"Aye what's up. I'm DJ Sharpe and I'm an addict."
"Hello DJ"
He looked around the circle of mildly interested peers, all struggling to maintain their looks of support and love, and feeling like a complete joke, he chuckled and focused his eyes on the ground.
"My friends call me Deac. So uhh...you all can call me DJ." he continued. He looked up and initiated an awkward chuckle, but seeing the blank stares from the rest of the support group, he quieted and then shrugged his shoulders. "To be honest with you, this is all court-appointed. I'm not really an addict, I'm not crazy or violent like the judge is saying, and-" with nothing left to say, he shrugged once again. "That's that."
"Well Deac-...DJ" the red head corrected herself swiftly and then adjusted her glasses as she avoided eye contact. "The first step in the healing process is acknowledgment."
"Yeah well I acknowledge that I had one too many at a party and these losers tried to disrespect me in front of my girl, so I-..." with a swift hand motion he punched himself in the arm. "You know, just to let them know I'm not one to be played with." He narrowed his eyes to read the red-head's name tag, and then he smiled. "So KATHY...I've aired out my business, let's hear about yours, shall we? What was your drink or drug of choice? Was it Meth? Smile so that I can see your teeth, KATHY."
Just then, one of the men stood. "Hey pal you're out of line."
Deac chuckled. "Man, if I had a nickel...let me tell ya." Once again, he looked around the group. "So, that's what this is? Getting us all together, making us announce that we're lushes, and then we sit around and commiserate together?" he hesitated. "CO-MMIS-SER-RATE...four syllables. Didn't think I had it in me, did you KATHY?" he then turned to the balding man who'd stood and examined him. "KATHY and JASON...do you know what? That judge is crazy. There's absolutely nothing wrong with me, and I'm not about to waste a perfectly good Friday afternoon in a hell hole like this."
With that, Deac grabbed his cap from the floor, placed it backwards on his head, and slowly stepped out of the circle and towards the door. "And if anyone needs me, I'll be down at some bar with a nice stiff one." he chuckled. "I may even get a drink too."
He could hear the collective gasps from the rest of the group, an absolute accomplishment in his eyes as he exited the room.
Once outside, the bright Los Angeles sun bombarded him, forcing him to squint. Leaned up against the side of the bricked building was Lacey, Deac's girlfriend. He looked her up and down. Her long thin legs were glistening from the sun, giving way to short denim shorts, and a white tank top. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and when her piercing icy blue eyes met his, he knew that he was in for it.
"Why are you out already?" she questioned.
Deac shrugged his shoulders. "Early dismissal?"
Dropping her foot from the side of the building, Lacey followed him down the sidewalk. "This is the third time and the third session that you've skipped out on. They're going to throw your ass in jail if you don't start taking this seriously."
"Meh..."
"Fine." Throwing up her hands, Lacey continued down the street in silence. Once at Deac's car, she pouted while waiting for him to unlock the door, and once inside, she buckled up but maintained her silence: A silence she knew was welcomed by Deac.
"It's amazing. I spend my entire life in Toronto, and then come to LA and I'm deemed some weird violent alcoholic."
Lacey grunted and folded her arms as she looked out of the window of the car at the street as they zoomed by, but she didn't respond.
"I've been here for what-...two months, and in that time I've been arrested twice."
"Congratulations...I'm glad you're so proud about it." Lacey retorted sarcastically, just as Deac slammed on the brakes at the stop light. "If you keep it up, you'll-"
She paused.
"I'll what..." Deac questioned as he side eyed her.
Without words, Lacey's eyes moved slowly moved from Deac, off to the distance at a billboard that stood proudly on the side of the road. "You'll be like HIM."
Deac followed her eyes over to the billboard, and seeing his father Deacon Sharpe's advertisement for his lounge, The Lair, he grimaced.
"I'm just saying, Deac..."
He chuckled. "Yeah right. I'll never be like THAT ass wipe." he murmured, before zooming back off down the street, past his father's billboard.
SCENE TWO
"So it really is true." Brooke spoke from the doorway of The Lair. She eyed Deacon, who wearing a tight white t-shirt, was dripping with sweat.
Deacon looked up at the sound of her voice, and seeing her step down into his lounge, wearing an all white pant suit with flickering gold accessories, he chuckled. "Sorry lady, the grand opening isn't until next Friday."
"I thought that Hope was just kidding, and then I saw the billboard."
Dropping a box down on the bar top, Deacon took a long deep breath, and then smiling, he threw up his hands dramatically. "Aren't ya proud of me? It may have taken a couple of decades, but I've got my lounge back, I'm sober, and I'm doing pretty well for myself."
"ARE you?" Brooke questioned as she looked at him in subtle judgment. "Last we heard from you, you were playing 'Sniper' at the Forrester Mansion, and-"
"Hey, hey...can we NOT do this right now? If you haven't noticed, I'm kind of busy."
"Good." Brooke replied. "I didn't come here for an extended visit. I came here for one reason, and that is to ask you...What do you want?"
Deacon chuckled. "Right now, a nice, hot, juicy burger and an ice cold-...GINGER ALE-.." he laughed. "Ahh, thought I'd say something else, didn't you? he replied, walking from around the bar and up to Brooke, who immediately tensed. "Seriously Brooke, I'm just trying to make a life here in LA. I'm tired of running, you know?"
"Tired of running, and of all places, you pick HERE? Deacon, no offense, but you KNOW you're not welcome, right?"
His eyes widened, and then awkwardly he chuckled. "Well, fortunately for me, my desire for popularity has kind of drifted off. I'm trying this new thing called 'maturity', I'm sure you've heard of it."
"I'm not going to allow you to interfere in my life, Deacon."
He looked at Brooke in silence, and seeing the aggravation and a hint of fear in her eyes, he sighed. "You've gotta be kidding me." he mumbled. "So, I come back to town, quietly mind you, get my business license back, keep in touch with my parole officer, get a job at a bar and save up enough tips to put a down payment on this place, find an investor, and then advertise the HELL out of it, making it the most anticipated grand opening for a bar/lounge in Los Angeles in years, and somehow...in the clouded, judgmental, obviously sexually repressed brain of yours, you think this has something to do with YOU."
"This is less about me and more about Hope. You DO remember her, don't you? My daughter."
"OUR daughter." Deacon attempted.
"She doesn't want you here, and neither do I."
Deacon shrugged his shoulders. "I can change her mind." he spoke. "In fact, I plan on seeing her a little later tonight."
"NOT a good idea." Brooke replied quickly. "Not only is she not interested in seeing you, she's already stated to me emphatically that she doesn't even want your name mentioned in conversation."
Deacon, standing in front of Brooke, reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead. He watched her eyes as they drifted to the sweat spot that'd formed on his shirt through his chest.
"Our daughter's an adult, Brooke." he spoke, as he turned and headed back over to the bar, allowing for Brooke to finally take a deep breath of relief. "If she doesn't want to see me, then that's her decision. But I'm letting you know now, I'm not going to try to avoid her, or you, or any of the Forresters while I'm here. In fact, you're looking at one of the hottest new business owners in this district, so I'd say...you all better get used to seeing me around. And as my success goes, I'm pretty sure Hope will see me for the man that I've become, and then it will be HER decision as to whether or not she'd like anything to do with me."
"Fine." Brooke answered, before turning to head back over to the door.
Deacon watched her walk away, admiring the old swing of her hips, the way she'd always done it. He smirked a little, as she reached the door and turned to him.
"Okay, fine Deacon...you win."
He frowned. "Win what?"
"Name your price." she responded quickly. "How much will it cost for you to get the hell out of Los Angeles...TONIGHT?"