Six and Counting

Chapter 19

                After trying for three days, with no success, to make contact with Shane McNeal following their meeting with the movie execs, Angie Donovan picked up her daughter Kimberly and made the trek from LA out to his home in Corona del Mar.

                 On the ride down, Kimberly asked her mother, “What do you think has happened to him, Mom? Do you think he and Emily ran off and got married?” Kimberly’s eyes widened at the thought, but her mom shook her head as they left the freeway to head for the PCH.

                “No, Emily was already gone when he and I went to LA for the movie meeting. I think she left him, and he’s spiraling out of control like he’s done in the past. I’m hoping we can catch him before he really makes a mess of himself, and his writing. We’re almost there.”

                Angie piloted her daughter’s car off the highway right down to Ocean Avenue, pulling into Shane’s empty driveway at last. Walking with purpose, the women approached the front door and rang the bell. And rang, and rang. Silence from within. Just when they were getting ready to turn away, shadowy movement beyond the frosted front door indicated someone was coming to answer their summons.

                The door was wrenched open by none other than Shane McNeal, sporting blood-shot eyes, a stained,  torn- around- the- neck- and- sleeves white T-shirt, jeans with rips in the knees, snarled, uncombed hair, patchy stubble darkening his face, and an aroma similar to a brewery. He blinked at them blearily and then turned away, leaving the door flung wide. Angie stormed after him, her daughter trailing in her wake and wishing she were anywhere but here.

                “Shane McNeal! Why haven’t you answered your phone these last three days?” Angie nipped at his heels, her eyes landing on the various empty beer bottles on the coffee table, kitchen counter, even the floor. Curling her lips, she stopped walking, put her hands on her hips and watched her friend fling himself onto the leather couch, staring at the floor.

                “Well?” She prodded.

                “I threw it in the ocean. It was ringing too much.”

                The answer was so simplistic it was almost laughable. Almost. Angie stared down at Shane’s bowed head, studying him. Stinking like yesterday’s beer, he resembled nothing more than a bum on skid row. While she stood there, Shane reached across the coffee table for a half-empty beer bottle, fully intending to finish the beverage off. Angie snagged the bottle out of his hands, earning a snarl for her trouble.

                “Oh, no you don’t, Shane McNeal! It’s eleven o’clock in the morning. Kimberly, get him some coffee, if there’s any around here.—“

                “This is my house, goddammit! I’ll drink whatever the hell I want, whenever the hell I want it! And I want that beer!” Shane lunged for the bottle in Angie’s hand, Kimberly swinging around to witness his move.

                 Angie sidestepped drunken Shane, yelling right back at him, “I’m your agent, and I have a lot of time and money invested in your sorry ass, McNeal! If you’re acting in a manner that might harm yourself, it’s my duty to stop you! Now, sit your ass down while Kimberly makes coffee for all of us. And then you’re taking a shower if I have to throw you in there myself! You smell like a distillery, you look like shit, and I demand some answers!”

                Momentarily subdued, Shane stood facing Angie, glaring at her petulantly, looking more like a pouting child who hadn’t got his way than a hung over grown man. Dropping his gaze first, Shane ran a hand through his none-too-clean hair, turning to face the view out his windows.