Al Motta’s voice filled the room, but fell on deaf ears. Sixteen minutes. That was all it took for Blaine Anderson’s career in advertising to crumble around him. All of his hopes and dreams were shattered. Blaine knew his career was over when he got an e-mail from Mr. Motta’s daughter, Sugar, at three o’clock in the morning. 'You’re in deep shit mister. Daddy’s office 9 a.m.,’ was all it read, he could almost hear Sugar’s nasal voice, like nails on a chalk board, saying it to his face. He wanted nothing more in that moment than to punch her right in her very expensive new nose.

“I don’t wanna have to fire you, kid, but my hands are tied. It’s coming down from upstairs.” The statement snapped Blaine back into reality. He knew there was no one higher than Al Motta in this company, but he said nothing to contradict what his employer – No former employer was saying.

Rising from the chair across from Mr. Motta’s desk, Blaine extended his hand. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, sir. I wish I was leaving under different circumstances.” Al Motta regarded Blaine’s hand carefully, but made no motion to accept it. “There’s a reporter downstairs from The Modern Business Journal. The ad’s been pulled, but they want to do a feature. I respect the work you’ve put in at this firm and feel that you should talk to him. You deserve a chance to defend your previous work and explain your… error.”

“Thank you.” There’s an heir of finality as Blaine says it, knowing he’ll never be invited back or work in advertising in this town again. He wants nothing more than to run screaming from the building, but he has to save what little dignity he has left, so he turns and exits Mr. Motta’s office.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind him, Blaine releases the breath he’s been holding for the past half hour. He turns to go back to his office to collect his things, before meeting with the reporter, and nearly collides with Sebastian, Sugar’s personal assistant and his “sometime” boyfriend. “Well, Seb—“ he’s about to say ‘wish me luck’ when Sebastian cuts him off.

“Al doesn’t want you to mention him or the firm in the interview. You’re the fall guy, the scapegoat. You’re flying solo on this one.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Blaine knew that was the case. He wasn’t a complete idiot, though most of the people at Sugar Shack Advertising believed him to be completely inept. Blaine screwed a grin onto his face and chuckled. “Guess I should go face the music then.” Sebastian offers no moral support, instead opting to check his cell phone and scurry off in the opposite direction. Blaine exhales heavily again and heads in the direction of the elevators.

It was the most painful twenty minutes of Blaine’s life and he had been through some hard times in his life. Twenty minutes of lying through his teeth about the entire fiasco.

“I crumbled under the pressure.”

“I haven’t been taking care of myself.”

“I really dropped the ball and I’m getting what I deserve.”

All lies. In six days when the interview went to print, his name would be mud and there was nothing he could about it.

The reporter was long gone, but Blaine just sat in the conference room staring out into the “bullpen,” until he caught sight of Sebastian talking very intimately to a young man Blaine had never seen before. He strode over to the pair, breaking into their conversation.

“Well, babe, that could’ve gone better,” Blaine said with a chuckle.

Sebastian shot him a cold look, raising one eyebrow. “Mr. Anderson that is a completely inappropriate way to talk to a colleague.”

Blaine was confused for a moment, and then the realization struck him that Sebastian had been talking to his replacement. In more ways than one. Before he had time to respond, and Blaine had several things he wanted to say to Sebastian and his new play-thing, two bulky security officers grabbed Blaine by his arms and were escorting him from the premise.

Blaine was deposited roughly outside the building. Straightening his shirt and tie, it dawned on him that in the matter of two hours he had lost everything. His job, his career, his dignity, his boyfriend. He had nothing left. Just a cramped apartment, in a less than desirable neighborhood, that he would probably be losing in a matter of weeks also. Blaine decided to forego riding the subway, as he didn’t feel much like being around civilization, opting to hail a cab.

The ride dragged on for what seemed like hours, Blaine ignoring the attempts at small-talk made by the driver, watching the world whiz by as he pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window. The taxi arrived outside Blaine’s building and he pressed a wad of cash, without looking, into the man’s hand, instructing him to ‘keep the change.’

On the stoop of his building Blaine could see the girl who lived across the hall making out with her boyfriend of the moment. As he passed, she broke the kiss.

“Hey 22D! We’re having a party Friday night, so if you’re around, it’s gonna be noisy!”

“Not gonna be an issue,” Blaine said darkly.

He knew she wouldn’t invite him; he wasn’t social with his neighbors in that way. She went back to making out with her boyfriend as Blaine pressed into the apartment building.

Blaine shuts the door to his stark, smallish apartment. He leans back against the door taking in what is now his solitary existence. He’s never been one to “entertain.” His apartment is taken up by a large television, stacks upon stacks of Disney movies and video games, two large prints of his more famous ads adorn the walls. His laptop glows with a Sugar Shack Advertising screensaver. Several pages of sheet music take over his small kitchen table. He lets out a ragged breath. “Home sweet home.”

Blaine is still taking in his “fortress of solitude” when an idea strikes him. He goes into his galley kitchen and retrieves a bottle of vodka from the back of the freezer, taking several big gulps before rooting around in the back of a coat closet to grab an aluminum baseball bat. Tears are pooling in his eyes as he swings the bat destroying any and everything it comes in contact with. The television screen shatters, pictures fall to the floor, an IKEA coffee table explodes upon contact.

When there is nothing else to break, Blaine disappears into the bathroom, returning with a prescription pill bottle. He drops the bat on the floor and collapses in a heap next to it. He takes another long swig from the vodka bottle and stares intently at the pill bottle. He has nothing to lose right?

Sometime between fumbling with the child-proof cap and deciding to just smash the bottle open with the baseball bat, Blaine hears his phone ring. Glancing at the screen it is his older brother Cooper calling. The call is ignored. Not seconds later the phone is ringing again, this time his younger brother Everett is calling. Again the call is ignored. Blaine stares at the demolished pill bottle for what seems like hours when the familiar ring of his cell phone snaps him out of his thoughts. From the caller ID he can see that Cooper doesn’t have any intention of giving up.

“Hello?”

“Blaine, it’s your brother. I’ve got some bad news.”

Of course its bad news, Blaine thinks, is there any other kind? “Look, can you call me tomorrow?” Blaine hopes his brother will take the hint.

“No."

Blaine is starting to get irritated, but he forces a smile and hopes his voice is pleasant. “Later then? I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“No, I can’t.”

Blaine tries one last ditch effort to get his brother off the phone. “Coop, just give me ten minutes and call me right back.”

“Dad died.”

Blaine goes limp. He and his father were never close, but this was not something he was expecting. Blaine can’t even get a grasp on words.

“He had a heart attack in Lima. Mom’s completely shut down. Ev and I are doing are best with her. You’ve got to handle this. You’re the level-headed one.”

Blaine closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to figure out what he’d done to make karma hate him so.