Does he have everything or nothing?
Dallas Kensington walks up the pristine granite staircase and enters the white mansion through the mahogany double doors. Kevin shuts the doors behind them, letting the slam echo through the halls.
“Should I have Ben make you something to eat, Sir?” His heels tap against the marble floor as he makes his way to his post by the staircase.
“Yeah, that’d be great. I have to head over to the recording studio later, but can you clean all this crap up while I’m gone?” He gestures to the boa feathers and panties strewn across the floor.
“Is Shelby coming over again? I could have Ben mix some drinks. I know she likes the fruity ones.”
Dallas slumps onto the couch with his back turned. “God, no. That woman is exhausting.”
“Isn’t that.. ehm.. the point? Sir?”
A light chuckle from Dallas and he switches the television on, muted. “No, just some of the guys. Kraig and Luke and Malachi. We’ll just grab some beers and order in. You can leave early.” He lays his head back against the backside of the couch as he closes his eyes, a signal he’s finished talking.
Barely touching the edge of sleep, Dallas’s phone buzzes, vibrating against the glass coffee table upon which his feet are propped. Royce is strewn across the screen, a name almost wiped from Dallas’s memory.
He hesitantly answers. Hello escapes his lips, arching up an octave at the end like a pubescent teenager. Again, “Hello?” good and gruff.
“Hey, Dallas, Man, didn’t know if you’d pick up. How is everyone?” Correcting himself, “How is the.. eh.. the work going?”
“Work’s good, we have a tour coming up in a couple weeks.” He sits up, eager to know why Royce has called after so many years of silence. “What’s up with you?”
“Oh, you know nothing. The usual. Oh! Your tour! That’s right, Lana and I bought tickets for your Albuquerque concert.” He clears his throat. “Super stoked, Man.”
“Oh, you should have told me you wanted tickets. I would have gotten you some.” Get to the point, Royce.
“Eh, that’s no problem. I like to splurge on the Mrs.” He chuckles. “She’s always loved your music. I mean! So have I, we all love your music.”
Dallas senses that Royce is on edge. Silence hangs over the line.
“Yeah, thanks, Royce. I know what you meant.”
“By the way, Congratulations!”
“Yeah, the tour is gonna be a blast. Can’t wait.”
“No, on McKayla's engagement. He looks like a great guy. Super happy for them.” Dallas is speechless as Royce continues his rambling, “And the wedding venue is super nice, you pay for that? Haha.”
Nothing but the hum of the fan up above.
Dallas hangs up the phone and sits frozen. My McKayla? My sweet McKayla? He slowly rises off the couch and walks up the stairs in a trance. He opens his closet and walks past the watches, rows of shoes, and belts to the very back where he keeps his old photo albums.
He pulls down a dusty pink album. Flipping through the pages, he skims her life from diapers to high school graduation. He notices, however, that he gradually disappears from the pictures starting in middle school. The divorce. By the last six pages, compiled with high school photos, he is completely absent. My overdose. Only his ex-wife remains. I won’t even have pictures of the biggest day of her life.
Hours seem to pass staring at the pages. His phone buzzes. Time to head to the studio. He slams the album shut and puts it back in place. Then he heads back downstairs and out the door.
