“That’s cool, man. No problemo. What about the Porsche? You still trading up?”
“Definitely. Soon as possible.” Dad already cashed out one of my investments; the money is sitting in my account. All I have to do is choose a car.
“Rest up, bro. We’re going out tonight. Time to get you back to your pointless, pleasure-driven life.” That sums it up. Back to the clubs, the parties, the hookups. New car. New project to train for this summer and film next fall.
“Is that all it is—a pointless, pleasure-driven life?”
He sighs. “Shit, Reid. I don’t know. If you’re lucky. It’s either that or aspire to be some Dark Lord ass**le like my father, with a boring-as-shit trophy wife like Elise, who has nothing to do but work out, get plastic surgery and have sex with my dad. I’d f**king kill myself if I was her.”
My parents: Dad works, Mom drinks. Besides that, what? I think I’m nothing like them—as though my career and celebrity will make my existence more significant, but that’s bullshit and I know it. “Guess I’m feeling introspective.”
John makes a sound of dismissal. “Dude, forget that shit. Talk about pointless.”
I’m not sure what it will take to forget Emma Pierce’s belief that there’s more to me.
Maybe I don’t want to forget.