Pieces of Glitz

By C.F. Richardson

Forced to move to where the grass is greener, Jake discovers the downside to having money, beautiful friends and designer everything. Then Jake meets Christian. We all need a guide when visiting the underworld, a place where drugs and temptation are in abundance. With Lilly as his torch, Jake struggles to fight his way out of the thickening darkness.

A harrowing tale which will leave you unsure if what you've read is a warning, the truth or an insight into madness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.F. Richardson
• Release date: Jul 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310795336

C.F. Richardson

An aspiring author in my early 20s.

Book preview

Beginning

I finally get back to my room and I unfold the paper I’d been desperately wanting to read.

This is a story about a little girl who doesn’t get to see her daddy enough. She misses him a lot, so inside her head she made another one. This daddy is always here. He is here when she is scared and the shadows look like monsters. He is there when she wants to play, tickling her and chasing her through the house. She loves this daddy, but not as much as the real daddy. This little girl thinks that looking at someone in front of you, is what makes you real.

I have to stop reading and wipe a tear from my eye.

LAX

It’s too hot and sticky here. A chill breeze sweeping across my face already seems like a distant memory, an impossible feat. 

I’ve lost my mum and I don’t really care. I hang around the main entrance of the LAX airport, smoking a menthol cigarette half hoping she doesn't find me. I stare up at the interweaving scaffold holding the large glass entrance up and drag my suitcase through a crowd of Asian tourists to sit down on a small wall, in the shadow of the airport. 

A man in a thick American accent and a cheap looking suit argues down the phone as he rudely brushes past an elderly couple. 

Cars beep, there is a ‘bustling’ noise I never thought even existed and an Indian cab driver blares his country’s music whilst sitting on the side of his car, sunlight hitting his face. 

There is almost too much to take in. I look at my phone pointlessly, it’s an old phone and won’t have signal here. I missed England when I boarded the plane but I already forced myself not to care anymore. 

My mum would never find me here. 

I leave my luggage at the side of the wall and walk over to a vending machine, Mike already gave me and mum a stupid amount of money for the trip and I use the first Dollar of it to buy a cool bottle of Evian. I drink half of it in one gulp, then walk over to my bag and shove the bottle in a small compartment. A middle aged man in a cardigan eyes me suspiciously as I do so and I can’t even look him in the eyes. 

More people walk past in the next two minutes than I usually see in a year back home and it unsettles me. I go through phases of intense anger and numbness over the few minutes I sit there before my mum somehow manages to find me. 

‘Oh Honey!’ she exclaims as she shuffles over to me. 

I can’t look her in the eyes either. 

She used to be real. Now when I look at her I can’t even see her anymore. She wears a thick layer of foundation, black mascara and tacky red lipstick. A low cut top that sickens me and a long flowing white skirt, with flip flops. She’s even painted her toes pink. 

‘Where were you?’ She asks, plonking herself next to me glaring at my cigarette. 

‘Here.’ I respond, auto-pilot. 

‘Where’s Mike?’ She asks half to me, half to herself. 

I don’t feel the need to respond so I become entranced with an African American family doing a headcount. The dad stands calmly next to the mum, who has her hands on her hips, rolling her eyes and frequently sighs. 

His five kids run circles around him, climbing on the walls, screaming, laughing. He wheels around on the spot trying to make sure they are all there before he rounds them up and nudges them all gently toward the entrance. 

The entire time my mum has been speaking but it just turned into this buzzing sound. 

‘-Didn’t think he would want to anyway. I mean, I don’t know this area! I’ve never left Europe before. Mike says no, I should pick somewhere I like. I don’t like Italian too much and I know that’s big over here. They need more French cuisine I think, not to the extreme of frogs’ legs or anything like that. Oh honey I’m nervous, image he-’

A taxi driver clumsily pulls up to the curb, he jumps out and holds the door for a kind of hot middle aged woman in a long black dress. She’s slim with brown hair and has that aged look I’m in to. The driver mumbles at her and she doesn’t listen to him, she is looking at her phone. He pops open his trunk and begins to lug her suitcases out; she has three. She stands with one hand on her hip, glancing at him over her sunglasses as he struggles with the suitcases with no desire to help him at all. She tuts as he knocks one over by accident.  She then begins to walk, head held high, heels clicking, like she is important, towards the ‘Departures’ door and the driver follows her helplessly. 

‘- because of the heat and everything. I don’t even know if there are any beaches here, I knew I should have read that book. I got like five pages in and remembered Mike gets intimidated when I show more intelligence. So I’ll try dumb it down. Maybe he’ll like showing me where the beach is. Shit, did I bring my suntan lotion?’ She ruffles through her hand luggage ‘If I didn’t I guess I could buy more now, honey do you mind just-’

An incredibly overweight man wearing a Superman T-shirt is bending over awkwardly as he wheels a comically small suitcase towards Departures. He stops in the middle of a crowd causing a few people to have to dodge him and swearing at him as they did so. He pulls out a stained white handkerchief from his back pocket and wipes the sweat out of his eyes. He stuffs the handkerchief back into his pocket and takes a deep breath before attempting to strangely waddle in. 

‘- to anything I say anyway. Sometimes I don’t know why I bother. Don’t forget what Mike has done for us. Please be nice to him baby, you know how much he means to me. Did I tell you about the last letter he wrote and what he said about you and the school? Please don’t forget the strings he had to pull for that. It would be good if he had some kids your age I guess, did you maybe want to-’

A group of four people, roughly my age, maybe early twenties, swagger confidently into view. A tall handsome guy has his arm coolly hung over a beautiful girls shoulder. When he speaks to her he nestles his mouth deep into her neck and lower ear. He looks content. As does the girl he’s holding, she winces playfully when he speaks and has her right arm up on her shoulder wrapped around his hand. Two guys his age, smaller, uglier, follow him. They both have a look of utter devotion and awe. 

‘Jake? Jake? Jake? Jake?’ Mum says, clicking at me. 

‘Exactly,’ I respond. 

‘Good. So when he gets here, just smile, he’ll take us back. I know it will take you a while to settle in and-’ 

‘Mum shut the fuck up,’ I say calmly. 

Mum stops in her tracks, she looks like a gust of wind blew her in the face and she looks hurt. She looks at the floor thinking of a response.

My mum met Mike on the Internet about two years ago. Some website for middle aged men and women. He came over to visit about six months ago, or maybe a year I can’t even remember anymore. He is chubby, has thinning blonde hair and a mole on his wrinkled cheek. He is also the CEO of a tool supplier for San Francisco and earns about sixteen million a year. My mum flipped when she found out. They both rushed and made plans. Two nights ago we left our sold house and took a flight to L.A to move into his house in Richmond Hills. The entire thing was a painful blur. 

First I missed my mum, but she is gone now. Replaced by this giggling, neurotic mess. My home is gone now, just a faded image behind fog. 

I just decided to switch off. Leave things. Let shit happen. Now it was and part of me wasn’t going down without a fight. I wanted to act out. I also wanted to sit in a dark room rubbing my head. 

Fuck it. 

‘Where is he anyway?’ I ask. 

My Mum replies sulkily ‘He should have been here ten minutes ago, I told him we were at the entrance.’ 

‘Fat cunt’ I mutter under my breath. 

‘Sorry?’ My mum snaps, genuinely not catching what I said. 

‘I said I want McDonalds.’ I sigh, looking at my phone needlessly again. Just typing in buttons over and over and over and over. 

‘We can get some later, it’s America there must be loads over here.’ Mum sighs, flipping open a plastic thing that has a mirror in it and checking her makeup for the tenth time. 

Some hot girl walks past in a mini-skirt.

‘-He is!’ Mum screams with glee. 

Random travellers wearily look at her spring up from her seat, arms outstretched and fall into Mike’s arms. 

They kiss, it makes me feel uncomfortable. 

‘Hey kiddo,’ Mike smiles at me. 

‘Hey.’ I say, thinking about that girl. I felt slightly heartbroken I wouldn’t see her again. 

Mike steps towards me and gently pats me on the shoulder, I think he initially went for a handshake but I wasn’t really paying attention. 

‘You guys must be hungry,’ Mike smiles, hand awkwardly still on my shoulder. Mum is glowing with happiness but fiddles with her skirt uncomfortably. 

‘He said he wanted KFC,’ Mum says gesturing towards me. 

‘No I didn’t,’ I say, ignoring her bemused look as I stand up and wrap my hand around my luggage ready to pick it up. 

Mum goes to do the same but Mike lunges in front of her and grabs it first, leaving just her hand luggage. Their eyes meet and sparks fly. 

‘Well you guys must be tired too, I can rustle up something nice back at my mansion?’ He winks at Mum then smiles at me, as though he is spreading is awkward happiness over both of us. 

No one gives a fuck about your mansion, I scream at him, in my head. 

We walk through a spattering of people before we reach his car. It’s a 4x4 but I don’t know the make, it’s dark blue. 

Mike asks me if I like cars and I just smile and say I don’t want McDonalds as I jump into the backseat and leave him with the luggage. Mum shoots me a fierce glance over her shoulder as she sits in the front seat. The look changes in a millisecond, as Mike squeezes in, to a desperate smile. 

‘Bet you guys have always wanted to see Richmond Hills right?’ He asks, winding down the three windows we’re all sitting next to. 

Mum says something. Mike says something. 

I’m quite fascinated by the city, it’s much brighter. Like England if it was soaked in sun, drying and fading all the dark greys. 

Mike’s Mansion

Mike has a six bedroom mansion. He shows us around like a tour guide and I hate the way he does that. My mum laughs at all the cheesy tourist jokes he cracks and I faux-smile whenever he looks for more approval. He has his own security gate and a dark brown, brick twisting driveway which cuts through a large green lawn with no flowers in it. It looks like a model home, but nobody is supposed to live in them, they’re models. The mansion is large and all white. He has his own porch which is held up by two pillars and a double door with one of those security phones. Inside you are presented with a large hallway which has an unnecessary leather sofa nobody would ever sit in and various other pointless antiques like a broken grandfather clock and a grand piano. There is a door to the left and the right, and straight ahead is a large T junction staircase with two doors either side. The floor seems to be white and black marble and makes a loud clacking sound when you walk on it. To the left is a rather small but full larder. It’s twice the size of our kitchen back home. To the right is a large living room with a red velvet three-piece suite, a stupidly big Plasma TV, book cases, drawers and cupboards full of books, board games and DVDs. To the left of the staircase there is a large bathroom with a bath which would easily be a Jacuzzi and a separate shower. The right side is a sleek and modern kitchen, it has a large fridge, a centre island about as big as a normal person’s dining room with multiple stools. Up the stairs on the left side of the T is a hallway with three doors. Mike explains how mine and Cindy’s room reside there and he would show us them later, along with a spare bathroom. The right side of the T junction hosts a recreation room, this includes a work desk and a bean bag with a large PC and an Apple laptop strewn across a desk covered in files. The master bedroom has a large four poster bed, a walk in cupboard and a TV that comes out the bottom of the bed. 

The whole tour seems like a blur to me and I can’t be impressed by anything he owns.

His daughter slams the door whilst we are upstairs and Mike shouts for her to come up, her name is ‘Cindy.’ I can hear her clacking on the marble and bounding up the stairs and my mum looks nervous and has her hand on her chest. We are in the master bedroom when Cindy comes in. 

She is small, thin, with long brown hair that looks extended or fake to some degree, she has a chubby face, even though she is thin, that has freckles dotted across her cheek. She is loudly chewing gum and her eyes seem to be stuck with low eyelids like everything she views is boring. She is kinda hot but I already knew that from Facebook and I already don’t like her. 

She smiles confidently at Mum who gets a hug, I get an awkward wave but Mike seems pleased with the situation, and offers to make us sandwiches in the kitchen. The three form a walking trio and chat away happily as I lag behind them.

Too many walls are made of glass and everything looks sterile and too clean. The TVs are big and thin. I don’t like his fridge it’s excessively large. 

Mike makes us club sandwiches and they are good but I’m not hungry. The lettuce is crisp, tomato is juicy, chicken is moist and the doughy bread is toasted. Mike’s daughter ‘Cindy’ follows us around and just hovers around the general conversation. 

He has bar stools for his gleaming white kitchen island and it makes me feel uncomfortable. At home we ate on a large moth-eaten sofa in front of a small TV and it felt homely. I feel like I’m eating at a hospital. I feel dirty in my track-suit bottoms and a large T-shirt. Though Mike and Cindy don’t make me feel this way. For a brief second I get a feeling of compassion and safety but it washes away with the ice cold lemonade Mike forces upon me. 

I’m shown to my room and it’s large but empty. Mike says we can fill it up but I just tell him I don’t want McDonalds and lay down in ‘my’ bed. 

The three look at me as though I’m supposed to say something but I don’t and just close my eyes. My eyes burn but I don’t want to cry. 

I unpack my clothes as neatly as I could, I don’t usually unpack so anally but I wanted to prolong the process so I could think of something else to do afterwards. 

Mike knocks on the door whilst I’m on my sock section and comes in before I respond anyway and gently sits on my bed. Time for a talk. 

‘Hey Jake, your Mum says you’ve took this move pretty hard, huh?’ He looks sympathetic. 

‘Nah man, I’m chill, you know?’ I say, inspecting each and every sock, just to make sure they are a pair, and that there are no hidden patterns I can’t see and they’ve accidentally been judged as a pair due to their primary colour. 

‘Well you may be ‘Chill’ but this is a new place, you’re bound to feel a bit, jittery.’ He shrugs, he looks at the floor. I see the panic in his eyes. 

‘Yeah I guess,’ I say. 

‘I just want you to know, your Mum will always be there for you. You are her number one priority. I’m happy at number two. I would never get in the way of you guys and I want to make sure you both get the best out of this. It’s gonna be tricky I know, but you’re up for it right?’ Mike says, hoping I’ll throw him a bone. I don’t feel like playing fetch. 

‘Yeah I guess,’ I say. 

‘She’s a lovely woman, we’ve been here 10 minutes and she already just wants you to be happy. Remember though, she’s brought you this far, maybe it’s time the scales tilt a bit and you let her relax for a while, get used to it, absorb it all and then you guys can get right back how you were, make sense?’ 

‘Yeah I guess,’ I say. 

Mike’s taken aback. I hear my Mum and Cindy laughing from downstairs. 

Mike shifts uncomfortably on the spot before leaving.

Bello’s

The restaurant is pretty crowded, although the tables are pleasantly spaced apart so you don’t feel smothered. Mike boasted extensively on the journey down how you have to pre-book here months in advance but he ‘knew a guy’ who could get us a good spot and I wasn’t really impressed by that, I just cared about the food. 

I twiddle with a breadstick as Mike talks about his business and my mum pretends to be interested but I can see her eyes have dulled over and she has stopped listening, Cindy twiddles with her hair and stares at me with over-eager interest and it make me uncomfortable. I wish I was old enough to drink alcohol; it would aid the situation. 

A young, nervous looking waiter takes our order and he wears a stupid bow tie with his outfit and shakes as he takes down our orders. I order a glass of water as I don’t feel like drinking anything gassy. Mum and Mike order an expensive bottle of wine and Cindy takes ages ‘Umming’ and ‘Ahhhhin’ before ordering a root beer.

I glance at the menu and look straight at the pizza section. I want a stuffed crust pizza but know in a place like this it will be a paper thin, square shaped, pretty looking, bite-sized, flavourful pizza.

I glance around the room as Cindy, Mum and Mike all discuss types of food, various attempts are made to drag me in the conversation but I just smile and nod which makes the other three look at me weird but I don’t care. 

The room is so evenly spaced out I wonder if the owner has OCD. There are eight tables, the room is small. Crystal chandeliers are evenly littered across the walls and ceiling. There are no booths. The colour theme is red and gold which gives it the majestic feel though I think it needs a bit of green as for some reason I believe that to be an Italian colour. 

Everyone else orders the Lobster Risotto but I stick with a flat-bread, margarita pizza and genuinely look forward to it. 

Cindy continues to stare before saying; 

‘You don’t talk much do you?’

This stops Mum and Mike dead in their tracks as they both gaze at me waiting for a reaction, Mike does a subtle ‘leave-them-to-it’ nod to my mum and they both continue to converse, though less intensely. 

‘I do sometimes,’ I say, coolly. At least I think it was cool. 

She snorts and pulls out her phone before Mike gives her a warning look, she scoffs and shoves it back into her handbag which looks more expensive than everything I’m wearing combined. 

‘What did you used to in England, like for fun?’ She asks, she seems genuinely interested. 

‘Exist.’ I say, I don’t want to talk. Especially in front of mum and Mike. 

I feel like my every move is being analysed and that shuts me down further. 

I begin to pick at invisible specs on the deep red throw on our table and hope no further conversation topics are thrown at me. 

‘Existing is fun, I guess,’ Cindy prods, provoking me. 

I smile and shrug. 

Mum looks at me as she knows I’m being difficult but I can’t look at her and I hope she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t which gives me a rush of affection, but it doesn’t last long. 

Cindy looks at me expecting the question to be reciprocated but I don’t take the bait. 

The food arrives and as it does I realise how exhausted I am from all the travel and heartbreak. I just want to dissect and prod at my beautiful looking pizza. Golden cheese drizzled over lightly toasted flatbread. I know I’ll regret doing that though so I dig in; it is delicious and I feel kind of embarrassed because I don’t want to seem like I am enjoying it. 

Mike seems to be eating extra loudly, as though he didn’t want to make us feel uncomfortable by eating in a sophisticated manner. That almost makes me laugh but I hold it in. 

I choose not to have any dessert and spend the rest of the meal watching bubbles of dust forming in my now warm and stale glass of water.

When we leave I discreetly leave a wad of Mike’s cash, which was supposed to be used at the airport, as a tip. I don’t want his money.

Clothes shopping

The next day Mike decides to take me shopping for some ‘smart’ clothes, ready for the next semester at the school he’d arranged for me to join. 

I knew I’d hate the day as soon as Mike proposed it, though I didn’t know quite how much until I noticed the shop, a clothes shop, had security guards. 

I feel inches small but about to burst at the same time. 

We enter the shop and I gawk at the two heavy-set men, with wires coiling up out of their collar and into their ears, in expensive suits. 

Why the hell does a clothes shop need security? 

The answer is on the price tags and I feel sick to my stomach that I’d inevitably be wearing some of it. 

My Mum is at the salon with Cindy; the day was all about bonding. I hadn’t listened to a single word Mike had said, I had been counting lamp posts all day. Every time my brain auto tuned into his words, they came across so cliché it hurt.

I run my fingers along a row of hanging cargo pants, faking interest in them. 

I don’t want anything anyway, and even if I do I don’t want Mike to buy it for me. 

It dawns on me that all the windows of the shop are made of glass and even though I am a speck of dust on a piece of nothing to most people, I feel completely open and like a zoo animal. 

‘Anything take your fancy son?’ He offers.

 I wince at the word son. I know it’s not meant in a literal way, more like a common acknowledgment, but it makes me wince nonetheless. 

I shrug awkwardly and pretend to see an interesting item of clothing on the other side of the spacious store and head towards it, to get out of Mike’s talking radius. 

When I arrive at my destination, I pretend to inspect five-hundred dollar shirts. 

My heart drops to the pit of my stomach when I turn to see Mike talking to a sales assistant, a skinny African-American man, with a blue velvet suit and a neck scarf. I hate every inch of this stranger and begin to tremble at the thought of talking to him.

Mike points over to me and the sales assistant follows Mike’s finger in an exaggerated way. His eyes lock on to me and there is a mixture of confusion and amusement on his face as he shuffles towards me in the campest way possible. 

Mike follows slowly behind him, hands in his pockets. 

I am taller and wider set than the sales assistant but I feel as though he stands over me, and that I am cast in his shadow. This is his realm and I have just been thrown in the lion’s den. 

I stutter, but I don’t know why. 

‘Hello sir,’ He speaks at me, in a bemused tone. 

The way he interacts with me makes me feel like a hawk swimming amongst dolphins. 

‘Hey.’ I say, looking at the ground. 

I see a speck of lint and decide that will consume my focus until this man stops speaking. 

The sales assistant turns to Mike, even though his fashion advice is aimed at me and this makes me feel a little more comfortable though I’m aware it shouldn’t. 

‘You see, he has a rather gaunt complexion. So no dark colours! He needs to take advantage of his skinny legs and wide shoulders. We could probably set him up with some skinny jeans and a blazer, how does that sound?’ Even the question is directed at Mike. 

I know this is done to make me feel out of place, but I know I am, so in a sense it makes me feel more in place than I have previously. 

Mike looks at me for approval but I give him an emotionless stare in return and not knowing which way is up, Mike bumbles in agreeance. 

The sales assistant claps his hands together and strides around the store in an eccentric fashion, excitedly throwing items of clothing out his outstretched arms. 

I am wondering if all male sales assistants are gay before Mike puts his hand on my shoulder. 

‘You don’t need to buy anything you don’t want to and