Saddled, chapter 36 (Patreon)

Clive tapped on the steering wheel and checked his rearview mirror. If they sat in this neighborhood for long, some police office was going to assume he was trying to buy drugs. However, Clive was more concerned about John. He sat in the passenger side and stared at the run-down motel. The posts holding the sign were weather-stained and gnawed on the edges by the winter winds and a couple of either homeless people or junkies sat on the low wall that divided the broken parking area from the sidewalk. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” John asked.

“Why wouldn't I?” Clive had assumed they’d talked through his reasons, but if John wanted to go over them again, Clive would do it. John was worth swallowing a little frustration and going slow, even when Clive wanted to get this over with.

John gave an exaggerated shrug. “I don't know. Maybe because you're about to spend an obscene amount of money on a man who has already wasted more chances than most people get in a lifetime.” 

Twenty years ago, Clive would have taken that comment at face value. But age and experience with studying John’s face when he was under stress had given Clive a new perspective. Rather than confront John, Clive tried to lighten the mood. “Well, I can see you're feeling a little judgmental today.”

“That's not a feeling. It’s a way of life.”

“No comment.”  Clive figured they got along because both of them were such assholes that they didn’t have room to complain about the other.

“If you think I'm bad, you're about to meet the king of judgmental assholes. Kevin makes me look like a saint.”

“I make both of you look like saints,” Clive pointed out. He not only had the bad attitude, but the money to really invest in ruining people. If he wasn’t careful, he was in danger of turning into Elena. “So if you want to start talking about judgmental assholes, I’m standing at the front of that line. That said, people gave me chances, even when I didn't deserve them.” Sometimes Clive didn’t like to think about all the lucky breaks that were the foundation of his career. He had taken advantage of the opportunities and he had worked his ass off, but he had no illusions. He was standing on the shoulders of others who had lifted him.

John stared at the hotel, his frown slowly deepening. “What if he doesn't take the help?”

“I don’t handle failure well. I can be a real asshole when I don’t get my way, so I don’t plan to accept anything less than complete surrender. If Kevin tries to hold out, I plan to threaten him and potentially sic Elaine on him.”

“Why would she care?” John asked wearily.

Clive took a breath and reminded himself that telling others a truth they weren’t ready to see was unkind. Sharon, God bless her heart, had constantly told him how unfairly people treated her and how it sucked that they gave him more respect. True. But at the time, he hadn’t been ready to hear it. And clearly John was not ready to hear that Elena cared about him and respected him. Considering the woman had a heart of ice, that was fairly impressive. Clive said mildly, “For a businesswoman, she does get her nose pretty far into everyone's business. If we went to her and asked for help, I'm willing to bet she would.”

“I'm willing to bet there would be an even larger price to pay.” John added a derisive snort to punctuation his opinion on the whole mess.

“You might be right about that. So let's make sure he doesn't turn us down.” Clive opened his door. He had gotten out before he realized John was still in the car. He leaned down and gave John a quizzical look.

John shook his head. “I can't. If I go in, one of us is going to restart the same argument we’ve had for decades. It's like we’re stuck in some goddamn time loop. Neither one of us can stop, and I mean to, but I can’t. Hell, I don't even know what we fight about anymore. I keep telling myself to not drag up the past, but…” John blew out a breath.

“I get it,” Clive said.

“I suck. I want to bring up every shitty thing he's ever done. I want him to feel bad.” John scrubbed his face with his palm. “Knowing what he's done to mom… what he did to dad…. Our father was crushed when Kevin turned to drugs. Nothing ever stopped my father, not nor'easters, not taxes, not boat fires or ice storms. Nothing. But the day he came home and found out that Kevin had run away after getting caught with more drugs at school, part of him died.”

If Beverly was right that John took after his father, then Clive could all too easily imagine Albert Michaud ripping himself to pieces with his guilt. “All kids hurt their parents. I did. Are you going to tell me you never did?”

“Shit, no.” John’s laugh was rough and pained. “No matter what my siblings might tell you, I don't have any illusions that I'm perfect. I happen to think they're bigger assholes than I am, but I’ve fucked up plenty.”

Clive leaned against the top of his sedan. “I get the feeling Fawn might be a little too fragile to actually qualify as an asshole.”

“Now, yes. When we were young, she could throw down with the best of them.” A fond expression stole over John’s face. “The only time I ever saw my father lose his temper with her was when she got mad at Logan. She picked up a pound of butter Mom had softening on the countertop to make cookies later, and she flung the entire pound at Logan's head. The butter went over him and hit Kevin's band uniform. I thought my father was going to kill her.”

“And here I used to regret that I was an only child.”

“You know better now, huh?”

“Well you certainly have given me a different perspective on things,” Clive admitted. He was trying to figure out what to say to fill the awkward silence when John spoke.

“Clive?”

“Yeah?”

John had been focused on the motel, but now he looked at Clive. “Don't let him turn you down.”

“I won't,” Clive promised, and he prayed he wasn’t going to break that vow. “I have no intention of walking out of there until he agrees to go to treatment. And then once he agrees, I’ll stay until the transporters show up.”

“I hope you're prepared for a long wait. Kevin is stubborn.”

Clive almost made a comment about stubbornness running in the family, but John’s emotions felt too raw for a joke. “I have face down stars who command twenty million dollar salaries, and I have made them play nice. If I can handle that kind of ego, I can handle your brother.” Clive just dearly hoped that he wasn't lying. John might put on a good front, but right now, every ounce of pain showed through his eyes. If Clive couldn't take care of John, he was going to do the next best thing, which was to take care of John's idiot family members. “Wait here, if he's willing to listen to you, or if I think it will do him good to see you, I'll call you in.”

John nodded. “I'll be here.”

Clive closed the car door and headed down the walk toward Kevin’s room. A corner of Clive’s mind knitted fears out of tiny threads. While it was stupid, Clive worried that if Kevin did refuse, this would be the crack that fatally undermined his relationship. For years, Clive had deceived himself into believing that he didn’t need more than a few assistants to take the edge off. He lied to himself about being happy with his scripts and his projects and his identity as a near-celibate. Maybe he’d even convinced himself he was more ace than gay.

But John had ripped away the illusion. Clive couldn’t face returning to a clean, simple life without meddling old women and pushy brothers. It would be too sterile to support life. 

Clive walked up to the door and rapped twice. Then he stood there for five minutes, eight minutes, twelve minutes. He knew the games addicts played, so he leaned against the wall and checked his phone messages through his watch. He scrolled through his secretary’s various complaints and, out of the corner of his eye, watched his car and wondered what John was doing.

Clive wondered if Elaina would be willing to put him in touch with Noah. Maybe it was time for Clive to become a bigger part of the equestrian scene, especially of John felt like playing in a situation where he got to turn some of his aggression on the rest of the world. Ideally, John could lose one or two pulling competitions to larger stallions and then turn his anger towards them. That might work. 

Clive was musing on the idea when the hotel door finally opened. The man who stood in the opening wore a pale and gaunt imitation of John's face. They had the same nose in the same strong chin, but this man's cheeks were sunken and he looked fifteen years older. “Kevin?” Clive asked, even though he already knew the answer.

Kevin looked behind Clive and probably spotted the expensive car with windows too dark to see who might be inside. “Who wants to know?” he demanded in a suspicious tone.

“Your brother's boyfriend.” Clive really hated the word boyfriend. It made him sound like he was sixteen years old and still fighting acne, but he didn't have another description that would really get his point across.

“My brother?” A cruel smile spread across Kevin’s face. “So, what's Logan up to lately? If you’re sticking a dick up his ass, he moving up in the world.”

“I appreciate your effort in trying to drive me away, but it isn't actually going to work. I'm not Logan's boyfriend, I'm John's.” Clive pushed past Kevin and strode into the room while Kevin was still trying to recover from the shock. The hotel room looked like any number of others that Clive had seen. It was funny, but no matter how expensive the hotel, when a junkie moved in, it was always the same. There was always that one clean spot in the middle of the coffee table, the one where they prepared their drug of choice. A random scattering of snack food containers and bags and ripped plastic packages littered the floor. Cigarette butts overflowed a random assortment of ashtrays and bowls and cups. Even the actors who didn't smoke started when they got hooked on something. “Nice place,” Clive said.

“Fuck off.”

Clive turned and gave Kevin a critical eye. “Well, you certainly are not the most creative of the brothers.”

That must have hit a nerve because Kevin’s expression turned thunderous. “What the fuck are you doing here? Did something happen. Is it mom?” There was a flash of genuine concern in his expression and then like lightning across the summer sky, it vanished.

“She still has cancer, and she’s still trying very hard to not die. So I guess that's about the same as the last time you visited her.”

A fleeting moment of guilt crossed his face before he rolled his eyes. This one was too stoned to even hide his emotions. “Oh. I know what this is about. Mom told you I hurt her feelings. So why isn't John here? I figured he'd show up and kick my ass.”

Clive wondered if that meant Kevin's attack on their mother had been calculated plan to get his brother to show up. Maybe this guy was more masochistic than Clive had assumed. “Is that who you expected to show up? John?”

Kevin fell into a barrel chair, his lanky limbs dangling awkwardly as he landed half over the one arm. “I figured with dad dead, John would take enforcer role.”

Clive kept his face neutral, but given when Beverly and John had admitted about Albert Michaud’s overreliance on physical discipline, that couldn’t be good. “That makes you sound like a mob family. I was under the impression that the Mafia had more money, and fewer ethics.”

“Trust me, my family does not have many ethics,” Logan said with a laugh. “So I know I've asked this before, but seriously, what the fuck do you want? You can either tell me or…” He trailed the words off ominously and tried to give Clive an assessing look that was most likely intended to intimidate. It didn’t.

“Or what? You’ll call the police? I doubt that. And you don't look substantial enough to be able to punch a three-year-old without getting the worst end of the fight. So, you're not going to make me leave. That means we’re going to have a conversation.”

Kevin sat up. “What is your issue?”

“Right now my issue is you. I would like to be off enjoying private time with the man I love, preferably doing something that I never want your mother to know about. But instead, he's tearing himself to shreds, trying to figure out who he is supposed to protect, you or your mother.”

That seemed to lose Kevin’s interest. He leaned back and stared at the water-stained ceiling. “Oh, I have no doubt he wants to be the white knight riding to our mother's defense. God forbid anyone ever point out that Beverly Mitchell called is a raging two-faced bitch who never protected her children.”

The unartful manipulation would have sent John into a rage, and Clive’s first instinct was to rise to Beverly’s defense. Instead he shrugged. “Maybe, but saying that to a woman who is undergoing experimental and painful cancer treatments seems like a dick move.”

“Sue me.”

Clive got the impression that Kevin would be very similar to John if it weren’t for the drugs. They both had a directness and a lack of patience to go with their matching chins. He decided to be direct. “I'd rather tell you to get your ass into treatment so you'll stop being a dick.”

Kevin sat up again. “Oh fuck. Is that what this is? I thought the whole family was supposed to show up for an intervention. You know, give me the whole, ‘We love you, we want the old you back’ speech. They did that once.”

“As I understand it they did it more than once.”

“It didn't stick.” Kevin stood and headed for the bathroom. “I’m too fucking sober for this conversation.”

“I get the feeling that if you didn't have some chemical reinforcement flowing through your veins, you'd be rolling around on the floor in horrible withdrawal pains,” Clive said. “Am I right?”

Kevin hesitated at the bathroom door. Chemicals were definitely taking the edge off, but if he was too high, that was going to complicate the transport options. On the other hand, if he passed out, Clive could call an ambulance, and by the time Kevin woke, Clive’s lawyer would be able to get an involuntary commitment order. 

“You delivered your message. I'm a horrible, horrible human being who has ruined his life. Hell, I’ve ruined everyone’s lives. Got it. Message delivered. Good. Fine. Great. Get the fuck out.”

“I’m not leaving, and if I see one illegal drug, I'm calling the cops. I may even call my thousand dollar an hour lawyer and ask him to come up with creative ways to make you got into treatment. You see, I don’t love you.  Right now, I don't even like you. I tolerate you and I'm willing to pay a large amount of money to put you into a treatment program that will actually work because I love your brother.”

Kevin frowned, and for a half second, he looked so much like John they could have been twins. “What?”

“You’re going into treatment. I can continue to repeat that until it finally soaks through your drug-addled brain.”

“I'm not going anywhere.”  

“The center costs obscene amounts of money. Your brother feels stupidly guilty about me spending my own money, so if you’re trying to hurt your family, getting treatment won’t hurt them as much as being a fucking dick and taking drugs, but it is enough to give John heartburn.”

Kevin frowned and swayed a little as he stood next to the open bathroom door. Clive could practically see the words slowly sink through the outer layers until Kevin finally comprehended the meaning. Then he started to shake his head. “Do you really think treatment works?”

“I think bad ones don't. In fact, I think that if you had the misfortune to go to bad treatment center, you probably came out more screwed up than you went in.”

“Bingo. You got it in one.” And with that, Kevin came full circle and the sadistic smile returned. “It wasn't enough for my family to fuck me up in person, they had to send me off let me professionally fucked over.”

“Boo hoo. You have a father who fucked you up and a mother who didn’t know what she was supposed to do. You had it worse than I did, that’s for sure. I had a workaholic father and a mother who wasn’t bright enough to keep up with me. That sounds cruel, and it’s a horrible thing for me to say, but it’s true. However, you didn’t have it a fraction as bad as the actress whose father whored her out when she was nine years old. Or what about my actress whose mother was jealous. She used to make the girl eat soap and pretend it was about discipline. They felt like they didn’t deserve success, so they made sure they sabotaged themselves any time they got too close to it. And hell, all of us are better off than the poor schmucks born into modern day slavery. What the fuck does your life have to do with your choices?”

Kevin’s expression turned hard. “Fuck off.”

“Not going to happen. So, I hear you were interested in music. This place will train you for any number of careers. Before you start thinking that means you’ll be a millionaire music composer, I’m telling you that you won’t be, but they can teach you to handle computer mixing or teach you instrument repair. You stay in therapy as long as it takes for you to learn to do something you take pride in.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Who knows, maybe John would be as fucked up as you without his boat. But he does love that thing. I would prefer if he never took it out again because I looked up the stats on the likelihood of a commercial fisherman dying on the job. I have no idea why people worry about the dangers police officers face when fishermen die far more often. And Logan… that man is too busy being gay to bother with other issues. So we need to find something you can use to define yourself, and by that I mean anything other than drugs.” Clive parried and feigned and fleched with his words, counting on them to keep Kevin off guard until the match ended. Kevin certainly appeared dazed.

Clive pulled out his cell phone and made a show out of dialing. “I need a transport team.”

“Yes, sir,” the lead transporter immediately answered and the phone went dead. They were around the corner and only needed one word. However, Clive still had a battle to win. 

He kept talking as if the transporters were listening. “First class tickets to the Idaho facility. I want Mr. Michaud to receive all vocational training in addition to counseling and make sure he has a private room.”  Every addict Clive knew feared the unknown, so Clive had to light the path as brightly as possible.

“Kevin, you have a choice of an upper level suite with a view of mountains or a lower level suite with quick access to the pool. The facility believes you need beautiful surroundings that feed your soul, so which would you prefer?”

The frown lines between Kevin’s eyes had deepened. “What?”

Clive kept talking. “Start him with the mountain views, but if there’s a fee for room change, put down that I’ll cover it.” Clive took the phone and pressed it to his chest as though wanting privacy from the people on the other end. 

“I’m not sure about all their soul-talk. Personally, I think people enjoy nice views and your soul doesn’t come into it, so if the counselors get too new-age hippy, tell them you’re an atheist. I’m paying them enough to respect whatever religious belief you have.” He put the phone back to his ear. “I also need transport for his belongings, and set up an in-house account so he can order whatever he needs when he gets there. He looks like he’s running low on clothing. Excellent. Thank you.”

Clive heard the rumbling engine of an SUV stop outside the motel door. “Why am I thanking you? I pay you enough money to get the job done with or without my gratitude.” He feigned hanging up the phone. “So if you want to drive your brother crazy, run the bill up as high as you can. There are cooking classes and college course options that require additional fees, so knock yourself out. I suggest you skip the healthy-living cooking classes. They are obsessed with ancient grains and all the food tastes like I should feed it to my horses.”

Without stopping, Clive walked over and opened the door. Two men and a woman tall enough to make a matching set stood outside.

“Mr. Michaud? It’s very nice to meet you.” The lead transporter held out his hand, and Kevin took it, a dazed expression on his face. “We are excited to have you as a client. Ms. Anderson has all the brochures so we can get you set up with the therapy of your choice. If you want to head out to the car, Mr. Smith will collect your things.”

“But. Don’t touch my shit.” Kevin made one last rally, but it was too late. He was surrounded, confused, and outmaneuvered. 

“Of course. We’ll secure your drug paraphernalia and stock. We will not attempt a detox until you are under a doctor’s care. Dr. Thompson was part of the UN volunteer group that received the Nobel Prize years back. He’s a wonderful doctor, but he’ll talk your ear off. Avoid mentioning Africa to him or he will start with his stories. Ms. Anderson, do you have the activities list to review with Mr. Michaud?”

“Of course.” The woman slipped in on Kevin’s open side, and the two transporters escorted him out. Phase one complete. Hopefully the confusion would last until after they were in the air. But even if Kevin backed out, this initial compliance would go far to convince a judge that he wanted to get clean. It would make an involuntary commitment to the treatment center much easier. 

It was funny, but Michaud men were such fighters until the harness was on them and tightened, and then they settled right down. Well, usually. But if Kevin had a kick like his brother’s, the transporters were professionals who knew how to handle it.

Clive walked out, leaving the last transporter to search the room and pack. In the parking lot, John stood beside Clive’s car, his gaze locked on the SUV. That was a good sign. Kevin hadn’t run. John turned toward Clive and smiled, and Clive’s fear faded. One way or another, it would be okay.

I'm starting to feel like this story is finished.  Any additional pony scenes would feel superfluous... if you have another opinion, I would love to hear what you would like to see out of the relationship that we haven't yet.  Otherwise, I think I'm ready for an epilogue.

Chapter 37: https://www.patreon.com/posts/saddled-chapter-22436580 

Chapter 38 (Epilogue): https://www.patreon.com/posts/saddled-epilogue-22779789