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    Getting Real
    Getting Real
    Getting Real
    Ebook88 pages1 hour

    Getting Real

    By Christiane France

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    About this ebook

    For TJ Delaney and Cole Labelle, it’s time to turn their lives around and get real.

    TJ needs to exchange his playboy lifestyle for a job and prove he’s a responsible adult rather than a spoiled, rich brat.

    Cole needs to escape his family’s control, so he can live his life without their interference.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherChristiane France
    Release dateJul 18, 2016
    ISBN9781536537871
    Getting Real

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      Book preview

      Getting Real - Christiane France

      Getting Real

      ––––––––

      I could not believe it! Me, Thaddeus Jasper Delaney, Junior, told to grow up. Told to get real and to go out and get a job? Work my butt off, probably for peanuts, when there was no need? Why? To what end? The idea was beyond ridiculous.

      I went to my room, slammed the door and stared at the shocked look on my face in the full-length mirror.

      My father had more money than God. I asked; he gave. It was a system that had worked to perfection my entire twenty-three years, so why did he want to screw with it now? Why order me to take a job away from some poor sucker who really needed it?

      I sat on the edge of the king-sized bed and continued to glare at my reflection.

      I’d asked my father all that and more, but had he answered? No! Had he even listened? No way!

      According to him, a strong work ethic built moral fiber and character, and was therefore a man’s best and most important asset. Without good character, a man was nothing, at least in his opinion.

      He admitted my present lack of gainful employment was partly his fault for indulging me. Nevertheless, he’d thought I’d get tired of partying and find myself a goal in life without his help. Since I hadn’t shown any signs of doing that, he felt it necessary to point out a few things, such as I needed to grow up, get real, and learn how the other half lived, and the sooner I did it the better—his words, not mine.

      He’d then demanded the keys to the new car he’d leased for me through his company less than a month ago and informed me my weekly allowance and all my credit cards had been cancelled. I could keep my phone and continue living and eating at home for now, but my friends were no longer welcome. If he didn’t see at least some improvement in my lifestyle over the next four weeks, he’d have to reassess the situation and consider harsher measures. In other words, find a job or else.

      Or else what? He’d change all the locks? Hand me a tin cup and bus fare and tell me to find a begging pitch downtown?

      He wouldn’t dare.

      Or would he?

      I knew my father loved me. He’d confirmed that a moment ago after he explained, for the second or maybe it was the third time, he was only doing it for my own good. I loved him, too. I couldn’t imagine my life without him. I also knew—I’d heard the stories a million times or more —that Thaddeus Jasper Delaney, Senior was one tough dude who’d eaten nails for breakfast and steel filings for his supper. He’d been a few weeks short of fourteen when his mom and her boyfriend left him behind at a gas station, somewhere out in the back of beyond. With nothing but the will to survive, along with the clothes on his back and an almost non-existent education, he’d earned his money the old-fashioned way. He’d taken whatever job or jobs he could find, sometimes having as many as four at the same time, just to get by. Now, he’d decided it was time for me to prove myself by doing the same and finding myself at least one job.

      As my temper cooled, resolve took over. So okay, if that’s what the man wanted, why not? I couldn’t fight him, but I could, and would, prove I wasn’t the useless, spoiled rich brat he’d just accused me of being.

      I got to my feet and took a deep breath, then narrowed my gaze and thrust out my bottom lip. In response to the challenge, my Delaney survival instincts were rapidly coming to life and ready to march into battle. If TJ, Sr. could start with nothing and make a few bucks, then so could TJ, Jr. Guaranteed.

      I glanced around for my car keys, remembered I no longer had them, and headed for the door. Not having my own wheels was a major pain in the ass, but I promised myself the pain would only be temporary. I’d show the old guy. Two, three days max, and I’d have a paying job.

      Or so I thought...

      One week later, I found myself a seat on one of the benches in the downtown area and tried to figure out my next move.

      Coming up with a paying job was proving to be mission impossible. I didn’t want to disappoint my father or myself by failing. And I sure as hell didn’t want to find myself living on the street, panhandling to survive. On the other hand, how was I supposed to find gainful employment when every agency in town told me I was way under-qualified for anything they had on their books? A first-year college dropout with a high school education, average marks and no special training or references of any kind didn’t cut it in today’s high-tech job market. What it did was render me virtually unemployable, and, although no one put it into actual words, a prime candidate for the nearest soup kitchen unless I did something about it.

      One counselor I spoke with suggested I go back to school and either earn a degree or learn a skill. Another said I should find a need and fill it. My good buddy, Toby, told me my best bet was to apply at one of the local gay bars for a job as a dancer. With my body and looks I’d make a fortune.

      All great ideas in their way and given with the very best of intentions. Even so, I had no burning urge to go back to school and learn how to become a hair stylist, even though I know one who earns a fortune, or a hospital worker. For one thing, it would take months. Anything farther up the pay scale, such as a hotshot business exec or a lawyer, took years of studying, even supposing I was interested, which I wasn’t. Dog walking was out because I’d have to pick up their shit. As for dancing, that was a non-starter for three reasons: one, I’d need at least some training to dance like that; two, the thought of getting fondled by all and sundry made me sick to my stomach; and three, if my father found out, he’d be horrified, maybe even disown me.

      Doing a Scarlett O’Hara by telling myself I’d think about it tomorrow, I left the bench and headed for home. If I couldn’t get what I thought of as a proper job, like working in an office or a bank, then I’d have to try elsewhere, like the restaurants and the supermarkets. There had to be something for me somewhere. I knew my father had started off by doing stuff like waiting tables and stocking store shelves. Now he owned half the real estate in town and had an investment portfolio that was solid gold, blue chip stocks all the way.

      If he

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