by Jayna King
“I am, on both counts,” he said, putting an arm around my shoulder. “Let’s go out to the pool, and you’ll see why.”
I looked up at my dad, noticing more gray at his temples, though he was still handsome at nearly sixty years of age. “Is this your surprise?”
“It is. I’ve been so looking forward to your visit. I’ve sorted out so much shit in my life, and reforging my relationship with you is the very last thing I need to do, Tatum. Today’s a step in that direction.” He stopped walking across the polished marble floor and turned to face me. “I know I haven’t always been the best father, and I’m going to make it up to you. I did things I shouldn’t have, and you were hurt by my decisions. I’m sorry, and I hope you’ll give me the chance to start over.”
Though I’d promised myself that I would stay strong and not get emotional during our visit, I felt tears well in my eyes. “Okay, Dad,” I said, wishing for some sort of distraction—something to let me wiggle out of having to deal with my feelings about my father until later—when I could cry in the privacy of my own bedroom.
He looked down at me and squeezed both of my arms. “I’m so glad you’re here. We’ve been looking forward to it.”
We, I thought as we resumed our journey through the foyer, down a hallway, through a dining room that could easily seat twenty people, and finally out onto the sunny stone terrace. I blinked at the transition from the dark of the indoors to the blinding Nevada sun, and when my eyes finally adjusted, I saw a tall woman walking toward us, a wide smile on her face.
She was thin, fair-skinned, and toned, and I guessed she was about ten years younger than my father. She wore a fitted, dark green tank top and a paler green knit skirt that revealed long legs. She spoke in a deep, sensual voice, a touch of reproof in her voice. “Donald, I was about to go inside to track you down. If Marco doesn’t get the umbrella up soon, I’ll be sunburned.” She turned to me, and though I couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark, cat’s-eye sunglasses she wore, I could feel her examining me. “You must be Tatum,” she said, extending a slender hand toward me. “Donald has told me so much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
My dad kissed the woman on the cheek before turning to me. “Tatum, this is Tina. My wife.”
I could feel my eyes widen, and my mouth may actually have fallen open. Determined not to say anything that could be construed as rude, I took Tina’s hand while my mind raced to compose a coherent utterance. “It’s very nice to meet you,” I managed. “That’s quite a surprise, Dad. Congratulations.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” he said, taking Tina’s hand and squeezing it. “We know it’s a big surprise, but since our kids are grown, and we’re old enough to know what we want out of life, we just decided to tie the knot and share the good news afterwards.”
Tina smiled at my dad, and even though I didn’t know her in the slightest, I found myself looking for signs that her affection wasn’t genuine. Stop it, I thought. You’re just looking for trouble.
“Oh, here he is,” Tina said, pointing across the yard toward a man lugging a huge umbrella toward the pool. “Once Marco gets that set up, we can have a seat and get to know one another,” Tina said, looking at me. “Can we offer you something to drink before lunch? Would you like to go for a swim?”
Feeling a little overwhelmed and wishing like hell for some way to absent myself from the scene for a moment in order to compose my thoughts, I remembered that I had a bathing suit in my gym bag, back in the car. “You know, a swim sounds great. I was out kind of late last night, and I think a dip would wake me up a bit.” I took a step back toward the house. “I have a suit in my car. I’ll be right back.”
I headed for the house without another word. I knew that my abrupt departure might seem rude, but I had to get some space. When your wealthy father marries a woman on the spur of the moment, it’s not crazy to think she might be a gold digger, but I knew I didn’t really have any basis or right to judge Tina. I needed to get myself together.
I opened the door and was about to step up to go inside, when I realized someone stood in the doorway, about to come outside.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, squinting into the darkness and stepping out of the way.
“Tatum?”
Perplexed by the sound of my name on the man’s lips, I looked up to meet Reed Randolph’s equally surprised gaze.
2 -- Reed
As I was waking up, I remembered how amazing the night before had been. Tatum had pounded some serious quantities of vodka and Red Bull, but I’d stayed pretty in control and recalled every minute. Before I even realized it, a smile crept over my face, and I rolled over, planning to slip my arm around Tatum and wake her up in a way that would put her in the mood for some wake-up sex.
But she was gone.
I got out of bed, hoping that she might be somewhere in the huge suite that I owed the concierge several very large favors for. Since I had every intention of picking her up and taking her back to bed, I didn’t even bother to put clothes on. But she really was gone. She’d collected her clothes and left without even saying goodbye.
Normally, I’d have been thrilled—avoiding the awkward chitchat that girls always wanted the next morning, hoping and hinting that they wanted me to ask when I could see them again. That wasn’t my M.O., though.
But I had a craving for Tatum.
When she’d walked into the casino the night before, she’d nearly taken my breath away. I’d spent a lot of time with a lot of women, and there’s nothing sexier than a gorgeous woman who doesn’t know just how beautiful she is. That’s how Tatum was. I could see the muscles of a woman who took the time to stay in shape, and that was sexy, too. Natural blonde hair, not too much makeup, but a knockout. A lot of the girls I spent time with were pretty fucked up—and all of them wanted something, whether it was drugs, money, sex, free tattoos, or a daddy figure. I took what they offered me, but it didn’t make me feel any better about myself to do it.
I’d been marking time, and I was ready to do something more … I don’t know … meaningful. And something told me that Tatum was a good start.
I was tired of spending all my time working or fucking women who cared little for me, or for themselves, for that matter. Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud of my business. Building my little shop into one of the most sought-after tattoo shops in a town that was full of ’em was an accomplishment I was proud of. But it was time for me to man up and start dealing with all the shit I’d avoided for too many years.
Today was a start.
I looked at the bottle of vodka on the bar, half full still, and I thought about taking a shot to get me moving, but I knew if I wanted my life to change, I had to change. I made a cup of coffee while I got dressed, and as I drank the bitter, black brew, I thought about everything I wanted to change about myself and my life.
1. I had to fix shit with my mother.
2. I needed to quit fucking whores. For the record, Tatum did not fall into this category.
3. I needed to quit hanging out with people who just wanted to use me.
4. My father. I needed to meet my father.
One of the tactics I’d decided to employ in my struggle toward getting shit straightened out was to make lists and cross shit off. I was dealing with the number one item in—I looked at my phone—two hours. I needed to head home, take a shower, and get ready to deal with my crazy mother. I didn’t really want to do it, but it was a necessary first step.
I didn’t have to wait for the valet to bring my car around. They kept the flashy, expensive rides right near the front door—probably a combination of bragging rights about the high rollers who blew their wads in the casino at night and not wanting the liability of having a hundred-thousand-dollar sports car dented in a parking lot. I got behind the wheel of my dark blue Tesla with a wave at the head valet. Everybody at the Hard Rock knew me, and they knew I’d tip them well the next time I rolled in.
While I drove through the streets—traffic pre
tty light since it was mid-morning—I steeled myself for what I’d be walking into at lunchtime.
Tina Randolph, my mother. She’d been the kind of mom all of my friends in school had wanted. She was young—she’d only been seventeen when I was born. She was pretty. She was fun. When my friends had spent the night in middle school, she’d let us drink—when she was home long enough to even have a say. She’d let me have girls spend the night when I was in high school; or she had until she got married and tried to start acting like a real mom—at least when my stepdad was around.
He’d been an okay guy at first, and I think that even after all the bullshit that went down, he wasn’t all that bad. My mother had finally driven him crazy. In the end he dropped the assault charges he’d filed against me, and he’d paid my mother a boatload of money to fuck off, and it was back to the two of us again. They’d only been married for a few years, but she was set for money for a while.
After they’d split, she’d gone back to being out all the time, and she didn’t even care when I told her I wanted to drop out of high school a year early. She was probably still drunk from the night before when she’d signed the paperwork.
You’d think—after her and I practically grew up together—I’d know her better than I do. But you’d be dead wrong. One of the most frustrating things is that I can never tell when she’s lying. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because she doesn’t even know when she’s telling the truth or telling another complicated lie that’s designed to show her in the best light. Whatever the reason, I’d never really known what to believe about my father. She’d told me so many different versions of their relationship over the years that I had no idea where the real truth was.
I’d told her I wanted to go see him—meet him and spend some time with him when I dropped out of school, but she’d always found ways to talk me out of it. Mostly, I think I was just chickenshit. I look like a badass—tall, muscular, tattooed—hell, I am a badass. But no one wants to believe once and for all that his father didn’t give a shit about him. To this day, I don’t know what the truth is.
I pulled into the parking lot of my tattoo shop, but before I went inside, I’d made up my mind. Mom wanted to meet me for lunch. She wanted to “mend our relationship,” whatever the fuck that meant. I was willing to give it a shot, but I wanted something in exchange. I wanted the truth about my father, and I was going to get it from her. One way or another, the sun wasn’t going to set without her giving up the truth.
Walking into the shop always made me proud, even in the morning before we were open. Once business hours began, the shop was a mob scene nearly all the time. People think the life of a tattoo artist is easy, and while it ain’t brain surgery, it’s harder than you’d think to actually build a successful business. I’ve known some really talented artists who pissed away money like water. To be honest, I employed some people like that, but I’d been smart. I may not have been the best educated guy, and I might have had a rough childhood, but I knew how to run a business.
“Mornin’, Marla,” I called out after I’d unlocked and relocked the door behind me.
The shop manager came out of the office. “What’re you doing here so early? Your first appointment isn’t until six tonight.”
“What? I can’t stop into my own shop? Maybe I think you’re stealing me blind,” I said with a false scowl.
“What the fuck ever,” Marla laughed.
I grinned back at her. I’d known Marla nearly my whole life, and I trusted her more than any other person on the planet.
“You look tired, Reed,” she said, walking down the hallway, probably heading to make one of the twenty or so cups of tea she drank every day.
“You got any coffee made back there?”
“That’s a stupid fucking question,” she yelled back. “But I’ll start you some.”
She came back out, and I could smell the first few drops of coffee brewing.
“I had a late night. Just came by to shower before I go meet Mom.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she said, sitting down to drink her tea. “I’d forgotten that was today. You doing okay?”
“Of course,” I said, not wanting to get drawn into one of Marla’s marathons in which she tried to get me to talk about my feelings. I had too much to think about to get bogged down in her touchy-feely bullshit. “Am I booked up tonight?” I asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to change the subject.
“Yeah. You had a cancellation call in after you left last night, but I’ve put Butch in your last time slot. He wants another hour on his sleeve, as long as you don’t have somewhere to be.”
“Nah, that’s fine. Since he’s my last appointment, think you can let him out of the house for a few hours?”
Butch was Marla’s husband and my best friend. Since they’d gotten married a year or so ago, he hardly ever went out, and I loved to give Marla shit about it. You never know what goes on behind closed doors, but I was pretty sure Marla didn’t keep his balls in her purse. I was happy for Butch that he was happily married, but I missed hanging out with him whenever we felt like it.
“He can go anywhere he wants, jackass.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just fuckin’ with you. I figure after this afternoon, I’ll want to blow off a little steam. It’s either hookers and blow or Butch. I don’t really care which.”
“Well, since I’ll have to kick your ass if you start up with the blow again, I guess I’ll sacrifice my husband for an evening. Just remember, though,” Marla said, standing up straight, making the most of her five foot four inch frame. “I’ll cut your balls off if anything happens to him. We’re clear, right?”
“Crystal,” I answered. “I’m getting coffee, and then I gotta get outta here.”
By the time I was showered and changed, I was going to be cutting it close to get to lunch on time. Mom had told me lunch would start at one, but she wanted me there—wherever there was—early so we could talk privately. She’d been uncharacteristically mysterious about the whole thing, and all I knew was the address I was heading toward was in the ritziest part of town, and she had some kind of surprise. She’d sounded pretty good, like she had her shit together, but you never could tell with Tina.
When I stopped at the guard booth, I gave him my name and the address I was visiting, answered the usual questions about my car, and pulled away. People were always surprised that a tough guy drove an electric car, but that was because they’d never been behind the wheel. I’d test driven everything you could think of, but nothing could match a Tesla.
When I pulled into the drive, I wondered what the fuck my mother was doing at the address of the mansion I was staring at. The long drive curved through a huge overhang in front of the house, and I was pretty sure I’d never set foot in a house as large as this one. Was it possible that she’d taken a job as a maid or something? That was totally not her style, but what the hell else could she be doing here?
I parked in the shade and got out of the car. Before I could even take a step toward the front door, it swung open, and my mom came out, rushing toward me to throw her arms around my neck.
I finally got myself untangled, and I stepped back to take a good look at her. “Mom, you look great,” I said, honestly.
She really did. She was dressed far more casually than I’d ever seen her, and she looked pretty and happy, her long, red hair styled simply and accented by the green tank and skirt she wore. She looked … I don’t know … more relaxed and less high strung than I’d ever seen her.
“Reed, it’s so good to see you, honey. You look wonderful too, but you look a little tired. Are you getting enough sleep? Enough exercise? You should really try yoga. It’s helped me tremendously. I feel like a new person.”
I shook my head, puzzled. “You sound like a new person, Mom.” I couldn’t quite figure out what was going on. Mom had always talked a mile a minute, but the person I was looking at sounded completely different—polished and … rich, I guess, not at all like the Tina Randolph
I knew. Mom didn’t use words like “tremendously.” She just didn’t.
“I feel like a new person, sweetheart. I’ve made some changes in my life, and I can’t wait to tell you all about them. I’ve begun to take better care of myself, and well, it’s paid off. Let’s just put it that way.”
“You’ve ‘begun to take better care’ of yourself?” I echoed, mystified. Even her grammar was different. “What the hell has happened to you?”
“Oh, come inside, Reed. We’ll sit down and catch up, and then I have a surprise for you.”
I didn’t even know what to say, or where to begin. “What’s up with the house? Are you working here or something?”
She laughed, and she didn’t sound a thing like my mother, whose infectious, distinctive laugh was the kind that would stop conversation in a crowded bar. This woman in front of me had a rich, deeper laugh that sounded like it belonged at a country club.
“Well, that’s part of the surprise, sweetheart. I live here. This is my house now. Come on inside, and we’ll catch up.”
You could have knocked me over with a feather. I was so stunned, I didn’t know what to do or say, so I mutely followed my mother through the wide double doors. Her bare feet slapped the cold marble of the huge entryway, and she turned, closed the door, and took my arm, looking up at me adoringly.
“Reed, I have so much to tell you.” She led me into a room just off the entryway, and she closed the door behind us. “I thought we could meet in my office so we could have a little privacy.”
I hardly looked around the room, as dazed as I was by everything I was taking in. I sat in the chair Mom indicated, and she sat down as well.
“Mom, what the hell is going on? Since when do you live in a mansion and have a fucking office?”
“Since I met and married the most wonderful man two months ago.” She sat back in her chair. “I’m sure you have lots of questions, and I’m ready to answer them.”