by Amy Hoxton
The only bright source of light hung above an elegant round table. A man silently shuffled a deck of cards as two other conversed quietly, but fell silent once they heard our approaching footsteps.
They greeted Reynolds warmly, but offered me nothing but cold glares. In turn, I raised my eyebrows and flashed them what I commonly refer to as “fuck you smile” as I calmly walked to the table.
Old man Reynolds took his place and I mine, basking in the silence that permeated the room. Alas, it didn’t last. It was evident these men were used to being in each other’s company, but my presence clearly offset the balance.
Many commented on the similarities me late father and I shared, yet I simply couldn’t see any of them — and seemingly neither could the gentlemen sitting at the table.
The two didn’t introduce themselves and neither did I, which prompted me to mentally address them by the color of their ties. Red and gray. We didn’t have anything in common save for the fact that we had all been invited to the fundraiser, and I liked it that way. It simply wasn’t my crowd, if I even had one anymore.
Gray was the first to call it quits, storming off after angrily throwing his cards on the table. The look on the others’ faces hardly shifted, possibly indicating they had gotten used to seeing scenes such as that. These men had known each other for quite some time after all, and I couldn’t help but wonder if these habitual games used to have a different atmosphere when Harris senior sat at my chair.
Gray’s premature departure left only three of us at the table, without counting the waiter whom had been deputized as a dealer. I must admit I wasn’t taking the game too seriously, but Reynolds and the man with the red tie surely were. Their stone cold face didn’t show any of the emotions they kept trapped inside, right beneath the scheming one needs to do during such games.
The jackpots were unusually low for people of this caliber. I knew Reynolds had more money than common sense, and the other man couldn’t be too far behind either. Still, I felt great pleasure in watching Reynold’s carefully built chip skyline crash and burn after each hand.
Red piped up after what felt like an eternity. “How’s Lucy, Francis?” He asked, probably trying to distract Reynolds as he carefully planned his next move.
“Still searching for a job. That girl could give a mule a run for its money she’s so damn stubborn…” His mumbled reply caused Red to nod sympathetically as he folded.
“Thank God Matt’s not like that,” He chuckled, leaning back on his chair.
“But my little girl wants to follow her own path, and I can’t blame her for that. God knows ours is not the easiest.” Reynolds sighed and followed his friend in giving up the current hand.
I found myself agreeing with him, in principle. The life of a CEO wasn’t exactly what most people think: while money did buy happiness, it often didn’t last.
The game pressed on and I lost track of time. Red left shortly after my winning streak began, leaving only Reynolds to face off against me and Lady Luck.
The mountain of chips he had sitting in front of him had been razed to the ground while mine grew tall. The barely concealed anger over his imminent loss almost made me snicker, but I contained myself.
I wanted to end the night and go home, regardless of the game’s outcome. Pushing all my chips towards the center of the table, I uttered the two words that made Reynolds’ face lit up. “All in.”
He glanced at his cards and gave me a smirk before throwing what was left of his chips onto mine. The tension rose but I kept my cool — not because I knew I would win, I simply didn’t care.
“This takes me back,” He confessed, and added “Lord knows your father and I almost lost our companies around tables such as these.”
“Let’s do it then,” I declared. “Just for old times’ sake.”
Reynolds laughed, but his face turned serious right away. “Careful there, boy. Don’t write checks you can’t cash.”
“Oh, and you mentioned your… Daughter, I assume? My company has an open position we’d like to fill.” I knew that wouldn’t sit well, given the rivalry between my father and him.
That seemed to catch him by surprise. “Is that so? What kind of position would that be, Alexander?” The emotions he had been suppressing began to slip through the cracks, yet it was mostly rage mixed with an unhealthy dose of indignation.
“I do need a new secretary after the last one quit. Besides, some first hand experience on how to run a successful company wouldn’t hurt.” My lips curled into a sardonic smile as I watched Reynolds’ face become as red as the king and queen I held in my hand.
“Listen here you-” All the restraint he had, gone in just a second. Reynolds was a man of pride, and how dare I insinuate his company wasn’t successful. Well, I simply stated the truth.
“Add that to the pot. If I win, Lucy will have to work for me. Full benefits and insurance, just because it’s you. Deal?” I cocked my head to the side and stared at him. The old man’s brow furrowed and his lips pressed together to form a thin line, jaw clenched as tight as his fist. He wanted to react, there was no doubt about that. Yet the party was still ongoing, and causing a scene wouldn’t be the smartest of ideas. Besides, I towered over him.
“And what if you lose?”
“You’ll have a monopoly in your hands.” I rebutted right away. Our companies weren’t as big as, say, Apple or Microsoft, but we supplied both of them with components they could hardly get anywhere else. A merger would greatly benefit everyone involved in it, but business is never that easy.
I would have never gone that far into something that stupid just to provoke him, but what were the odds of him beating the royal flush in my hand?
Reynolds calmed down enough to agree, albeit reluctantly. “Fine. Let it be known, the Reynolds family never backs out of a challenge.”
I nodded, trying to remain passive as I suppressed a the urgency to laugh in his flustered face. “Show me what you got, then.”
We revealed our hands in unison. Reynold’s fist slammed against the table as he saw the beautiful sea of red that I had just laid down. The chips rattled and some of the towers I built fell, but that hardly mattered. He had lost, and much to no one’s surprise, wasn’t too graceful in defeat.
Standing up, I straightened my jacket. “Next Monday, half past eight,” I declared, and turned around to walk away before he even had a chance to reply. I heard him mutter something, but I couldn’t make out his words. The buzzing noise made by the other guests grew louder and louder still as I approached the door that would bring me back to the main event, even though I wouldn’t stay.
I made my way to the elevator without so much as saying goodbye to whoever the host was. A night of self indulgence thinly veiled under the guise of charity was more than I could handle as a somewhat sober man.
The ride took about a minute. As the doors opened I found myself staring at a garage filled to the brim with a wide variety of cars, the cheapest of which could be sold to fund at least a couple of those hospitals the host so desperately wanted to build.
I made my way over to mine, which I recognized simply because my driver was leaning against it as he smoked a cigarette. He always did that to calm his nerves.
“Put that out, James, let’s go home.” I called, approaching him from behind. My voice echoed through the garage and startled him, though he recovered fairly quickly.
James Bartleby, he’s been with my family for so long; That man has seen his fair share of shit, courtesy of my late father. Even if the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, James has never shown anything but support — even in times where even I, looking back, would have punched my old self square in the jaw.
The somewhat triumphant expression on my face was enough for him to understand the night hadn’t been as bad as I thought it was going to be, and James was kind enough to spare me any questions.
He opened the rear passenger door of my black Mulsanne and closed it after I got in. The car was br
and new, having been delivered just a week prior to that fundraiser, and its leather interiors still had that pristine smell to them. It would fade in time, but nothing ever lasts.
I kept my father’s old Rolls Royce in my personal garage, as a memento. It hadn’t been touched ever since the funeral, and I intended on keeping it that way. Him and I never quite saw eye to eye, but I can’t say the man didn’t have a refined taste for cars.
The engine roared to life and James drove us back to my residence. There weren’t many differences between daytime and nighttime New York. The streets were filled to the brim with people from every corner of the world, each with their own dreams and woes, walking — or driving — towards and away from God knows what.
I glanced down at my phone and noticed the clock was just past midnight. I spent three hours in that penthouse, for some unknown reason. I could have just gone in and made a donation, yet the champagne made me stay and kept me company. I hadn’t even thought about Reynolds being there, but how could he miss a fundraiser organized by a dear friend of his?
All in all, that night hadn’t been a complete loss. Making the old man’s friend quit the table was amusing enough by itself, but that last hand truly sealed the deal.
It was true, I did need a new secretary. The last one resigned just a week prior to the party, and the position needed to be filled one way or another. Human Resources would probably find the best candidate — at least that’s what they kept telling me — but the prospect of having old man Reynold’s daughter at my beck and call was just too good to pass.
It was a spur of the moment kind of decision. Only later I realized it could bite me in the ass given how easy it would be to feed her father information about my company, straight from the source. I did also recall how Reynolds mentioned she didn’t want to follow his footsteps and carve a path of her own, which reassured me things would be fine.
Besides, I could easily feed her false information to begin with and see how Reynolds senior reacted. I grinned and slumped onto the seat, my head tilted to the side as I stared out the window.
This city never slept and barely even rested. Its denizens always rushing somewhere, its lights always brighter than the sun and twice as annoying — New York wasn’t that friendly of a place to live in, but I had grown to love it over the years.
The drive lasted all of about twenty minutes, give or take. James and I parted ways once we reached my residence — An apartment on the Upper East Side, just a couple blocks away from Central Park.
The receptionist nodded at me and I replied in kind while speeding towards the elevator. I pushed the button to the ninth floor and relaxed once the doors closed, knowing I had nothing scheduled for the upcoming weekend.
Relax was something I was in desperate need of. Leading a company as big as Harris Electronics wasn’t something one could do part time, as my father demonstrated throughout the years. The stress consumed him, ate away at him, day after day, until it spat out a vicious viper of a man with more enemies than friends.
I won’t lie and say that prospect didn’t scare me — it did, even if I didn’t have a family to go back to after a long day at the office. No one was anxious or happy to see me, and if bottles could talk, they’d probably begin screaming in horror as soon as they heard the lock turn in its socket.
Sudden bouts of hypothetical animism aside, it still felt good to be home.
Chapter Three
Lucy
A great many things can be said about my father, with varying degrees of flattery.
The man was, or at least tried his best to be, always on time. That morning was no exception, and our doorbell rang at exactly ten o’clock. I felt a tinge of agitation as I reached for the doorknob, but forced myself to get over it.
He greeted me with a warm hug before I even had the chance to say anything. The scent of his signature cologne forced its way into my lungs as he squeezed me tight — it had been a while ever since he last saw me.
Brianna disappeared into the kitchen to brew some coffee as we exchanged the usual pleasantries. We sat on the couch to chat as we normally did, and I braced myself for the incoming rain of questions: how have you been, why don’t you call more often, how’s the job search going and a slew of others that would make a police interrogation look like a walk in the park.
“Everything’s fine, dad. Don’t worry!” I reassured him, though I wasn’t too certain he was the one that needed it.
“Are you sure?” He rebutted, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly. He always did that, it was his way of saying you’re full of shit and you know it.
I sighed as I prepared to be subjected to yet another one of his lectures, wondering what angle he might play. Could it be something about the house, or maybe the coffee shop I worked at? There was only one dreadful way to find out, which sadly involved listening to his entire tirade until he inevitably got worked up by my lack or input. As always.
Despite being used to his antics, I tried to snake away from it and shoot him a question, hoping it would buy me some time.
“You mentioned a fundraiser a few days ago, right? How’d that go?” I threw that bait with quite a bit of uncertainty yet I still hoped he would take it. He did, but as I was about to find out, I simply played myself.
“Oh about that…” His face flashed red with anger and his jaw clenched tight for just a split second. It piqued my interest, knowing that usually nothing interesting ever happens in such occasions.
“Nothing too grandiose, really. Met some old acquaintances, played a few hands of poker…” Dad’s reply somehow didn’t convince me. He was no stranger to telling tales of his meetings and dinners just to entice me to attend them with him, yet that time he chose not to. It was certainly suspicious, but I simply nodded.
I heard some clattering coming over from the kitchen and footsteps following right after. Coffee was finally ready and Brianna was in the process of bringing it over, it seemed.
“Although, I may have committed a mistake,” He confessed, and before I could say anything, he added “And it involves you.”
Brianna’s footsteps stopped and then quickly retreated. Bitch. It was understandable though, she just wanted to give us some space while she obviously eavesdropped from the safety of the kitchen. Double bitch.
I rolled my eyes and sighed in frustration.
“What did you do?” I asked, my inquisitive tone failing to faze him even in the slightest of ways. I made a mental note to work on it as my father looked for the courage to spill the beans, and thankfully it didn’t take him too long.
He began his explanation by spinning a long winded tale about his old rival, perhaps hoping to kill me with boredom or distract me so I wouldn’t be mad at him. It hardly worked, at least the part about distracting me.
“Get to the point, dad.” I was starting to get annoyed and mildly angry, and he hadn’t even said anything incriminating yet. There were a few reasons I rarely called, and that was among them.
“We were playing poker. Just me, Wallace, Liv—” I cut him off, throwing my hands up in the air in exasperation.
“Get to the point!” I hissed. I was starting to get mad, annoyance having evolved already.
He seemed taken aback and even mildly offended, but at that point I just wanted to find out what he’d done.
“I said…Promised you’d work for Harris.” He admitted, a hint of anger in his voice suggesting it hadn’t been his idea.
“Harris? That Harris? The person you probably hate the most in the entire world?“ I asked, my question sounded more like an accusation.
“Yes, but…” My father tried to get a word in but I cut him off again, manners be damned.
“And you want me to work for him? Out of all people?” I couldn’t believe him. I remember listening to him complaining about that man for ages. I didn’t know him personally and all I knew about him came from my father’s skewed perception, but Harris still felt like a somewhat distant relative I was supposed to
hate.
“Not him. His son, rather. David passed away, remember?” From his tone and the look on his face, I could tell that deep down respected his old rival. If only my father had some of that respect saved up for others, too…
The bewildered look on my face prompted him to continue his seemingly carefully planned speech. Not once he mentioned whose idea that had been, or why he decided to speak in my behalf without even so much as calling me to see if I’d agree.
I simply sat there, halfway between stunned compliance and rabid defiance, product of the absurdity of the whole situation. I couldn’t even remember how many times I said I wouldn’t work for him, but I must admit the idea of working for one of his friends — or enemies — never truly came up. With Shaw’s shop possibly on the brink of failure, I was conflicted.
He finished his needlessly long sales pitch and a strange silence fell on the entire apartment. No sounds came from the kitchen, Brianna had long since stopped trying to cover up her blatant eavesdropping. My father waited, glancing at me to try and predict what my response would be.
The truth was I simply didn’t know what to say.
“It’s a lot to take in, I’m not ready to give you an answer right away,” I nervously blurted out. There was no lie in that statement, however. It would be a big change of pace for me, one that I wasn’t entirely too sure I could— or even wanted — to take just yet.
“Lucy, think about the future! I just want what’s best for you.” I swept aside the hand he tried to place on my shoulder, hoping to comfort me like he used to when I was younger. It only made it worse, but what truly hurt were his incessant assumptions. We had different ideas of what would be best for me, and despite my proven independence he still insisted on treating me like a toddler in a knife store.