Part 28
October 2005, Michael in LA
When Michael did eventually get to LA, Rod was the one to pick him up at the airport. Rod had replaced Nicholas as Max’s manager after the whole Carmen Tedesko fiasco (it had been him that leaked the ‘story’ of Max’s illicit ‘affair’ with the super model and Max had not been happy) and from what Michael could tell, he’d been doing a pretty good job of managing the new Moody Max. October 2005, Michael in LA
Until now, anyway.
When Rod had been hired, Michael had been part of the ‘interview team’ Max had put together. And when it was finalised that it was Rod who would get the job, Michael had taken him aside and explained the whole Liz situation to him. Rod had been aghast – how could no one know about this? – but he’d acquiesced to Michael’s two demands. One, never, ever, ever leak this story. And two, if anything happens – call him and he’d come out. No matter what, no matter when.
Max had been sure that such a call would be unnecessary. And yet here Michael was, speeding along the freeway in a blacked out SUV, listening to Rod’s frantic ramblings.
“I tried to get in but he’s changed the locks on his house.” Michael winced. Already? “He won’t answer any calls. His machine won’t take anymore messages; I tried to get a look in the windows but he’s pulled the curtains.”
“When did you last see him?” Michael queried, watching the LA scenery fly by without actually taking any of it in.
“Just after he trashed the make up trailer?” Michael winced again. “He’d just taken a ‘personal call’ and then... wham. Clammed up. So, we left him to it thinking he just needed some time. And then... well... you should have seen that trailer, man. There were dents in the metal walls and everything. His hand was pretty fucked up but he just jumped into his car and...”
“How did you know it was about Liz?”
Rod shook his head, manoeuvring through the traffic.
“I didn’t,” he answered, still shaking his head. “Not until I had a missed call from you. I wasn’t even going to call you – he gets moody a lot these days, since...”
He didn’t need to continue but Michael responded with a nod anyway.
“Yeah.” He ran his hand over his face. “You speak to anyone else about this?”
“I had to spin some cock-shit story to the studio but other than that, not a word man. Not a word.” Michael nodded. “Not even the po-lees. I could have, to get them to break down that door but then you called and I knew you would come...” He dug out his cell phone from a pile of trash on the dashboard and pressed a few buttons. Michael heard one ring then the sound of Max’s voicemail. They both sighed in disappointment, even though they knew he wouldn’t answer. “Let’s hope you can get through to him.”
Michael nodded, not sure he was really up to the challenge.
--
“Want me to come with you?” Rod asked as he dropped Michael off outside Max’s home but Michael shook his head and Rod nodded. “Good luck,” he continued as Michael shut the door. He returned the sentiment with a nod and hauled his carry-on over his shoulder.
--
Three hours later, he was still out on the steps.
“Come on to fuck, Max, it might be LA but my ass is still freezing sitting here. It’s shady this side of the house,” he grumbled loudly, not even knowing if Max was inside to hear him. He sighed and dragged his hand down his face again, wishing for entry even if it was just so he could have a shower. He’d even settle for just washing his face right now.
There was a rattle then a click and Michael’s weary body couldn’t move fast enough so he ended up on his back, staring up at... what he assumed was Max Evans.
“Holy shit, what the fuck happened to you man?” He asked loudly as he scrambled to his feet, stepping into the hallway. Max quickly shut and locked the door before sagging heavily against it. “Shit, Max, what...”
Max pushed himself away from the door with his shoulder, cradling his right arm close to his body and Michael couldn’t see the extent of the damage incurred.
“What you doing here, Mikey?”
Michael narrowed his eyes. Max had called him ‘Mikey’ exactly once – the one time Max had ever been drunk – and after the black eye he received for it, he never did it again. Michael wondered if he was trying to incur another bruising blow.
“How much have you had to drink?”
Max made a ‘pf’ sound and wobbled by Michael, making his way unsteadily into the main living area of the house.
“Not enough,” he slurred as he slumped onto a bar stool, leaning precariously over the edge of the breakfast bar in front of him. Michael spied the bottles – two whiskey, one vodka, a dozen or so beer bottles that he could see from his vantage point – before turning back to Max. Max never drank – the one time he did, he’d spilled the whole sordid story of his and Liz’s relationship to Michael and then threw up all over his bare feet. Michael winced at the memory. “What you doing here, Michael?” He asked again and Michael shrugged.
“Fancied a party,” he said lightly, looking pointedly around the room when Max looked blearily up at him. “Clearly, I’m a bit late.”
Max smirked and waved his arm around, wobbling on his perch.
“I think there might be some on the kitchen floor – you’ll need a straw though...” Michael grunted and moved to sit beside Max at the breakfast bar. He didn’t say anything, but his friend started babbling anyway. “Shit, Michael. I am... drunk...” he trailed off, giggling slightly before he dropped his head into his upturned palm, his right arm still cradled under his shirt. “Watch your feet man... don’t think the puking’s finished.” Michael winced and twisted around slightly. “This... sucks.” He sighed dramatically but Michael still didn’t say anything. Max would get there eventually on his own. Max giggled again. “Mikey-G in da house!”
“Thanks, man. Great to be here,” Michael retorted, rolling his eyes.
“Thanks for coming Michael... but it’s unnecess... not needed. I’m fine.” Michael nodded and Max rolled his eyes. “I am. I mean... it’s happened before, right?”
Michael nodded, pursing his lips in agreement.
“Why the rendition of the alcoholic then?” Michael asked and Max shrugged.
“Practicing for a role!” He snorted then shook his head. “Not really.”
Michael shook his head, smirking slightly.
“Didn’t really think so, Maxwell.”
“Maxwell...” he shook his head, amused at something but Michael didn’t question. “Woo, Michael... You know, Maria’s pretty great.” He paused for a moment and Michael frowned slightly, partially amused at the turn of conversation. “Well... for you anyway. Least she lets you love her, man. Least you got that.” Michael didn’t say anything, all hints of amusement gone. “Least she loves you! And not like... everyone else apart from you.”
Michael winced. “Maria’s a nice girl.”
Max turned his drunk stare on Michael, a sardonic hint to the crinkle of his lips and eyes.
“To you, maybe. To me... not so much!” he giggled again but then snorted, lowering his head to the marble worktop. “Why am I not good enough for her?” He asked quietly to the marble – at least, Michael hoped it was the marble because he, at least, had no idea how to answer the question. “I should just... just stop this, shouldn’t I?”
Michael nodded, even though Max couldn’t see him.
“I’ve been telling you that for years, Maxwell.”
“You’re kinda a wise guy, Michael. You are wisdomous.”
“Thanks, man...”
“No, you are! I mean... you could write a book! I’d buy it – hell, them publishing people would try sell just about anything.” He snorted again. “they want me to write a book. Me. Ha! Liz would kill me ‘cause all I’d write about is her and we all know how much she loves that.”
“You could write about me for me,” Michael replied, half grinning when Max rolled his eyes and snorted.”
“Well, I’m going for a shower,” Max announced some minutes later and half slid, half hopped off the bar stool. When he moved to walk past Michael, Michael reached out and gripped his upper arm. Max stopped, sighed and dropped his head slightly. “I need to clear my head, Michael. Give me some time, okay?”
Michael nodded and let him leave.