as he was only an assistant. He ran his hand over his eyes, pinching them as he let out a sigh as he tried to put that thought out of his mind. "Look pal. I'm havin' a really shitty night, okay? I came here hopin' no one would recognize me, so I can drink in peace. I just... I just wanna forget tonight." The bouncer didn't say anything, simply returning Michael's ID card back to him before welcoming him to the nightclub. "Welcome to Maisonette Los Santos. Drink responsibly, and... try to stay outta trouble,mister." Michael walked past the bouncer, opening the door to the nightclub as he put his wallet back into his suit pocket. Once he began to descend the first set of stairs, he scoffed to himself, shaking his head. "Sure. I'll drink 'responsibly.' I'm gonna get responsibly hammered."
Upon entering the secondary door down the second flight of stairs, the music became even more amplified than before. The beat was more techno this time around, and the youthful crowd further into the club was dancing like mad. Their bodies swayed and bounced, jumped and spun around. The heat that resonated off their bodies made the atmosphere almost unbearable, but nobody seemed to care. They were here for the music and to have a good time. A affair that Michael was in no mood for at all. The first bar he happened across was very small and was packed with people. It was the closest to the only exit in this palace, so of course more people would be crowded here. He couldn't get himself a drink even if he wanted to. There were more than enough bodies blocking his way in doing so. This couldn't be the only bar in this place, however. Michael knew that. With a sigh, he begrudgingly entered into the club further, where the large dancing crowd resided. The DJ on the stage ahead was smiling and nodding along with the music, cranking up another loud bass with the turn of a nob. The crowd seemed to love it, as their cheers were even louder than before. Michael shook his head, wincing as a neon light glared into his eyes. 'What a cesspool,' he thought to himself, looking around to find another bar. He recognized the couple that had entered before him, dancing happily close to where Michael was standing. Surely they must know where the other bar is, right? It looks like they've been here enough times. "Hey," Michael called over to the dancing couple, to which the man turned to face him. He wore a white hoodie, which made the neon lights that were flickering bounce off his jacket even more. Michael tried to ignore the glare, and proceeded on. "Know where a guy can get a drink around here?" The man motioned his head behind him, still dancing away. "Up the stairs there, bro! Gnarly tonight, ain't it?" His eyes focused on the stairs just behind the dancing couple. Finally, he will get that drink he so desperately wants. He moved towards it and began his ascend up the U-shaped staircase, which was just as crowded, but not by much. He saw a pair of girls dancing with bottles in their hands, one taking a huge gulp as she swayed her hips to the music. He observed his surroundings, noting the people nearby overlooking the railing to the dance floor below, and then at last, the bar itself. There were barely any people hanging out by the bar, save for a woman and a man, who was beginning to walk away with a drink in hand. 'Looks quiet enough, I guess.'
He approached the bar, where the bartenders consisted of a woman and a man. The female bartender noticed his approach, her hand moving to grab a glass for her new customer. "What can I get you, hon?" she asked. as friendly as her smile. Michael immediately sat down on the bar stool, his bruised hand on the counter as he bitterly responds. "Whiskey. And keep it comin'." He slapped money down on the bar top, looking away from her and the crowd. The female bartender took it hesitantly, and proceeded to pouring him a glass of whiskey. Michael took it and downed the glass in one gulp, slamming it back down. The bartender seemed stunned for a moment, slowly pouring him another glass. This continued on for another five minutes before Michael noticed the couple from before, now standing by the railing and laughing, before kissing each other and snuggling up together. The sight made his blood boil, as it brought back memories of Jonas and Amanda to his mind. Michael had his back turned to the young, hyperactive crowd that danced wildly to the music, his cheek pressed against his fist as he took another sip of his whiskey. Tonight has become one of the worse nights he had ever experienced in almost a full year. He already hated everything about it. The fact that Amanda was cheating on him again, after both swore that they would do better by one another, and not retort back to their old ways, felt like a knife had been lodged into his back. There were so many times Michael resisted the urge to pick up other women when he made this promise, and despite how powerful these urges became, he forced himself to think of what was more important: his wife, who he wanted to stay loyal to. Now a part of him regretted not following up on those urges. All this time, his happiness was a fabrication, his marriage just as fake as the plastic smiles that filled the streets of Los Santos. Would he have been happier in the arms of another woman? Michael shook his head, swallowing another gulp of his whiskey. These thoughts were just as bad as discovering Amanda sleeping with the gardener. He refused to stoop to her level and do what she had done tonight. She had been sneaking around him for the last two months or whenever, sleeping with this gardener when he was out of the house. He didn't understand. Everything he did, he did for her, to make her happy. Did Amanda believe he didn't care enough? Or did she feel smothered by his affection? Either way, the one word he hated to hear was the word she called him: boring. As the bartender refilled his whiskey again, he turned in his seat to immediately gulp it all down once more, slamming the shot glass down on the bar top; "Another." He was desperate to get drunk tonight, if it was the last thing he did. He wanted to drink this night away and forget everything that had happened. He didn't want any recollection of this night, nor did he want to even think about it anymore at this point. He simply wanted to forget it all, to put it off as some horrible nightmare. Only then would this night get a little bit better.
When the bartender filled his glass, a new customer had flopped down on a bar stool a little ways from him, sighing heavily as their head fell into their hand. It had caught Michael's attention, his eyes peering up as his glass raised once more to take another drink. That was when he stopped, the glass just mere inches from his lips. The new customer was a young woman, her auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail with little bangs draping in front of her eyes. The little black dress she wore was not entirely revealing, but definitely showed a lot of her skin, from her shoulders and arms down to the skirt, which was quite short enough to reveal her long, elegant legs. She had a tattoo on her left forearm, as well, but with this distance and lighting, it was hard to tell what kind of tattoo it was. Another sigh had left the woman, her expression obscured by her hand, but the energy obviously felt. She seemed to be having just as bad a night as he was. He watched her for some time, seeing this woman sit here so disheartened about something. He almost wanted to go over and ask her what was wrong. It would be nice to talk to someone who was having an equally bad night as he was. The female bartender that had served him all night approached the woman, asking her what she wanted. Michael took a sip of his whiskey, listening in as the woman seemed to be looking at the menu to decide. "Do you know how to make blue lagoons?" he heard the woman ask, her head tilting a bit as she looked back at the bartender. It was a bit hard to hear her over the loud speakers that blared the music up here, but he focused the best he could, trying to read the woman's lips as best he can. He was intrigued by her choice, as blue lagoons were not a drink he heard people in Los Santos order often. Was she from out of town? "Is that what you want, sweetie?" the bartender asked, grabbing a glass and cleaning it. The woman looked as if she was about to respond, but an obnoxious burst of laughter stopped her dead in her tracks. Michael snapped his head in the direction of the laughter, noticing a group of women clambering towards the woman that sat alone at the bar. They were loud, their voices shrilling as they talked about one of the male dancers down on the dance floor. The woman had dropped her head in her hand again, cuing Michael that the reason her night was terrible was because of these women. Was she forced to join in on their escapade tonight? They called over the male bartender, ordering a different round of drinks for their group. The woman seemed to object, but the other women overshadowed her, practically ignoring her words.
Michael could feel his teeth grit in the back of his jaw. Why even invite this woman on an outing if they were not going to listen to her? She obviously didn't want the drink that they were ordering, but here they were, ordering and ignoring their friend's objection. What kind of friends were these women to her anyway? The male bartender brought the group of ladies fresh fruit cocktails, one of them stuffing some money into his breast pocket with a wink. She must've been the de facto leader of this group of women. The young woman had a half-heartened smile on her lips, her face then contorting to one of displeasure upon drinking the cocktail. Michael felt bad for this woman. Here she was, forced to be out on the town with a group of women who didn't seem to care much for how she felt or what she wanted. "Hey barkeep," he waved over the female bartender, who approached with the bottle of whiskey he was drinking. He shook his head and waved the bottle away, pointing to the woman. "See that girl over there, black dress, red hair?" The bartender peered over her shoulder at the group of women. "Yeah." Michael couldn't believe he was about to do this, but he felt that if his night was going to be terrible, then he was going to try and make someone else's night better than his. "Could you whip her up a blue lagoon, on me?" He pulled out his wallet and paid for the drink, which the bartender took. "Sure." She grabbed a glass under the bar top in front of him, grabbing the necessary ingredients to prepare the blue lagoon. Michael tilted his head as he tried to get a better look at the woman. He thought about what he was doing, about paying this random stranger a drink that they seemed to have wanted before being denied. Was it the right thing to do? He wasn't trying to do anything funny by doing this. He was simply trying to be nice. Right? "Oh and uh..." He caught the attention of the female bartender again, who was nearly done with making the blue lagoon. Michael didn't realize what he was doing when he pulled out that one hundred dollar bill from his wallet, slipping it to the bartender secretly. Maybe a part of him did, and he just didn't care. Either way, he did realize one thing: he really wanted that young woman to know it was him. "Would you let her know it's from me? The drink?" The woman looked down at his hand, which lifted to reveal the one hundred dollar bill he slid in her direction. A coy smile formed on the woman's lips, who took the bill and slid it into her pocket. "You got it, hon," she replied with a hint of flirtation in her voice, finishing up the drink and taking it over to the woman in the little black dress.
Michael had to admit, his heart was pounding rapidly in his chest. He just paid some random woman a drink, and she doesn't even know it. What was he thinking? There was no way she was going to accept it. He was just some random old fart who just paid a pretty young girl a drink. Michael huffed a heavy breath, trying to shake the trepidation he could sense in his chest as he watch the female bartender approach the woman. She placed the blue lagoon in front of her, her whole body perking up as she saw the glass. Was she surprised? She seemed to be. The women around her were asking if she ordered before they got there, to which the woman shook her head. He leaned in closer to try even harder to listen to the sound of her voice this time. Why he wanted to know exactly what she sounded like, he didn't know. But Michael was determined, and did his best to listen to only the sound of her voice. "Excuse me. There must be a mistake. I didn't order this," she called the barkeeper, gently tapping the blue lagoon. It was hard to hear her in this club, but from what he could hear, she had a very lovely voice. Sounded mature, sweet, elegant. Could a woman really sound like that all at once? The female bartender seemed to give the woman a grin as she began to wipe a glass in her hand. "Compliments from the gentleman in the blue suit," she replied, gesturing in Michael's direction. The tightness in his chest returned, realizing that the bartender kept her word and told the woman who bought the drink. This was it, he would think to himself. It was time to really get a good look at this woman he saw across the bar, and see exactly why he seemed so compelled to go so far as to order this woman a drink. If it made her night better, then he knew he did his job. If she still refused the drink, he wouldn't blame the woman. He was just some random old man in a bar, after all.
Just then, as the woman turned to look in his direction, Michael could feel his heart lodge fast in his throat as he almost choked on his whiskey. She had the most dazzling eyes he had ever seen on a woman, and the prettiest little smile which happened to form on her lips. There was no way a woman like this could exist, and yet, here she was. Michael chuckled softly, raising his glass to her as he flashed a smile in her direction. She seemed to smile even wider in return, bashfully looking away before allowing her eyes to flutter back up to look at him, flirtatiously biting the corner of her lip. She was the most drop dead gorgeous woman in the whole club. He couldn't believe his hand was shaking a little as he took another sip of his whiskey, his eyes still glued to her as if she had cast a spell on him. What was happening to him? Just watching her from over here, seeing that elegant finger swirl around the rim of her glass. Michael couldn't stop the hitch in his throat at the mere sight of her, the action so simple and yet so alluring. How did she do that? Was that even possible for a woman to cause a man to lose himself from something as simple as this? He realized then that there was no way he was going to let this woman get away, not until he — Michael De Santa — could find some way to get close enough to her and finally say hello. He felt his body reacting before his mind could, knowing that soon enough, he was going to go up to her and find out exactly who this woman was.