“Your father and mother built this company,” I began. “Worked very hard to make sure you and your family would be secure and never have any worries or wants.
“But right now, right here, this company, these companies, are yours. They gave them to you, your parents, because they trusted you would take care of them. Make the right decisions. Do the right things. Respect all the hard work and sacrifice it took to build them into what they are today and continue to honor that with the decisions you’d make.
“These are no longer your ‘father’s companies’, Mikalo. They’re yours. It’s time you started claiming them as yours.”
He started to argue, but I interrupted.
“In your heart, you know this is very much your mother and father. But you can’t continue playing the son when it comes to the leadership these companies will need.
“They need to be yours and you need to claim them as yours. Otherwise you won’t earn the respect you need to have in order to make those tough calls you’re going to need to make.
“I’m not saying forget your parents,” I said. “All I’m saying is accept what they gave you. Accept their gift and their generosity with all the love and respect it deserves. With all the love and respect they obviously had for you.
“They loved you, Mikalo. And they knew you’d make them proud.”
He sat quiet for a long moment, his head bowed as he listened, his eyes closed.
“Ronan,” he then said as he raised his head and looked at me. “What you say, it makes sense. I know this. And you are right, of course. I know this, too.”
Pausing, he took a deep breath, his eyes looking toward the city outside as he swallowed and then cleared his throat.
“But ...” he began before stopping.
I waited and then, gently,
“What?”
He watched me again, his eyes shining with tears.
“They are alive when the company, it is theirs. To now take it from them would be to kill them. To take the little bit of life they still have. The memory of them being alive, it would stop if they were no longer the company.
“Do you see?” he asked.
“I cannot, my Grace,” he then said. “I love my father, my mother, I love them too much to silence them forever by taking from them the last thing they have.”
His cheeks were wet with tears now, his hands clasped and jammed into his lap, like a small boy, his chin trembling as he spoke.
“I need them to be living, to be alive, still, in my heart, in the companies they built, if I am to do what must be done.
“And this I cannot do if I let them go.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
We escaped to Soho, Mikalo and I.
Abandoning the familiarity of our Upper West and Upper East Side lives, we barreled downtown for the throbbing excitement and slippery chaos of those high-end stores and restaurants lingering below Houston Street.
And yet, Mikalo being Mikalo, we still ended up in a place of quiet luxury, the woody paradise of The Mercer Kitchen.
A polished, shining, rustic wood ceiling above us, gleaming wood tables under our elbows, a small bit of green cradled in red terracotta in the center with gentle spots of glowing amber hanging over our heads, this had been a favorite of mine long before I fell in love with Daniel, my exquisite jewel-box of culinary perfection uptown.
There was something quite wonderful about being here, I thought as I quickly washed my hands in the rest room. There was a youth and vitality down here in the Village, in Soho, you didn’t often find above 59th Street.
Yes, there was an energy up there, too, as well. But it felt very commercial, very business-like, on the Upper East Side. And, on the Upper West Side, it was a sometimes confusing mix of family and commerce. A gentrified hodge-podge still struggling to find its rhythm.
In Soho, the rhythm drove you, not the other way around. It was inescapable. It was electric. And over near Broadway, it was loud and messy and noisy and absolutely thrilling.
Even in the restaurant, with the chef’s kitchen open to view, there was a sense of excitement not often found in those restaurants uptown.
It really was one of the reasons I still found New York so beautiful, I thought as I checked my reflection in the mirror while shaking the water from my fingers before reaching for a small soft hand towel.
From behind me, hidden within the privacy of an almost ridiculously luxurious stall, came the sound of a sharp sniff. And then another.
And as I stood there dabbing my hands dry, the door opened.
Out she stumbled in an avalanche of perfume and teased blonde hair and tighter than tight jeans.
Mara Byzan.
She listed to the mirror and stood alongside me, her scratched and scuffed Prada bag rudely shoved into the sink as she ripped it open and started digging.
I held my breath, aware she hadn’t noticed me yet. That somewhere in that drunk, cocaine addled mind of hers, she had failed to either notice there was someone standing next to her or wasn’t yet aware it was me, the No One. The nothing. The help that you either kick or fuck or fire, as she had so eloquently put it nights ago.
Sneaking a peek at her reflection, I saw the tell-tale white powder on her nose. The hard lines in her face hinting at a life lived too hard and too fast by someone too young. I noticed the dark roots, too, struggling to take over the peroxide blonde. And the blemishes on her cheeks near her ears and along her jaw creeping up to her chin, all those tiny red dots not quite hidden beneath her heavy make-up.
And then I saw her seeing me, her eyes watching me as I watched her.
Shit.
I ducked my head and stepped back from the sink, desperate to make a quick exit.
She stepped back, following me, her eyes still on me, still not quite picking up why she had an interest, but certainly aware that she did.
“Oh,” she said, the syllable one long, breathy sigh. “I know you.
“Yes,” she continued, the memory of who I was gaining traction. “Yes, you. I know you. You’re the ...”
She stopped, suddenly confused.
Raking her hands through her hair, her fingers cruelly pulling at the tortured and teased locks, she gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to remember.
“Who the fuck, who the fuck ...” she repeated as she bounced on the balls of her high-heeled feet.
“Excuse me,” I quietly said as I attempted to walk past.
Her hand shot out and caught my shoulder, the diamond-covered claw finding me though her eyes were still shut.
“No,” she said. “I do not think so.”
She was looking at me now, her hand still holding me tight.
“It is here, the memory,” she then said. “And you and me, there is much to say.
“So you, you will listen.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
I held my breath, ready for the inevitable, childish outburst, aware my options for escape were few and far between.
All I could do was wait. And then suffer the onslaught.
She leaned forward, her face inches from mine.
Her sparkly lip gloss was smeared in the corners of her snarling mouth, her eyes still unfocused, her eye-shadow caked and flaking in the creases of her large eyelids, the deep lines of her crow’s feet almost shocking in someone so young.
And her breath smelled of wine and gin and bourbon and scotch.
My eyes watered.
I swallowed, willing the lump in my throat to go away.
It didn’t.
She pursed her lips as she chewed the inside of her cheek, her mind searching for something to say, her hands clawing at the fur jacket dangling from her elbows and hanging half-way down her back, pulling the well-worn mink up to cover her boney shoulders as she tightly gathered it around her.
Finally, she spoke.
“You and Mikalo, yes? That is the place I know you from?”
I nodded.
A small laugh, her lips sli
ding into another sneer.
“Ah, yes. The marriage. And you think that somehow you are the special girl for him? This stupid thing is what your stupid mind stupidly, stupidly thinks?”
I bit my lip, refusing to answer, knowing it would only enrage her.
“He has had many women,” she continued. “Many women who, like you, thought they would be special. Would be the one he would be with and love and spend forever with. Many women who cried and then cursed his name.
“There were many who had dreams. Like you. Many who loved him. Like you. And many who had their hearts broken when he left. Like you.
“You do not believe me?” she then asked.
“No, I don’t.”
She laughed, the sound cruel and harsh.
“I have known him for many years,” she said, the laughter disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. “I have seen with my own eyes this thing he does.”
“I thought you and he were to be married?” I couldn’t help but ask.
I was opening a can of worms, but I didn’t care. She was pissing me off and, damn it, I was hungry, dinner was waiting, Mikalo was waiting, and I had neither the time nor the patience to put up with Mara Byzan’s special brand of annoying bullshit.
“He made me the promise, so, yes, we were to be married,” she said quietly and unconvincingly.
“You’re lying,” I said.
She stopped and stared at me, her mind deciding whether to deny the obvious or slide into a familiar delusion and pretend I hadn’t said anything.
Choosing delusion, she continued.
“And then one day it was ‘no, we are not to be married’. And I moved on.”
I stepped to the side, trying once more to get by.
She stepped with me, her hand rising to my chest to stop me.
I looked down at her hand and then looked up at her.
For a moment, there was fear in her eyes. The sudden sense that perhaps I would strike. That perhaps maybe she wasn’t in control here. That maybe this No One might actually be Someone, robbing her of her Specialness. Her power.
And, again, she chose delusion.
She smiled.
I noticed her teeth, then. Perfect and straight, but not as white as they seemed at first glance, the years of alcohol and drugs dulling their shine, thick particles of food stuck in the crevices.
In all honesty, I suspected she rarely saw a toothbrush, was a stranger to floss, and considered Jack Daniels mouthwash, each morning beginning with a quick swish, a swallow, and on with her day.
Looking away, I spoke.
“Please, Mara, I don’t have time for this. I’m here for dinner and Mikalo will wonder where I am.”
Another laugh.
God, I was getting sick of her.
“A question for you,” she then said, her eyes on me again, her hand still on my chest.
I lifted my hand and, grabbing her wrist, removed it.
Ignoring that, she continued.
“Is he living with you?”
I didn’t respond.
“Answer. Is he living with you?”
“Yes,” I finally said.
“And it is happy, no?”
“Yes.”
“And then, I don’t know, one day, he comes to you and he says ‘oh, I need my own place. Maybe this is something we can talk about,’ right?”
I didn’t respond.
A cruel smile spread across her pink glossed lips.
“Ah, this is a yes,” she then whispered.
“It is a thing he does, I think,” she said. “To live with you and love you and then, when it is good, to say ‘I need my own place and then soon we will have our place’.
“But do you know what happens then?”
Holding my breath, I stayed silent, trying not to pay attention but growing increasingly angry at her accuracy.
“He finds his place, he moves into this place, and then, one day, he will say ‘oh, my love, there is something important to do, to say, something that is necessary for our relationship, for our love’ and then do you know what happens?”
I shook my head.
What I wanted to say was Oh shut the fuck up, you stupid drunk bitch and get the hell out of my way so I can get back to the man I love and who loves me.
But I just shook my head.
No, I didn’t know what happens.
She continued.
“That is when he will say ‘perhaps it is good to take a breath’. And then he will be gone.
“That is what waits for you around the next corner,” she then said.
I waited a long moment before speaking.
“Are you finished?”
Her eyes narrowed, her eyes growing cruel.
“You are just one more girl who believes she is special, but that he will throw away,” she said. “And I am happy for that. Happy you will be with the trash on the street.
“You are not one of us. It is impossible to think he would spend his life with you.”
“One of us?” I asked. “What do you mean by ‘one of us’?”
“You work. You are the help --”
“Yeah, yeah. To either fuck or fire. I get it.”
“I am surprised. You have a brain. This is good, perhaps.
“But, still, this is not something Mikalo’s family would allow him to do, to make you his wife. They are very picky, his family. And there is a strong tradition in his culture.
“And pretty as he thinks you are, and I do not know if that is what he sees, you will not be good enough for his nonna, his grandmother. It is she who rules Mikalo’s heart and it is she who will tell him yes or no when it comes to who is best for him to marry.
“To speak the truth,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “It is my thought that even with this love you have for him, it is an impossible thing for him to be with you forever.”
She turned from me and faced the mirror, jamming her hand in her overflowing purse as she spoke.
“You are no one to me, no one, but you are a woman, still, and, because of this, I share with you this truth.”
Bringing out her lip gloss, she popped it open and, mouth open, started smearing it across her lips.
“Leave him before he breaks your heart into two and then leaves you,” she finished, screwing the cap back on the gloss.
Doing my best to ignore her, to not hear this vitriol and hatred, I walked to the door.
“You are most welcome for this gift, my friend,” she called after me as I left, closing the door behind me.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Dinner was quiet, Mikalo lost in his thoughts, me desperately trying to forget Mara’s words.
It’d be a hell of a lot easier if they weren’t so accurate.
Still, she was a liar.
Remember this, Ronan. She lies.
But she was also right.
Damn it.
He was living with me and now he was insisting on finding his own place, promising we’d soon have “our” place.
Just like Mara said.
I drank some more wine, determined to get a buzz big enough to shut my mind off.
“What you said was right, my Grace.”
He was looking at me now, his plate cleaned, his wine glass in hand.
I put mine down and discreetly swallowed a small belch.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“About my father’s company, my mother’s company. What you said was right. If I am to run them successfully, they need to be mine and I need to accept them as mine.”
I nodded.
“Are you okay with that?” I asked.
He shrugged and took a sip of wine.
“Yes, it is something I will be okay with. In time.”
“Of course,” I said. “It won’t happen overnight. But it’s good you recognize it has to happen. It’s a really good, solid first step.”
He smiled.
“I did not recognize it, as you say,” he teased me. “You told me to do
it. I could not ignore this appetite I have and I could not have dinner, you said, unless I agreed that, yes, I would do this. So, like a good husband, a hungry husband, I did what I was told to do.”
Husband.
Interesting.
I smiled, Mara’s words still ringing in my ears.
Stop it. Just stop it. She’s vindictive, she’s cruel, she’s dishonest, she’s jealous ...
“Speak, my Grace,” he said, interrupting my thoughts.
“I’m sorry?”
He whistled, making the small sound of a tweeting bird as he fluttered a hand briefly by his head.
I took a deep breath.
“It’s nothing, really,” I began. “I just ran into Mara Byzan in the bathroom and, you know, she’s Mara Byzan.”
“Yes, this I know.”
“Anyway, she said some stuff, stupid stuff, really, and I’m ignoring it, but it’s hard.”
“She speaks in lies,” he said.
He looked so kind right now, the way his eyes watched me, a small smile on his lips.
The Mikalo sitting before me was nothing like the Cruel Mikalo she warned me of. How could I even think anything she’d say would have one iota of truth?
Well, because tonight it did.
“I know she speaks in lies,” I answered carefully. “But what if there is a tiny bit of truth in what she says.”
“Even then, with her, the lie will be much bigger than the truth.
“My Grace,” he continued. “She needs love. She needs to be loved. It is the only thing that will quiet her anger. And this cannot happen until she lets it be so. Right now she is fighting you because you have something she does not have and cannot have.
“This anger will drive her to say many hurtful things. Do not listen.”
I nodded.
“Will your family like me?” I asked, remembering Mara taunting me about not being “one of them” and, therefore, Mikalo’s family wouldn’t accept me.
“You are in my heart,” he said. “That is all they need know.”
And with that, he dodged the question.
He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table.
“Look with your own eyes and hear with your own ears, your own heart, and that, that will be the truth. Not anything Mara Byzan says.
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