by Xavier Neal
Lifting my glass, I simply look away.
That's accurate. The part about the hair I mean. I'm not her personal bitch girl. That's Rachelle. She's her personal assistant. I'm just her social life assistant. I arrange parties. Girl's night. The outings when it's her turn to take out the soccer team or karate crew or whatever extra-curricular activity her brat is fazing through. Occasionally she tosses me a bone and I host more important functions. Few and far between though. She's more worried about keeping a glowing social persona than a political one. All the shit that keeps her busy yet not busy enough to stop having affairs across the city. Not that her husband is any better. Is this my ideal job? Fuck no. But the pay is great and I love planning social events. The dream was to do weddings and engagement parties, but let's not talk about that. I haven't had that much liquor yet. No. I don't plan on it.
After a long sip of my cherry vodka sour, I ask, “How was work? Your boss offer you that job yet?”
Liz's eyes do their best not to flare. “Nope. Rumor has it she wants to give it to Jillian. That bitch....”
I cover my mouth to hide my laugh.
“Whatever,” she snaps. “She totally is. She takes credit for work she doesn't do. All. The. Time. I swear if I didn't mind fucking up my manicure, I'd bury that twat six feet under and then use my stilettos to stomp her down two more feet.”
So maybe more like if Barbie had an adjustable snappy attitude. Still.
“Anyway, back on the important subject, you need to find someone to clean house or I'll be setting you up on a blind date.”
Instantly I gag. “You know how I feel about those.”
Blind dates make me wish I was blind. At least then I wouldn't haven't to struggle to picture Chris Hemsworth’s face instead of theirs.
“I do.” Her eyebrows wiggle. “And I've already found the perfect candidate. He's got four cats.”
“Four?!” When she winks, I shake my head. “You're a hateful person, you know that?”
“Pushy,” she corrects at the same time the bartender places a fresh drink in front of her.
“This is from the gentleman sitting there,” the bartender informs as he points to the man on the opposite side of the hotel bar. His eyes land on me. “Do you need anything?”
Nothing that fits in this tiny ass glass.
“I'm good,” I politely reply.
After watching him walk away, I casually join Liz in looking towards the back corner of the bar to better examine the drink donor. He's a tall, older man in what appears to be a designer suit, drinking alone.
“He's alright.” My comment is met with a skeptical eyebrows. “A little older model never hurt anyone.”
Liz unleashes her super power. “A little older? Are you joking? He's easily at least 48 and while I have no problem with older men, this you know, the wedding band on his finger he has yet to remove because he doesn't think I can see that far, does hurt. I don't deal with married men. I have morals.”
“Morals?”
She uses the tip of her heel to kick me in the shin.
“Ou!”
“I mean it, Ari. You're in a rut. Shake that tree of life. You might be surprised at what falls into your lap.”
Humoring her I sigh, “Fine. I'll shake something.”
“Shake a lot. You've got a great rack.”
The joke makes me snicker.
She's right. It's one of my better features. You know I've got a few good ones myself. It couldn't hurt to share them with others...It's rude to be selfish. Besides, as long as I'm up front about a hit it and quit, no harm is done. Surely out of the thousands of men in this fucking city there's at least one who won't pout after a one night round. Right?
Arik
“It's nice to have all my children home,” my mom coos from behind her water glass. “I love Sunday brunch.”
Her long jet black hair and bright emerald eyes, do give her an exotic vibe. She's heard that most of her life and unfortunately for me because I got her set of genetics instead of my father's my brother and sister loved to tell people in school I was the pool boy's son.
My older sister Alison quips, “It's nice to have all of us sober for a change.”
“You mean starting out sober? Because I watched you put back two mimosas before mom had time to bless the food,” I say with a smirk, dragging my eyes back to the outdoor dining area where we eat brunch unless it's raining.
It's got a great view of the lush green property. A large covering to protect us from the summer sun and of course a luxury glass dining table to give it the elegant meets expensive vibe that never gets old apparently.
Alison glares, which is when my older brother comes to her rescue, like always. “Surprised you noticed with the way you were eye raping the new maid.”
I wasn't eye raping her, but if she offered to do a little extra for me, I'd give more than just the tip.
There's a heavy sigh out of my father as he rolls his head towards my mother. “You love this?”
She waves him off. “Oh, it could be worse.”
He mutters, “They could be trying to stab each other with utensils again.”
“That was a helluva Thanksgiving,” I recall on a laugh.
Wipe that appalled look off your face. It's not as bad as it sounds. Only thing you need to really know is if there's one last piece of pecan pie and you're not willing to risk losing a finger for it, don't even consider it an option in the McKellan house.
My father steers the conversation elsewhere. “How's that project coming along, Greg?”
“Harder than anticipated.” He folds his hands in lap. “Donors aren't lining up as predicted.”
“Apparently everyone doesn't wanna be a philanthropist,” I mumble under my breath.
Gregory Jr. or Greg which is what he prefers, does what most bored rich people do in their 30s. Throw loads of cash at the less fortunate to feel like less of a douche because he came from money. Rather than just be a better person he makes it rain on whatever cause the latest piece of ass he's screwing is committed to.
“This is important!” His voice raises. “If we don't help save the trees-”
“Last year it was the wales.” My interruption causes my mother to snicker. “Can't you pick one thing to actually try to save?”
Our father shakes his head and reaches for his own drink. “What about you Ali cat? How's working for that Italian designer?”
“He's wonderful,” she giggles.
“Then why does he have you dressing like the 80s and 90s had a child they should've disciplined more?”
Well, what would you call it? She's got on fucking black studded grunge boots, a white leather mini skirt with a fury crop top. I don't know dick about fashion, however I do know I could use that big ass floppy hat on her head for target practice.
“You don't know anything!” Ali shrieks.
“What about you?” Greg snaps. “How's life as a starving artist?”
With a crooked grin I lean back and lift up the edge of my gray fitted shirt. “As you can see I'm not quite starving, big bro.”
“Put your shirt down,” my brother gripes.
Playfully I poke, “Jealous?”
“That you're sucking our parents dry to chase that silly thing you call a music career?”
With a bite of a grape, I correct, “I was referring to the way you could do a load of laundry on my abs.”
As my siblings sneer my mother clears her throat. “Actually, Arik doesn't come to us for money.”
Greg instinctively glares. “You can't possibly tell me you playing music makes you enough money to keep up the lifestyle you love so damn much.”
Don't reply to that. I mean it. They don't know about my nine to five and I'm not about to tell them. There's no reason they should know. They know what's important. I'm not suckling from the parental teet cash cow. I stand on my own two feet...well when I'm not on my knees. You like that image?
“Obviously your brother mastered the ar
t of living within his means,” my father compliments.
“Have you seen his loft?” Ali tries to fight. “You call that living within his means?”
“Or his gas guzzling vehicle?” Greg growls.
Our father runs his large hands over his dirty blonde hair. “He's not asking us for cash, so I would say, yes. I call that mastering the art of living within his means. And that's more than I can say for either of you at his age.”
Youngest. Hottest. Brattiest. Ha. I can't help that I'm their favorite. While Greg may carry our father's name and light colored features, mom has always said I carry the torch of his personality. It's what makes him so charming in the boardrooms. One of the biggest differences between me and my brother is I've never had a desire to sit in an ivory tower of any kind while Greg is determined that's where he belongs...well in between boning hippie chicks. Another big difference? While Greg's cock has him living in the moment, he's always planning for his future. It actually explains why he runs through women so fast. He's determined he can't stay committed to one that won't eventually be Mrs. Right. Me on the other hand? The exact opposite. The future is not a place where my head belongs. In fact it belongs in the same place my cock does. Here and now baby.
There's a brief fit of grumbles and insults about me from my siblings’ lips before my father announces, “While I have you all in one room, go ahead and prepare to mark your calendars for the Delicourts’ yacht party in a few weeks.”
The three us of groan in unison.
“Do we have to go?” Greg complains. “Those parties are so...stiff.”
“They're so stiff they make the dead look like they're tap dancing,” Ali backs him up.
No joke. Pretty sure their noses are in a completely different altitude than the rest of their bodies.
“You know the rule,” our father starts extending his hand out for mom to hold. “You get one Get out of Hell free card a year. If you wanna use it now, feel free.”
“But remember the year is only half over,” mom adds.
Dad smirks. “Still plenty of time for worse events to show up.”
Greg lets out a huge sigh before he grouses, “Fine.”
It's simple. For as long as I can remember we've been obligated to attend certain social events throughout the year. They're the ones that our father insists make us look like the prestigious, perfect family he prefers the world sees us as for his business' sake. When you're a kid, you don't have a choice. When you're a teen your choice is easily swayed by your allowance, driving, and being grounded. When you're an adult, the word inheritance becomes the puppet master. Part of us knows that even if we didn't, he would still include us in his will, but the other part...the part that knows the ruthless man he's capable of being...well that's the part that has us keeping up our end. Now he's reasonable and if any of us ever had a legit reason for not being able to attend, other than just not wanting to choke on snob, we'd be pardoned. But typically, we don't.
“Who knows,” mom sighs. “Maybe you'll meet a nice girl there, Greg.”
Ali snips with a viscous smirk. “Then what would he tell that dog he's been seeing?”
Before our parents have a chance to question, he huffs, “She's not a dog!”
“That girl looks like she has more fleas than a rescue mutt,” Ali gags and glances at me.
After a chuckle, I remark, “Woof. Woof.”
He questions harshly, “How do you even know I have a girlfriend?”
“She tags you in a million posts online, all the time. You should tell her tag you less and shower more,” Alison's comment makes me laugh, but Greg throws his napkin on the table and abruptly stands.
“I hate this family,” he grumbles. “I'm gonna get some fresh air.”
As he starts to stroll away, I yell after him, “We're already outside!”
His response is lost in the wind.
Alison turns to give me one more giggle before facing our father who looks less than pleased. Without having to be told, she surrenders her hands. “Fine. I'll apologize.” She struts the direction he stomped and shouts, “I know a great groomer!”
Unable to hide my amusement, I toss my head back on a laugh.
Hey, we're terrible to each other. Always have been. It's what we do. Affair child jokes aside, they found even more creative ways to make most of my childhood and a good hunk of my adolescence miserable. This is just karma taking effect.
When I'm done, my eyes meet my father's blue ones. Immediately I shake my head. “I'm not apologizing.”
“Of course you're not,” he retorts rising to his feet. “I'm gonna grab another drink and a cigar.”
Once my father has slipped into the house, my mom pushes her plate away, folds her hands together and leans towards me. “Other than successfully tormenting your brother and sister, how are you?”
With a simple smile and a shrug I answer, “Can't complain.”
You can nip that shit in the bud. I'm not a punk bitch mama's boy. I'm both of their favorites. Dad loves that I can talk about sports without confusing football with basketball terms, unlike my brother who has never been a fan of anything other than soccer. My mom shares my love of music. She can't play the piano but she can rock on bass. She's also got a voice I'm pretty sure she stole from a rock goddess. It's where my musical talent comes from. Drives my sister crazy since she can't carry a tune in a grocery sack. I'll admit, since we're talking about my family, I'm actually pretty good with my brother and sister. We may be a little at each other's throats the majority of times, but it doesn't mean there's not love here. We've always come through for one another when it matters. Like when Ali's prom date stood her up, who do you think beat the shit out of that first year college prick? Or when Greg needed a wing man because the only way Ashley Greggerson was allowed to date was if her younger sister doubled with her, I was there with a fake smile and breath mints for a make out session I faked my way through. That's right. I'm a good little brother. I fucking love my family. It's one reason I keep my choice of profession to myself. Keeps the McKellan name clean.
Mom lifts her folded hands to rest her chin on them. “How is the music world coming along? Anything new? Nikki stop being the useless cock tease she is and finally get you some work?”
Gotta love her. Don't worry why we cuss like sailors in this family. Between her and my father it's a surprise the first thing when I learned to talk wasn't a cuss word.
Through a chuckle, I reply, “I have an audition tomorrow afternoon.”
“Oooo!” Genuine excitement coats the eyes that match my own in shape and color. “For?”
“Some charity event for Congress woman Helen...whatever her last name is.” I shrug. “It's really not a big deal.”
It might be slightly bigger had she not first heard me play at The Castle. From my understanding she had to cash in quite a few favors to get my agent's information. There were probably a few protocols broken that I'm sure French quickly corrected by barbecuing someone's nuts on an open flame. On the upside, it should be a high paying job, which will help counter the other bullshit. Nikki told me I only had to audition for the event coordinator as protocol and not to worry because the set is mine if I want it. From my experience very few things are ever a guaranteed win, but it's all good. I know my talent will speak for itself.
“I think we were invited to that,” she tries to recall as she pulls her hair to one side of her face. Leaning back in the chair she says, “I'll double check. Pretty sure your father's new best friend is going.”
“New best friend?”
“He finally found a golf soul mate. It's about time too. I was starting to worry I would have to try playing that awful fucking sport again.” After we snicker she questions, “Is it going to bother you if we come and hear you play? You know, you never tell us exactly where you're playing.”
My parents seeing me naked. Nightmare? Pretty much. Way worse than the one where you’re taking a test naked with your peers. Oddly enough I always f
ound that one soothing.
Casually I say, “If I get the job and that's where dad wants to have his play date, I don't see why not.”
She offers me another small snicker. “So, what else is new? That hot neighbor still complaining about the noise?”
Suspicious by the gleam in her, I lean back in my chair. “If you wanna know if I've got a girlfriend, just ask.”
“I know you don't.” Her immediate response lifts my eyebrows. “I know my children. Greg and his trending attractions will eventually end with him marrying a small town girl who is happy staying at home with their children. Your sister who may be banging bi-sexual male models now will most likely settle down with a college professor while you....you're going to end up just like father.”