BETTELHEIM RECORDS.

“That I am!” Unlike what people thought, there had been a time Saf had ventured into music. Albeit almost stunting her career, her first music video with Ark Productions still floats around YouTube, occasionally memed by the some channels and content creators, and honestly, she doesn’t care. It helps her image, and despite the autotuned mess, she’s proud of what she achieved at fourteen. “We’re such a dynamic duo, I’m telling you, Austin! And I’ve always been Pop’s big thing, people are just taking a while to find my excellence! Thank you so much for helping me out, honestly! So…” Here was the part where she was going to ask for something more, already sweetening her tone. “…where do we go from here? Because I had ideas for the bridge, and I think it might require more finetuning than I thought…” 

“Lay it on me, sweetheart,” he replied, nodding once. Surprisingly, the girl had talent, despite the awful PR nightmare she went through with that infamous song she recorded years ago. It was almost worse that she had a notorious past as an auto-tuned, cringeworthy meme — there were preconceived notions that he had to fight against to help this girl, so he needed all the help he could get. “We’ve got half of your EP recorded, and then there’s a song that Sia wrote we’re trying to get our hands on… could make you the biggest star yet.”

“Yeah, yea, keep goin’, please. If I needed advice on drinking safely, I’d just call up my old RA and ask her how to keep it safe and happy!” Tipsy Lourdes was something of a monster, and telling her to stop something was one way to make sure that she didn’t, and she was mad at you for it too. “I have never been picky about who’s going to bed with me, ever. Are you feeling picky? Drunk ol’ me not doing for you, Austin?” She was trying to get a rise out of him, just something that wasn’t him lecturing her on living her best life or whatever the fuck he was on.

And here was the perfect reason as to why he didn’t deal with high-maintenance women, especially ones that knew exactly how hot they were. Lourdes’s sass was already grating on his last nerve, and he sighed, wondering how he got himself into this mess of an argument with a twenty-something year old. He already had enough of it at work, dealing with egomaniacal pop stars, and he certainly wasn’t in the mood to deal with it in his personal life. “Babe, you know you do it for everyone, so let’s not ask questions that you already know the answer to, shall we?”

“I was only offering you a last chance to back out, before you might do something you’d regret.” Grace answered with a shrug, meeting his gaze to search of any sign of hesitation in his eyes. Following his suit, she finished the remnants of her drink. “And I’m here to let my hair down tonight, so I am down for anything. I won’t take it back.” Maintaining her gaze with his for a moment to indicate her seriousness, before breaking away and watching Austin opening a brand new bottle of liquor for the two of them. “I think it’s win-win situation from where I’m sitting, the only failure might just be one of our egos getting bruised in the process.” She couldn’t help but allow the bitterness to surface in her mouth at the mention of her husband, before pushing the boundaries farther as the words slipped out of her lips. “Who says I’m planning on going home?” To her husband or children, she happened to miss those words out. A smirk easily crossed her features, raising a challenging brow at him. “I should ask you the same about your wife too. Wouldn’t being up for anything get you into trouble?”

Austin raised an inquisitive brow, curious glint reflecting off his pupils. “Depends; are you trying to get me in trouble, Rothschild?” Not that he was against any sort of trouble. Hell, he didn’t hang around bars on a Sunday night to stay in his lane, and one way or another, he would’ve gotten into mischief anyways. It was yet to be seen whether it was the good or the bad kind, but one thing was certain; this little drinking game with Grace Rothschild was certainly intriguing. “My wife — she won’t know,” he replied, gaze suddenly dropping down, because she doesn’t care, he added in his head. “You know what, I came here to forget about all this shit… so let’s not talk about our respective partners and families, eh?” He shifted his eyes back towards hers, a shrewd expression on his face, almost as if to say, I won’t say anything if you won’t.

“Okay so that was very…I dunno, misogynistic of you. Gimme my glass back….” Lourdes wasn’t dead drunk, but she was getting there. She was bored, and alone and in the pits about her life. People watching while drunk was never fun, especially when the guy sat next to her was none other than…Austin. “You have great timin’, but I’m not interested. I’m kinda horny and you’re not helping.” She wasn’t anything if not direct, especially when she had decided to let go of polite behaviour.

“Misogynistic my ass — you’re going to wake up with a nasty fuckin’ hangover if you don’t stop drinking,” Austin chastised, mildly annoyed that she was giving him sass for no apparent reason. “Yeah, have a hard time believing you aren’t the type of person that doesn’t go and get what she wants when she wants it.” He glanced over, watching her pout in solitude. “What, are you picky about who you fuck or something?” 

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“Wait, oh my god, can we play that back? I think it sounds amazing, daddy!” Safiya was spending her day off at Austin’s studio, working on her first single. She had never been shy about her motives, always putting her music before her job as a server. “I love the sound of it, and especially my voice? You’re killing it! We’re killing it!” 

“What can I say sweetheart; you’re good at what you do,” he replied, putting his hands up. “And thankfully, I’m good at what I do, so…” He hit the button, replaying what they’d recorded and mixed so far. “... And there we have it.” Though Austin was in the business of making music, he was also in the business of spotting the makings of a young star. Safiya happened to have that young, bubbly, yet authentic energy people loved nowadays. “You ready to become Pop’s next big thing?”

The brunette easily scoffed at Austin’s retort. “Well, I guess you just have to prove me wrong.” Grace had enough of picking up the slacks of her husband or playing the somewhat dutiful wife, that nothing seemed to surprise her about men anymore. She didn’t like to be proved wrong, although she wondered if Austin would taken upon that challenge, just as he did with this little drinking game of theirs right now. “You know I am, I don’t get to have fun all the time after all, so I might as well go all out while we’re here,” Grin widening, she couldn’t help but let her eyes roll at his latter comment. “I have no idea what you mean about my ego. I’m humble as fuck.” She blatantly lied, and she was sure the man before her knew that too. “Anything? Are you sure you’re ready for that?” She eyed with what only could be a mischievous glint in her eyes. Some ideas already surfacing her mind as she continued. “You know I can’t back down at this point,” She leaned forward, elbows propped on the table as she took another sip of her drink. “But you’re going to be playing a dangerous game with me, Bettelheim.”

Dangerous — coming out of Grace Rothschild’s mouth, it should’ve scared any sane man away — but Austin was no sane man, and he was up for a challenge. “If you’re trying to scare me away, sorry to say that it ain’t going to work,” he replied, already well on his way to finishing his second drink. “I should be asking you the same thing. Anything really means anything.” His eyes, dark and impenetrable, met hers, and he made quick work over the rest of the liquor, and placed the empty tumbler on the counter. Before long, a full bottle of Johnnie Walker sat before them, and Austin uncorked it, a generous pour into the glass. “Figure we might as well set ourselves up for failure… or success, depending on how you look at it.” A mischievous glint flitted through his eye and he nodded, already sipping at his third drink of the night. “So tell me your plan again— is it to go home drunk to your husband and kids?” 

“Maybe,” The brunette merely uttered, a poised brow raised, amusement glinted in her eyes at his words. “Well good, because I’m stubborn and I won’t back down either. Don’t expect me to carry you when you’re too drunk to find your way home either.” A Rothschild trait no less, her competitive nature was shining through at the mention of a challenge. It had, perhaps been a while since someone entertained her like this. The truth was, some fun couldn’t hurt. Between working and being a mother, Grace really seized the chance to let her hair down momentarily tonight. Gladly finishing her drink before the bartender returned with two new ones, the brunette raised her glass to him before taking a generous gulp before meeting his gaze. “Is that so? I can say the same about myself.” She uncharacteristically smiled, before continuing. “So what will the winner get? And don’t tell me it’s bragging rights, Bettelheim.”

A chuckle escaped from his lips at the woman’s bold statement, pausing before flicking half the liquor down his throat with a newfound determination. “I don’t expect you to do anything for me, ‘cause it won’t happen,” he replied, not daring to put his glass down so he could keep pace. He at least knew that the woman wasn’t kidding, and judging by the way she downed half the whiskey like that, she was no novice to the drunken vice. “Hm, getting gutsy, are we?” He commented, furrowing his brow, a corner of his lips turning up just in the slightest. “Would think that bragging rights would be enough for your ego, but we can gamble.” Tapping his fingers on the bar counter, he turned to her, dark eyes regarding her sky blues, eyebrow quirked. “If you win, I’m game for anything you want, Rothschild. But you gotta put down the same bet, too.”

“I’m not getting you another drink,” Austin asked, looking up in mild annoyance. “What is that — your seventh drink? — shit, sweetheart, you weigh like a hundred pounds,” he muttered, pulling the half-full glass away from her. “Come on; I’m fucking taking you home.”

For a moment, her expression faltered at the mention of her husband, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at the memory. “That’s the one, always the one making an impression on everyone.” Although Grace merely let out a small sigh from withholding all the pent up anger she had towards her husband. The corners of her eyes crinkled with amusement at his next words. “That’s a shame, because I don’t think anyone can keep up with me.” Her stoic nature was broken for the first time of the night, genuinely no less. Not like the falsely perfected smiles she reserved for events or her daughter. A smirk grew evidently over her face at the statement. She meant it wholeheartedly. The brunette was sure no one was going to be able to keep up with her had they unravelled that haunting mind of hers. Oceanic hues fell to Austin as she watched his reaction, all the gauge and analyse the man that she simply knew no more than passing pleasantries at parties. “Well, I hope she feels better soon.” Grace simply said, although no quite meaning it. Her knowledge of the man and his wife merely came from word of mouth or town gossips. After all, her heart wasn’t warm enough to care about those around her. Maybe. “Fancy keeping me company, then? Unless you weren’t drinking alone when I made my grand entrance here?”

The corner of his mouth quirked and he raised a brow. “Is that a challenge?” He asked, lips growing wider into a grin, “because I don’t back down from a challenge, Rothschild.” He turned more fully towards the woman, raising his glass for a moment before downing it in one gulp. “All right, now that that’s over with — bartender, two Johnnie Walkers… make them doubles, neat,” he shouted out. Soon enough, two tumblers filled with amber liquid were set in front of them, and he tapped his glass against hers with a clink. “And we’re off to the races,” he commented, grinning. “Haven’t had anyone outdrink me yet, so you better be ready.”

      Lately she found herself going through the motions of her life with little to no clarity. She woke every morning with no idea why she had bothered to climb out of bed or complete any task except for the simple fact that she knew it was expected of her. The only thing Parker could liken it to would be the months following the death of her parents. It felt like living underwater while everyone else around you walked on land. Everything felt distorted, distant, and trying to keep up pointless.

     Being back in this state of mind terrified her and much like she had at sixteen Parker fought to shake the numbness threatening to consume her by any means necessary. Tonight the method of distraction came in the form of an impromptu ladies night. As per usual she was late, though there was no urgency in her movements as she finished applying a coat of mascara through recently attached extensions. “What do you want me to do about it?” The brunette questions stoically as her husband familiar frame materializes through the reflection of the mirror. 

     Hazel hues meeting his gaze momentarily before quickly falling back to the task at hand. It wasn’t like Parker not to remember a holiday or special occasion. The hopeless romantic in her lived for grand romantic gestures and finding excuses to broadcast her love to any and all who would receive it. 

    Yet somehow Valentine’s Day had completely fallen off her radar. By the time she turns to face Austin directly her makeup’s impeccably finished. Not a hair or powder out of place as she extends to her full five feet eight inches. She’s wrapped in nothing but a towel, freshly pedicured toes carefully maneuvering through their bedroom. Parker breezes past his position by the door to head into their shared closet. “Do you care that we aren’t doing anything for Valentine’s day? Or do you just care that other people care?” Parker finds herself questioning from the safety of the closet where he couldn’t see her wait with bated breath for the response. Do you care that things haven’t been alright between us? She wants to clarify but doesn’t. Or do you only care about the potential fall out if you leave me? Is that the only thing keeping you here? 

Perhaps, there were men and women out there who’d kill to be in his shoes, but now, with the tension in between them, Austin would’ve given anything to be out of his. Her little morning ritual was once a source of happiness, scaring her right out of the shower, putting them into fits of laughter; or sometimes he’d stand there and just watch, allowing himself a moment to take in her beauty, before she’d catch him staring, a smile on his lips.

But there are no smiles tonight, not when he is afraid now to even touch his goddamn wife, in fear that she’d recoil from his hand, and that he’d have to face the fact that yes, this is over and he didn’t think he had it in him to suffer through a third divorce. He wants desperately to save whatever was left in between them, but when faced with the actual how — he has no fucking clue where to even start.

Her question brings about a pain in his head, and he groans. “Fuck, Parker; don’t start with this shit now…” Sighing, he walks into their bedroom, dark eyes finding her figure hidden amongst their spacious walk-in closet, and he takes one step closer (and he is constantly chasing her down, finding her, hoping that this time, she’ll approach back), crossing his arms. “You don’t think I fucking care? Yeah, don’t care my ass when I’m here every single day trying to figure out how to console you. You’ve been holed up for so long that I - I didn’t think you even wanted to do anything.” Not with what happened just a couple months ago, with her losing the single thing that was supposed to mend the cracks between them. “If you wanted to do something, I would’ve fucking planned something.” He swallows, frustration icing his words already. “Where are you even going?”

The truth was, Grace took no offense to the nickname. If anything, it brought nothing but amusement at the gossip that circulated on this island. How people spent time forming nicknames for her simply because of the lack of emotions shown on her features. “Well, aren’t you daring to call me that straight to my face?” The brunette challenged, her smirk now fully etched across her features. “It’s all natural with me, I’m afraid. I don’t need to have anything more in common with some of the ladies around here, no offense to your ex-wife. I guess I just don’t have time to give people my time of the day.” She waved the bartender over for a drink, before she shot a glance at Austin. “He’s busy, but he won’t be able to handle drinking with me anyway. I didn’t want to be the one carrying him home.” She answered as calmly as she could, despite the slight anger rising inside her at the mention of her husband. “And what about your wife? Too busy touring the country to spend date night with you?”

Austin chuckled, an impish grin crossing his face. “Seem to remember something like that at the last party. He’s the one that fell asleep on the couch, yeah?” He shook his head, taking another swig of his drink. “See, that’s why you marry someone that can keep up with you. Otherwise, you’re destined to drink alone,” he added good-naturedly, nodding towards Grace’s drink. At the mention of Parker, however, Austin’s mood immediately soured. Touring the country — hell, she barely left the home some days. “Didn’t wanna come along” he muttered, shrugging. The tension back home was strained to the utmost degree, and he had no desire to be sulking around, waiting for an argument to materialize out of thin air. Of course, no one knew — after all, on Instagram, they were the perfect pair, walking along the beaches of Catalina Island, hand-in-hand. Austin cleared his throat, sneaking a glance at the other. “Not feeling well,” he added for good measure, lest she suspect anything.  

She’d left Ada with the nanny; not when Grace watched as her husband forming some lame excuses to slip out of their home again. It was a toxic circle, a cycle of infidelity to which no shame even came near to her mind. The brunette was never guilty for her indiscretions — if anything, she simply wished she did it sooner, beaten her husband to it. Although tonight, she simply wanted to escape from the responsibility of being a mother and dull away the seething anger that surfaced at the thought of her husband, because a Rothschild never reacted. So she was there by the bar, all to be anywhere but the house that reminded her nothing of her failing marriage. “Austin,” She regarded him cooly, before the hint of a smirk ghosted over her lips at the nickname. “Ice Queen? Now that’s a first.”

“Is it?” Austin asked, raising his forehead, regarding the woman before him. Her expression, unchanged, save for the subtle smirk that punctuated the end of her sentence, un-telling, like she had a secret no one knew. “I was under the impression that that was what people called you behind your back,” he said, chuckling at his little joke. “You know; because your face never moves, and it definitely ain’t ‘cause of the Botox. Believe me, I’ve been there — ex-wife injected that shit into her face like it was the elixir of life,” he added. Austin took a swig of his drink, squinting, nodding at her. “Where’s that husband of yours? Didn’t bring him along?”

Once upon a time, Valentine’s Day had been an entire affair for the two lovebirds. Austin was a man of few words, but grand gestures, and there had always been surprise plane tickets involved, a romantic getaway for two off to some tropical island or exotic country. One year, it’d been a camping trip in Iceland to see the Northern Lights. And the year after that, an overwater bungalow in Bali. 

There were other non-holiday trips to, all around the country and world, together more often than not — it was all neatly documented on their social media, over-fawning comments by Parker’s fans, spammed with heart emojis and #couplegoals, that somewhere along the way, the in-between shit had gotten lost in the shuffle, despite the way it defined their relationship in private. Austin had married two women in the past, but none of those relationships had ever been as public as this one. His own fault, for marrying a millennial, he thought. 

This year, a grand gesture had seemed wrong — their sorry attempt at bandaging their rapidly deteriorating marriage had ended in a tragedy, and it’d clearly taken a toll on the woman. Never being one for comforting others, the past four months were as tense as a rubber band pulled beyond its length, and he wondered not if, but when it’d snap. 

“Hey, babe?” Though there was nothing sweet about his pet name; it was only a force of habit that he’d used it now. No answer. He groaned, forced himself off the couch, in search of his wife in their spacious home. “Your followers are pestering me about that fuckin’ V-day photo.”

Whipping his head around, there she was — they were never really connected as much as they knew of each other. They’d met at a few parties, where they’d chatted over how one of his music buddies had scored a couple of her films, or that a singer-turned-actress he’d signed had gotten a part recently through her, but their relationship stood staunchly in the ‘acquaintance’ range. 

Until now. 

“Grace,” he greeted, nodding at her. “Even the Ice Queen needs a day off, huh?”