Big O's

by M. S. Parker

  “I wanted to say hi to my brother, see how you’re doing.” Folding my arms over my chest, I stared him down. “Obviously, you’re being an arrogant little shit who doesn’t give a fuck about anybody but himself.”

  His face fell, as I’d expected it to when I gave him that look. He hated it when I came down on him, and it made me feel like shit having to do it, but if he was talking like this to me, how was he talking to Mom?

  “Look, man…” He shifted from one foot to the other. “You know that ain’t true. I just…I got suspended for fighting, and Mom’s all worked up about it. She thinks I’m gonna get expelled if it happens again and she was crying an’ all…” His voice trailed off, and he stared off at a space on the wall behind me.

  “Are you?” I replied.

  “I…I dunno. Maybe.” He sounded like an unhappy little kid now, and I fought the urge to go give him a hug.

  “Then maybe it’s time you stop doing whatever shit you’re doing and get your act together.”

  “You want to tell me what’s going on with Austen?”

  It was hard to find any privacy in the apartment, but I managed to catch Mom in the hallway when she took one of the twins to her room to change a diaper. With the pungent odor of that hanging in the air, I hoped this would be a short conversation, but I’d smelled worse shit in my life.

  Mom made a face at me and put Rose down, then glanced around.

  “Did he talk to you?” she asked softly.

  “No. Well, not really. I know he’s had some issues with fighting apparently. Said he might get expelled.” Studying her face, I hesitated a moment, then asked, “Is it that bad?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied, sounding more helpless than I’d heard her sound in a long time. “I want to say no, but it’s the second time he’s been in a fight this year, and he hurt the other kid pretty bad.”

  “What was the fight over? Who started it?”

  “I have no idea what it was over.” Mom rolled her eyes. “Boys fight over anything, it seems. But the school did admit that the other boy started it. Austen just…ended it.” She gave me a bleak look and shook her head. “He’s got to get that temper of his under control. And some of the kids he’s hanging with…”

  The words trailed off, but I didn’t need her to finish to surmise there was some trouble there, too.

  “Anything else?”

  “Isn’t that enough?” She wagged the small bag that held the diaper and said, “Now, I’m tired of breathing in Rose de Poopie Pants so I’m going to throw this out. We can talk about your brother later, okay?”

  She smiled at me, but the strain was still in her eyes.

  Yeah, we’d talk about it later.

  “He’s skipped some classes lately,” Nathaniel said over a beer.

  I was sitting on the fire escape while Nathaniel leaned outside, the two of us catching up. We’d spent Christmas together, but with the kids, that day had turned into holiday chaos, and before Christmas, my brothers, sisters, and Mom had been busy with getting ready for the holiday.

  I guess I’d been busy in my own way, but I kept my shopping to a minimum. I had gift buying down to an art and started back in August, so I didn’t have to spend more time around people than needed once the Christmas rush got here.

  But any time people got busy, so did their cars and that meant more work for the garage.

  I had only a few employees, and when things got too crazy, it meant longer hours for all of us. I was getting a bigger client base, something I was glad to see, but sooner or later, I’d have to hire part-time help.

  Between the holiday rush and my garage, I just hadn’t seen my family as much as I wanted, so the news about Austen was just that – news. “He’s skipping classes,” I muttered, shaking my head. I lifted the beer to my lips and sipped. “What’s going on with him? He’s a senior. A few more months and high school will be behind him. He doesn’t gotta worry about it anymore.”

  “Senioritis?” Nathaniel offered. “Hell, I don’t know. He’s…angry at things sometimes.”

  I’d noticed. He’d had an attitude with almost everybody although he’d been nice enough to the babies. He’d even been a bit of a shit to his nephews, and usually, he was great with them – and they adored him. Because they adored him, they’d forget all about him being a little asshole today, but I didn’t like seeing him act that way.

  Rubbing my forehead where a headache was trying to form, I debated on whether I should talk to Austen again.

  Nathaniel must have been reading my mind because he bumped his beer bottle against mine. “He’s going to work it out, Kane. You were in worse trouble when you were his age, and look at you now.”

  “Yeah, but think about how much trouble I had to get into and how much shit I had to go through before I got my act together,” I pointed out.

  “True.” Nathaniel winced and lifted his bottle to his lips.

  I did the same, draining my beer in three swallows.

  “Just give him some space for now,” Nathaniel advised. “Maybe he just needs to realize he’s being a little dick.”

  “Maybe.”

  7

  Raye

  “Man…”

  I all but had to pick my jaw up off the floor as I finished reading the last in a series of articles I’d found online.

  I was almost positive I’d found my brother.

  I’d used one of those free ancestry websites to look up Leland Jakes and found his son’s name, then did a google from there.

  Had I ever hit the jackpot once I added in Texas along with Matthew Jakes.

  He’d been involved in a car crash some years ago where he’d been accused of killing his mother. Several other guys had been in the car, including the son of some politician, Washington McCrane.

  But the doozy of all of them was an article written by one Michelle Nestor that had been picked up by the Associated Press. Years after his release from prison, this woman, Michelle Nestor, breaks a story that my brother – wow, that was weird, even just thinking it – hadn’t been driving the car at all.

  The person driving had been the politician’s kid, and Mr. Big Time Politician had covered everything up to avoid the bad press.

  Now McCrane was in jail, and Matthew’s name had been cleared. The article mentioned that the son had died a few years earlier. It was all…surreal.

  I dug in deeper, trying to find more on Matthew, but there really wasn’t anything outside of those articles and the myriad links to people finder websites. If I had to, I could try one of those, but how many of them were scams? I’d have to research it and find one that was reputable and reliable. I didn’t want to go digging around in people’s lives if I didn’t have to.

  “Why couldn’t you make it simple and have a Facebook profile?” I mumbled.

  It was possible he did have one, but it was set to private. None of the Matthew Jakes I’d found looked to be the right guy, and I wasn’t about to start hitting up random strangers.

  After another hour of fruitless searching, I went back to the article written by Michelle Nestor.

  Reading it through, I studied the quotes she’d taken and the brief part of the article that focused on the time she’d spent talking with Matthew. “You know him,” I mused. There was a…familiarity about the entire article.

  Okay, if I couldn’t find him myself, I’d reach out through her.

  My face burned hot as a flame when I googled her name.

  A lot of hits came up, and almost all of them were focused on sex.

  My toes curled into the carpet as I clicked on one of them, and an article on oral sex popped up.

  My mouth was dry by the time I was done reading it – other parts of me were decidedly not dry.

  She had a way of writing that was hella sexy.

  I found an article that had actually been written about her, and how she’d gone from an unknown name to an overnight sensation at the magazine she wrote for, all starting with her interview of a… �
�Son of a bitch,” I whispered. “A male prostitute?”

  She went from writing an exposé about the politician who set my brother up to writing sexy little pieces inspired by talks with a gigolo?

  Except that wasn’t the only stuff she wrote about. There was a piece on sexual harassment in the workplace. Another on campus rape. I clicked away from both of those, uncomfortable topics.. It looked like she wrote the gamut when it came to women’s interest.

  But the only real investigative type piece that I could find was the article about Matthew and McCrane.

  “Weird,” I muttered. “How did you even find out about him?”

  There was no answer in my quiet little apartment, and I sighed, zooming my mouse in on the search bar so I could type in Michelle Nestor website.

  It took me to her LinkedIn page, and I had to go through the hassle of setting up an account I wouldn’t use to get her contact info, but finally, I had it.

  I copied it, pasted into the to line of a blank email, then leaned back and pondered on what I should say.

  It took nearly an hour to get the words right, but I felt it had to be perfect. It wasn’t like I could just drop her a note, saying…

  Hey, I read your articles about sexual harassment and oral sex. Oh, and the one about that guy Matthew Jakes? Um, so…crazy story, but I think he’s my brother and I’d like to meet him. Can you hook us up?

  Once I finished, I leaned back and read it through – again.

  Before I could let myself start the line of self-doubt and questioning, I sent the email off.

  “Okay,” I whispered, shoving back from the kitchen table that doubled as my desk. “You went and did it. Now it’s out of your hands.”

  I blew out a hard breath and looked back at the laptop. How long would it take for her to answer?

  Oh, shit. What if she didn’t answer?

  I dropped my face into my hands and groaned.

  She did answer. Less than an hour later, actually.

  I heard the little swish announcing a new email and all but tripped over my feet running over to the table.

  I hadn’t mentioned anything about Matthew and I being related when I reached out to her.

  That wouldn’t be the most ideal way to broach this, so I simply acted like I’d read the article and had a few questions, and asked if she’d be open to meeting for drinks?

  Surprisingly, the email reply was a yes.

  Slumping in my seat, I read it repeatedly to make sure I hadn’t missed anything.

  She could meet…tomorrow.

  The place she named was unfamiliar to me, but I rarely got out and about. If it wasn’t near NYU or the boutique, I wasn’t likely to know about it.

  I hurriedly emailed her back before she could change her mind – she still might and then what was I going to do?

  This time, her reply was almost instantaneous. Eleven o’clock.

  Tomorrow, at eleven o’clock, I was going to meet the woman who’d helped my brother clear his name.

  And then all I’d have to do is convince her to help me out, so I could meet him.

  8

  Raye

  I changed my clothes four different times.

  By the time I was satisfied with the way I looked in the mirror, I’d spent nearly an hour getting dressed. Also, I realized with a grimace, I was wearing the first outfit I’d tried on.

  Talk about being indecisive.

  It was only a little after nine, too. I’d already done my hair and make-up. The trip uptown would only take a half hour, although I planned to leave at ten and be a little early.

  Better early than late, always.

  I made myself wait until ten to leave, although I was itching and chomping at the bit to get there. Showing up at ten o’clock wasn’t going to make her show up any sooner.

  I made myself take my time walking to the restaurant and even ducked into a lingerie boutique – not to shop. It was a competitor, and we liked to keep up with the competition. After wasting about ten minutes inside and deciding their displays weren’t as good as ours, I cut out and finished the walk to the restaurant.

  I got a table just a few minutes before eleven and was watching for Michelle. She had a picture on her LinkedIn profile, so I knew who to look for, a redhead with a great smile. She looked too innocent to be writing all those hawt articles. Part of me wished there wasn’t something so messed up inside me, wished I wasn’t as shy as I was when it came to things of intimacy and the like.

  When she came in, I recognized her right away and lifted a hand to wave.

  She gave me a hesitant smile as she approached. “Are you Raye?”

  “I am.” I rose and offered my hand. She shook it quickly before slipping out of her coat and draping it over the back of the chair. “It’s so cold out there.” A bright laughed escaped her. “Granted, it’s January in New York City. Of course, it’s cold, but sometimes, it’s like it cuts right through me.”

  “Tell me about it.” I smiled at her. “I hate this kind of cold.”

  We made small talk for a few minutes as we waited for the waiter and placed an order for drinks. I had juggled the budget, and if I took my lunch all week instead of treating myself once or twice, I’d be okay to buy the drinks and an appetizer, so I asked if she was interested in nachos.

  Her eyes gleamed. “When am I not interested in nachos?”

  I laughed. “A girl after my own heart.”

  After the server disappeared, Michelle focused her blue-green eyes on me. “So, what did you want to ask me? It’s been a while since all of that went down.”

  “I know. Really, I wanted to ask you about…” I bit my lip as nervousness began to rattle inside me. “It’s about Matthew Jakes.”

  A change settled over her face. It was subtle but undeniable. Her eyes became more guarded, and a faint tension tightened her muscles. She still smiled, but it was less relaxed, one of those blank polite smiles that could hide a million emotions.

  “Oh?” She reached for the ice water and took a sip, shifting subtly in her seat as she did so. “What do you want to know about him? As I said, it’s been a while since I wrote that series.”

  “I…” The change in her attitude was unsettling, and I wasn’t sure how to handle it. As my nerves got worse, I glanced around, wishing the waiter would hurry up with our drinks so I’d have something other than the water. “This is going to sound kind of crazy, but I have…well…” That damn server still hadn’t shown up. I reached for the water, although I was still freezing from my walk from the subway. I took a sip to wet my throat, then met her eyes once more. “I think Matthew Jakes is my brother.”

  She blinked.

  Slowly, she straightened in the chair.

  She shook her head and cleared her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “But can you repeat that?”

  I did, and she blew out a hard breath. “Maybe you should give me a little bit of the back story here.”

  “Okay.” The server finally showed up with our drinks, and I greedily grabbed the Irish coffee I’d ordered. Sure, it was before noon, and I was having a drink, but it wasn’t every day that I reached out and tried to find my brother, right? Folding my hands around it, I waited until the server walked off, then I met her gaze once more. There was still a world of speculation in the blue-green, and I could sense her guard was up, but at least she was still listening.

  “It’s kind of…awkward, okay?” Huffing out a breath, I took a sip of the coffee then put the cup down. The heat of it seeped into my hands, and it felt so good. “I’m originally from Illinois. I was born there. I’m here in New York going to NYU. My mom called me the other day and…well….” My face reddened. Shit. Now, I had to explain. “See, I never knew who my father was. My mother told me when I was a teenager that she had an affair with a married man, but she didn’t find out about me until after it ended. When she told him about me, he said he didn’t want to have a relationship with me and…well, it was just Mama and me. I’ve never k
nown anything else about him.” I’d spent the past few minutes checking out the swirls of whipped cream on my coffee, but now I made myself look up at her.

  To my surprise, there was compassion on her face. “I guess that wasn’t easy.”

  “I never thought about it much,” I said honestly. “It’s just what I knew.”

  She nodded to indicate she understood, and I continued. “During the call with my mom…” Reaching into my bag, I pulled out my phone and went to the gallery, opening to the picture of Leland with the little boy that I thought was Matthew. I flipped the phone around and showed it to Michelle.

  Her eyes widened as she took the phone, then they softened. She reached up and traced a finger of the screen. “Huh,” she murmured under her breath.

  She continued to stare at the picture, and I had the weirdest feeling she forgot I was there.

  “Michelle?”

  She started at the sound of my voice. “Sorry. Ah, my mind was wandering,” she said, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. She returned the phone. “What’s the deal with the picture?”

  “Mom sent it to me. She told me that was my father. His name is on the back, along with MJ. I did some digging around online and found that my father is supposed to have a son…Matthew Jakes.” I took another sip of coffee, a bigger one, needing it to bolster my courage, even though the coffee was still scalding hot. “I read about the accident. I know he went to jail.”

  Focusing on her, I added, “And I know how you helped discover that it was that politician’s son who was actually responsible. He got his name cleared because of you.”

  Her cheeks flushed. “It wasn’t just me.” She licked her lips, clearly flustered.

  “But it was in part because of you.” My throat tightened, and I had to fight back the urge to reach out and grab her in a hug.

  She opened her mouth, then stopped, smiling at me. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Her gaze fell back to the phone, and she sighed. “I guess maybe the two of you should meet, huh?”