Leo
I’m back, baby. Carefree Leo lives again, thank Christ. After a brief stop at Brianna’s to pack my bags and say my farewells to Dolores, little Izzy, and the furry trio, I made my way to Pierce’s villa via the Turtle’s Head Pub. And I have to say, I’ve never been happier in my life. Am I about to be disinherited? Yes. Do I care? Not at the moment. Because at the moment, I’m drunk as Mel Gibson that time he called a female police officer sugar tits.
But even in my inebriated state, I would never stoop to calling a woman sugar tits, especially not a woman of the law. I yawn and roll out of bed, landing on the floor on both knees. “Good thing I can’t feel that.”
Rising to my feet, I pick up the bottle of champagne that has been sitting open on the bedside table in my brother’s guest room since I arrived sometime after six this morning. “Little hair of the dog.” I chuckle to myself as I toast the drunk in the mirror. “To freedom.”
Ha! Another truly great Mel Gibson line comes to mind—this time from the epic tale of William Wallace inBraveheart. “Freedom!”
I chug what’s left of the now-flat, warm Cristal, then search around the bed to locate my mobile phone. “There you are, you tricky minx,” I say when I locate it under one of the many decorative pillows Emma has thoughtfully arranged on the bed. Oh dear, it’s almost two in the afternoon. I should be getting ready to go to the job I don’t have anymore.
“To unemployment and a life of poverty,” I say, tipping the bottle back again, only to remember it’s empty.
Time to go on a booze hunt. Emma has probably left for work by now, and Pierce will be locked away in his office for the next several hours, which will give me ample time to empty their liquor cabinet, then make my way to the nearest bar to keep this party going. Steadying myself, I make my way to the door, not caring that I’m dressed only in my Spider-Man boxer shorts. Mrs. Bailey’s seen me in less than this, and since nobody else is home, I might as well dispense with the formality of putting on trousers and a shirt. Come to think of it, I’m not even sure where I left my luggage, but I know I didn’t drag it back here this morning. Hmmm…
I walk down the hall, racking my brain for the last location I remember seeing my bags. Was at the Turtle’s Head? Or Captain Jack’s Shrimp Tails and Cocktails? The memory of scarfing down a huge plate of greasy calamari with some random tourists I met up with makes me burp.Note to self: do not think about fried squid.
Now, what was I doing? Right, getting a drink. I scratch the scruff on my chin as I wander toward the kitchen. What else do I have to do today? Oh, yes, find my lost luggage. I know! I’ll drink until I get just as drunk as I was when I lost my bags. That way, I’ll be sure to remember where I left them because I’ll be in the same state I was when I lost track of them. Brilliant!
I open the mini wine fridge and pull out a magnum of champagne, this time going for a Moët that looks pretty old. Popping the cork, I gulp down as much as I can handle before the bubbles start to come back up, then I do a Napoleon Dynamite dance routine as I make my way outside to soak up some sun, happy to be at one of the most private spots on the island. Yes, it’ll be just me and my magnum all day, and please don’t think I’m drinking because I need to forget, or I’m devastated at the quick turn my life has taken into being horribly alone and impoverished, because I’m just fine, thank you very much.
In fact, I’m better than fine. I’m Leo Freaking Davenport, the man who always lands on his feet, just like a cat. I’m agile. I’m quick thinking. I’m fierce. And I’m also handsome and charming, so I’ll easily be able to find some lovely sugar mamma to bankroll my life if I can’t think of some better way to earn a living.
See? I’m a man with a plan. Now, how do you get this fucking door open? Oh, itslides. There we go. A blast of hot wind and the sounds of the surf crashing against the shore greet me as I step out onto the deck. I shut my eyes, temporarily blinded by the sun and blue sky.
“Hello, Leo!” Emma says. “We were wondering when you would join the party.”
Opening my right eye, I see a small gathering of people standing around holding plates, including Pierce, Emma, and her little brother, Will, who must be back from filming his wildly popular television docu-series, as well as several people I don’t know. Oh, and my bosses, Rosy, Harrison, and Libby. It takes me a moment in my booze-soaked state to register the fact that those are myformerbosses, and suddenly nepotism seems like a terrible idea. Who knew?
“Nice boxers,” Will says, holding up a beer.
“Leo, so nice of you to dress up for the occasion,” Pierce says in a terse voice. Even though he is wearing his Cartier aviators, I can tell by the set of his jaw he’s none too pleased with his little brother.
Glancing down at myself, I realize I have forgotten to put on clothes. “Righto, what exactly is the occasion?”
“Will knowing inform your decision of whether to go with tighty whities orUnderoos?” Pierce asks.
“No, I’m happy in my Spideys,” I say with a shrug. “I was just curious.”
Emma rushes over to me with a glass of orange juice. She smoothly switches it out for my bottle of champagne, then says, “Will has finished his docu-series and is home indefinitely, so we thought we’d have a little get together.”
“Well, I hope you don’t mind one more friend and fan to help celebrate your suppsess,” I say to Will with a firm nod as I put down the glass of orange juice and swipe my bottle off the glass table. “Success,” I say slowly.
“Here you are, dear,” Mrs. Bailey says, appearing out of nowhere. Well that’s not strictly true. I suppose she came from inside the house. I turn and see her standing behind me with a freshly pressed linen shirt on a hanger and some khaki pants, both of which belong to Pierce. “All pressed and ready to wear. I hope you’ll pardon the delay.”
“You’re looking as gorgeous as always, Mrs. Bailey,” I say, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“You always were a most skilled liar.”
“True, but not in this case. You are a lovely woman. When are you going to quit working for this wanker and run away with me once and for all?”
Ignoring my nonsense, she deftly removes the shirt from the hanger and holds it open for me. Emma takes my drink, and I slide my arms into the sleeves and begin the process of buttoning the shirt, which is considerably more difficult when one is not sober. “What do you say, Mrs. Bailey?” I raise and lower my eyebrows at her while I fumble with the buttons. “You and me, riding off into the sunset together on a bicycle built for two.”
Pierce gives Mrs. Bailey a little nod. She takes it as her cue, handing him the trousers and turning back into the house.
Lowering his voice, Pierce says, “Go back inside.”
“Why? Are you embarrassed of your drunken little brother? It’s not a big deal, Mr. Stick Up His Arse.” Turning to Will, I say, “You don’t mind me being a little ahead of the party, do you, Will? You’re a footloose and fancy-free sort of ladies man, cool guy.”
