by JA Huss
I stand there, looking out at the snow falling on the black car. What the fuck is happening?
“Is my daughter here or not?” Senator Walcott demands a few seconds later.
I tap the door closed and spin around, trying to pull myself together. “No, sir. Sorry. She’s… uh, at a party tonight.” Not a lie.
“Who are you? And if she’s not here, why are you here?”
Shit.
“Do you live here?”
I look around to see how much evidence there is of my habitation. The entire dining room table—which seats twelve—is completely covered with files and papers. I’ve got two pairs of shoes in the hallway, and a t-shirt hanging over the arm of the couch. The kitchen is littered with dishes I haven’t bothered to put in the dishwasher, and if that wasn’t enough, the house sound system is playing I Wanna Be Sedated, by the Ramones. A song Chella would never—ever—listen to, let alone own in her music library.
“Yeah,” I reluctantly admit. “I’m really sorry, Senator. Chella didn’t mention you’d be coming for the holiday.”
“What is your name?” he snaps at me.
I get my shit together and extend my hand. “Smith,” I say. “Smith Baldwin. I’m very sorry, sir. I just wasn’t expecting you. And we have a party tonight.” Which really isn’t a lie.
“If you have a party tonight, then why aren’t you there with her?”
“I’m meeting her there. She got off work early and I…” I don’t fucking work, but that’s not something you tell your girlfriend’s father. “And I told her to just go ahead because the party is close to work.”
Shit. I’m five minutes from her work right now. I’m totally fucking this up.
“Why don’t I call her?” I ask, walking over to the messy dining room table to try to find my phone. “Yeah,” I say to myself. “I’m gonna get her on the phone… figure this out…” I find the phone under a pile of paperwork and press her contact. I smile at him as it rings, and rings, and rings… “She’ll pick up, don’t worry,’” I say, hoping.
He glares at me.
The call goes to voicemail so I spin around and say, “Sweetheart,” as I cup my hand over the phone. “Your father is here. At home. Call me back.” I end the call and turn around to face him again. “I’m sure the music is just loud and she’ll see the message in a minute.”
I put my hands in my pockets, realize when they drop below my waist that I’m still unbuttoned—and I have no shirt on. I clear my throat. “So how long are you in town for?”
Senator Walcott just purses his lips at me, checks his watch, and then pulls out his own phone. “I’ll call her.”
But just as he says that, my phone buzzes. “Hello?” I say, smiling at him again.
“What the hell?” Chella asks.
“Your dad is here, Chella. At home. I’m here with him. At our house. He’s… a… You should talk to him.” I hand him the phone and he walks off, speaking as he goes.
What the fuck? Why didn’t she tell me he was coming to town? I would’ve crashed at the Club for a few nights.
I button my pants, grab the dirty t-shirt from the couch and pull it over my head.
Senator Walcott comes back just as I’m doing that. “We’re meeting her at the restaurant.”
“We are?” I ask. “For…”
“Dinner?” her dad snaps.
Jesus Christ. He’s kind of a dick. I almost laugh at my blasphemy, since he is pretty religious. I don’t know him, but I know of him. “Oh, OK. I’m cool with dinner. Where we going?”
“Get dressed, Baldwin. We’re already late. And turn that music off.”
Right. I hit the off switch for the music as I hop up the stairs, hoping he won’t follow me. Because I don’t know how to explain the fact that I’m sleeping in a guest room and not the master.
But I don’t have to worry about it. When I get back downstairs, put together and my normally settled self, back in full swing, he’s standing in the kitchen drinking a glass of my nine-hundred-dollar-a-bottle Scotch as he talks business on his cell phone.
I wait patiently as he finishes his call. When he hangs up he looks me up and down like I’m cattle.
I’m a damn good catch, I think in my head. He can look all he wants. I’m not a chump.
Except I don’t think he agrees with my self-assessment.
Why do I care? I’m really not the kind of guy you bring home to your parents and all that good shit. But I’m not a chump.
He waves his hand at me, signaling we’re leaving now, and then heads towards the front door. “You’re riding with me, Baldwin. Chella says she has her car and I should bring you.”
“Did she now?” I mutter under my breath as I grab my coat off a bar stool. I bet she’s thoroughly enjoying the fact that I’m stuck with her father right now.
I wonder what Bric thinks about all this? I lock up the house and follow him out in to the snow. He gets in the back-passenger side, so I have to walk around and get in the driver’s side. We close our doors at the same time, and then Walcott says, “The Palm, Clarence,” talking to the driver. “I don’t get home to Colorado much anymore,” he says, looking out the window.
“Right. Chella mentioned that. We weren’t expecting you for Christmas.”
“I’m only here for one night, Baldwin. So don’t bother marking your territory.”
I raise an eyebrow at him.
“I won’t interfere with your plans.”
“Well.” I clear my throat, trying to process this man. “That’s not what I was insinuating. I’m sure Chella is thrilled you’re here.”
“I’m sure she is. But as I said, I won’t be staying.”
“Got it,” I growl.
Thankfully, the Palm is right downtown, so I endure a seven-minute silence as we fight our way through snow and holiday traffic. We’re dropped off just outside the restaurant and Walcott doesn’t even wait for me to walk around the car, just enters the building, me trailing behind him.
I’m kinda pissed off by this point, and wondering if she’s still with Bric, since it is his night. But then I see Chella, alone, dressed up in a black dress I’m sure she’s wishing she didn’t wear tonight, because her tits look fucking fantastic in it.
I smile, forgetting all about her dick of a dad as I walk up to her, slide my arm around her waist, and pull her close as I whisper, “I love this dress,” and then kiss her.
It’s not a sloppy I’m-gonna-fuck-you-later kiss, even though I really want to piss her dad off with one of those. Just a nice one. Which makes her smile.
“So,” she says, fake smile all over her face. “You’ve met my dad. How special.”
I nod. “Yup. So nice of him to drop by. I was afraid I wouldn’t have your full attention tonight with that party.” And then I look at the senator. “But now we don’t have to go. You saved us from a boring night of hell, Henry. I owe you for that.” I wink at him just to thrust that knife in a little farther.
“OK,” Chella says. “Dad, I know you’ve met, but this is Smith. We’ve recently started a relationship.”
“And he’s living with you already?” her father blurts. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“Excuse me?” I say, pulling Chella behind me a little so I can look this piece of shit in the eyes. “She’s not,” I say in a low voice. “But even if she were, she’s a grown woman, Walcott. And she would tell her father about it when she was good and goddamned ready.”
“Senator,” a woman says, obviously uncomfortable with the tone of our conversation. “We have your table ready. Would you like to follow me?”
He stares daggers at me for a second longer than is polite, and I stare back. He can be a big old dick to me all he wants. But I won’t let him talk to Chella that way. Not while I’m around. And especially not in public.
Chella sighs as her father follows the woman. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers as we walk. “I had no idea he was going to show up. He told me he couldn’t make it for
Christmas, so I naturally assumed—”
“Shh,” I hush her as we walk. “You don’t need to make excuses for him to me, Chella. I’ll handle this.”
We’re seated at a table for four next to a window and settle in, handing our coats over to the wait staff, who are over-eager to please the senator. His reputation for being an asshole precedes him.
After the server tells us the specials, we look at the menu in silence. I reach under the table and grab Chella’s hand.
She shots me a look of panic and shakes her head, mouthing, Stop it, at me.
But I shoot her a lopsided grin that says I’m absolutely not interested in backing down from this one.
“So,” Walcott asks, once we’ve ordered. “What do you do, Mr. Baldwin?”
“Dad.” Chella laughs. “Smith Baldwin?” she asks him, incredulous that he doesn’t know who I am.
“I’m talking to your friend, Marcella. I’m sure he can speak for himself?” He gives her a glare so ominous, I feel her wilt next to me.
I squeeze her hand harder. She doesn’t squeeze back.
“Nothing,” I say, answering his question.
“Excuse me?” her stunned father replies.
“I don’t do anything, Senator. I don’t have a job.”
He has the smuggest look on his face when he turns to Chella with raised eyebrows. “Not exactly cream of the crop, is he?”
“Actually, Senator Walcott, I am the cream of the crop. I don’t have a job because I’m richer than God, sir. I’m worth forty-seven billion dollars, to be exact. And my mission in life is to give it all away.”
“Really?” Chella asks, turning away from her father and towards me.
“Really,” I say, taking time out from the Mexican standoff her father and I are having to smile at her bewildered face. “It never came up.” I shrug. “So I didn’t bother mentioning it.”
“Giving it away?” her father asks, his temper tempered. “What does that mean?”
“Well,” I say, scratching the stubble on my face that I forgot to shave. “I don’t have a job because I don’t have time for one. I spend my days looking for people who need help. Sometimes that’s a corporation that I feel can make a difference. Sometimes it’s a non-profit. Sometimes it’s just a single mother who needs a hand up. You see, I give out one point six billion dollars every year and it’s not as easy as it sounds to spend that much money, Senator. At least for private-sector people like myself. I’m sure you government types could find a good war to spend that on, but that’s a conversation for another night.”
I look over at Chella. Her mouth is hanging open. I think I just really fucked that up. I’m about to apologize to her when she says, “I had no idea, Smith.”
Oh. Well, maybe she’s impressed. Maybe I’m not the dick she thought I was.
“No,” I say, “I don’t like to talk about it much. But since you asked, Senator, let me just be a little more thorough with my explanation. You see, when my parents died and left me with all this money, I had some idea what it might do to me.”
“Do to you?” the senator asks, frowning.
“Corrupt me, sir. Turn me into someone people don’t like.”
Like you, I think. But then I take it back, even though I didn’t say it. Because he did something right. He helped create Chella. And she’s as sweet as they come, even with that dirty, dark side she’s trying to hide. I know there’s more to her life, her past, and her motives for being with me and my friends, but I don’t care. It’s just not a factor in how I feel about her as a person.
She likes the dark stuff, just like me. Just like Bric. Just like Quin. But we’re not bad people. None of us. And neither is she.
“So I decided back when I was eighteen that I would not own anything.”
“Own…” The senator is really struggling now. “What does that mean? Surely you own things, Baldwin.”
“No,” I say calmly. “I don’t, actually. I live with friends, which is why I’m living with Chella right now. I don’t own a house, or a car, or even these clothes on my back. I haven’t purchased something for myself in over a decade. It took me a while to get the hang of it, I’ll admit that. Some nights I had no friends who’d let me sleep over or feed me. Or let me have one of their hoodies or coats on a cold night. So I’d give in and get a hotel room, order room service and buy some new clothes. But each time I failed, Senator, I’d spend the next week or two feeling guilty. And I’d try harder the next round. I’ve made it my mission in life not to spend a single dime of money on myself. My money wasn’t meant to better me, sir. It was meant to help others. So that’s what I do with it. I give it away.”
“Bric,” Chella says in a soft voice. “And Quin. They’re the ones who stuck by you, weren’t they?”
I nod my head.
“And that’s why you guys share everything, isn’t it?”
“Everything, Chella,” I say, looking down at her. Even you, I don’t add.
“Wow,” she sighs. “Just, really, Smith. Wow. I don’t even know what to say to that.”
It seems the senator is speechless. But I’m not really talking to him anyway, so I turn to Chella and speak to her. “I live a great life, you know? I’m not lacking for anything right now. I live an extremely luxurious life through the generosity of friends.” I look at Walcott and smile. “I’m very much enjoying your daughter’s house right now. It’s exquisite.”
Chella bursts out laughing. She covers her mouth with her hand, like she can’t believe I just said that.
“Really, I owe you, I guess. She said you purchased it for her. And even though she hates the furniture, I sorta dig it. Though I’ve gotten a friend to donate us some new pieces. And I got free paint for that disgusting orange wall.”
“You’re killing me, Smith.” Chella laughs. But her smile is so big right now, I’m flying. I’m so fucking high off this moment. Sitting here just being… real with her. No games, no players, no sex.
“And yeah, I guess I could piss people off and they might stop caring about me. Stop wanting to help make my dream come true. And I might be out on the street again. Nowhere to go, nothing to eat, no coat on a winter night. But I’d find a place, Chella. I’d be OK if that happened.”
She beams at me. And then, before I even realize what’s happening, she leans over and kisses me right on the mouth. “I’ll be your friend forever, Mr. Baldwin. Ever and ever.”
“Yeah,” I say, eyeing her father from the corner of my eye. “About that. You see, Senator, I might have lied about one small thing.”
“Somehow, Mr. Baldwin, I think there’s a lot of lies inside you.”
“I lied about Chella. Because I would like to own something in this lifetime. And that something is your daughter.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight - Chella
I have no clue what’s happening right now, but my mouth is hanging open in shock. What did he just say? I blink my eyes hard three times and then look over at my father.
He’s scowling. And shaking his head at me. “Well, Chella, if you were trying to challenge me tonight, you certainly succeeded.”
“Don’t look at her,” Smith says. “Look at me. I’m the one talking to you.”
Oh, my God.
The gaze my father drags over to Smith is nothing short of pure disgust. “You’re no longer a part of this conversation, Mr. Baldwin. This is a family matter between my daughter and me. So you can either sit here and keep quiet or you can leave. Those are your options.”
Smith opens his mouth but I grab his arm. “Smith,” I say softly. “Just let him talk. Please.”
Smith doesn’t stop staring at my father but he does stay quiet.
“Daddy, why are you here? You told me two weeks ago you weren’t coming for Christmas so I made other plans. I don’t mind rescheduling for you. You know that. But it’s rude to ask for this last minute.”
My father inhales deeply though his nose. He’s still a very handsome man. But it’s a very curated ki
nd of handsome. Daily sessions with a private trainer, his fingernails are perfectly manicured, his hair gets attention from the best DC barbers. His hair is almost pure silver—at least he doesn’t dye it. And his skin has been smoothed by a plastic surgeon.
Smith is polished. Very much so. But he’s not perfect in any way. He’s always got a flaw on display. Like tonight. His hair is kind of wild. Not the neat slicked-back look he usually wears.
I like it. I like the mess.
“You may not be aware of this, Marcella, but I haven’t dated since your mother passed three years ago.”
Jesus Christ. That’s what this is about? Two conversations about my mother in one day? Just what the fuck?
“But I’ve met someone.” My father stops to clear his throat. “She’s… twenty-three.”
Smith’s laugh is loud, but short. Kind of a classic Ha!
“I see.” That’s about all I have to say about that.
“I just wanted to let you know I’m moving on in life.”
“OK,” I say. “But I don’t know why you felt this deserved an unannounced face-to-face meeting. Is there more to this? Like, is she pregnant?”
Another incredulous burst from Smith. My father glares at him.
“She is,” my father says.
“Well, that explains the accusation you just lobbed at Chella,” Smith interjects, unable to stay quiet any longer. “Feeling guilty much, Senator?”
My father ignores him. “We’re getting married next week. You’re not invited and I didn’t want you to hear about it on the news.”
I wait for the stab of pain. The kind that comes from betrayal, but there’s nothing there in my heart. Just a few weeks ago I’d be devastated by this announcement. But now? I shake my head at my father. No. He has no power over me anymore.
“I came here to say goodbye, Chella. To the life you were part of. To your mother. I loved her once and I hope she’s found her peace in death. But I can’t—won’t—be trapped in that life any longer. I’m moving on.”
The three of us sit there in silence for several seconds.
Is there anything left to say?