by S. L. Scott
“You didn’t wear a tie. Will you put one on?”
“No. Is dinner almost ready?”
“Always my non-conformist.”
“Eh,” I say, “It’s working for me.”
Her hand touches my cheek and I see a real smile form. “Don’t ever change,” she whispers, “You’re perfect just how you are.”
My eyes narrow, her unexpected compliment catching me off-guard. “What’s going on?”
“So cynical, Son.”
A loud clap disturbs us and Gage walks in bellowing. “Are they finally done with dinner? I’m starved.”
At the sound, my mom’s hand falls to her side and she sips her cocktail while turning back to look outside again. Bad timing on the interruption. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen this side of my mother and I was enjoying it. A woman walks in and tells us dinner is ready in the main dining room.
“Good,” Gage says as if he’s been waiting all day for food. He rushes past us and takes the seat at the head of the table like he somehow earned it.
“You’re an ass, Gage.”
“I may be an ass, but I’m also rightfully head of the family as the oldest male.”
My mother sits next to him quietly as if she doesn’t hear the argument or she just doesn’t care. Wine is poured and I thank the server. She’s pretty, not flirty. Just tending to her job.
Dinner is tense with so many egos trapped in one room. I try to bring up the reason we’re here several times, but nothing sticks. “Explain the situation with the additional will.”
Gage uses all these hand gestures like he’s lecturing a child in timeout. “The lawyer was held in strict confidence until your birthday or if you didn’t live, your funeral.” I glare at him. “What?” He shrugs. “I think we all know it was hit or miss with you.”
“I’d call you an asshole, but I’m starting to think you like playing that part too much and you’ll take it as a good thing.”
My mom leans her elbows on the table, exasperated. “Boys, let’s put all this animosity behind us and focus on the future.”
Seeing her lose her manners in such an easy way makes me double take in her direction. Something’s going on with her and I think Gage is too angry and too drunk to notice. The server comes in with our dessert plates. She serves Gage last. I’m thinking on purpose. He grabs her ass just as she sets his plate down.
“Excuse you!” she says, her face one of horror.
I stand abruptly. “I apologize for him. We’ll not need anything else tonight.”
She looks from him to me, her expression one of relief when our eyes meet. “Thank you.”
When she leaves the room, I remain standing, tossing my napkin down. “I think we’re finished here. I’m going to bed.” I walk out, needing to clear my mind from the head trip laid on me tonight. The door is pushed open and I move quickly across the yard, stepping over a few wickets on the way. I go toward the shadows where I used to hide when I was a kid, but I break the pattern and pull my phone from my back pocket, dialing instead of drinking.
Rochelle answers right away and damn if I don’t love that. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s me.”
“It’s good to hear from you,” she says, “Everything okay?”
“Everything is complicated like always.”
“Are you alright?”
I lie down in the grass and look up at the night sky. I can see a million or more stars out here, unlike in LA. “Go outside, Rochelle.”
Without question, she goes. I hear her shuffling and the creak of a door. Then she says, “I’m outside.”
“Can you see any stars?”
“Not as many as I’d like.”
I smile. “I can see forever from here.”
“Can you see to LA? I’m waving just for you.”
“I can see you in my heart.”
“I miss you, Dex.”
“I miss you, too. It’s good to hear your voice.”
“You too, but you don’t sound well.”
“I’m okay. Tell me about your day.”
“My day was boring,” she says.
“Not to me.”
I’m content listening to her talk, her voice soothing me. What she thinks is mundane, I find peaceful. It’s a life I can only hope to have one day.
“…The boys still talk about you. They remember everything you taught them.”
“Thank you for not making me the bad guy in their eyes.”
“Dex, you’re not a bad guy.”
Taking a deep breath, I say, “They’re reading another will of my grandfather’s. You know how you found out I was from a wealthy family?”
“Yes.”
“My grandfather was even wealthier. He was my idol once. He was a drummer.”
“Ah.”
“But when my mom was raped by my uncle, he blamed her.”
I hear her sharp intake of air. It’s a bombshell and no matter how it’s dropped, it’s gonna blow up, so there’s no point in tiptoeing around the monsters in the family.
“Dex—”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“You can talk to me.”
I hear my mom calling for me, but I don’t move. “I should go. It’s getting late. I’m sure you need some rest and I need to escape.”
“You’re not in this alone. Call me anytime.”
“Goodnight.”
“Sweet dreams, Dex.”
When I hang up, I start back for the house. Fortunately my mom is nowhere in sight. I’ve had enough of my family for one day and head to bed.
My night is restless and I get up as the sun starts to rise. I don’t bother with formalities. Boxers, jeans, and a T-shirt are good enough to go downstairs to get coffee. When I’m walking down the hall, the door to Gage’s room opens and a familiar looking brunette is sneaking out—the server from dinner.
Her shoes in hand as she turns and then jumps, startled by me. “Morning,” I say.
“Good morning, Sir. I was just, uhhh, getting Mr. Caggiano his morning coffee.” I wonder if lying makes her feel better and if she actually thinks I believe her? She continues, “I need to go.”
She starts to dash off, but I say, “He’s married with two small kids.”
She doesn’t look back again as she leaves the house. In the kitchen I find a Keurig with a variety of coffee pods to choose from. Popping one in, I wait as it brews. Gage walks in without a shirt and scratching under his arm. “Morn,” he says, reaching for a mug from the hooks under the cabinet.
“What the fuck? You’re married, Gage.”
“I haven’t even had my coffee yet. Can we hold this conversation until after we’re caffeinated or better yet, never?”
“Britney loves you.”
“And I love her, so what’s the problem?”
I turn my back to him, leaning my hands against the marble countertops, trying to control the rage he brings out in me. As a teenager I used to smoke pot with my friends. We’d trespass and go up to Griffith observatory to escape. When the band became famous, we’d trespass onto the Hollywood Sign and do coke or X.
I thought the night Cory died would be the last night I ever did drugs. I think I did everything I could get my hands on that night in Paris and my body paid the price. But Cory saved me. Now I carry guilt for falling in love with his woman, or falling more in love, I mentally correct myself. I loved her since the day I met her. Then add dealing with my asshole of a brother on top of that guilt and all I want to do is go break some shit, smoke some weed, and escape.
I won’t do it because of her and the kids. Good must be hereditary and those boys scored. It sure doesn’t run in my family.
Grabbing the coffee before the last drop falls, I return to my room. Gage was smart not to continue talking to me. I stay in my room and work on a song I’ve been writing, the lyrics coming in waves as I write them down. The band returns to the studio in eight days to record and I want this song to be perfect before they hea
r it. I’ve never written one for them before so I know they’ll be more critical.
A knock on the door causes me to look up. With a guitar in my arms, I say, “Come in.”
My mom walks in with two drinks in hand. “I brought you an iced tea.”
“Thank you.”
“Can we talk or am I interrupting?”
“We can talk.” I set the guitar down, then say, “I could use some fresh air. Would you like to go for a walk?”
The sky is blue and there’s a nice breeze outside as we follow the gravel path around the outside of the gardens. “I have cancer.” I had the glass to my lips when she tells me. I bring it down and stop in my spot. She looks back and says, “I don’t want to make a big deal of it. Let’s keep walking.”
“Cancer is a big deal.”
“Yes,” she says, “But we must die from something. Dying is a side effect of life.”
“You’re downplaying it. Death seems like a really bad fucking side effect.”
She wraps her arm around my elbow and we start walking again. “It’s inoperable and too far along to bother treating. I’m good with this.”
My mind can’t seem to grasp onto anything tangible, her words make no sense to me. Questions fill my brain as her justifications don’t provide the answers I need. “I’m not good with it. What did Gage say?”
“He doesn’t know yet. I wanted to tell you first.”
“Why?”
She pulls me tighter to her, leaning her head on my shoulder. “Because you’re a better man than I ever gave you credit for. And, I knew you’d be more rational with this kind of news.”
I want to be anything but rational. Feeling aggravated to have this laid upon me like this makes me mad. I’m trying to hold that in because she seems to crave peace and after years of craving her attention, she’s finally giving it to me. I don’t want to blow it now. “Why are you not fighting?”
“Because the doctors said weeks. Not months or years. Weeks. And I don’t want to spend my remaining time fighting a battle that clearly cannot be won.” She lifts her head and releases my arm. “I know what they will say and I’m worried about Gage and his troubled situation.”
“Troubled?”
“Britney has left him and taken the children. He’s blown through a lot of his inheritance and has asked for loans against future deposits.” We come to a bench and she sits, her body sinking down only a bit as she does. Always a woman of pride and propriety, her posture is not reflective of her condition. I sit beside her, and she says, “Gage is not a Caggiano. He was conceived out of wedlock thus negating his claim to any of your grandfather’s money or estates. The first will covered him. This second one will eliminate him from receiving anything more.”
My head goes back in disbelief. “Holy shit.”
“Please don’t swear. Anyway, I know this is a lot to take in, but I need your help now. I’m not sure what to tell him. I think he’ll be more upset about the loss of funds than finding out that he’s the son of a poet passing through town. Or that I have cancer.”
“He’ll care. You two were always very close.”
“We haven’t been in a few years.”
“Since the situation with me.”
“Yes. I think it needs to be revisited. He needs to come to terms with the damage he did. You need to find it in your heart to forgive him, for me. You’ll only have each other soon. As for me, please don’t worry. I don’t feel any pain. That’s much different than I imagined when I was told. I’m just tired.” She’s calm, so calm as if she’s come to peace with her past, present, and future all in one day. “I want to die at home if you don’t mind forgoing the hospice the doctors will insist upon.”
“Of course,” I say, no hesitation to help her find that peace. “I’ll get you whatever you need.”
“Antonio, continue to shine like the star you are. I’m so proud of you and your accomplishments.” She looks at me, and says, “I used to be a star, the belle of the ball.”
Her confessions have me intrigued. Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and look at her. She speaks as if she’s worlds away, maybe living in the memory she’s recalling. “Your father, Joseph, was a wonderful man when I met him. I was sitting at a restaurant in downtown Diablo with Gage and he was having lunch next to me. He commented how I was a good mother to my baby, giving the baby all of my attention. One thing led to the next and he joined us for lunch.”
“Was it love at first sight?”
“Most definitely.” She sits back and raises her chin up while closing her eyes. “So handsome. So much like you,” she says, glancing at me. “I don’t think you have any of the Dexter features, except maybe my sparkling personality.”
And here I thought she didn’t know me at all.
“I’ve seen you on TV so many times. You’re captivating and charming. I see why young women fall for you. But tell me, has anyone mattered? Is there anyone special? That woman you brought around to the country club perhaps?”
“Rochelle.” I stop there, contemplating how much I want to share versus how much I should share. I decide there might not be another chance, so I say, “I fell in love with Rochelle the first time I ever laid eyes on her.”
My mom smiles and asks, “When was that?”
“Eleven years ago. When I was nineteen.”
Her eyes widen. “Well, that’s a long time to be in love with someone. Why have you not been together?”
Sitting back, I sigh. “Life is complicated. Even when you think it falls at your feet, there’s always something more, something just out of reach.”
“Is Rochelle within reach?”
“Now she is.” Smiling at her, I say, “She has two kids. Sons.”
“Oh. And the father?”
“He’s passed.” I don’t go into details. It still hurts me to think of Cory and face the fact that he’s gone forever.
“You were close?”
“He was one of my best friends. He was in the band.” I should be offended that she seems so careless in regards to knowing about my life. But I didn’t share with her either and it’s not worth the argument now. “They’re great kids too. I’m teaching them to play drums. The older one, Neil, he’s good. Natural talent. The younger one is four. CJ can charm the socks off anyone with his smile.”
“You love them.” A statement.
I shift, then smile. “Yeah,” I say, “I do. I love Rochelle too.”
It’s ten at night when I call Rochelle. I’m hoping to catch her in bed before she falls asleep so she can talk. She answered after the first ring. “Hi there.”
“Hi there yourself.”
With a chuckle, she asks, “How’s Diablo?”
“Umm…” I scratch my head, then look at the TV, which was keeping me company before I called her. “I’m not sure.”
“Interesting. Are you doing okay?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Do I need to be worried because you’re totally worrying me right now.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Stop saying that, Dex.” Her voice gets pitchy. “You’re freaking me out.”
I close my eyes, draping my arm across my forehead. “I’m kind of freaking out myself.”
Her words are rushed and demanding. It feels good to know that she cares so much. “Tell me what’s going on.”
But scaring her was not my intention. I’m just unsure how to tell her everything or if I should. “I called because I need to ask a favor.” She’s patient and lets me speak. “Is there any way you can fly up here tomorrow and spend the night? I’ll drive you home the next day.”
“You want me to be there with you and your family?” Her tone is now light, unbelieving.
“You’re my family.” It sounds so matter of fact, but she’s right. We’re family. “Will you come?”
There’s a long pause before I hear her, her voice wavering with emotion. “Dex…” She sucks in a shaky breath and I can tell she’s trying to s
top from crying. “If you need me, I’m there. Always.” Tapping is heard. “I’m looking up flights now.”
“I’ll buy your ticket,” I say.
“I can afford the ticket. No worries.”
“I know you can, but I want to buy it.”
“Okay,” she relents. “There’s a flight into Oakland that leaves at one I can make.”
“I’ll send the confirmation to you.”
“Thank you.”
I yawn, worn out. “You’re welcome, but really I should be thanking you.”
“You’d do it for me… You’ve done it for me. You were there when I needed you most.” She yawns.
“I’ll let you get some rest and I’ll pick you up from the airport. I’ll be in the Challenger outside of baggage claim.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Until then…”
“Until then…”
As soon as I see Rochelle walking out of the terminal the following day, I pull to the curb, throw the car in park, and run around to greet her. She’s beautiful as always, her long hair flowing over her shoulders. Her eyes bright and her smile big—just for me, so I kiss her, savoring the feel of her skin, her lips, the way her tongue caresses mine.
Leaving her breathless was my single motivation. I think it worked because she sighs, then whispers, “It’s good to see you too.”
After opening her door for her, I take her bag and put it in the trunk. I slide into the driver’s seat and say, “Welcome to hell.”
Fastening her seatbelt, she looks up and says, “And here I thought Diablo just meant devil.”
It doesn’t take long to get to the estate, less than an hour’s drive with traffic. Rochelle’s mouth opens when we pull up the long driveway. “This looks like what I imagine Hearst Castle looking like.”
“My grandfather hated the Hearst Castle. I wish he was here just to hear the comparison.”
“Do you want to talk about him?”
I park the car and look at her, the air vents blowing her hair wildly behind her. “I used to think he was this stuffy old man, then I found he was worse.”