My Billionaire Protector

by R. R. Banks

  There are scattered gasps and quiet exclamations around the room. I can see why Darby is so attached to her kids. Even just this small, miniscule ray of hope I'm shining into the room is giving them a life and energy that can't be denied. It makes me feel good to be able to do that.

  “Anyway,” I say. “As budding young artists, I know that you need proper tools and supplies to put your best foot forward. So, it was with that in mind, that I have reached an agreement with your school district to make sure you all have what you need to be successful.”

  I step to the doorway and motion for the man to come forward. It's a tight squeeze, but he's able to work the pallet through the wide doorway, rolling it to a stop next to Darby's desk. There are gasps from the students as they eyeball the mountain of supplies in front of them.

  “Obviously, not being an expert in art, I don't know everything you all need,” I say. “Which is why it's going to be important for you all to communicate with Ms. White. Tell her what you need to be successful, and I'll make sure you have whatever you need.”

  There's a ripple of excitement that runs through the students and I can tell they want to get to the boxes and see what's inside.

  “One last thing,” I say. “Competition to get into the Ravere program is tough. I'm not going to lie, it's highly competitive. So, when I tell you to make sure you're putting your best foot forward, you need to take me seriously. Make sure you're putting all of your heart and soul into your work.”

  I give Darby a small smile and step aside as the kids immediately rush over to the pallet. Darby wades into the pack, trying to keep it controlled and orderly. Good luck with that. I laugh and feel warm inside as I see genuine happiness and excitement on the faces of the students.

  It's like Christmas has come early, and I'm playing the role of Santa Claus. It's a strange feeling really. As I watch the kids gushing over the supplies, chattering away with each other excitedly, I can honestly say, this is the first positive experience I've ever associated with Christmas. It feels strange, and yet, it feels really good.

  “Hey.”

  I turn and see a tall kid with russet-colored skin and a mop of shaggy, dark hair staring back at me.

  “Hey yourself,” I say.

  “Emilio,” he says.

  “Nice to meet you, Emilio.”

  “You Ms. W's boyfriend?”

  I look at Darby, relishing the wide, genuine smile on her face. She's talking excitedly with the students, and is busy passing out materials.

  “I honestly don't know what you'd call us at this point,” I say.

  He nods. “You want to be though, right?”

  I look at him and I can tell, by the look in his eye, that he's got a fierce crush on Darby. Not that I can blame the kid.

  “Is it that obvious?” I ask.

  “Dude, I can practically see the cartoon hearts floating over your head.”

  I laugh and opt to avoid pointing out the cartoon hearts floating over his own head. I like this kid. He's got spunk – and excellent taste in women.

  “Yeah, I imagine you can.”

  “One thing though,” he says, his voice and expression turning serious. “You hurt her, I'll kick your ass. You feel me?”

  I really like this kid.

  “Yeah, I feel you, man.”

  Darby comes over, and Emilio's face flushes before he scampers away, and joins his classmates at the pallet. She looks from the kids, then to me, a warm smile on her face. She's absolutely radiant, and my breath catches in my throat simply looking at her. There has never been a more beautiful woman in my eyes, and I know there never will be. Darby is everything to me.

  “Emilio there has a pretty serious crush,” I say.

  She smiles. “He's a good kid,” she replies. “Very talented artist.”

  “Said he'll kick my ass if I hurt you.”

  “You should probably believe him,” she says, that small smile making her eyes sparkle.

  “Oh, I absolutely do.”

  “And here I thought you hated the holidays,” she says.

  “I do.”

  “Yeah, you've told me. Many, many times,” she replies. “And yet, here you are playing Santa to all these kids.”

  “It's just a few art supplies,” I reply.

  “It's a bit more than that,” she says. “And I think you know it.”

  I shrug. “I admire what you do, Darby,” I say. “And I don't want to see classes like yours disappear. The world needs more, not less, beauty in it. You taught me that.”

  She gives me a long, even look. “So, this isn't just a ploy to get in my pants again?”

  “Absolutely not. This is all sincere,” I say. “But, if you're suddenly feeling so grateful that you can't help but tear your clothes off, and –”

  “Hey,” she says, and laughs. “Not here. And even though I'm profoundly grateful, this isn't the way into my pants.”

  “I know that,” I say. “Like I told you, I believe in what you're doing. That's the only reason I did it. I honestly expect nothing in return.”

  “Just spreading a little Christmas cheer, huh?”

  I shrug. “Yeah, something like that, I suppose.”

  “Huh,” she replies. “Will wonders never cease?”

  I stare into her eyes, holding her gaze tight. “I certainly hope not.”

  * * *

  “I don't know what to say, Carter,” she says.

  “You don't have to say anything,” I reply.

  We're walking across the parking lot to my car after school has let out for the day. She agreed to a late lunch date with me, so we could talk.

  “Why?” she asks. “Why do this?”

  “Do I need a reason?”

  “Honestly, tell me. Is this some scheme you've cooked up to get back into my good graces?” she asks. “I'd rather have the truth now, than find out later.”

  “Seriously, Darby, what kind of an asshole do you think I am?” I ask. “Do you really think I'd leverage the happiness of kids to get back into your good graces?”

  She thinks about it for a moment. “Hm… Probably not.”

  “Probably not?” I ask. “Gee, thanks for that vote of confidence in my character and integrity.”

  “I'm just being up front with you,” she says. “If this is some ploy –”

  “It’s really not,” I reply. “But yes, I did do this for you, in a way. But I did it because I see how devoted you are to your students. And there is some major league talent in that room. I wasn't kidding when I said I wanted to advance a candidacy to Ravere for some of them.”

  We stop at the edge of the parking lot. Roger stands next to the car, waiting for us. She turns to me, her eyes fixed on mine, a sheepish look on her face.

  “I – I was going to call you –” she starts.

  I wave her off. “Don't worry about it,” I say. “I know you're conflicted. I know there's a lot going on in your head and in your heart. There is in mine too. I just hoped that after the other night, that maybe – maybe, that connection between us was starting to be re-established. I know I felt it. Big time.”

  “I felt it too, Carter,” she says softly. “And that's why it scares the hell out of me. That's why I ran.”

  “Why does it scare you?” I ask.

  She gives me a look that says the answer should be more than obvious. “Really?”

  I chuckle and look down at the ground for a moment. “Yeah, that’s a stupid question,” I say. “Listen though, I'm not going anywhere. I fucked up back then, Darby. I hurt you and I'm an asshole for it. I'm not hiding from it. I only want a chance to set things right with you. There's been a big Darby-shaped hole in my heart for the last decade, and I want to fill it.”

  She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Judging by what the tabloids say, you've been filling plenty of holes over the last ten years.”

  I laugh. “I can't believe you read that shit.”

  “I don't,” she says. “It's hard to avoid hearing things in this
day and age though.”

  “Yeah, well, don't believe everything you read on Twitter.”

  She laughs as I escort her to the car.

  “Nice to see you again, Ms. White,” Roger says.

  “Nice to see you again as well, Roger.”

  We slide into the car and Roger shuts us in, sliding behind the wheel a moment later.

  “Where to, Mr. Bishop?”

  I look at Darby and smile. “How about Dino's?”

  Her smile is all I need to see to know I picked the right place.

  “Dino's it is.”

  Roger pilots us through the city and drops us off in front of Dino's Deli. It's been an institution in Hell's Kitchen for as long as I can remember. It's a place I loved growing up – and one of the only places I think has survived the hipster tsunami that's changed the hell out of the neighborhood. Back in the day, Darby and I shared a few meals there, but I don't think she's been back since.

  We walk into the deli and I inhale deeply, savoring the aromas floating out of the kitchen. Yeah, it's been way too long. Like everything else, everywhere, Dino's hasn't escaped the plague of holiday cheer. Ornaments, tinsel, and garland are strung up everywhere, along with a tree that looks like it's seen better days, and holiday music is playing on an old, beat-up sound system.

  “Well, look what the fuckin' cat dragged in,” a voice says.

  Wearing a Santa hat that's stained and beat up, Eddie stands behind the counter, wiping his hand on a rag, smiling wide at us. Eddie is Dino's son and took over the deli after his father passed. Thankfully, the quality of the food hasn't changed one bit. On the walls are scores of photos of celebrities, and New York luminaries who've patronized the place over the decades it's been open.

  “Eddie, how are you, man?” I ask. “How are the wife and kids?”

  “Drivin' me fuckin' crazy,” he says.

  “So, not much has changed.”

  “Hell no,” he laughs. “Wouldn't have it any other way.”

  “This is Darby –”

  “Yeah, I remember her,” he says. “You two used to come in together a while back. Good to see you again, doll.”

  Darby laughs and gives him a wide smile, clearly not buying the idea that Eddie remembers her, and is simply patronizing her. I could have told her different, but I figured I'd let it play out. If nothing else, it'll be good for a laugh.

  “You obviously have a good memory,” she says.

  “Like a steel fuckin' trap,” he says.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You doubt me?” he asks.

  “It was a long time ago,” she says.

  “Watch this,” he says and studies her face for a long moment. “Beef brisket on rye, light horseradish, swiss cheese, two pickles, and one pickled egg.”

  Darby's eyes widen, and the shock is clearly painted upon her face. She knows he's right, because that was the only thing she used to order. At the time, she argued that she found something she liked and there was no reason to change it. She’s always been somewhat of a creature of habit.

  She looks at me, and then turns back to Eddie, who's giving her a grin. I could have told her he'd remember – he remembers the smallest details when it comes to his regular customers. Always has. It's one thing people love about Dino's – you don't get this kind of personal attention anywhere else.

  “Boom,” he says and taps his head. “Steel trap.”

  I laugh and give him a high-five while Darby continues to stare at him with her mouth hanging open, standing there in stunned disbelief.

  “Go ahead and take a seat anywhere,” Eddie says. “I assume we're doin' our regular stuff?”

  “Absolutely,” I say.

  “I'll bring it out to you then.”

  “Thanks, Eddie.”

  Darby is still looking a little shell-shocked as we take a seat in a booth near the window.

  “I can't believe he remembered that,” she says. “That was ten years ago.”

  I laugh. “Eddie's good at what he does,” I say. “He knows how to take care of his regulars.”

  “Obviously,” she says. “I'm impressed. Shocked, but impressed.”

  We make small talk, falling into an old, familiar pattern of comfortable conversation, as we wait for Eddie to bring out our food. One of his waitresses drops off a couple of lemonades for us. A few minutes later, he drops off our food, and when he thinks Darby isn't looking, gives me a sly wink and a nod, obviously giving me his seal of approval. Eddie chuckles to himself as he walks away, and I see Darby's cheeks blush. She obviously didn't miss it. Not that I'm surprised. She doesn't miss much.

  We dig into our food, the conversation light and fun. Any residual awkwardness from before has faded, and it really does feel like old times. Eventually, the meal comes to an end, but I'm hoping to draw out our time together for a while longer. I'm not ready to say goodbye to her just yet. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to be in a very big rush either.

  “Tell me something,” she says.

  “Anything.”

  “Back in the day, I knew you hated Christmas and all, but you never told me why,” she says. “I mean, I figured you'd tell me eventually, but you never got around to it, and I didn't want to press, since it wasn't really my business. But, I'm curious about why you turn into such a Scrooge this time of year.”

  I chuckle. “Honestly, I've never had a good Christmas,” I say. “Nothing but bad associations with it, so I just choose to ignore it.”

  “Tell me,” she says.

  I tell her the whole story – from my childhood up to my time at the home, and everything in between.

  “Pops tried to get me to warm up to Christmas, but by that point, I was pretty done with it, so it never really stuck. I put on a front, and tried to fake it for his sake, but I can't say I ever really enjoyed it.”

  “That's really sad, Carter,” she says.

  I shrug. “It is what it is,” I say. “No big. Just another day.”

  “But, it's not,” she says. “Clearly, we need to give you some positive associations with Christmas. Everybody should enjoy this time of year.”

  I laugh. “Good luck with that.”

  She gives me a long, level look. “I can be just as much of a stubborn ass as you, you know.”

  “Don't I know it,” I respond.

  There's a long silence between us. We simply stare into one another's eyes. And in that space between us, it feels like so much is being left unsaid. So much we both want to say. So many feelings we want to express. It's a silence filled with expectation, and – something more. What that something more is, I have no clue. I can just feel it.

  “Hey, I want to show you something,” I finally say, breaking the silence.

  “What is it?”

  “Just – come with me.”

  We slide out of the booth, and I drop some money on the table.

  “Hey, your money ain't no good here,” Eddie calls.

  “Shut it,” I call back. “Thanks, Eddie. It was amazing as always.”

  “Every bit as good as I remember,” Darby says.

  Eddie gives us a smile. “Good seein' you two together again. Makes it feel like old times up in here,” he says. “Don't be strangers, now.”

  “You have my word, man.”

  I hold the door open for Darby and we step out onto the sidewalk. The light of the day is bleeding away, and dusk is washing in. Roger stands by the car, playing on his phone. He looks up and starts to put it away, but I motion for him to relax.

  “Give us a few,” I say. “We're gonna take a walk around the corner.”

  “Very good, Mr. Bishop,” he says. “I'll wait right here.”

  I nod. “Good. We'll be back.”

  Darby slips her arm through mine as we walk. It still blows me away how much has changed over the last ten years. Hell's Kitchen used to be a dirty, rough neighborhood. Nowadays, it's a lot more upscale and refined. It's cleaner, and more family-friendly. It's been redeveloped to hell and back, as t
he city is looking to attract more high-end shops – and tenants – to the area.

  It's nice, don't get me wrong. The bad elements have more or less been driven out, but now it’s lacking the character and soul that made the Kitchen unique. At least, in my opinion.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asks.

  We turn a corner and I point to the building across the street. “Recognize that?”

  She looks at it for a moment and then smiles. “I thought they were tearing it down?”

  “They were going to,” I say. “I bought it, had it renovated, and kept it open. Though, I did insist they install some educational and vocational programs. Instead of just warehousing these kids, I want them at least prepared for when they get back out into the world.”

  We're standing on the curb across the street from St. Agatha's. The city was set to demolish the building and move the home elsewhere – probably to some equally rundown, derelict part of the city. When I heard about it, I couldn't let it happen. Call me crazy, but I still feel a strong sense of attachment to the place. I don't know why. It's not like I was ever really all that happy there. Yet, it was important to me and seeing it up and running just feels – right.

  The building is a lot more modern and better equipped now. The local church still retains the administration of the building, I just happen to be the landlord. Though, I charge them a pittance on the place. The money isn't important to me. Making sure it stays open, and these kids have somewhere they can go and feel safe, is what's important.

  The exterior of the home is decorated for Christmas. The nuns all make a big deal of it now, and I make sure to maintain a fund that allows them to give the kids a proper holiday. No more socks and underwear. I have shoppers who go and purchase gifts for the kids being housed at St. Aggie's, put on a big, fancy spread, and make sure they all have a great Christmas.

  Just because I'm a Scrooge, doesn't mean they have to be. Those kids are in a shit situation and deserve to have something nice done for them as often as possible.

  “Why did you buy it?” Darby asks. “Why keep it open?”

  I run my hand along the stubble on my jawline. “Crazy, right?” I ask. “It took me a long time to figure it out myself, to be honest.”