“If you’re gonna fall, be sure to fall on your left side. You don’t wanna mess up your ink and get it infected.”
Brandon looked incredulous. “Thanks for the encouragement.” Brandon stopped. “Which one of us do you think is older? I think it’s me.”
“Then you’ll be in for a letdown because I can tell that you’re my little brother.”
Brash was playing it cool, but was actually a little apprehensive about the first bike ride, and not just because he was worried about the bike. While he tried to make light, beginner accidents weren’t that unusual, even on straightaways where shifting wasn’t such a big issue. But Brandon figured it out.
In fact he figured it out so well that, twenty minutes later, Brash was ready to get in his pickup and go looking. He’d climbed into the passenger seat when he heard the distant roar of an American-made motorcycle and smiled to himself. At that point he would have taken bets that his brother would never again be happy spending his entire life in enclosed vehicles.
Everyday Brash worked on adding g’s to verbs ending in -ing. Brandon worked on drawing out his vowel sounds and dropping his g’s from verbs ending in -ing. Spending so much time together helped. Hearing each other speak, their dialects morphed into a sort of amalgamation, which would make it easier to imitate the other.
They quizzed each other relentlessly.
Finally it was hair time.
“It’s not going to hurt nearly as bad as needle torture,” Brandon said as they stood on the sidewalk outside Bliss and Bang Bang. “Come on.”
Every head turned and stared when they stepped inside. And not just because they weren’t local. “You have a new stylist from L.A.?”
The hostess smiled brightly. “Yes, we do. Her name is Esmerelda. Do you want an appointment?”
“Uh, does she take walk-ins? We’re staying quite a way from town.”
They looked around at people receiving services. One had tinfoil in her hair, one was being blown dry, and one was getting a cut.
“Just a minute.” She walked back to the stylist who’d been wielding the blow dryer like a weapon, spoke to her, and pointed toward the front where Brash and Brandon waited.
The stylist was a young woman in black; black hair and black clothes, with pale skin and eyes so dark they were almost black. If her lipstick hadn’t been light pink, she could have passed for latent Goth. She looked toward Brash and Brandon then nodded to the receptionist and said something they couldn’t hear.
On return they were told that, “As you can see she’s with someone, but her eleven o’clock cancelled. So she can take you if it’s something simple.”
“Need a haircut for my brother. Would that be something simple?”
She looked at Brash. “Yes, but what a shame to cut off that beautiful hair.”
“That’s what I keep sayin’,” grumbled Brash.
“But she’s going to need to do both of us because we need to leave here looking the same.”
The receptionist smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ll handle it.”
Fifteen minutes later, Esmerelda had the two brothers in chairs side by side. “Give me a trim and then make him look exactly like me.”
She looked between them and said, “Just when I think I’ve seen it all.”
She grabbed hold of Brash’s hair, then smiled at him in the mirror. “This really is beautiful. You know that?” Brash was feeling too traumatized to do anything but nod. She laughed. “Don’t worry, lover. It’s not like he’s ugly.” She moved her head in Brandon’s direction. “Here we go.”
Two hours later they were back at their mountain lodge. They stood together in front of the bathroom mirror verifying that they could pass for each other.
“I think your ears are bigger,” Brash said.
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“I feel ridiculous.”
“I don’t want to hear it. On Sunday you’re going to walk out of here wearing a forty-seven thousand dollar Brioni Vanquish suit with tats showing beneath your cufflinks.”
Brash just blinked. “There’s not really any such thing as a forty-seven thousand dollar suit.”
“Yes. There is. And I have a whole closet full of them. You need to expand your thinking.”
“Yeah? And you’d better rein it in because the most expensive article of clothing I own is the SSMC cut . ‘Bout two hundred dollars. Retail.”
The next morning they dressed in each other’s clothes, traded phones and ID’s, and gave each other a man hug. Both were anxiety walking, but neither would admit that to the other.
“You gonna have trouble explainin’ the haircut?” Brash asked.
“No. I’m gonna tell ‘em that I decided to be a man. What are you gonna say about the tattoos?”
“I got drunk and, once the damage was done, I had to go a lot further to make it look like it’s what I intended.” Brandon frowned. “No? You don’t like that one? How about this? I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. Finally decided to go for it.”
Brandon shrugged. “Okay. Watch your g’s.”
“You do the same. Don’t get comfortable. That’s when mistakes happen.”
Chapter 5
It wasn’t as easy to appear nonchalant about private jets and gourmet service as it sounded like it would be, but Brash concentrated on looking as casual about it as if it was an everyday experience.
Brandon’s driver was waiting when the plane landed. Brash recognized the car from his brother’s description and the driver from the photo.
“Welcome home, sir.”
“Thanks, Charles. It’s good to be back.”
As they drove into the city, Brash tried to take it all in without looking too curious. When they stopped at his building, he recognized the doorman from the photo Brandon had brought to the mountains. He waited for Charles to open his door.
“Will you need the car in the morning, sir?”
“No. I think I’ll walk.” Brandon had told Brash that he walked the four blocks to work whenever the weather allowed, but not to be fooled by the number ‘four’ because east/west blocks were much longer than a typical city block. He’d given very specific directions, beginning with, “Turn right when you exit the building.” Brash had memorized the map because reading directions would give rise for suspicion if someone who knew Brandon saw him on the street.
They had talked about what to do in case of a random encounter with someone who knew them, but was outside the catalog of usual suspects. They’d decided they’d just wing it, just as people do when encountering a stranger at a party who has memory of a prior meeting.
Brash smiled at the doorman in greeting.
“Nice evening, Mr. St. Germaine.”
“It is, Jimmy. Shame I’ll be spending the rest indoors.”
Jimmy had rosy cheeks and a jovial nature. “Good night to you then.”
Brash nodded. “Good night.”
The lobby’s grand post WWII architecture was solid and impressive. The result was a euphoric feeling of permanence and well-being.
He made his way to the elevator and put in the key that would access the top floor. The elevator opened into a large foyer, large, that is, for New York, where real estate is sold by the square inch.
Brash flipped on some lights and whistled when he stepped into the living room. Beyond the Steinway studio grand was a view of the east side from across Central Park. He wandered around the penthouse and decided that it was about the size of the entire club house. Maybe bigger.
He smiled when he opened the refrigerator. Brandon had told him that the housekeeper kept it stocked with food ready to eat for when he didn’t want to cook or go out or order in. True to his word, there was a variety of fresh, microwaveable meals. He smiled even bigger when he opened a cabinet to find an entire shelf of every sort of gourmet peanut imaginable.
His self-guided tour ended with the master bedroom, which was decorated in peaceful but masculine shades of brown and olive green. Whe
n he opened the door of Brandon’s closet, he barked out a laugh even though no one was around to hear. It was bigger than the entire room that was his home at the SSMC.
The walls were lined with closed glass-front California cubbies sporting stainless steel rods and polished wood hangers. The island in the middle was easily ten feet long with drawers on all sides. The wall at the far end was mirrored above the bench seating, which was covered with brown tufted suede.
After exploring, he found a pair of soft jeans and a gray tee shirt, then padded back to the kitchen barefoot. He turned on the kitchen TV and watched the news while he sat at the bar and ate by himself. Afterward he looked around and decided that, since there was nothing to do, he’d go to bed early. After all, he needed to be on his game the next day. It’s not every day a guy meets his mom.
He climbed into bed and mentally rehearsed what he was going to do the next morning. He knew the way to walk to work. He knew how to get to his office. He knew to ask his assistant for his schedule. After that, he was pretty much on his own. He wasn’t worried about people knowing he wasn’t Brandon. He was worried about his behavior appearing to be unusual.
As he lay awake in bed, he couldn’t help thinking the quiet was disturbing, as was the knowledge that he was alone. When he was growing up, there were always people around. His grandmother. His aunt. His cousins. Members of the club. After he and his pop had moved to the club, there were even more people around.
Living completely alone was just… strange.
At around ten Garland poked her head into Brandon’s office. “You taking me to church on Sunday?”
Brash froze at the emotional impact of being in the same room with his mother for the first time. He took her in. Her face, her voice, her manner. She squinted like she didn’t understand why he was hesitating to answer.
He cleared his throat. “Don’t I always?”
She scoffed. “No. You certainly do not! And you know it.”
“Well, this Sunday I’m all yours.” He felt his chest tighten as he said that. “In fact, I’ve been thinking we haven’t been spending enough time together. How about lunch?”
“When? Today?” She looked shocked.
“Just you and me.” She opened her mouth to respond, but he went on with enthusiasm. “And dinner. Dinner, too.”
Garland narrowed her eyes. “What’s the matter with you, Brandon? Since when have you been interested in more one-on-one time with your old mom?”
“Since I realized that I only have the one mom.”
She studied him at length. “Are you feeling well? Has something happened?”
He chuckled softly as he got up and walked around his desk. When he got close to her, he picked up the scent of lavender and thought it was marvelous.
“Come on. What could be more important than time together?”
“Well, that’s true, but…”
“We’ll do Mexican.”
She smiled. “Then how can I say no?” She looked at her watch. “Can you do one o’clock?”
“I can do anything I want.”
“That’s certainly not what Alice would say.” Garland turned and walked to Alice’s work station in the expanded outer office. “Alice, is my son free for lunch?”
“No, ma’am. He’s supposed to meet with the Divetech Marine people.”
“Shit,” said Brash.
Garland and Alice both turned and looked at him like he’d farted.
“Uh, Alice. Can you get me out of that?”
Alice blinked twice. “They’ve come from Houston to get this meeting with you.” She looked at her watch. “In ten minutes.”
Brash opened his mouth, but thought better of what he’d been about to say.
“Mom. I’m sorry. Can we do dinner instead?”
“Of course, darling. Call me when you’re on the way and I’ll be ready to go.” She started to turn, but her eyes drifted down to his sleeve and flew open wide. “What is that?”
He glanced down. “Oh, the ink?”
She looked up at him. “The ink? That’s all you have to say? The ink? Good heavens, Brandon. What have you done?”
“It’s just a tattoo, Mom. Not exactly unusual these days.”
“Well, it’s unusual for you!”
“Not anymore.”
“Honestly. The world is going crazy.”
“That’s what I hear.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tonight.”
“Good. See you then.”
She turned back. “Did it hurt?”
He smiled. “Not at all.”
“Alright. Later.”
He watched her walk away gracefully, like she was an athlete, or had been.
“Alice, can you come in?”
She followed Brash into Brandon’s huge ass office overlooking the Hudson.
“What’s the nicest Mexican food restaurant in town?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you find out?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay. And make us a reservation for six thirty.”
“Six thirty?” She seemed surprised.
“Is there something wrong with six thirty?”
“Well, no. It’s just that it’s awfully early for dinner.”
“I was hoping to have extra time with my mother tonight. Find us a nice Mexican restaurant near a place where we can go for drinks first.”
Alice smiled. “Alright.”
“Oh. And ask my driver to pick me up at… I guess you need to tell me that after you find the best Mexican.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where did you say I’m supposed to be for lunch?”
Her body turned slightly as her eyes wandered toward the hall. “In the conference room, sir. Lunch is being catered.”
“Oh. That’s right. What else absolutely has to be done today?”
“It’s, uh, all on your computer. Like always.” Brash just looked at her. “Would you like me to pull it up for you?”
“Yes, please. I, uh, cut my finger cutting a green pepper.”
She glanced down at his hand. He put his hand in his pocket.
In less than two seconds Alice had Brandon’s schedule on the computer screen in front of Brash.
“There you go. Sorry about your finger.”
“It will be fine. Let me know about the plans for tonight.”
“I will.”
After Alice closed the door, Brash sat down and looked at his schedule then at his watch. He had an afternoon meeting with Uncle Adlay. He had no idea about what. Adlay was actually his great-uncle, his grandfather’s brother, but Brandon had always called him uncle.
The phone buzzed. “Do you want to accept a call from Pan Asia?”
“Don’t I have a meeting in a few minutes?”
“If you’re still on the phone, I will get them coffee and let them know.”
“Yes, then. I’ll take the call.”
“Line two.”
Before he picked up the phone, he reminded himself of what Brandon had said over and over. That he couldn’t lose all the St. Germaine money even if he tried.
“St. Germaine speaking.”
The call posed no problem. Pan Asia wanted to know if Germane Enterprises was open to acquisition. The answer to a question like that is always yes. So he had Alice set up a meeting that Brandon would take, whether he wanted to or not.
Luckily, Uncle Adlay came to him so that he didn’t have to wander around the building pretending to know where he was going.
“Brandon. Welcome back. Did you enjoy your time away?”
“I did.”
“What did you do?”
“Trout fishing in Colorado.”
“For a month? I never knew you liked that sort of thing. Well, you must feel like a new man.”
Brash smiled. “You have no idea.”
“I wanted to run something by you. The lobby is reporting that the senator from Louisiana might be on board with drilling expansion, but he seems
to be dragging his feet. I was thinking about offering his wife a position on the Grane Corp board.”
“Grane Corp? What does their board get?”
“Usual perks. A hundred thousand annually, quarterly meetings.”
Brash stared at his uncle for a moment while he let that sink in. A hundred thousand dollars for attending four meetings a year. “Not unless he promises to deliver first.”
“Very well. Also, the lead engineer on the South China Sea project is pressing for an answer. Do you want to give him a green light?”
“No. Too risky. The region is volatile right now.”
Brash figured he could get away with saying that, because it made him sound like he had some kind of insider information. If Brandon wanted something done in the South China Sea, he could send the engineer back later.
“Very wise,” Adlay said as he got up to leave. “I’m glad you’re back. I’ve gotten used to having you make the tough calls.”
“Anything else I need to know about?”
“I was trying to be kind and let you settle back in. But I have a list and Alice has put me on the schedule for tomorrow.”
“Okay. I’ll wear a helmet.”
Adlay laughed. “Door open or closed.”
“Closed,” he said as he reached for a handful of Brandon’s peanuts.
Alice arranged to have Brandon’s car pick him up at six to stop by Garland’s first, then drop them at Harry’s for drinks. When the car stopped in front of Garland’s building, Brash got out on his own.
He nodded at Garland’s doorman, who said, “Good evening, Mr. St. Germaine. Your mother is in.”
Brash walked through the door and stopped at the security/conceierge desk. “Can you call Ms. St. Germaine for me?”
“Sure. You don’t want to go on up?” asked the uniformed guard.
Brash felt a moment of panic. If Brandon had told him their mother’s apartment number, he’d forgotten it.
Two Princes: The Biker and The Billionaire Page 19