Alex stormed into the hotel suite and threw himself onto his bed. The suite was luxurious, just one of a series he and Edward had stayed in over the past four weeks on the continual round robin of press interviews, TV and radio spots across Europe and now the United States. They only had a couple of interviews in Oz left and then Alex was a free man again.
Edward's book was number 1 bestseller and Alex felt like king freak in the whole crazy media circus. Alex thought sourly back to the worst part of this trip, the weekend in Washington DC, when he'd tried to rekindle whatever Jack and he had been to each other, not quite family, not quite friends but more than housekeeper and unruly kid. Jack had undergone a complete personality transplant and was a complete dudley do right now. Alex had been shocked that dizzy, hippy Jack had disappeared. She'd been the same about cooking and they'd enjoyed several excellent take out pizzas, so not everything was different. It had almost been like he was 14 again except for Jack's dufus of a boyfriend and the fact Alex brought all of his emotional baggage with him. Mike fuck face Henderson, Jack's no. 1 guy, was a psychologist with the FBI, specialising in kidnappings for christ's sake. Boy, had he rubbed Alex up the wrong way. Alex had great fun describing all of the lovely details of his own lost eleven weeks with Yassen Gregorovich. That was until Alex had seen Jacks's horrified expression frozen on her face. Maybe she should not have found out about the nasty details of Alex's sexual relationship with his kidnapper via a screaming match. Alex had tried to calm Jack down. It was OK, Alex was fine. Then Mike had put in his two pence worth, that Alex wasn't fine. Alex had serious control issues. Alex had been in and out of clinics since that summer and had a well publicised problem with drink and drugs. Something that darling Mike had wanted to talk about.
Alex got up off his bed and went to the bag that he had not fully unpacked since his short holiday back in Arundel. Funny, St. Jude's had been more like home than any place since. Alex refused to dwell on anything and went to the large pool and swam until his arms felt like they were about to drop off. The pool was crowded and as usual Alex had forgotten that he should only come out after dark as he dried off and listened to the shocked 'Oh dear God!' and 'Look at his back'.
Alex was laid in his room watching a particularly bad science fiction film when Edward returned. A disembodied voice called through from the main room "Ummm, Alex? Are you OK going out to dinner?"
Since Edward was asking Alex guessed it was business. "Sure, Ed. Whatever."
Alex looked out of the car window as they slowly drove through LA traffic. Edward leaned over and stated "By the way they are paying tonight so whatever you want, you can have. Well, within reason."
"Why Edward, did'ya think I'd ask for several grams of cocaine?" Alex stated cheekily.
"Well would you?" Edward said in all seriousness.
"I've been a good boy for you. No partying, no drinking, no Class A drugs. No cutting." Alex's actually felt like doing all of the above. "and no boyfriends. I've been almost normal."
"Talking of boyfriends, have you talked to Sergei recently?"
"Yeah, three days ago. He promised to pay for my flight from Sydney to Moscow. I took a rain check. Told him I was having a short holiday. I'm actually going to meet Ash. See if he's worth getting to know. Maybe find a nice Ozzy beach bum to settle down with" Alex said ruefully.
"You'll find someone. You're young. I didn't meet Liz until I was 26."
"To the future then. Hopefully a tall dark stranger will whisk me off my feet."
There was a couple of photographers at the restaurant entrance. Alex smiled knowing he was safe from them and quickly entered the lobby. Funny that in Lala land he was small fry.
"Who are we meeting? Someone famous?" Alex thought he should have asked before agreeing, but it wasn't like he cared.
"Yes well, Ambrose Entertainment." Edward seemed a bit nervous at that revelation.
"Is that meant to mean anything?" Alex looked perplexed not knowing who or what Ambrose Entertainment were.
"God! Alex, do you live in a box?" Edward knew the two hotshot, extremely successful film producers and distributers for the past five years had collected numerous awards for their work.
"I read russian and french literature and poetry. The last film I saw in the cinema was X-men with Tom, four years ago. I don't go to the cinema. Dark enclosed spaces, I freak."
"Still?"
"Still. I need a cigarette." Alex hated the whole fact that smoking was just not the done think in America and had been relegated to smoking on balconies and doorways.
"There's a smoking area in the bar."
Edward stayed in the lobby. Alex went in to the bar and ordered two double vodkas. He downed both of them and then went and had a cigarette in the separate booth.
"Better?" asked Edward with a disappointed look in his eye.
"Oh yeah." Alex said.
Edward in full dad mode had noted that Alex was relaxed all of a sudden stated "What did you drink?"
"I forgot you're a dad who survived a teenager. So, I don't get grounded if I come clean... I had two double vodkas, OK?."
Edward tried not to sound disappointed, but the kid should not have been served. So much for Alex being four years too young for buying alcohol. "I thought you weren't drinking?"
"Nervous I guess." lied Alex, he'd wanted a stiff drink for days.
They went into the restaurant and waited for the two studio execs that were late.
Alex scanned the room and noted at least four people watching but trying to look like they weren't watching him. Freak show exhibit: one Alex Rider, kidnap victim extraordinaire, it did not help they'd done Letterman, Oprah and the Tonight Show.
An uptight twenty something arrived to tell them Mr Chapman and Mr Strazski were running late.
The room stilled as the two hollywood hotshots arrived. Edward stood up and introduced Alex. It turned out Mr Strazski, call me Steven and Mr Chapman call me Mark were film producers and Hollywood bigshots, who mixed small serious films with big studio blockbusters. It offered the hope that this stupid film about Alex would be seen by a handful of cinema goers.
Edward and the two men discussed details of film rights and Alex fidgeted as food was ordered, but no alcohol. Alex then picked at his meal listening to the others.
"So Alex what do you think about your story being made into a film?" asked Mark.
Alex smiled evilly and brought up Yassen's home movies, the teenager knew Edward had obtained copies. "It already is a video nasty isn't it. Did Edward give you the tapes?"
"Yes, we have viewed the tapes." Steven had the good grace to look ill as he confirmed this.
Alex pushed his plate of uneaten food away and wrapped his arms around himself. "I don't really give a crap. Its not like I'll watch it. I don't do cinemas. I don't like dark enclosed spaces with not enough exits and clear lines of sight."
"You still have phobias?" queried Steven.
"Yeah and other issues. Before you arrived Edward and myself were discussing my continuing problems. Hardly the basis for family viewing or a happy ever after moment. Alex grew up and was still a mental nutcase, no home, no family and can count his friends on one hand minus a couple of fingers." Alex looked out of the window at the darkening dusk.
"What are your suggestions regarding casting?" continued the Californian.
"For Yassen, some one good looking and fit."
"And for yourself?" Mark asked, the producers had discussed an open audition in London to cast an unknown for 14 year old kidnap victim.
Alex smiled and looked at the two executives "A good screamer. Yassen liked how I screamed and pleaded."
Alex watched the concerned looks on the three faces and excused himself with "I need a smoke."
When Alex arrived back. "So, have you all decided I'm a grade A Fuck up. At least I finished school. I may yet make it to uni. I've looked at London or Moscow for next year."
"Reading?" enquired Edward
"Russian Studies, probably. I am a published poet in Russia."
"You are?" questioned Edward.
"Published on 20th October, 400 copies first press. Onegin Publishers, Moscow. Small publishers, mostly Poetry and translated works. Anna Mustova is my editor and number 1 fan. Revenge and Betrayal a short collection of forty poems."
"You're a dark horse Alex. You cannot play the fuck up card now. Did you get good reviews?" queried Edward, knowing this would tip his daughter into a jealous rage.
"Yes, amazingly."
"So what will you do with your share of the film rights?" asked Mark, obviously the money man.
"Share? I don't want the money. Give it to the Zephrin Clinic, Great Ormond Street Hospital and St. Jude's Centre for Teenage Therapy."
"You won't get rich from being a poet, Alex" chastised Edward.
"I know but I'll get by. I don't need much. Plus I'm very good at lying, borrowing and stealing." Alex stated with an easy smile. "I'm quite good at attracting rich boyfriends." The last bit added just to see the dark look on Edward's face. The journalist convinced the Sergei had exploited Alex into a sexual relationship.
"So what now Alex?" The dark haired producer asked.
"I think I'll go surfing in Oz. If its OK with you guys I think I'll head back to the hotel for an early night" Alex then excused himself. He had already spoken to the driver in the carlot. He was tired of talking of his shit life.
"That was strange" said Mark stoically. "What did you not put in the book, Edward."
"The kid is hiding something. I think he was already mentally unstable before his kidnapping. Both his uncle and Herod Sayle did a number on him. Neglect and abuse I guess, maybe even sexual. He was very obtuse when I ask him about it. I reckon the government got to him. OSA, I bet over Sayle and the hurried recall of the Stormbreakers. There is more to that story, a lot more for Sayle to be assassinated. Alex's Uncle was no ordinary banker, bent definitely, possibly connected to the mafia. I hit a brick wall on that one too. Alex has loyal friends. Jack Starbright the housekeeper, now an FBI agent, might talk to you. She put the phone down on me. Tom Harris his best friend from Brooklands is now in the British Army. I'll give you all my interview tapes from him and Alex just let slip he's close friends with James Sprintz since they were in St Jude's together."
"James Sprintz, as in Dieter Sprintz's son?"
"The same."
"So Alex has been in rehab?"
"Twice, I think drink and drugs. St Jude's are confidential about their cliental and their problems."
"And Alex's parents?" continued Mark
"Mum was a nurse. Bit of scandal about her parents marriage, nothing really relevant. Dad was British Army, SAS decorated Falklands war hero, MC. Dishonourable discharge in 1982. Short spell in prison for manslaughter, bar fight gone bad. Both his parents died in a plane crash in 1987 after they decided to move to France. Alex ran away with an ex Army buddy of his Dad's in 2001, Arnold Grey. I think he still bums around Vauxhall and Waterloo. The SAS were involved with giving Alex a short sharp shock training when he was 15, trying to get him back on the straight and narrow."
Steven then spoke. "He's very intelligent. I get the feeling its all a game to him. He seems to have a modus operandi of settle, run, get into trouble and then start again. He's running at the moment."