Money was always the best motivator

“I feel like I don’t really know you. I don’t even know where we stand.”

Wilford was liking Craig less and less by the day. For one, he’d chosen to ambush Wilford at the studio to have this discussion.

“I told you. I got a lot of shit going on right now,” Wilford said as he stacked up the folders to return to Billy.

“Yeah, I know. Your son comes first. I get that,” Craig said. “But right now. He’s not even here and you still can’t look at me.”

Wilford looked at him. “Right now isn’t a good time for me,” he said.

“What time? Right now, this second? Right now this week? This year?” Craig looked at him, obviously fishing for an answer that Wilford couldn’t give to him.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I’m probably not the guy you’re looking for.”

Craig threw his arms up and shook his head. “Maybe not,” he agreed. “I mean, I’d like to be with someone who I feel like trusts me. I don’t even get that from you.”

Wilford shrugged. “I don’t trust anybody. You’re not special.”

“I thought I was supposed to be special,” Craig said. “Aren’t I?”

Wilford didn’t know him well enough. He thought that was supposed to be the entire point behind dating someone. But he’d been backed into a corner, and there was nothing he could say that would be the right response. “Fine. What do you want from me?” he asked.

This was going the same way it always did when he tried this. He couldn’t bring himself to get close enough to anyone for them to want to stick around and put up with his bullshit. Sometimes he could bargain and drag it on for a little longer though.

“What’s the story with you and Mikey’s mom?” Craig asked. “I don’t need the whole story, but I’d like something.”

“That’s what this is all about?” Wilford asked. Christ, people sucked. “He’s not mine. He’s my grandson.”

“Funny,” Craig said.

Wilford wasn’t laughing. He shook his head and went back to work.

“Wait, you’re serious?” Craig asked. “Is it some sort of Jack Nicholson thing? How old’s your daughter?”

“Twenty-four,” Wilford said, not looking back up from his computer.

“Wait. What?” The more questions Craig asked, the less he seemed to like the story. “Then…”

“That’s all you get,” Wilford said.

Craig got up and started walking toward the door. “That’s all I ever get.” He left, and Wilford finally felt like he could breathe. That went… better than last time. But he was better off. He wasn’t good at dating, or dealing with other people. Everyone he could find who was willing to put up with him wanted compensation he could not give. And with Craig out of the way, he’d have more time to focus on Michael and his blog project. Maybe he could actually get the damn thing written without having to hide away where nobody could find him.

Not that Craig walking out on him meant that he’d get much in the way of peace and quiet. He’d barely left when Nichola let herself in.

“He seemed upset,” she said, closing the door behind her.

Wilford hummed.

“Sorry,” Nichola said. She sat down on the other side of the desk and picked up the folders. “How many of these are slated for Friday?”

“Three.” There was an email from Daniel-David, reminding him about filming next week. Apparently nobody had gotten him out of that, but that was fine. He had a plan, and would lay the groundwork for it that evening.

“How’s your other project going?” Nichola asked as she flipped through one of the case files.

“Good,” Wilford said. “I got the interview with that Pierce guy formatted, I think. He had a lot of really good things to say that I want to get into deeper at one point.”

“For the show, or for the blog?”

Wilford shook his head. “Don’t know. I’ve got some things in mind, but I’m not sure how it’s going to go.”

“Oh?” Nichola put the folders back on his desk. “Should I be worried?”

“I’m thinking about writing a book,” Wilford said. “That’s trendy right now. I think if the blog does well, I can take what I cover on it, and I don’t know. Expand on it somehow. I’ve got twenty years of case notes at home. Put together a few exclusive things for the book, use the rest of the space to update what I’ve already done.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea,” Nichola agreed. “Do you have a draft yet?”

Wilford reached down to the floor and picked up his laptop, handing it over. “Password’s still the same.”

“What time are you leaving today?” Nichola asked, already getting into the laptop.

“Soon as Andy drops the kid off. I have to go out to Del Perro.”

“Oh right. When’s that other thing filming?”

Wilford watched her scrunch up her face and attack the trackpad. It really was time to replace that thing. “Starts Monday,” he said. “I don’t know how long he plans on hanging around for, but I’m hoping to waste an entire week if I can. Throw him all off schedule.”

“You’re mean,” Nichola said. “You’re real mean.”

Wilford laughed to himself. “I’m not mean. I’m spiteful.”

“You’re both.”

---

Michael always fell asleep during the long drive out to Del Perro. Not that Wilford could blame him. It was a drive he wouldn’t mind sleeping through either.

Off-season didn’t seem to mean a whole lot along the boardwalk, and if not for his reserved space, Wilford wouldn’t have been able to park within a mile of the restaurant. He pulled into his space and before he could even shut off the engine, he realised he’d been ambushed. He wondered if it was possible to just will one’s self to death. He tried, but was still annoyingly alive when Craig made it over to his door. Rather than do this in the car where Michael would wake up, Wilford stepped outside and shut the door.

“Jesus Christ, what now?” he asked tiredly.

“What now? Really?” Craig asked.

“Didn’t we already do this today?” He wanted to just grab the kid and walk inside, but that would probably take the fight inside with him. He knew he’d got off too easy that morning.

“Are we even dating?” Craig demanded.

“I thought so,” Wilford said. “I also thought we already broke up, but maybe I’m wrong on both counts.”

“And that doesn’t upset you?” Craig was getting uncomfortably close again.

“Nope.” Wilford stepped aside, putting him in front of Michael’s door. He didn’t think Craig was going to do anything that stupid, but he wasn’t going to wait around to put that to the test.

“Just like that? You’re fine with it?”

Wilford shrugged. “Yeah.” There was a group of people standing on the ramp to the door, watching the scene play out in front of them. Great.

“Did I mean anything to you?” Craig was nearly shouting now, really giving the business suits the show they were after. Wilford knew he could shout back and scare him off, but it was a bad image for the restaurant.

“Not really,” he said. “You seemed like you might be fun, so I went along with it.”

“What fun? I got more action in middle school.”

“So did I,” Wilford said. He pointed a thumb at the car behind him. “Where do you think his mom came from?” If Craig wanted to know this story so badly, he could have it.

Craig had the audacity to look disgusted. “You know what, I don’t even want to know what’s wrong with you. I feel like I dodged a fucking bullet.”

“Probably,” Wilford agreed.

Craig shook his head and stomped off, hopefully to be gone for good. The suits were still standing on the ramp, watching everything. Disgusted with himself, Wilford turned and leaned against his car to just breathe for a while. He was never doing that again. He didn’t need anything from anyone else. He was perfectly fine being alone for the rest of his life. He just needed to learn that.

“Wilford?” a voice behind him said suddenly.

Whoever it was, Wilford didn’t want to deal with them. He shook his head and stood up, taking a moment to turn around to chase off whoever was bothering him now, but the words died on his tongue. He almost thought he was seeing things.

“Walt? What the hell are you doing here?” He realised that Walter was one of the suits standing on the ramp, though the others he was with had disappeared.

“A distributor brought me here for a meeting,” he said, pointing at the restaurant.

“What?” Wilford had no idea what Walter was talking about, which seemed about right. Not wanting to deal with any of this, he turned around and opened the back door.

“I know you live out here, but I didn’t think you’d be in this area,” Walter said. “Is this a popular meeting spot?”

“It’s mine,” Wilford said as he carefully unbuckled Michael from his seat, trying not to wake the kid up. If he was lucky, he could keep Michael asleep for another few hours.

“What?” Walter asked.

“I own it,” Wilford said. He swung the backpack around his shoulder before lifting Michael out of the chair. “I spent money from my bank account and bought the business.”

He turned around and closed the door, eager to get inside to his business so he could keep it from getting sabotaged by some dickless producer.

Whatever Walter was going to say seemed to be forgotten immediately. “Whose child is that?” he asked after a moment.

“Mine,” Wilford said.

Walter didn’t seem to know what to do with this information. “Yours? And your restaurant?”

“Yep. They’re both mine,” Wilford said. He started walking back toward the ramp, but Walter only followed him.

“You have a child?” he asked, leaning awkwardly to try to look at Michael’s face. “With who? Not that man you were fighting with?”

“No,” Wilford said. “Leave him alone. I don’t want him waking up.”

Walter stopped for just a moment, giving Wilford and even more confused look before rushing to catch up just in time for them to get to the door. The host shot them a confused look, but Wilford waved it off and continued back toward his office. “Employees only,” Wilford said, quickly stepping through the door and shutting it between them. Michael had managed to sleep through the whole ordeal, and mercifully stayed that way as Wilford got him settled on the little couch he’d managed to cram into the corner after he got rid of the shelves of paper records. He hoped his accountant was having a fun time with them. For a moment, Wilford wondered how long Walter would wait for him, but he suddenly changed his mind about trying to drive him off. Making sure that Michael was likely to stay asleep, Wilford opened the door again to find Walter still standing on the other side. Wilford nodded back toward the front door, leading Walter back out. He stopped briefly at the bar, flagging down Kate.

“I gotta step outside for a while. Keep an eye on the door,” he said, pointing toward his office.

Kate nodded and rushed back to work. Wilford led Walter back outside and around toward the patio. The wind was high enough that dining out on the beach didn’t seem too appealing to most of the diners, leaving it empty.

“What are you doing here, Walter?” Wilford asked, leaning against the rail.

“Business meeting,” he said. “I come into town for them during this time of year, since there’s not much to be done at home.”

“Why here?” Wilford asked. “Specifically. Also, where do you live?” Had he been nearby this entire time? Gross.

“I told you. He invited me here, in the name of pandering I’m sure,” Walter said, shrugging. “At least he got it right this time and didn’t take me out for Thai again.”

“Why are you in Los Santos?” Wilford demanded slowly. “You don’t fucking live out here, do you?”

“No, up in Flint County. Do you know what there is to do in Flint County in November?” He acted like he wasn’t walking all over Wilford’s things.

“I don’t care,” Wilford said. He wanted a cigarette worse than ever. He’d been kicking far too many habits lately, and felt like he might explode if he didn’t maintain at least this one. “But don’t ever come here again. Anywhere else in the city, fine. But not here. It’s mine.”

Walter nodded. “Of course.” Wilford remembered how easily Walter got scared around him, and tried to pull himself back a bit. He had questions for him that he probably wouldn’t answer if he started panicking.

“Is that really your son in there?” Walter asked suddenly.

“I’m working on making that happen,” Wilford said. “Which is what I wanted to talk to you about. Do you remember when I was fourteen, and I knocked some girl up?”

Walter seemed to think for a moment. “I think so. Didn’t her dad try to hit you with a tire iron?”

“Shit, I’d forgotten about that.” He’d come over to shout and make noise, and the next thing anyone knew, Wilford’s dad was trying to pull the two of them apart. “I thought if Mom didn’t kill me, he would.”

“What about it?” Walter asked.

“Do you know anything else about that?” Wilford asked. “What happened after?”

“The girl got an abortion and they all moved away, didn’t they?” Walter looked at him, not seeming very certain about his answer.

Wilford shook his head. “That’s what I was told too, but it’s not what happened,” he said. “She had the kid. Just found out a few months ago.”

Walter looked at Wilford, and then back toward the building. “That’s your grandson?” he asked.

Wilford nodded. “Yep.”

“What happened?” Walter asked.

“She’s even more fucked up than I am,” he said, trying not to laugh. “Doing twenty-five to life in some federal pen somewhere.”

Wilford could see Walter trying not to say something.

“Which brings me to the other thing,” Wilford said. “See, to keep the kid safe, I’m taking full custody. I needed my birth certificate for that, and I uh. I noticed something weird about it.”

“Oh?” Walter asked.

“The fuck happened in 1982?” Wilford asked.

Walter spent a long moment thinking. “What do you mean?”

“Why was my name changed?” Wilford wanted to know what else he didn’t know about himself.

“Oh.” Walter counted something out silently on his fingers. “I started school that year. None of the day care people could say my name, so I asked if I wanted to be called something else. I guess they decided to change yours at the same time.”

Wilford let that sink in for a moment.

“You chose Walter? Any name on the planet, and you wanted to be called Walter?” Wilford demanded. “Fuck you!”

“I thought it was a nice name,” Walter said, shrugging.

If Walter liked sounding like an old man, that was fine. But Wilford hadn’t been given much choice in that matter.

“Did you fucking pick mine out too?” he asked.

Walter thought some more. “Maybe I suggested it?” he asked.

Wilford had not expected the answer to his question to be rooted in such deep stupidity. “I fucking hate you,” he said bluntly.

Walter only shrugged. “I was five. Who listens to a five-year-old like that?” He looked back toward the building, either too stupid to figure out that Wilford was properly angry, or too stubborn to leave. “Do Mom and Dad know about him?” he asked.

“Why the fuck would they know?” Wilford demands. “I didn’t even know if they were still alive.”

“Seriously?” Walter asked.

“Yes, seriously. I haven’t seen or heard from them since I was seventeen,” Wilford said. “I kind of thought you were dead too.”

“Not for a lack of trying on your part,” Walter pointed out.

“I could try again,” Wilford pointed out. “Is that what you want?”

“No,” Walter said, shaking his head. Wilford hated him.

“No, they don’t know,” Wilford said, trying harder than he had ever tried to keep his cool. The last thing he needed to do was get himself into trouble.

“Are you going to tell them?” Walter asked.

“No, Walter,” Wilford said. “I’m not going to tell them anything, because they don’t need to know.” He shook his head and started to head back inside. “I got work to do. Get out of here before I call the cops on you for trespassing.”

He didn’t stick around to wait and see if Walter was going to leave. He just walked in, stopping to tell the first server he crossed paths with to start telling people there was a meeting after close. He let her go off to get on with his job and headed back to his office to make sure everything was running as it should. The books were balanced, Paul was on top of ordering, and the winter menu was performing as he’d hoped it would. When Michael woke up, Wilford ordered dinner for the both of them, distracting the kid with food and crayons so he could keep working. He wondered if the kid liked crayons because kids were supposed to like crayons, or if it was another little thing he’d started to copy from Wilford.

The two of them stayed back in the office all night, staying out of the way until he could hear the sounds of the place closing down. Wilford saved what he was working on and started shutting down as well so he could go meet with his staff. Hauling Michael out under one arm, Wilford stacked up their dishes and brought them out, handing them off to the first server he crossed paths with. Everyone started to halt whatever they were doing once they got to a stopping point, and one by one all filtered over to the table Wilford had picked out for the meeting.

“Quick one tonight, and then I’ll let you get back to what you were doing so you can get home,” he said. “We got a show filming in here, starting Monday. They’ll have releases with them, so if you don’t want to be on TV, don’t sign anything. I don’t care either way. What I do care about is what happens while they’re here. These guys are going to try to stir up shit for a good rating, but don’t let them. The more problems that those cameras see, the worse it’ll be for your paycheques when people stop coming in. They’ll lie to you, offer you money, or an audition somewhere. If you want an audition, I’ll get you one. You got it?”

He watched a few people nodding slowly.

“I’m serious. Anyone who goes along with the shit-stirring next week walks out the door and doesn’t come back. This is your asses on the line, here. Not mine.”

“What do we do if they try to set something up?” one of the servers asked.

“Ignore them. Tell them you’re busy. And you’re going to be. Shows filming places tend to draw a crowd. We’re going to be packed to summer levels here, and some of those folks will be paid shills here to make your day awful.” Wilford looked around the room, making sure he was understood. “If we can make it through next week without giving them anything to use against us, there’s a raise in it for everyone.”

Money was always the best motivator. Watching everyone nod again, Wilford knew he’d found the right amount of motivation.

“Great,” he said. “Finish up here and go home.”

He picked up Michael and took him back out to the car.

---

Even after spending all evening at the restaurant, Wilford still felt like he’d had more time to himself than he’d had all month. He was able to spread out his blog project and work on polishing it up to publish it, while Michael played with his Barbies and cars on the floor, babbling quietly to himself. Wilford wasn’t sure why he was doing it, but he suddenly felt compelled to grab his phone and get up.

“Michael, look at me,” he said. When Michael turned to look up at him, Wilford snapped a quick picture and sent it to one of the printers in his office. He walked in after it, stopping first to grab some letterhead and an envelope from the drawer. By then, the printer was done spitting out the photo. Wilford grabbed it from the printer and took everything back out to the sofa. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing when he picked up his pen.

Walt thinks you should know about him. His name’s Michael. Just turned three.

He couldn’t think of anything else worth including. They didn’t even deserve that much. He folded the paper, wrapping it around the 3x5 before sliding them both into the envelope. He had to find a hangul chart online and download a translation service to his browser, but it didn’t take long to find his folks’ address in Korea. He carefully copied it onto the envelope and sealed it up. He hadn’t tried to contact them since college. He dreaded to think what was going to happen this time.