“Do I ever get to read yours?” Neal asked innocently.
George gave him a knowing smile. “You ask me that every year.”
“And every year you refuse me.”
“Exactly,” George winked at him. “Take the hint, little brother.”
Neal rolled his eyes, but dropped the subject. Somehow, Neal had come up with the reasoning that there was something in George’s letter that would help him make better sense of his own. His father was trying to tell him something, Neal knew that, but he had been so subtle about it, that his meaning was lost.
He could have been annoyed with George about his constant refusal, but he was too good a brother. Always supportive, even in disapproval. Always generous, even when Neal wasn’t deserving of it, and never judgmental, even though judgment was justified.
“How are things with Mallory?” Neal asked, in an attempt to show George that there were no hard feelings.
George gave a heavy sigh. “We broke up.”
Neal raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Since when?”
“Since she tried to get me to buy her an Aston Martin.”
“Seriously?” Neal asked incredulously.
“Yup,” George replied.
“Well,” Neal said teasingly, “can’t say I’m surprised.”
“Meaning what?”
“Well, she was a model,” Neal said with a wicked smile directed at his brother. “I always wondered what she was doing with you.”
George landed a punch on Neal’s arm in retribution, but he laughed lightly.
“A sentiment I share about every single woman who has ever dated you,” George said, returning fire.
Neal winked. “I pay them well.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
The brothers fell into an easy silence, each resigned to his own thoughts. George had had few girlfriends over the years, his schedule didn’t permit much personal time. Neal, on the other hand, had gone through several women in the last few years, many of whom were simply ships in the night, ones he barely remembered when morning came. It didn’t matter to Neal. He wasn’t looking for a woman. He had his brother, and that was all the companionship he needed.
*
The room was lit up like the fourth of July. Neal was aware that he was being watched, but he was used to this sort of thing. People may look at him a little more than was comfortable, but they walked right up to George and started conversations. That was what Neal really wanted to avoid. He veered expertly through the growing crowd, the flashing lights from the crystal chandeliers were already starting to give him a headache.
He would have liked to spend these parties with his brother so that they could walk around together, laughing at what people wore and passing jokes between them to pass the time. That was just a childish dream he had nursed since the first time he had been called upon to attend one of these events.
He had never once spent a business party with his brother. George attracted too much attention as the president of the company and Neal hated small talk. What was worse than the small talk was when people started talking business. They assumed that being a member of the board and the elusive second Hargrove brother, he would be as intimately involved in the company’s business dealings as George was. He had to stand there, with a knowing expression on his face and nod along as though he understood what they were saying.
Apart from the other board members, Neal knew few others at these parties. He felt more comfortable talking to the waiters than he did to the guests. He saw George some distance away, a champagne glass in hand, looking particularly debonair in his tuxedo. A small group of men and women, who seemed to be hanging on his every word, surrounded him.
Neal sidled behind one of the large Doric columns of the ballroom, and watched the open floor. He was always amazed at how people twice his age could look at George with so much respect. He knew that their respect was justified. George had been only twenty-six when their father died, leaving him to run a huge company. He had a lot of help from the board, particularly Cliff Stanley, but he had risen to the challenge with a perseverance and a determination that was not common among very many men in their twenties.
George sacrificed the remainder of his twenties to keeping the business successful. The company was forefront in his mind and anything else was relegated to the back. Neal knew that he would never have had the courage to do what George had accomplished.
He was too selfish and too unfocused to ever pick a project and stick to it. He pondered at the differences between himself and his brother. They were so different in personality and character, but you could never tell from looking at them. They were so similar; even as young boys, they might have been mistaken for twins had it not been for the obvious age difference that separated them.
Both were tall and lean, both had hazel eyes and strawberry blonde hair. They shared the same square jaw, thick eyebrows and thin upper lip. A few differences set the two brothers apart. George’s nose was straight, while Neal’s nose was slightly crooked in the middle – a result of his first and last sports injury. George, at six feet, was an inch taller than his younger brother, who was constantly aware of that missing inch, and while George liked to keep a neat layer of stubble hiding his jaw line, Neal preferred to be clean-shaven.
Neal leaned back on the pillar he stood behind, his head resting against it, wondering how long it would take for this night to be finished. He fidgeted with the lapels of his expertly tailored Armani suit, and cast observing glances at the wait staff.
He was disappointed to find that they were mostly men. The few waitresses he did glimpse were stony faced and morose. He moved out from behind the pillar and walked along the sidelines, picking at the passing hors d’oeuvres on the circular trays that the waiters carried. A few people caught his eye and smiled but he gave them cursory nods and moved past without stopping.
He moved slowly into the center of the room, where a large and dramatic sculpture stood. He had actually attended the board meeting in which this event had been planned, and Neal remembered now that there had been some discussion about a sculpture. It had been Cliff Stanley’s idea. He had always been one for unnecessarily grandiose gestures.
The sculpture was of a beautiful, athletic young man standing in a dramatic pose, his clothes emblazoned with the Hargrove Brothers logo. Neal had to suppress a laugh while looking at it. It was so overdone, so obvious. He couldn’t believe his brother had signed off on this, but then again, Neal realized, George often passed the lesser decisions on to other board members, given how much work he had to juggle himself. Neal felt a tiny stab of guilt for being as distant as he was from the running of the company, but he had no real interest in business, and he wasn’t about to force it.
Neal was about to wander off in another direction, when he noticed a pretty young woman standing opposite him, looking up at the statue. She wore a wine red slip dress and black pumps with a sensible heel. Her skin was a dark mahogany brown, the color of honey and chocolate all mixed up together. Her hair was black and curly, and it fell down to her bare shoulders.
Neal could tell from where he stood that her eyes were a warm brown shade. She had focused them on the statue with an appraising expression, and she did not seem to be aware of his gaze on her. Neal was not shy when it came to women. He usually saw what he liked and he went for it, without reservations. He was not looking for anything serious and that meant there was no emotion tied to his conquests.
If a woman liked him, he spent a fun night with her, with the understanding that they would part ways amicably the next day. If she turned him down, he would walk away without any bruise to his ego. This philosophy had worked for Neal over the years. He had his fair share of flings and it suited his lifestyle perfectly.
This woman was no different. Neal approached her with single-minded purpose. She didn’t seem to notice him despite his close proximity. He noticed her gorgeous figure beneath the red material and raised his eyebrows with interest.
“You like the statue?” he asked conversationally, shifting his gaze and looking up at it, instead of her.
She gave a start of surprise.
“Oh…” she looked at him and back at the sculpture, “… it’s alright, I guess. Nothing to write home about. I probably won’t remember it tomorrow.”
Neal nodded, trying to pretend he was interested.
“No… you’ll probably remember all of the overdressed people and the blinding chandeliers.”
She smiled politely, but Neal could tell that his attempts did not impress her. Jumping straight to the point, he turned towards her and gave her his most winning smile.
“I’m Neal,” he said putting his hand forward.
She hesitated only briefly. “I’m Elena.”
“Do you want to maybe cut out early and get some real food?”
His directness seemed to take her by surprise, but she nodded and moved in the direction of the exit. Gratified by her response, he followed her. Then he remembered his brother and stopped her for a moment.
“I need to let my brother know that I’m leaving,” he told her.
“I’ll wait for you outside,” Elena told him.
Neal watched her retreating figure appreciatively for a moment and then went in search of his brother. He found him at last on the other side of the ballroom, with a fresh crop of people, all dressed to the nines and smelling of money. Neal caught George’s attention and motioned him forward, so that he could avoid suffering through pointless introductions. He saw George’s eye roll, but he watched as his brother extricated himself from the conversation and moved towards him.
“You’re not leaving already?”
“Sorry, Georgie,” Neal said innocently. “I think I’m coming down with something.”
George rolled his eyes again, this time, more obviously.
“Try again,” he said calmly.
Neal pretended to give a defeated sigh. “There’s a pretty girl I want to get to know better… and I’m not one for parties like this one, anyway.”
George nodded in resignation. “Better.”
“How about we grab lunch on Saturday?” Neal asked, trying to make up for his early departure.
“You know I’m flying out this Friday,” George replied.
“Ah,” Neal said, his mind groping for the country, “Yes. To… Tibet...?"
“Taiwan,” George corrected in exasperation.
“That’s what I meant,” Neal said confidently.
George sighed and then gave Neal a good-natured pat on the back.
“I’ll see you when I get back, little brother,” he said.
Neal leaned in and gave him a hug. “Thanks for letting me cut out early, you’re the best.”
“Don’t you forget it,” George said with a wink.
Chapter2
Elena wasn’t sure why she had said yes to him. He was good looking enough, but apart from that, she didn’t think there was much there beyond the charming smile. Still, her day had been hard and she wanted to do something spontaneous, something that did not require a lot of thinking and planning. She just wanted to spend a night with a stranger and never have to worry about the consequences later.
She felt relieved to remove herself from the heavy richness of the opulently decorated ballroom. It was such an unnatural environment; as though it was trying hard to make everyone who entered it feel insignificant. Elena knew she was projecting. Her feelings of inadequacy reflected her own life and were not a result of the extravagant party in the ballroom.
She momentarily forgot his name and panicked slightly. Then she recalled that it started with an N. Finally, she remembered – Neal. His name was Neal. She tried to relax, but she could feel the tension in her body. She hated days like this. They made her feel like she was on the edge of a cliff, and she was about to fall at any moment.
She depended so much on unpredictable lifelines that they were starting to take a toll on her. She was a twenty-five year old graduate and she had only barely survived the last three years on her own.
Her fingers fidgeted, but she refused to let them rise to her mouth. She had managed to stave off nail biting since her freshman year at college, but stress was wearing down her will power. She clenched her hands into fists and paced up and down the entrance to the hotel, waiting for Neal to appear. The vibration from her pocket interrupted her chaotic thoughts and she retrieved her cell phone with a fast prayer.
“Elena Parker speaking.”
“Elena, how’re you doing?”
Elena only barely recognized the nasal voice on the other end.
“Is this Mitcham?” she asked.
“Yeah, doll,” he said casually, “how’s it going?”
She wanted to slap him.
“You were supposed to drop off my check three days ago, Mitcham,” she said, struggling to keep her voice calm.
“Aw, doll,” he said, “you know how it is.”
“No, I don’t know how it is,” Elena said firmly, “and I don't actually care how it is. You hired me to do a job. I did it. On time and under budget, and I deserve to get paid.”
“I know, and I’ll pay you. Just give me a couple of weeks.”
“Weeks?” Elena all but shrieked. “Weeks?”
“Geez,” Mitcham wheezed, “you don’t need to holler.”
Elena closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing herself to keep her anger in check. She tried again, this time employing a tone that her mother used to use when she and her sister were young and wouldn’t listen.
“Mitcham,” Elena implored softly, “I’m a freelancer. I live pay-check to pay-check. If you don’t pay me now, then I can’t make my rent, not to mention food and basic expenses. I’m counting on that money to keep me afloat till next month. For God’s sake Mitcham – don’t make me beg for my own money.”
“Aw, there’s no need to beg,” he said uncomfortably. “I’ll get you your money.”
“When?” Elena pressed.
“As soon as I can,” he said evasively.
“When will that be?” Elena asked in rising fury.
There seemed to be some sudden static on the other end of the line, but Elena was not fooled. She knew that Mitcham was the one causing it.
“Mitcham,” she said warningly, but he cut her off.
“… you know the line is bad eh, doll?”
“No it isn’t –
“… I’ll catch you later, doll.”
“Don’t call me doll!” Elena yelled at her phone.
The line was already dead. She wanted to throw her phone onto the road, as though in the act of doing so she could transfer some pain onto Mitcham Mosey. She resisted the urge and dropped it back into her coat pocket.
“Problem?” a voice behind her asked.
Elena turned to face Neal, who stood there in a long black coat that both looked and smelled expensive. His smile was somewhat sympathetic, but his eyes looked deeply unconcerned. Elena didn’t care, she wasn’t looking for sympathy or concern. She was just looking to be distracted. She gazed up at Neal and decided that his face was perfect for exactly that.
“No problem,” she said bitterly, “just my life. Let’s go somewhere where they sell unhealthy food.”
They decided not to take a cab, to just walk around the city, until something good jumped out at them. Neal whistled along tunelessly, not attempting conversation, not thinking too deeply about anything, but he had the luxury of not having to think too hard about anything. Elena was not so lucky. Her mind was full of unpaid bills, unpaid rent, and the overwhelming feeling that she had failed in life.
They walked almost eight blocks before they found a street cart selling greasy chicken burgers, and in those eight blocks, Neal had planned his next week to include four different parties, a couple of different women and a whole lot of spare time reserved for video games, table tennis and sleeping in.
Since leaving his last job, he had decided to take a few weeks off before attempt
ing another job. He thought perhaps he would try bartending instead of waiting tables. Drunk people, he rationalized, were much better company than sober ones.
In the meantime, Elena was planning her week too. She had already put an ad in the papers in an attempt to bring in new customers. She wondered if she could afford a second ad so that she could reach more people. If all else failed, she would just have to swallow her pride and hand out flyers on sidewalks. She did have a potential job on the horizon, but she knew she couldn’t count money until it was firmly in her hands. Mitcham had proved that to her.
Both Elena and Neal were completely unaware of one another as they walked down the street. When they reached the burger stand, they ordered, Elena insisted on paying for hers and then they walked to a nearby bench and sat down to their four-dollar meal. Once the edge had been taken off their hunger, Neal turned to her.
The Baby Shower Page 70