by R. R. Banks
He swallows down the last of his drink and sets it back down, motioning to the waitress for a refill. A moment later, she comes by and drops off a fresh round for us.
“Your meals will be out in a few moments,” the server says.
“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate your outstanding service.”
The girl gives me a smile and then scampers off. Mason doesn't even acknowledge her, taking a sip of his drink like she doesn't even exist. That's one thing that really irritates me – when people like my brother treat waitstaff like garbage. Like they're beneath him. To me, it speaks to a person's character – or lack thereof.
“That's my dear sister,” he says. “Champion of the lesser among us.”
“Lesser among us?”
He shrugs. “You know what I mean,” he says.
“I do, and I don't like it,” I say. “I think your attitude sucks and –”
He laughs and holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I'm sorry,” he concedes. “You're right. That was a dick thing for me to say. I'm sorry.”
I know he's only saying it to pacify me. He doesn’t really mean it. He really does see people outside of his circles as less than. He barely considers people in the service industry to be human at all. They're simply there to serve his needs and cater to his whims. You can see it in the way he treats them. It disgusts me.
But, when my thoughts are the darkest, and I'm on the verge of sending him a scathing, “don't ever contact me again” message, I remember that we're family. One of the only lessons we learned from our family – our parents too, not just our aunt and uncle – was that family is everything. That you have to hold on to family, no matter what.
“Do you forgive me, sis?”
“Sure, Mason,” I say, draining the last of my wine.
Our meals arrive, and we pass the time making light conversation – thankfully, not about his job. The atmosphere between us is tense and brittle, but I don't think he even notices. He just goes on and on like everything is normal and fine. Then he has to go and spoil even that. Not that I'm all that surprised, really.
“Have you considered leaving that horrid school you teach at?” he asks.
“No, actually I haven't.”
“Huh,” he says. “I couldn't imagine being locked into a small room with all of those thugs and crooks in the making. It's dangerous. I worry about you in that place, with those kinds of people, sis.”
I let out a long breath. “You really don't know what you're talking about,” I exclaim. “Most all of them are good kids.”
He scoffs. “When they're with you, maybe,” he says. “Though, I'd be willing to bet a huge percentage of them end up dead or in prison. Public schools are a breeding ground for that type of delinquents, Darby. I'm not kidding, it's dangerous. You should see some of the cases I had to handle back when I was a prosecutor.”
“Like I said, you have absolutely no idea what you're talking about,” I snapped. “You're not there. You don't see them. You see the worst-case scenarios, but that's a really small percentage in the grand scheme of things.”
We finish our meals, and I push my plate away from me, still feeling heated. The waitress is suddenly right there and clears the table while I'm counting down the moments until I can make a graceful, respectable exit. And then he orders coffee and dessert.
Damn.
The waitress comes back with coffee for the both of us and a couple slices of cheesecake – the best cheesecake in the city, if not the entire state. At least, it will make the last bit of the evening tolerable. It is the one saving grace of this restaurant, and probably the only thing that keeps me coming back at this point.
“So,” Mason says, “are you seeing anybody new?”
I quickly take a bite of my cheesecake, trying to come up with a convincing lie. It's bad enough when Jade gets onto me about my love life. It would be ten times worse getting into it with my own brother – especially given how different we are from each other. He would never understand. To him, I should find a rich guy, marry him, squeeze out some trust-fund babies, and live happily ever after. That's how it's done, in his world. It’s how he thinks.
Unfortunately for me, I'm not a very convincing liar. Letting out a long breath, I guess I have no choice but to tell him the truth.
“Not at the moment,” I say. “Jade is trying to get me to go out with a friend of hers, so I might give that a shot.”
He scoffs. “Jade? That girl from high school?” he asks. “You still talk to her?”
That alone tells me how little he knows about me – or retains what I tell him when we do talk.
“Yeah, Mason,” I say. “She's been my best friend since high school. Nothing about that has changed in the last ten years.”
He sips his coffee and looks thoughtful. “Huh.”
I'm ready for this evening to end before I say something I'm going to regret.
“Listen,” he says. “There's a guy who works in my office – he's about your age. New guy. Bright kid. Good looking, smart –”
“No,” I say. “But, thanks for thinking of me.”
“Oh, come on, Darby,” he says. “How can you shoot down somebody before you've even met them?”
Because he's associated with you and the last thing I want, or need is somebody as arrogant and pretentious? Which, if he works for you, dear brother, he's bound to be.
These thoughts all go through my mind, but I'm able to bite them back before they pass my lips. Barely.
“I'm just not interested in dating right now, Mason,” I explain.
He cocks his head and looks at me. “Are you a lesbian?”
I stare at him slack-jawed, the rage in me building. “No, Mason, I'm not a lesbian,” I hiss. “And frankly, that is such an asshole question, and it's none of your business anyway. I should slap the heck out of you right now for –”
He raises his hands again and gives me an apologetic expression. “Okay, okay, I'm sorry,” he says. “I didn't mean anything by it. I was just curious.”
“Just because I don't want to date somebody right now doesn't mean anything but just that,” I seethe. “Got it?
“Fine,” he concedes. “I got it. I apologize.”
There's actually a hint of sincerity in his voice, which surprises me. Granted, it doesn't make my anger at him dissipate entirely.
“Anyway,” I say. “I need to be going. Thank you for dinner.”
He lets out a long breath and sighs. “I really am sorry, sis,” he says. “I only asked because sometimes I feel like I don't even know you. We never really talk. I know we're not all that close – and I know that's my fault. It's late in the game, but I'm hoping that maybe we can start having an actual relationship.”
I look at him a long moment, trying to figure out whether I believe him or not. Trying to figure out if he's just saying what he thinks I want to hear, just to pacify me. Mason is a gifted liar, and sometimes, it's hard to tell.
I honestly don't know why he's pushing to be an actual family all the sudden, and it makes me feel a little suspicious of him. Makes me wonder what his angle is – because with my brother, he’s always working an angle.
But then, being suspicious of him also makes me feel a bit guilty. There's part of me that says he has an ulterior motive and not to trust him, but there's another part of me that thinks maybe, just maybe, he's finally reaching out, trying to repair his long-damaged relationship with me.
Part of me wonders what the point is, and the other part wants to give him the benefit of the doubt. The problem is, I don't know which part to listen to. Do I hold my arms wide open for him? Or keep him where he's always been – at an arm's length?
“You know, it would be a lot easier if you weren't such an elitist asshole sometimes,” I remark.
A wry grin touches his lips. “Believe it or not, you're not the first person to tell me that.”
“Oh, I'm quite sure I'm not,” I reply.
“Ouch,” he says, thou
gh he looks somewhat amused.
He's the only family I have and although the rational part of my mind tells me he's not going to change, that he is who he is, the emotional side of me has trouble just cutting bait and walking away. My relationship with my brother is – complicated. To say the least.
“I promise to do my best to stop being such an elitist asshole,” he says. “As long as you can try being a little more open and honest with me. And maybe, cut me a little slack once in a while.”
I look at him for a long moment, the debate within me raging. Eventually, the need to have a family – that silly longing inside of me – wins the argument. As usual. I nod and give him a small smile.
“Deal,” I say.
His face lights up as he returns my smile. “Oh, listen, before I forget, I have something for you,” he says.
I cock my head and look at him. “For me?”
He nods and fishes an envelope out of the inside pocket on his jacket. I take it from him, looking at it like it's a snake coiled and ready to strike. He nods, a smile on his face, and a sparkle in his eye. I open the envelope and pull out a pair of tickets – and feel my eyes grow wide.
“You're kidding me,” I say. “How did you get these?”
He shrugs. “I get all kinds of weird crap floating through my office. Most of it, I just toss,” he says. “I saw this though, and immediately thought of you. I know how big into the art scene you are.”
I nod enthusiastically, shocked that he actually remembered my passion for art. It's something I've always thought he considered beneath him. I'm stunned, and honestly, a little touched.
“The Sheldonhurst Holiday Gala is one of the premier events in the art world,” I exclaim. “This is an exclusive event – you have to be somebody of great influence and importance to even get an invitation.”
“Well, good thing for you, you happen to know somebody just like that.”
I jump out of my seat and run around the table, squeezing him hard, a rush of warmth and gratitude flowing through me – things I've not felt for my brother for a long, long time.
'Thank you, Mason,” I say. “This means – a lot.”
He nods. “Of course,” he replies. “I'm glad you like it.”
I stare at the tickets again, resisting the urge to pinch myself. The Sheldonhurst Holiday Gala. I can't believe it. Never, in my life, did I think I'd ever be able to go. And yet, here I am, tickets in hand, a rush of excitement flowing through me.
I can't wait, and I look across the table, smiling warmly at my brother for the first time in – well – as far back as I can remember, to be honest. Maybe, he really is making an effort.
And if he is, I should too.
7
Carter
The cameras flash, and the assembled paparazzi shout questions over each other as I stroll up the red carpet, Audrey – my date for the evening – on my arm. She’s a beautiful woman, a fashion model. Audrey preens, and waves, blowing kisses to some of the paparazzi. Personally, I'd prefer to not be fodder for the tabloids, thank you very much. But, being something of a public figure myself, I can't really escape it.
“Carter,” Shannon says as she steps up to embrace me. “So good to see you. Thank you for coming.”
“As if I would miss it,” I reply, though I'd wish I could have done just that. “And let me say, I'm honored to be receiving your award. It's very humbling. Thank you.”
I give her a hug and a smile. Shannon is the director of the Sheldonhurst Foundation – the group responsible for putting on this little party and giving me an award I don't feel like I really deserve.
“No one is more deserving of the honor,” she says. “You've done so much for these kids.”
I shrug. “I was there once,” I say. “I know what it's like.”
Audrey looks at me, an uncertain smile on her face. “Award?” she asks.
Shannon turns to her and takes Audrey's hands in her own. “You are stunning, dear,” she says. “Truly stunning.”
Audrey gives her a condescending smile that says she already knows she's gorgeous.
Her attitude is a huge turn-off. I’ve taken Audrey to a few public events, and it seems like tonight will be the last. Sometimes, if feels like I’m destined to live my life without ever finding someone to really connect with. A woman who lights up everything inside of me. I had her once. Or, I thought I did. And stupidly, I gave her up. Not that I had much choice. I was put into an impossible position and forced to decide between two people I cared about. I made my choice, and I've lived with it ever since. I snap back to reality as Audrey simpers at Shannon.
“Thank you,” Audrey replies. “What award is Carter receiving tonight?”
Shannon's eyes widen, a look of surprise on her face. “Oh, he didn't tell you?” she asks.
“Carter is receiving the Sheldonhurst Seal tonight,” she says. “It's our highest honor, and it's given to those who have made a transformative change to the community.”
Audrey looks at me, the light of surprise in her eyes. “Oh, really?” she asks. “And what sort of transformative change has he made?”
Shannon looks from Audrey to me, perhaps realizing for the first time how little I've shared of my life with my date. A little color blooms in her cheeks, realizing that she has perhaps, overstepped her bounds. I don't fault Shannon for it. How would she know?
“I didn't really do anything,” I say. “I wrote a few checks. Honestly, I don't feel worthy of such an honor. The Sheldonhurst Foundation does the real work.”
Shannon quickly recovers and smiles graciously at me. “Well, thank you for saying so,” she says. “But, without generous benefactors like you, we wouldn't even be in operation. Your contributions to our efforts make you more than worthy.”
“Thank you for saying so,” I say.
She kisses me on the cheek and motions us toward the door. “Go, go,” she says. “There are refreshments inside. Go and enjoy yourselves.”
Audrey takes my arm and we walk inside a gallery that's stuffed with people. On the stage is a string quartet, playing soft classical holiday music that can barely be heard over the thunderous buzz of conversation.
The gallery is decorated for Christmas and makes the explosion of holiday cheer in my own offices look like child's play. The Sheldonhurst Foundation went all out, as they always do. In the main atrium, there’s a tree almost as large as the one in Rockefeller Center adorned with lights, ribbons, and tasteful ornaments.
A waiter stops before us bearing a tray with champagne. I hand a flute to Audrey and take one for myself. Drinks in hand, I guide her over to one of the displays that showcase some of the work that will be up for grabs in the silent auction later. She looks at it for all of two seconds before growing bored, her gaze drifting aimlessly around the hall.
The Sheldonhurst Foundation is dedicated to improving the lives of the underprivileged in New York. They have a ton of different programs that span a wide range of things, all aimed at bettering the lives of those in need, and fostering a love of education, as well as the arts.
The program I'm directly involved in is the Ravere Group. The Ravere Group identifies promising young artists across a variety of mediums. The Group works with these underprivileged kids, honing and shaping their craft. The best of the best receive admission to one of the most prestigious art schools in the country. The competition is always fierce and produces some truly inspiring works.
But more than anything, the mission of the Ravere Group is to provide hope to kids who might not get it otherwise. It gives them a place to belong while nourishing the creativity and passion within them.
When I first heard about the Ravere Group, I was immediately drawn to it. I began donating and working with them without even stopping to wonder why. Over the years, I realized it's because I identify so strongly with the kids in the program. I was just like them once. I know firsthand what they're going through. It’s
my way of giving back and giving somebody the
same chance that was given to me.
On another level though, my interest in the Ravere Group stems from her. The one who got away. Darby opened up my heart and my mind all those years ago, and it’s because of her I developed an appreciation for art. It's because of her, I began studying it a bit, and collecting pieces here and there.
Oh, I'm still an artistic moron compared to most people. But, because of Darby, I began to see the beauty in the world around me and realized that art can really frame and encompass it.
I guide Audrey to the showcase displaying the photography. As much as I enjoy a painting, something about photography speaks to me more than any other art form.
The pieces in the showcase are amazing. I admire the work in silence for several long moments, taking in all the details. I look over at Audrey, who's looking away, obviously bored out of her mind. I let out a long, frustrated sigh, wishing I could share my awe with somebody who would appreciate it. Wishing I had somebody to talk to about it.
I make a mental note of the pieces I'm going to bid on, and then we move on, Audrey looking more than happy to do so. She's here to be seen – on my arm, no less – and nothing more. And it irritates me. Not that I really want to be here either, but at least I'm here because I actually believe in the mission of the Foundation, and not just because I want my face in the tabloids, pretending to want to genuinely better people's lives, but secretly, don't really give a shit.
I drain the last of my champagne and set the glass on the tray of a waiter who's passing by. Audrey's glass is still mostly full. Her face lights up and she lets out a shrill squeal when she sees somebody she knows. The two women embrace like old friends. I recognize the woman but can't quite place her. Probably some high-end model or B-list actress or something similar.
Audrey and her friend quickly launch into a conversation filled with nothing but gossip, basically forgetting I'm standing there. I roll my eyes and touch Audrey on the shoulder. She looks up at me, annoyed that I interrupted her.