Day in The Life

I wake up to a hazy sunrise over my head, feeling like the sky is about to fall down right on top of me. Music blasts loud from somewhere, a song called hippy chick that the radio stations have been playing a lot, and a bird takes a shit on the roof, and it barely misses me by a couple inches plopping down nearby.

The bile starts to rise, and I get up quick heaving my guts out over the side of The Bel Age. It feels good to puke it all out. Just when I think I'm done more comes out. Just your typical Beverly Hills morning. The fight with Jack comes rushing back to me in a montage of screams and thrown objects. It's a violent blur through my head, like a fast train I can't stop.

I squint my eyes when I'm done, and look out around me. It's morning now. I was passed out up here all night. It's a school morning, and I'm definitely not ready to go skipping off to West Beverly.

I cough a few times and glare out at my city. I wish that bird could have told me where it was going so I could follow it somewhere, anywhere. I wish I could fly off this roof, and never come back.

It's time to face another day. A day that will be like all the others in my life. By the haze of the sky, I can tell I'm going to be late for school soon, not that I give a shit. I don't want to go, but I don't want to stay here all day either. I've sat in this hotel for what feels like an eternity. I'm sick of everything here. I'm sick of the doormen, and the room service. I'm sick of the concierges, and the bellhops. Mostly I'm sick of my father, and of myself.

My father even saying it like that in my head sounds bizarre. I don't know what Jack McKay is to me. He's mostly a man I'm stuck with. A man who lets me know every time, that my existence on this planet, makes him feel indifferent at best.

God, I want a drink right now. Nothing gets the morning started right like a little vodka, and OJ.

I start heading back to the suite not knowing what I'll find in there if Jack didn't change the locks or rooms on me that is. I reach the suite door and take a big breath before entering my key card. It actually opens, and I walk in cautiously.

I'm expecting to find Jack, laid out with his whore but instead, the room is empty, and it's neat and tidy. Everything is back in its place. Even the carpets which were covered in food after I flipped over Jack's room service have been cleaned and changed. The broken glass from the smashed bottle is gone. It looks like the elegant suite it's supposed to be, not the den of my loneliness and despair. I've lived here for a year since Jack kicked me out of his mansion in the hills last year.

There's fresh flowers now, sitting in a vase by the window. I walk over to them and finger them gently until a petal breaks off in my hands. Room service has been here and done quite a job on the place. Jack must have tipped them pretty good to clean up fast. Dad is one of The Bel Age's most high profile guests, and what Jack McKay asks for he gets. He's considered a guest, but he's not usually here unless he's meeting people like last night. He lets me stay here, so I'm not homeless. Gee what a guy.

I notice a paper sitting on a table, and go look at it. Dylan, it reads with no other words. I pick it up, and sitting underneath is a check for $20,000. I don't do a double take or anything because it's the usual. Jack comes around, he ruins and destructs everything in his path, mostly me. Then the next day, he writes out a check for me. That's what he does. He throws money at me and calls it some kind of love after we fight, but the man doesn't love me. He only loves money, and more, and more of it. And it's dirty money. That's why he threw me out. I dared question his business practices. Dad's a financier, and I overheard him one night talking with his associates about some dirty dealings he was involved with. I was so drunk and uninhibited I burst into the room and interrupted him. He'd been wanting to throw me out for awhile though. He was sick of my alcoholism, and general existence. When you're busy fundling people out of millions of dollars you're not exactly worried about being dad of the year.

Where's mom? She's off getting her chakras aligned in Hawaii, and finding herself. Mom's a space case more into crystals, and palm readings than being a mother. Jack has had custody of me since I was 6 when my parent's divorced. He lets me know whenever he gets the chance, that mom doesn't care about me, and never did. Otherwise, why wouldn't she be here? Jack thinks he raised me, but the maids did. I've spent more time with hired help over the years, than my own father or mother. I can't count the number of Christmas's I spent home with the maid, and her family, while Jack was off skiing, or in the Bahamas with the whore of the week.

My stomach churns at the sight of all the zeroes on the check. I crumple it in my fist and toss it in my pocket before plopping down on the couch. I hang my head in my hands rubbing my temples, trying to get the pounding to stop. I know there are kids who envy me and want this life. They want this life, of no rules, and no restrictions. I can come and go as I please, and I do, and there's always a pile of money waiting for me. If they want this life, they can have it, because I hate it. The money will never buy happiness. At least not mine. Some people don't get that. They think the world is my oyster, but it's not. That's the thing about money when you have enough of it, and you're still not happy you realize how truly fucked you are. Where do you go from the very top? At least if you're poor, you have something to work towards in life, some kind of reason to your existence, but having money, and still being completely miserable with nothing else to shoot for, feels like floating in space near a black hole. You're living an empty purposeless life. Poor little rich boy, they probably think, not that I give a shit.

The suite is making me want to heave again. It's the last place I want to be, so I'm going to go to school, just to get the hell out of here today. These walls and floors feel like they're suffocating me, and all I can hear is the sound of Jack calling me a "piece of shit." over and over. I bang my fists against my head lightly trying to quiet my thoughts, then I get up abruptly.

I head towards the bathroom and clean up for the day, so I can go skipping off to school like a good little boy. I really want my drink, but since I have to drive this morning it's not a good idea right now. There's always tonight and every night.

A half hour later I'm pulling my classic 1961 356 Porsche Speedster out of The Bel Age Hotel parking lot. I turn the corner a little too sharp and hit the gas a little too hard before cruising the rest of the way to school.

Beverly Hills sales past my doors like a fancy, freak show, as I ride along. I don't get this place. It's like some kind of luxury eutopia but if you sail just a couple blocks past it, you're right back in the smog, and dirty piss smelling streets with crumbling apartment buildings, and out of work bums. This place is an illusion. It serves no purpose but to make it look like things are rosy and good but they're definitely not.

I pull into West Beverly sharply cutting the engine rough. I'm totally late, so no one is around. I hop out of my car without opening up the door or pulling up the hood. You don't have to worry about getting robbed around here since the parking lot is a what's what, of Corvettes, and Beamers.

I walk into school not bothering to head to administration to get a late slip. By the clock, it looks like it's already second period so I peak into my history class to see the teacher with her back to the board. I duck in quickly and take my seat in the back before she can turn around to see.

A couple of other kids see me, but don't dare say shit. The teacher is writing on the blackboard about the civil war. I flip open my notebook to start taking notes. I shake my head to myself at the word, war. If anyone wants to learn about war just hang out with me and Jack. I try to focus and take my mind off it, but that nasty fight runs through my mind. Every time it just gets uglier, and uglier. The hatred in his eyes, and the heaviness of his hand.

Then a note falls on my desk, folded up into a triangle. I look around and open it quietly.

Hey Sexy it reads. I feel myself smirk in spite of myself. It sure reads nicer than Jack's note this morning. I look up, and I spot this hot girl Michelle Abrams waving at me a row up, to the side. She blows me a kiss. Michelle is pretty well known around here, and I know she likes me. I think she's cute, and all, but I'm just whatever about it right now.

I'm also known around here, I've grown up with some of these people, but I don't have friends if that makes sense. People know of me, but they don't know me, and I'm not close with anyone, and I like it that way. I don't need anyone knowing the details of my family life, and of my law-abiding father. Besides wanting things never worked out for anyone. I want an actual family, and that wish only seems to bring me misery, and heartache.

I smile at her, and write back simply Hey babe, what's up besides my wild dreams? I pass the note up, and my classmates get it to her. I watch as she opens it and smiles widely. Good, my work is done there.

The bell rings loudly, and the teacher fires off some reading we're supposed to do, but I don't bother writing it down since I'm sure I've already read it. That's how I pass my time at the suite, and everywhere I just read, and read, and read, wondering when the world is finally going to end outside my book. I love reading. There's nothing better than getting lost in literature to make me forget that once I set it down, it's back to the pain of existence. That's what I did the whole time growing up. Mom was long gone, and dad was building his empire, and losing his morals. I just read and read. I went all the way from Dr. Seuss to Bukowski and Shakespeare. My absolute favorite writer in the world though is the great Lord Byron. His poetry is like stepping inside the deepest corners of your mind that you didn't even know were there. One of his lovers described him as being "mad, bad and dangerous to know." That's how I like to think of myself, and how I hope my lovers think of me.

As if reading my thoughts as I'm walking down the hall, I'm pulled into a dark hallway, and suddenly a girl is kissing me, and running her hands all over my unmentionables. It's a nice kiss, and I open my eyes to find Stacy Channing all over me.

I pull away, and she smiles at me wildly. "Hi Dylan..."

"Hey Stacy..." I smile back not all that surprised.

"I didn't see you in first period, I missed you."

"Yeah, I was a little sleepy this morning."

"Poor baby, maybe this will wake you up." Stacy starts kissing me some more. I have to admit, it feels good, and I'm getting turned on in spite of myself.

Stacy and I have screwed around a few times. She wants to keep it going, but I'm getting a little bored. She's a nice girl, but not into anything that matters. Besides, there's hot tail running all up and down these halls.

'Let's go to the bathroom," she whispers into my ear now.

I want to say no, but I'm coming off one of the worst nights of my life, maybe I need this. I want to just forget, and feel good for a change.

I look around, as the final late bell rings for third period. Nobody is around or watching us. I spin her around, and we're in a bathroom. We lock the door, and then we're all over each other. I sit her on top of the sink, and clothes start coming off very fast. It's all a blur. Stacy starts moaning like a wild banshee, as I push into her. I have to tell her "shh," I'm not in the mood to be expelled today.

After a while, we both release, and it's good and great. She pants against me, as I pull up my pants. I wish I could feel more for her, but I don't. It's strictly physical. I often wonder what sex is like when you really have actual feelings about the person you're with. I don't think I've ever had feelings about anything. I've only felt numb, and drunk.

"Mmm McKay that felt so good." Stacy pulls up her bra straps and smiles at me satisfied.

"It sure did," I kiss her now, and look into her eyes for a moment, as I hold onto a piece of her hair. Maybe I want to see something, maybe I want to see if I'm right that there's nothing between us.

Stacy looks into my eyes and then bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, you're totally freaking me out right now. What's with all the staring babe?"

I back away knowing I was right about there being nothing real between us.

"Nothing...just admiring how pretty you are," I say to say something. Stacy has bright red dyed hair, green eyes, and a diamond piercing in her nose. It looks sexy on her. She's wild, and fun but when it comes to making conversation she just laughs more than finishes actual sentences.

She starts fumbling around in her backpack and pulls out a flask. She takes a big sip and wipes at her mouth. "You want a taste babe?"

I eye the little silver flask. I need to say no. I've been trying to attend AA meetings regularly, but I've fallen off the wagon hard lately.

Stacy waves it at me, taunting me with it, without knowing. I take her up on the offer and put it in my hand. The liquid burns down my throat hot, and dry, but once it settles fast, that warm cloudiness is back, and I'm as numb as I need to be.

Stacy hops off the sink and takes the flask from me. "Save some for me Dylan."

I smile at her, and she kisses me on the cheek. Stacy knows she can trust me. I would never tell anyone about our time together. I'm not like the other dudes around here, who list off the girls they've banged as if they're sport. That's not my thing at all. I'm a private kind of guy. We just like to have a little fun together from time to time.

"Thanks baby, so I'll see you kay..." she tells me.

"Bye Stace..." We share a short kiss on the lips, and then she walks out of the bathroom. The door closes behind her, and I look at myself in the mirror. Only four more periods until the day is over, and I have to face reality back at the suite again, and I'm dreading every second of it.

#

The bell to end seventh period rings out, and I reluctantly gather my stuff up. It's not like I like school or anything, but sometimes I don't know what's worse hanging out at the suite waiting for dad to burst in again, and make my life hell while I drink my sorrows away, or coming here to this plastic land of phoniness. I guess I'd consider it a tie right now.

I walk out to my car slowly while kids rush around me like manic morons, without a care in the world. I wonder what it would be like to be on the other side, and not have to walk around with this heaviness inside me all day. I wish I could be as carefree as them, but I can't.

I'm almost to the Porsche when something in the parking lot catches my attention. It's another car in the lot. An old car. It's a rust bucket piece of shit that looks totally out of place in the West Beverly showroom lot of expensive vehicles. The car is ugly, and a putrid puky brownish color, and whoever drives it, is totally not from around here, and that's why I love it. I find myself staring hard at it, wondering what the hell it's doing here, and who the hell owns it. It's almost like spotting a diamond in the rough.

So Dylan spotted Brandon's car Mondale in the parking lot, but he hasn't met Brandon or Brenda yet. They're on the way so hold on with me. Some fun fan things you might have caught in this chapter is first, the song Dylan is woken up to on the roof is Hippychick by Soho. It was one of the original songs played in the show, in a few of the early season 1 episodes. It just takes me back to 90210 whenever I hear it. Also the famous Stacy! Stacy is the girl Dylan spent some time with in Baja while he and Brenda were broken up during the summer of season 2 on the show. She's the girl Brenda found out, Dylan took to La Boca Grande De Baja. Well stay with me, and I hope you're enjoying things. The reviews and follows mean so much, and I'm so happy to be on here, back in Beverly Hills with you!