“Must be using the restroom. What timing!” Nick lamented to himself.
“At Fox ‘n Fields, we value a strong work ethic, an achievement-orientation, innovation, and good ethical values, so we hire and promote candidates who share our values and who aren’t afraid of working hard and working smart. Those who succeed with us are promoted often and compensated generously. Those who fail are documented for poor performance and terminated. We don’t tolerate laziness, sloppy work, unethical actions, or poor excuses. That’s what drives us and that’s what’s always fueled the American Dream, which thrives at Fox ‘n Fields!” Catherine paused as the crowd clapped. When they finished, she said, “Thank you for giving me the opportunity to share my experiences with you this afternoon.”
The crowd clapped again as she walked with authority back to her chair. She was stopped by the press photographer and posed for a few pictures, displaying her plaque proudly. Then she returned to the table and sat down.
“Great job, Mom. You were fantastic up there; an inspiration for everyone. Especially the hard workers.”
“Thanks, Nick. You’ll be recognized one day too; it’s in your genes.”
Nick surveyed the crowd and caught the eyes of the press photographer. The photographer smiled at him and Nick returned the gesture. His dark coffee-colored eyes then shifted to his mom. He looked like the type of man she’d be interested in; like his dad, and like him.
His dad had died when he was in the fifth grade in a car accident, but he didn’t miss him that much; he didn’t miss the verbal abuse. His mom didn’t miss him much either; they’d never gotten along. She told Nick that he was jealous of her love for her only son.
And he loved his mom too. She had worked hard to give him a good upbringing and to instill her values in him. But she was probably lonely without a man in the house. Aside from the summers and breaks, he’d been away at State for four years and her only other companion was their dog.
Though his mind had trailed off, he still had his eyes fixed on the photographer who was still eyeing up his mom in a way that one would imagine a homeless man in a restaurant would eye up a filet mignon. He looked hungry, though he appeared to have a muscular body under his grey pin-striped suit. Standing around six foot four, he had a handsome appearance. His mom would likely appreciate his wavy dark brown hair, square jaw, and straight, Roman-sort of nose. And he appeared to be about his mom’s age, early forties.
Nick’s eyes gravitated to the man’s hand. That’s when he saw the wedding band on his finger. “Nope, that won’t work,” he said to himself, realizing that he didn’t appreciate the photographer’s apparent interests in his mom.
A short while later, the luncheon ended and Nick caught another glimpse of Piper at Barbara Collins’ table. She and the others at her table got up and headed to the door.
“Mom, you ready?”
“Yes,” she said as she stood up and grabbed her purse and plaque.
“Nice lunch.”
“Indeed.”
As he and his mom exited the ballroom and headed to the doors, Nick could see Piper through the windows in the hallway to the door as she was heading to a car in the parking lot. If only she appreciated his attention.
Then he spotted the photographer, who was standing just outside of the door of the event hall. He appeared to be waiting for them and was again eyeing up his mother who was walking by his side. As they exited the building, he seized his opportunity.
“Catherine, my name is Braedon Ramsey and I’m a free-lance press photographer and reporter. I heard you’re hosting a fundraiser for Governor Kinnaird at your home next week. I support the governor as well. Would you allow me to photograph the event for a bit of publicity?”
His eyes were locked on his mom’s eyes as he smiled, exposing his flawless teeth. Just as a tiger appraises its prey before moving in for the kill, the photographer stood before his mom, positioned to pounce and devour.
Pulling a business card from his pocket, the photographer offered further information about himself as he handed it to her. She studied the card and said, “I’ll have to check with the governor to determine his comfort level on letting the press in, but it’s likely that we can work this out, at least for a little while.” She pulled her business card from her purse and handed it to him. “Give me a couple of days and then call me.”
“Will do. Thank you, Catherine. Oh, is it okay if I call you by your first name?”
“Well that’s better than other names one could call me,” she offered with a slight smile, “Yes, you can call me Catherine.”
“Hopefully I’ll be seeing you soon.”
“I’m sure we can arrange that.”
Nick noticed his mom’s eyes as she quickly glanced at the photographer’s hand. Nick looked too. The wedding band was gone.
“I know I saw a ring,” he thought to himself. “Cheater.”
“Nick, let’s get going,” she said as she walked away from the photographer and toward her new Ferrari. He followed her and hopped into its passenger seat. Soon they were off. They took the same route home that they’d taken to the luncheon; the slower route along the bay that offered picturesque views.
“I don’t like driving the Ferrari on the highway,” she said, “too much debris flying around. Dents and scratches on this car would drive me crazy.”
“No doubt about that.”
The drive was pleasant on that breezy, sunny day, and the temperature was a perfect seventy degrees. She’d developed a new interest in classical music, which she played as she drove him to the house. He pretended to enjoy the music, but he didn’t. Country music was what floated his boat. The day was about his mom, though, so he said nothing. As they reached Bayfront Drive, his mom turned to him and said, “What do you think of the new house?”
“House? It’s a mansion, Mom. It’s gorgeous. The decorator was worth it.”
“How about inviting some friends over? It’s a house for entertaining.”
“Love to. But I’m going to try to find a job first. A paid summer internship. I’d like to get my foot in the door in a big company early. If not that, maybe I’ll go for a camp counselor job. I’ve already sent out a few applications.”
“Well, you know I appreciate that, Nick. You’re showing the right attitude and your hard work will pay off. You’ll see.”
“Definitely buys the toys,” Nick said as they approached the house. They drove up the driveway and into the garage.
Again he thought of the missing wedding band. “What did you think of that photographer?”
“He seemed okay. Why do you ask?”
“Oh. Nothing.”
She looked over at him and grinned, shaking her head slightly.
Chapter 3
A Rum Runner or a Banana Banshee?
Braedon Ramsey lived with his wife and two-year-old twin daughters in a modest three-bedroom home in South Orange Bay. He’d spent the past twelve years working in journalism, while his wife taught in the second grade of a local public elementary school. They’d been married for almost a decade.
After he returned home from the luncheon, he slipped into some casual clothes and sat down on the reclining chair in the family room and kicked back. He could hear his wife cleaning in the kitchen not far away and could smell the scent of the lasagna that she’d prepared, baking in the oven.
He’d grown disinterested in his marriage, resenting his wife’s lack of self-control and the weight she still hadn’t lost since she’d gotten pregnant. She was a kind-hearted woman, though, and he didn’t want to hurt her. He knew he was supposed to be a good father, husband, and provider.
He watched her as she entered the room in her all-too familiar moo moo housecoat, which she called a sundress. Playing the martyr, she swept the crumbs from the floor around his chair and the couches next to him into a dustpan. No words came from her mouth, but something about her movements exuded a hint of bitterness.
Appearing as an old, weary housewife, she’d pulled her mousy, brown hair into a tight pony tail, leaving no hair to frame her roundish face and her pale, tired-looking hazel eyes. She’d already removed the little bit of eye makeup that she’d applied that morning before school and had traded in her somewhat trendier school outfit for the moo moo. That’s what he got to look at every day; a tired looking cow with a ponytail in a moo moo. So unfair.
And he was in better shape than he’d ever been in. Didn’t she notice that? She used to compliment him daily, but now she rarely said anything about his physical appearance. The only compliments he’d heard in a long time were about the way he treated their children; she appreciated it when he took them for walks and to the park. That was about it.
He enjoyed doing those things, though, as Kaylee and Haley meant everything to him. They’d been a blessing in his life since the day they were born just over two years before. He wanted to give them a good life, a prosperous life.
But they were struggling financially. The daycare was expensive and he barely had enough to pay his bills each month. He was glad for the times when his mom could help out by watching the kids; but she had a day job, so the only time she could take care of them was on the weekends or at night.
They rarely needed her on the weekends, though. They never went out to eat anymore and rarely entertained their friends. Rarely entertaining was fine with Braedon as his friends had good-looking wives who kept themselves in shape and looked great at all times, while his wife was a slob. But she was a loving mother.
He checked his watch and figured he still had about fifteen minutes to relax before she’d be picking the kids up from the daycare. Quiet time. Time to reflect on the day. Soon the house would be filled with noise and chaos, and that was okay; the girls were a delight to be around and he loved them.
Unlike his wife. And he didn’t blame himself for that. What she’d done to her body was her fault. She knew how he felt about extra weight, and how his mom’s obesity had embarrassed him to no end when he was young. She knew he expected her to remain thin. Very thin.
Covering the fundraiser at Catherine O’Brien’s house would be a treat. He knew where she lived as he’d checked the tax records and mapped the route to her house a couple of weeks before. In his old Toyota Camry, he’d driven by a few times and had admired its opulence.
Catherine O’Brien had become something of a celebrity in Orange Bay since her promotion to the CEO role at Fox ‘n Fields. She’d replaced a CEO who’d been at the helm for twenty years, but whose ideas had become stale, contributing to the company’s slump of late. Catherine had been profiled by many of the local newspapers and business periodicals, but he hadn’t seen her in person until the luncheon. She was impressive. And thin. Hopefully she hadn’t noticed his wedding band before he thought to remove it.
He considered the contrast between his wife and Catherine. Tricia was Catherine’s opposite. She was frumpy and worn out, sporting either moo moo housecoats or shorts and worn t-shirts when home. And her shorts were often too tight and were always too short, exposing her chunky legs.
He cringed. “Her legs. Ugh. Why doesn’t she cover those things up? The cellulite makes them ripple like jello when she walks.”
He looked down at his own legs as he sat on his favorite reclining chair in the family room of his house and flexed his muscles. Flawless. The workouts had paid off. He glanced at his right arm and flexed his muscles, which tightened the sleeve of his long-sleeved fishing shirt. Shirts and shorts couldn’t hide the muscles he’d accumulated and maintained over the years in his magnificent castle of a body. Women, aside from his wife of course, appreciated his body and his regal, proud ways; they lusted over him. Who wouldn’t lust over perfection?
Again he thought of his wife’s legs and felt a twinge of anger burning inside of him. He called out to her, “Tricia, how about joining me at the gym this weekend? They’re running a family membership special.”
“No thanks. How about joining me at the church with the kids?”
“Ha! Good one.” He cringed, “Not even interested in fixing the problem.” She was beautiful when he married her, when she was twenty-five pounds lighter at one hundred and ten pounds. At five foot eight, that was the perfect weight for her.
Then her doctor told her that she needed to gain weight if she wanted to get pregnant, so she gained a quick ten pounds and got pregnant. He thought, “That must’ve been the last time I slept with her. She still looked good. But she doesn’t now, and I’m not sleeping with a fat chick.”
“And she doesn’t even realize she’s fat.” He shook his head in disgust, recalling the times when she had tried to sell him on her ‘normal’ weight and her ‘naturally pretty’ features. Sure, she had a pretty face. Just too hard to see it with the extra pounds that were framing it.
“The lasagna smells good. Let’s remember portion control tonight.”
He waited for her response, but heard nothing.
The pregnancy caused this problem, but it also produced the twins. Kaylee and Haley were his little strawberry delights with their strawberry blonde curls, freckles, button noses, and sunny dispositions. Tricia dressed them in a multitude of girly outfits with Paddington bear types of hats. Expensive outfits.
He thought of the debt. Their credit card debt had become unmanageable and he could barely make the minimum payments anymore. He’d complained about money to his wife, and had lashed out at her for giving some of it to the church, but things didn’t change much.
The church. What a scam. She spent way too much time at the church volunteering in Bible studies, choir practices, Sunday school and the choir. What a waste. He never accompanied her there. It was silly that she’d even asked him; she knew how he felt.
Then he thought of Catherine. She was slender and wore just the right amount of make-up, which appeared to be professionally applied. Everything about her exuded wealth, from her straight white teeth to her immaculate clothing and professional haircut.
Wealth. He was living paycheck to paycheck and doing odd jobs to make ends meet. Pressure cleaning the neighbor’s driveways, washing his friend’s boats, and painting houses all helped to supplement their income. His wife should have been making money in her spare time too instead of volunteering and spending time at the church. Catherine got it; she didn’t volunteer and she had tons of money.
What would he do with that kind of money? He pictured himself at the wheel of a yacht as it cruised along the bay in front of all the mansions. Or perhaps it would be a Cigarette boat? He started to envision himself at the helm of a Cigarette boat, racing along the beach in the Gulf of Mexico. He’d take the boat to Anna Maria Island, then to Sarasota, then to Sanibel Island where he’d fuel up before finishing his trip down to the Keys. There he’d proudly dock the boat in a marina, where he’d showcase it for a few weeks.
“I’ll take a rum runner,” he’d say as he ponied up to a local bar. Or perhaps a banana banshee? A rum runner or a banana banshee? Or both? Such decisions would be common after marrying Catherine. He chuckled.
His thoughts returned to his wife and their money, which was no money. And the struggles, the bills, the credit card debt, and her appearance. He was sick of it. “Thank God for the twins,” he thought.
“Oh, and I’ve made a decision. I’ll take the banana banshee with a rum floater.”
Chapter 4
He Who Dies With the Most Toys Wins
As they got out of the Ferrari and headed into their new home, Nick’s attention turned to its lavish amenities: the infinity pool, the tennis court, and the helicopter pad. His mom didn’t own a helicopter, yet. But she might need one in the future, just to get around. Nick knew that some would consider each a vulgar display of wealth, given the space they required on one of the priciest chunks of land in the county overlooking the bay. And those considerations made him uncomfortable.
&n
bsp; The mansion was fully automated electronically with all sorts of other bells and whistles. It had two three-car garages, which was far more than she needed to house her only car, the red Ferrari. She parked the Ferrari in the space closest to the door to the kitchen on one side of the home. Nick’s Mustang was parked two spaces away in the same garage.
As he and his mom strode past the laundry room, Nick spotted a picture on the wall of a red Ferrari, along with a caption, “He who dies with the most toys wins.” He snickered as he followed his mom down the hallway.
His little dog Chipper ran up, greeting him with her tail wagging wildly from side to side. Chipper was a grey-colored schnauzer-mix that they’d rescued from an animal shelter a couple of years before. He loved Chipper.
“Chipper, you’re such a perfect dog,” he said as he knelt to pet her. “Are you lonely in this big house?” She barked and licked him.
His mom walked into the kitchen and after a few more pets and pats, Nick got up and followed her.
“So when will your grades be posted?” She asked as she opened the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water.
“Monday. This semester worked out much better than the last. That’s for sure. I think you’ll like what you see.”
“That’s excellent. Nick, I’m so proud of you. I’ve already started planning the party for your graduation in December. It’ll be big; promise that. I’ll invite the governor and some big names in town too. It’s important that we recognize our accomplishments and achievements, and earning your dual major degree from State is certainly noteworthy.”
He followed his mom into the family room and sat down on one of the two couches. She sat down on the opposite couch and picked up the newspaper. The family room overlooked the pool and offered an expansive view of the bay, which Nick admired when he entered the room. It was breathtaking by anyone’s standards.
A few minutes later, he headed back into the kitchen for a drink, which he grabbed from the inside door of a massive stainless steel refrigerator. Subzero refrigerator: the standard in mansions. He popped the top from the soda bottle and took a hearty swig. Refreshing.
“I’m going to send out more job applications today, mom.”
Wayward Paths and Golden Handcuffs Page 2