by Drew Sera
My dad gave me a small smile in the mirror.
“Anthony, they didn’t get the best of you. The best of you is yet to come, son. Now, let’s see if you have a button shirt with a collar for your senior pictures.”
“Anth,” Colin got my attention dragging me from the comfort of my dad’s encouraging words. “You should put yours on your desk at work.”
I would do just that.
As the three of us golfed, I was quiet and thought about my dad and how proud he was when the pictures came in. I remember him buying a bunch of photo frames, and he hung a few pictures of me in the hallway, took a few to work, put some on the fireplace mantle and had one in his room.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
April 2008
“Thanks for coming with me guys,” I said to Colin and Blake as we got off the elevator.
I had been searching for years for just the right place for me to buy. Up until this point, I had been renting the house I lived in. It had been a great house, but I was thirty-five now and need to find a place to call home. Blake, Colin, and Matt have been encouraging me and helping me look for a place for years. And I finally found it.
I’ve always loved the lights of Las Vegas and the electricity the city breathes at all hours and every day. The Strip held comfort for me because no matter the time of night, I could wander through a lively casino and forget the troubles that woke me up in the night. It was always there to quietly be my friend in the dead of night. Even though I had Colin, Matt, and Blake for good friends, sometimes I needed to be alone, but not really alone. I was better off quietly walking in a casino after waking up from the dead of night nightmares. I found solace in it. It was a strange kind of calm, but to me, it was very soothing.
Last year one of the largest projects opened on the Strip that not only had hotels, but a few high-rises within the project were solely residences with casinos and restaurants. Urban Towers was one of the high-rises, and this was where I was going to live. That way, I won’t have to drive to a casino in the night to escape my dreams. I can just take the elevator downstairs. The top floor consisted of custom penthouses, and I grabbed the architect firm that did my cabin to help with the design and placement of interior walls. All was done over the last year, and today I got my keys.
I brought the guys to see it before the furniture arrived. The three of us stood by my door, and I waved the key card over the card reader and the entrance to my new home popped open.
“I told Matt I’d take pictures for him,” Colin announced with his cell phone in hand.
Matt was going to come too, but he was called to the hospital for a shift.
“Well, here it is.”
My foyer opened up to the huge great room and then off to the side was the kitchen and nook. I had a stone wall that had the fireplace, and flat screen TV mounted on it. It was similar to my fireplace wall in my cabin, except the stone was a lighter shade. The hardwood floors were a gray and white reclaimed beach wood, walls were a light gray, and all of my doors were white. Everything was gray and white except for my cabinets in my kitchen. Those were all lacquered blue. The countertops were light gray quartz. I had a huge patio balcony and floor to ceiling windows throughout.
Everything was just as I wanted it.
“Anth, this place is amazing,” Colin said as he continued taking pictures.
I was proud of it. I constantly was on the architect about making sure no cost was spared, or a corner was cut. This was going to be home.
“My wife would kill for a stove like that Anthony,” Blake said as he wandered over to it.
Blake’s wife loved to cook, so I told him that he better not tell her about it, or he better buy her one.
“When do you get furniture?” Colin asked.
“Tomorrow. Thank you for helping me move,” I said.
Blake and Colin both looked at each other. I hadn’t asked them to but was teasing them.
“What time do you need me?” Colin asked with a smile.
“I’m just kidding, Col. Fuck manual labor. I have the number for some movers to help with the boxes. There really isn’t much.”
“Anthony, we will help you get your stuff at home in boxes. I’ll bring Noah, too. The guy loves manual labor,” Blake said.
I tried protesting because honestly, I didn’t have much stuff. I wasn’t a collector of things or a pack rat.
* * *
Matt and Colin boxed up my kitchen stuff while Blake and Noah worked on the living room and I worked on stuff in my bedroom. I pulled down a small box that held various random things. It was my junk box and stuff I held onto for one reason or another.
I sat down on the floor with the box and looked through it to see what I had in here. I had the birthday cards from my dad, and I still wanted to keep those. One of the items in the box was the letter that I wrote to my dad the Christmas that I moved in with him. I had wanted to give him something because he had been so good to me. I was basically a stranger to him, but he rescued me and took me away from my mom, Bruce, and Connor. I just didn’t have any money to buy him something, so I wrote him a thank you letter.
And never had the balls to give it to him.
I sighed and opened it. I pulled out the letter and read it over and over.
Dad,
Thank you for everything. I’m sorry if I am frustrating and seem to give you trouble. I don’t mean to. There are things I don’t like talking about, and then there are things I don’t know how to talk about. I may not say it, but I’m grateful that you came for me and all that you’ve given me: the warm house and bed, my new clothes and the food, the band-aids and medicine. I really like the plush football. It helps settle my stomach aches at night. I wish I had something to give you for Christmas.
Anthony
I looked up at the sound of Blake’s voice.
“Is that the same letter that you had sitting out by your Christmas tree all those years ago?” he asked as he sat down on the edge of the bed.
I laughed.
“You remember that?”
“I do. It was the first Christmas after your dad passed away.”
I nodded and noticed that deep ache that I had so many years ago, was starting to make a presence again.
“Would this letter, by chance, have anything to do with the guilt you’ve held onto?”
I nodded but kept my mouth tightly closed. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and looked at me.
“Anthony, you’ve got to let go of that guilt.”
“I know.”
“Don’t let whatever you have written there, control your waking breaths. Let it go, Anthony.”
“My dad…he was so good to me. I moved in with him before Christmas and he welcomed me. I had nothing but the clothes on my back when I moved in with him, but he provided everything for me. I wrote this before that first Christmas to thank him. It was all I could give him for Christmas. But I never had the courage to give it to him.”
I don’t know why the fuck I told Blake that. What the fuck was wrong with me?
“Whatever it is you feel guilty about...holding onto it will only hurt you. Your father wouldn’t have wanted you to live like that.”
I took a deep breath and felt the ache in my chest as I reached for it. I let my head rest against the wall and stared at Blake. I considered letting him read the letter. Blake reminded me a lot of my dad, and maybe if he read it, it would kind of be like my dad reading it. And before I could think that through, I blurted it out.
“Blake, will you read it?” I cautiously asked him.
He stared at me and looked in my eyes for a long moment. I didn’t flinch or look away as I held the old letter.
“Of course,” Blake said gently.
I wonder if Blake knew how much he reminded me of my dad. I picked the letter up from my lap and before handing it over, I thought one last time if I was sure that I wanted him to read this. I knew it could spark questions and I didn’t want those coming at me.<
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“Blake, I have a condition with it, though.”
He nodded and let out a soft laugh.
“Are we scene negotiating?” he lightly joked.
I laughed and shook my head. I worried about what he would think after reading this.
“I don’t want the contents of this letter, or the fact that I never gave it to him, to change your opinion of me. But my condition is that you won’t ask me anything about what I have written or why. Deal?”
“Deal.”
I slowly handed it over to him.
“I was seventeen when I wrote it. And I meant every word of it.”
Blake focused on the letter, and I sat quietly. I studied his face while he read it. I saw his eyes narrow once, and then it appeared he was re-reading it. When he finished, he folded up the letter, placed it in the envelope and handed it back to me. My heart began to pound as I wondered what he might be thinking. It was another long moment before he spoke again.
“You feel guilty over never thanking your dad for what he did for you.” Blake paused and looked at the ground. “Anthony, what your father did for you, is what fathers do. He loved you very much...and I’m sure he knew you were grateful.”
I exhaled the breath I had been holding in and stared at Blake.
“Do what you feel you need to do with the letter, Anthony. Destroy it, hold onto it, whatever feels right, but let go of the guilt. Ok?”
I nodded, suddenly I couldn’t find my voice and kept trying to fill my lungs with air by taking deep breaths…despite the pain in my chest. I stood up and put the box on the dresser and set the letter inside of it. I just stared at the inside for a moment but looked up when I felt Blake’s hand on my shoulder; just like my dad’s.
“I’m going to go help Noah carry some boxes out to your truck. Take your time, Anthony.”
When he left the room, I closed my eyes and took a few deeper breaths. I did feel a little better since Blake said my dad knew. He didn’t see my handwritten note all those years ago, but as long as he knew.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
April 2008
My mind was nowhere near the task of helping the guys carry boxes to Anthony’s truck. It was simple work, but my mind was full of thoughts and questions about what I just read. Questions that I promised I’d never ask.
What had Anthony’s father taken him away from?
Again, my mind filled with unpleasant things. In the letter, he thanked his father for basic human necessities: food, shelter, clothes, medicine, and medical supplies. He was seventeen and evidently profoundly affected by his father’s generosity of giving him these necessities to living.
“Blake, Sir, these are the boxes from the kitchen. Should they go in someone’s car instead of the bed of Master Anthony’s truck?” Noah asked as he approached me.
I was distracted right now. I pointed to the open trunk of Colin’s BMW.
“Good idea, Noah,” I said.
I recalled the one time I met Anthony’s father. Cathy and I had flown up to Berkeley for his college graduation, and we had dinner with them. Anthony became very uncomfortable and rattled when I asked him what made him move to California. His father said that Anthony’s mother wasn’t taking very good care of Anthony.
He had been neglected. But, how bad was it? Children are resilient and can overcome a lot as long as one essential human element is present; love.
But was that missing from his childhood?
Richard Graves said his mother wasn’t taking good care of him. Was he saying that because his standards of proper care for his son was different than the care Anthony was receiving from his mother? Was he saying it due to a nasty divorce?
Or was there something terrible going on there?
Was his mother harming him, or was there just not enough money to put food on the table or warm clothes on his body?
Medicine, though. Was he ill as a child and his mother couldn’t afford his medicine? Richard Graves was a physician...perhaps he felt that Anthony wasn’t taken care of because he didn’t get the type of medical care that he felt his son needed.
Maybe that was it. His dad gave him some sort a stuffed football, I’m assuming like a stuffed animal. Anthony commented in the letter how much he liked it because it settled his upset stomach.
So, he was sick...or hurt at some point and needed care.
We were able to get Anthony’s boxes up to his new high rise and all unpacked by the time all of his new furniture arrived. His place is really nice and exactly what he wanted. I’m glad he finally found a place that met his tastes.
By the time Noah and I got home, I was exhausted. Noah tended to Cathy and Kelsie and then came to find me to see if I needed anything.
“No, Noah. I’m fine, thank you. You can go watch TV if Cathy doesn’t need anything.”
“Yes, Sir Blake. I’ll check with Cathy first.”
I poured a glass of whiskey and took it outside to the patio. Anthony and his letter were on my mind. I’ve been over it in my head all day and I was no closer to determining what Anthony’s past held or what he may have endured.
I knew that his monthly blood work that he’s required to take for Irons has never popped up with anything. So, if he was ill in his youth, it’s no longer an issue.
I sat outside, sipping my whiskey and let my thoughts run. The more I thought about it; I had a sick feeling that whatever pushed Anthony to live with his dad, was bad. He made me promise that I wouldn’t ask him anything about it. Because of that, I was secure in the thought that it was bad enough that he never wanted to talk about it. Perhaps he was living on the streets for a while, or even with friends of his mother’s, and when his father found out, he took Anthony away from it.
“Anthony, Anthony, Anthony,” I sighed and took a sip from my glass. “Why won’t you let me in just a little bit more?”
Now more than ever I was certain that the universe put Anthony in my path, and I understand how the Irons mentoring program not only helped him but possibly saved him. I had that feeling all those years ago when I decided to mentor him. I knew it was important to him.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
April 2008
My time alone enjoying my beer was cut short when those fucking rich boys took up a spot at the bar and ordered some drinks. They were far enough away from me but close enough for me to hear their conversations. This time they were joined by Evan, Will, and Blake.
“How’s the first weekend been in your new place, Anthony?” Blake asked.
“Good, thanks. Still getting used to the elevator thing and the key cards,” the rich boy replied.
“Did you finally buy a place, man?” Will asked.
Anthony nodded that fucking head of his. The one that drives these women wild when he cocks that smile or winks those fucking gray eyes. That’s what draws them in; the look in those eyes of his. Then they swoon over that muscled body. And the fact that he knows how to please the women, makes him even more repulsive to me.
I can please them too. I also work out. I smile and can fucking wink. But I don’t have a fucking line up of women. each week. Fucking prince with perfect genetics.
“Where’s the new place?” Evan asked.
I was dying to know where Golden Boy Graves was now calling home, but I nearly spit my beer out when I heard him say ‘Urban Towers.’
Urban fucking Towers.
“Fuck, no shit?” Will asked.
“He bought one of the five penthouses that makes up the entire top floor. You guys should see it. It’s incredible!” Anthony’s co-topping counterpart mentioned.
I wonder which one of them has more money: Golden Boy Graves or Colin fucking Everett. Up to this point, I somewhat thought it was a toss-up, but after hearing about Urban Towers, I think Golden Boy Graves might have the edge on the money.
“The place has floor to ceiling windows, and his great room has glass cutouts in the ceiling,” Matt added.
Unfucking real.
“The
small infinity pool on the balcony is my favorite,” Blake said.
A fucking pool on the goddamn balcony?
I couldn’t believe it. This fucking prince bought one of the elite Urban Towers penthouses. They were said to be “the” place to live and party. They were dream homes and reality to a select few.
And Anthony fucking Graves was one of those goddamn selected few. I would love a place like that. But I work for what I have…unlike him.
The newspaper had reported waiting lists for Urban Towers last year, and supposedly all had been sold within hours of going on the market to cash buyers. Graves bought one of those cash. His dad must have been loaded.
I wonder what it’s like to have everything handed to you and never have to make a sacrifice. I worked my ass off through college to get my pharmacist degree. I worked two jobs to fund my education and shared a shitty apartment with three other guys while going to school. His daddy probably bought him his own college bachelor fuck pad so he didn’t have to work. I bought my own place a number of years ago, but it was a thirty-year-old fixer-upper with barely fifteen hundred square feet. Golden Boy, just paid with cash for a seven thousand square foot penthouse overlooking the Strip in Urban fucking Towers. Every few years I have to refinance my home to get enough funds to pay for my annual membership to Irons. This little fuck prepaid Irons membership for years. To make matters worse, he was more than fifteen years younger than me.
I hated him.
I hated that he had everything.
I hated that he had no idea what it was like to have to make sacrifices for something he wanted; everything was handed to him. I didn’t have a rich daddy to hand me everything. Coddled fucker.
For just one day, I’d love to walk in his rich shoes and carry around that smug, conceited smirk.
Or knock it off his fucking face.
Chapter Thirty