Brendan stared back, brazen and determined.
Nate challenged him with his eyes. “I believe I set some ground rules.”
“I had a tough day.”
“I don’t really care. Why aren’t you in school?”
“What are you, my father?” He started laughing hysterically then, doubled over and slapped his thigh.
Nate sat quietly, just watching the show. After a while Brendan’s laughter turned to snickering and then he quieted down completely and sat brooding in the chair. “What happened, Brendan?”
“What makes you think something happened?”
Nate tapped his fingertips together. “Oh, I don’t know. You’re a pretty smart guy, and I think I made myself relatively clear the other night. There are only two things that would make you walk into my office stoned. One is stupidity.”
Brendan didn’t respond right away. He merely stared through eyes that betrayed both fear and rebellion. “And the other?”
Nate softened his tone and spoke gently. “Look, I know you want this. Deep down this stuff is what makes you come alive–art, computers, graphic design – I don’t think it’s your forever, but it’s definitely your right now, so for you to show up here stoned is either telling me “up yours Nate” or something else is wrong. If you wanted to blow me off, I doubt you’d have made the trip all the way down here to do it in person.”
“What does that even mean– ‘it’s not my forever but it’s definitely my right now’– what are you, some kind of psychic? You see my future, do you?”
“Maybe.”
Brendan scoffed. “You’re full of shit.”
“Maybe.”
“What if I don’t want to talk about it?”
Playing hardball wasn’t Nate’s favorite pastime, but Brendan seemed to require it. “Then I’ll have to thank you for coming but you really are high if you think I’m going to introduce a stoned, spoiled brat around my office and ask some of my best people to let you watch them work. I pride myself on hiring the best and brightest talent around. You could really learn a lot from them, but I don’t put up with bullshit and I won’t make them put up with it either. I respect them too much to treat them that way. So you can come back when your head is clear and you’re ready to work.”
“You keep using that word–work. What makes you think I’m looking for a job?”
“Aren’t you?”
Brendan smirked. “I don’t need to work.”
“Need is a relative term.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning you may not need the money–at least, not at the moment, but what I have to offer is a hell of a lot more attractive than that, and I think you know that.” Nate leaned back in his chair. “But that doesn’t keep it from scaring the crap out of you.”
“What could you possibly offer me that I don’t already have? You’ve seen my house. You’ve met my parents. I have everything.” Brendan’s voice dripped with disdain.
“And all the bread and water you can eat.”
“I have a plan, you know.”
“I’m sure you have a lot of plans, Brendan, but until you make some hard decisions, they’re all going to stay in your head.”
At that Brendan turned away. “My father and I have a deal.”
“So I’ve heard. Wharton, is it?”
“Yeah well, I’m heading to Europe to do a little traveling this summer after graduation. I may not make it back for the start of fall semester.”
Nate let that piece of information roll around the desk between them until it wobbled to a stop. The room was silent. It was Nate’s move and he wanted nothing more than to mash the kid’s head against the door until he straightened up, but something in him remembered what it was like to feel that desperate. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“Yeah. Right.”
“Do you drink coffee?”
Brendan looked back at him. “What?”
“You know, Starbucks? Dunkin’ Donuts? The diner down the street? It’s a simple question. Do you drink coffee?”
“Yeah, why?”
“What do you say we get out of here?”
Brendan narrowed his eyes. “For what?”
“Unless you’d prefer a security escort out of the building.”
“What? Are you serious?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I am.” Nate smiled. “It’s up to you Brendan. The ball is in your court.”
“Look, I just came here because you said to. I thought I could take a look around, see what you do. But if you don’t want-”
Nate leaned quickly across his desk. “Look, let’s cut the shit Brendan. You know as well as I do why you’re here. I can offer you the opportunity to explore something I think you really want, but I’m not going to play games with you.”
“How do you know what I want?”
Nate ignored the question. “If you want this, you play by my rules. You come here sober or not at all.”
Brendan swallowed, then took a moment to digest the information. “How do you even know?”
“That you’re high?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t be stupid, Brendan. I’m not that much older than you.”
“How old are you anyway?”
“You already asked me that.”
“When?”
“The night we met at your house. You told me you were turning eighteen and I told you I was twenty-five.”
“How did you get all this at twenty-five?” Brendan swept his arm around the office.
“By choosing.”
“You mean selling out.”
“I didn’t sell out. I found a better way.”
“Yeah well, with my father there’s only one way–his.”
“Sooner or later you have to become your own man, Brendan. You can’t keep running toward your future by way of the past.”
“You don’t know anything about my past.”
“I know more than you think I do.”
Brendan stood up and looked over at a bookshelf that held a few ancient volumes of poetry. There, sitting on top of a small stack of books was a twenty-dollar bill folded into the shape of an airplane with a very specific tail design. “Where did you get that?”
“It’s a collection of Chaucer. Do you read Chaucer?”
“Not the books–the twenty. Where did you get it?”
“Ingenious, isn’t it? I found it–on the street a few weeks ago.”
Brendan swallowed hard. “Why not just spend it?”
“I figured if someone went to enough trouble to fold it and shape it like that, I should appreciate it for what it is now, not what it used to be.”
Brendan just stood there blinking at him.
Nate stood up and extended his hand to the young man. “Thanks for coming in. Maybe we can talk again some time.”
Brendan reached out tentatively at first but used a firm grasp to shake Nate’s hand.
“At least you shake like a man.”
“Fuck you! You don’t know shit.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Brendan. I know a lot of shit.”
Brendan turned and walked away, moving purposefully past Christina and punched the wall before he went out. Nate sat back in his big leather chair and spun toward the view, palms together, fingers splayed with his thumbs hooked under his chin. “Damn it!”
__________
“What’s wrong?”
Nate was picking at his food, pushing it around the plate but not eating any.
Paige tried again. “You’ve been brooding all through dinner. Now what’s up?”
He pushed back from the table and threw his napkin on top of the food. Immediately the maître de was at his side.
“Mr. Banks. Is there anything wrong with the food? Can I get you something else, perhaps?”
“No, thank you. It’s just me. I’m not very hungry tonight. You can take it away.”
With a slight bow the man removed Nate’s plate and gestured to another young man, who bro
ught a new napkin and filled the water glasses.
Paige put her own fork down. “That was Beef Wellington you just threw away.”
“I know. I’m sorry. The starving kids in Africa can beat me later.”
“What? You’re not even making sense. This isn’t like you. Will you please tell me what’s wrong?”
“Brendan came to my office today.”
“Who?”
“Brendan Evans. Frank’s kid.”
“Oh. Really? Why?”
“Remember I told you about the night I met him? I gave him my card, told him if he wanted to shadow some of our graphic design folks he should come by the office some time.”
“Ok. And?”
“He was stoned. The kid’s got balls, I’ll give him that.”
“Why would he do that? Did he think you wouldn’t notice? I mean, you of all people.”
“Yeah, well, he doesn’t know as much about me as I do about him.”
“Did you tell him you saw him on the ledge that night?”
“No, of course not. He’d think I was going to use that information against him somehow–hold it over him.”
“Well then, if you don’t mind me asking, what are you going to do with it? With him I mean? What’s this really about Nate?”
Nate rubbed his temples. “I don’t know what it is, but I can’t get him out of my head. It’s like when I look at him, I see what he really could be, you know? And I want to help him see it too. I don’t need him for my company, I just want to give him a chance at a better life.”
“Ok, but let me play devil’s advocate here for a minute. I don’t like Frank Evans any better than you do, but what makes you think you can give him a better life than Frank can? That’s dangerous territory you’re treading. You’re not his father Nate.”
“You think I don’t know that? I don’t want to be his father Paige. It’s just this weird sense I get sometimes. I can’t explain it very well, but I just know that somehow I’m supposed to be a part of his life.”
“But he has to agree.”
“Yeah. He does. And right now, the next move is up to him.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Do you like apples?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I got her number. How do you like them apples?”
- Good Will Hunting
“Wow. Haircut, no lip piercings. What’d you do, go on a job interview?” Sarah was already sitting at her seat when Brendan walked into biology class just seconds before the bell rang.
“Passport photos.”
“Conformity. Now there’s a switch. Not a big fan of profiling?”
“Not a big fan of being frisked.”
Sarah smiled. “I’ll remember that.”
Brendan felt the heat rise in his cheeks as Mr. Taylor called the class to attention, so he put his head down and opened his book. Miss goody two shoes had made him blush. He started thinking about the dream again, and that unnerving, never-ending kiss. He tried to shake his head clear, but had to keep focusing elsewhere to keep himself distracted.
As Mr. Taylor handed back the tests, he explained that this test was one of the harder ones he’d given, and as such it was a pretty good predictor of how they’d do on the actual AP Exam. Brendan’s A minus was about what he figured, but he watched Sarah’s face fall as she looked at a big fat “D”. When class finally ended she walked out without even looking at him. He finally caught up with her at her locker.
“Hey there! Where’ve you been hiding yourself?”
“I’m not in the mood, Brendan.”
“Not in the mood for what?”
“Jokes. Small talk. Look, I have to go. I have to study.”
He put his arm on one of the lockers to block her path. “Why don’t you let me help you? After school today?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “It doesn’t matter, Brendan. I’m never going to pass this exam and we both know it.”
“You lose nothing by trying; everything by giving up. At least try.”
“You don’t get it, do you? I’ve been trying. I study all the time. It just doesn’t make sense to me. Then I get to the test and I just freeze up. All the numbers and formulas and everything gets confused in my brain and I can’t sort them out, and then I just guess.”
He swallowed hard, ignoring her tears, and pointed at her with authority. “Starbucks. After school. I think you know the one.” He turned and walked away, hoping she’d be there, then feeling guilty for hoping. She was right. None of it made sense.
As he waited in a small leather chair in the corner, Brendan wondered if she’d show, but eventually she walked in and the door banged against the frame as it shut. A seedy looking guy in the opposite corner noticed her too. Brendan stood and offered her the chair he’d been sitting in. He kept one eye trained on the other guy. She set her books down with a thud, prompting more stares from several directions.
“What are you, trying out for a Broadway musical?”
Sarah scowled at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He leaned forward and spoke in lower tones. “Do you always make such a grand, “hey, notice me!” entrance or what?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Forget it. Do you want some coffee?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m fine, thanks.”
“Ok then, let’s get to work.”
An hour later most of the clientele had turned over, but the guy in the corner remained. Sarah stretched, popping her neck from side to side. “My brain is fried. Can we talk about something else for a while?”
“Sure. Let’s talk about why you keep changing your hair color.” He smiled, trying to make her at ease, but she looked down, obviously uncomfortable.
“Yeah, well–I’m just experimenting. Trying to figure out who the real me is.”
“Any luck so far?”
“Funny, Brendan. Very funny. Go ahead and judge me. At least I’m trying to be happy.” She reached down and pulled his sleeve up ever so slightly, just enough to reveal his latest endeavors. “You, on the other hand, are obviously miserable.”
Her bravado surprised him, and her touch was warm. He found himself watching her mouth. “I’m not miserable. I’m going to Europe.”
“Hence the passport photos.”
“Exactly.”
“Business or pleasure?”
“Both I hope.”
“I was just kidding. What kind of business?”
“The top secret kind. If I tell you, I’ll definitely have to kill you.”
She was staring at him and it was getting awkward.
“What?!”
She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s just, I think it’s twice now I’ve gotten a chance to spend time with you when you’re not stoned. You’re really very charming when you want to be. You’d make a great 007. Especially now that I can see your ears!”
He felt the sides of his head in exaggerated self-consciousness. “I never did like my ears.”
Sarah clamped one hand over her mouth, giggling. “It’s just weird. I mean, seeing you clean, piercing-free and sober all at once is a little hard to absorb. Don’t get me wrong–I definitely like it better than ‘angry boy’.”
“Well maybe I have a lot to be angry about.”
“Maybe we all do.”
“Maybe.”
“And maybe we should all start smoking pot and cutting our arms to shreds. That’ll show ‘em.”
The cute little girl giggle was gone, and it caught him off guard. Her eyes were deep, like looking into a well, and he saw himself reflected there on her soul, etched like a negative that only showed part of the picture.
Tears welled up in her eyes and for the second time that day, it speared him. He sat, nearly mesmerized by the rawness of it all. It didn’t seem to matter to her one bit that they were in the middle of Starbucks and people might see her crying. She was definitely not a native.
The guy in the corner was wat
ching them with interest and a keen sense of protection rose up in him. He touched her on the arm and spoke quietly.
“You have to stop that.”
“What? Why?”
His eyes glanced toward the corner and then landed back on her face. “You can’t be vulnerable like that in public. You’ll get yourself in a mess of trouble.”
The guy was still watching and Brendan grew more uncomfortable by the second. “Do you trust me?”
“No, should I?”
“I need you to trust me for a few minutes. Just play along.”
Before she could say another word Brendan grabbed his backpack and her books and pulled her up out of her seat. He kissed her cheek and then wrapped his arm around her shoulders, speaking louder than he needed to.
“Come on baby, I said I was sorry! Let’s just go home. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
Sarah put her eyes down and followed his lead. She hooked her arm around his waist and laid her head on his chest, allowing him to lead her out the door and along the wide-windowed storefront.
They stayed arm in arm until they were well around the corner and his heart came racing through his thin t-shirt. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t be.”
He stole a glance at the top of her head.
“What happened in there anyway? Why’d you lead me out like that?”
“You never saw the guy in the corner, did you?”
“What guy? There must have been fifty people in there.”
Brendan shook his head. “That’s what I thought.”
“What?”
“You don’t know what to look for. It’s why you’re afraid.”
She tipped her head up toward him. Those eyes again. He could feel her breath on his chin and he started to get nervous. The only person he’d ever been this close to was Tess. It felt strangely like betrayal and so he released her, rather abruptly.
“What do you mean? What’s happening?”
He stopped walking and put his back up against a wall, raking his fingers through what used to be a dark mass of curls. He blew out a deep breath and tried to clear Tess’s face from his mind.
“Are you ok? What’s wrong?”
He started to shake on the inside. He wanted a joint and had the bag in his coat, but he couldn’t walk away from her. Not right now. “You told me once that you’re always afraid.”
Letters From The Ledge Page 15