by Tiana Laveen
He gave her hand a gentle tap before setting his cigarette into the ashtray. “Is it too early to have a cocktail?” His glance was met with a tilted grin.
“Yes, but if you stuck to the rules all the time, you wouldn’t be where you are in life.”
“‘And it was Emerald St. Claire that drove me into alcoholism…’ That’s what I’ll say in an interview when I explain the craziness of my next book release.”
The woman cracked up, banging her head into the headboard, teeth showing in a full on grin that made him proud. He flicked on the radio, catching Chris Rea serenading, “Fool If You Think It’s Over.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I was driven to drink.” He took another toke of his cigarette, laid it down, and turned the pages of the album. One after another, he scanned the pictures of him and his family. In one, his sister lay on their living room floor with a checkerboard in front of her. Another showed his mother looking at least six months pregnant. There were several shots of his father, who looked big and intimidating in all of them, until he’d gotten ill. Then, the big man started to look broken down like a tree branch that had been struck by lightning. And that delighted Sloan.
“I wrote a book that was never published.” He gingerly held his cigarette in one hand and turned the pages with the other. Cigarette smoke surrounded them. Emerald wrapped her arms around him and nestled her head on his chest.
“What was it about?”
“Clones. A crazy scientist made clones of Hitler and Stalin, brought them back to life, and had them conduct a series of hate crimes against humanity.”
“I could see why you backed away from that getting into the public’s hands. Not exactly politically correct banter,” Emerald jested.
“Well, it wasn’t exactly as bad as it sounds. See, it was the scientist’s attempt to show people the ugliness of racism in society. Her act of placing these people in modern day civilization reflected this intention, but her plan backfired because the monsters ended up murdering hundreds of people and then killed her, too, once she set out to destroy them.”
“Ahhhh, I should’ve known there was some sort of twist…and I like that the scientist was a woman. You don’t see that every day.”
“Yeah, that’s how I envisioned it. I might submit it to be published… I might just do that after all.”
“Interesting discussion but this was kinda out of the blue. What made you bring that up in the middle of showing me photos of your family?”
“Because it coincided… it has everything to do with my mother…” Emerald scanned his face with a searching, questioning gaze. “See,” he said, taking another toke of his cigarette. “As a kid, I had a real vivid imagination. I’d make up stories, I lied a lot, too.” He chuckled. “I would try to get the attention I wasn’t gettin’ at home by making up tales. Anyway, I saw this movie called, ‘Invasion of the Body Snatchers.’ I was sitting there watching the old classic, the first one, in my dorm room. I rarely thought about my mother, Emerald, so it was kinda strange for me to do so, but I was high at the time, I guess my inhabitations were lowered…”
He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Anyway, I was watchin’ it, and thought, ‘What if someone took over my mother’s body, a body snatcher, some clone scientist or an alien and made her do bad things…”
“Like leave her family.”
“Yeah,” he said, blowing out rings of smoke. “Like leave ’er family. And then I thought, what if both of my parents were clones of bad people and living out some fucked up legacy… a plot to ruin the American first family, take over the country, even the world? I was sitting there thinking that would explain why I had such a shitty dad; why my sister ran off; why my brothers, especially Benjamin, is such a jackass; and why I’ve been so unwilling to believe what plays out right in front of me, and I’ve been like that for most of my life. Like… I’d rather believe in the Loch Ness Monster than in a woman birthing four kids and dashing off. I’d rather write stories about three-legged people with titanium-plated brains than face the truth that human beings are fucked up more times than not. I was lying to myself. The truth wasn’t what I wanted… I needed the lie.”
“What was the lie, Sloan?” Emerald kissed the side of his face, kept her eye on him for a moment, then returned her attention to the gorgeous headshot of his mother. Sloan looked down at it, his eyes welling with tears.
“The lie was that…sometimes shit just happens and you never find out why. You never get an ending. You’re just left out there, dangling… and it hurts… because you want answers. You never told your ex-wife or grandkids that you had a private investigator look for her, and they came up empty…and a part of you was glad through all the disappointment. Ya blame your father ’cause he was a shitty husband. You blame yourself, too, because maybe you were a rotten kid. And then you look back on your life and realize you aren’t certain you’ve ever been really loved until you had kids of your own.
“They are the only two people who you know for a fact love you. But then you run off from reality again, to a place you’ve never been, where you can be alone, but you’re surrounded by ghosts—your own ghosts. They are your own private hauntings that exist solely in your own mind.
“And from all that fear, those cold sweats, that running scared, you get lucky and find a third person who loves you, too…” He turned to her. “And she helped you face the truth. The truth is like a nauseating serum in a cup. It’s filled with crushed glass, bile, and razor blades. All those rough edges and prickly things aren’t going to change. Why? Because they’re the truth, and the truth never waivers and doesn’t care how much you hate it.
“But when someone loves you, they help you get it down… help you accept it.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “You became my truth, my medicine. You never watered yourself down, Emerald. You stayed real… but you convinced me this is what I needed, or I’d never be okay. I’d never heal.” A tear streamed down his cheek as he closed the photo album and shoved it off his lap. He grabbed her gently by the back of the head and pressed his lips to the top of her head, crowning her with a kiss.
“Thank you for helping to make me well, Nurse St. Claire…”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I’m Not Boo Boo the Fool and I’m Not One of Your Little Friends…
Cup of Dreams was bustling, bursting with cheery chatter and the clanking of forks on plates. Soft jazz music played like a lullaby in the backdrop, while fresh snow, the first accumulation of the season, fell lightly from the sky, sprinkling the sidewalks like powdered sugar. All the tables, dressed in cloths with vibrant colors and whimsical patterns, were laden with decadent desserts, light pastries, and gorgeous glasses and mugs.
The chairs were stuffed with patrons’ asses, everyone’s mouths busily chomping on their food or pouring forth abundant guffaws. Emerald sat across from two young adults, one of which bounced Sloan’s ten month old grandson on her paisley-printed lap, and the other sporting a tense grin and shifty eyes. Sloan had disappeared into the bathroom during the brunch hour, leaving her to her own devices. She was certain it was deliberate and made a mental note to kill him later…
“So.” The tall, rail thin woman dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a deep purple cloth napkin, her movements delicate and sophisticated. With her dark hair pulled up in a loose bun, showcasing a mass of auburn highlights atop her head, she possessed a natural elegance that reminded her of her soon-to-be daughter-in-law. “My father said you are the one who did that fine job on his favorite chair that he now has sitting in the corner of his bedroom. It’s perfect.”
“Well, thank you, Michelle. Yes, I did it. I volunteered, actually.” Smiling, she took a generous sip of her coffee. To her right, the crowded place teemed with energy. She scanned the area, hoping to see Sloan making his return, but had no such luck.
“That was generous of you. It looked terrible before.” Michelle rolled her eyes. “Emerald, we’d begged him to get rid of it for years, but he refuse
d. One time our mother even set it out on the curb, but he found it before the garbage collectors did their rounds and brought it right back in the house. I hated that thing but now it looks absolutely gorgeous, not even like the same chair. Who taught you how to restore furniture?” she asked.
“Believe it or not, initially, no one. I began as self-taught.”
“Wow, really? How’d you do that?” Michelle’s brow arched as she placed a bottle to her son’s lips. The child’s blue eyes started to close and he was on the verge of dozing off, despite the noise around them.
“Yeah.” Emerald smiled and leaned back in her chair; one leg was slightly shorter than the other three, causing it to rock whenever she adjusted her weight. “I was doing it on my own after watching others in their workshops. I spent many weekend afternoons going to woodworking shops and just observing. I also did a lot of reading up on it, and educated myself on what it would take for me to start my own side business after I finished a few pieces just for myself. I felt like I could really do it, so I went on and took some professional classes for about six months, got a certification, and I’ve been hooked ever since. I advertise my services online and in the local paper. So far, business has been great.”
“Well, you’re really gifted.” Michelle put the now empty bottle, after securing the cap over the nipple, in her bag, then adjusted a little beanie hat upon the baby’s head.
“Thank you, Michelle. It’s nice to be paid for something I’d do for free.”
Michelle smiled down at her baby, whose tulip shaped lips hung ajar, his little self now firmly under the spell of slumber. Emerald loved watching that scene. The innocence and sweetness of a baby always lured her into a state of nostalgia. She anticipated the day when her daughter and wife would grow their family, so she, too, could experience a bundle of butter soft skin in her arms once more.
“Hey, uh, do you mind if I ask you a personal question or two?” The young man with the cleft chin leaned forward, his dark hair falling in his eye as he maneuvered about in his seat. A mischievous grin started to form on his face, softening the hard angles. With a sleight of hand, he ran his fingers through his flowing tresses, pushing them back, exposing vibrant green eyes that mirrored his father’s.
“Well.” Emerald smirked. “It depends on what it is… What’s on your mind?”
“Please don’t get offended, but—”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Michelle interrupted, her forehead wrinkled and her pink lips upturned as she turned to her brother in disgust. “Don’t start any crap, Joel. Ya just couldn’t stand it, could ya?”
“Stand what?!” He shrugged.
“Dad isn’t sitting here. That’s why you’re pulling this mess, aren’t you? You’d never do this if he was sittin’ here.”
“Pulling what mess?” The guy raised his hands in faux shock. “And I’m not afraid of Dad. I’d ask whether he was here or not.” As he spoke, his right eye twitched.
“Liar,” Michelle mumbled under her breath, turning away from him as if she couldn’t deal with the sight of him any longer.
“What is your question?” Emerald interjected, ready to get whatever agenda the fellow had out in the open.
“So, uh, let me ask you this.” Joel grew serious once again. “Did you know who my father was when you first met him? Like, did you realize he was kinda a big deal? They’re making a big movie based off his last book, you know.”
“I’m aware that his book is being turned into a movie, yes…” She smiled wide and took a generous taste of her coffee, saddened that the delicious drink was dwindling away far too fast.
“So what about the first part of my question?” His brows dipped. “All I know is that he saw ya in a grocery store and you two struck up a conversation.”
Emerald took another sip of her coffee, this one a bit stingier than the last as she paced herself. She placed it down upon the white and gold trimmed saucer, then clasped her hands together before placing them atop the table. Back straight, she looked into the young man’s eyes as her thoughts crawled, walked, then ran together. A crumb from her long-gone honey glazed croissant stuck to her baby finger, but she let it be. There were far more important things to address.
“Well, I—”
“Joel, stop it!” Michelle barked, interrupting the mess. The young woman seemed to attempt to keep her voice low, but Emerald was certain that others had overheard the young lady’s protests.
“No, I will not stop it!” He cut a harsh glance at his sister, then a quick glimpse back towards the restrooms. His right eye twitched once again. “There’s nothing wrong with what I asked her.”
Emerald reached for some punctuation… a period. Something to draw an end to the kangaroo court the dimwitted boy attempted to create.
This punk thinks he’s smarter than me… Well, it’s about time I take him to school.
“Joel, that’s not really your question though, is it? Your real question is, ‘Do I want your father for his fame or for who he really is?’”
In an instant, the young man’s eyes grew large, and his lips parted as if he was gearing up to state his objection. Michelle scooted about in her seat, then suddenly rose to her feet, holding her baby close to her breasts.
“I’m just going up there to the counter to order another cupcake. Anyone else want anything?” She shot them both a glance. Joel shook his head, keeping his eyes glued on Emerald. Emerald broke their gaze and looked up at the woman.
“Would you be a sweetheart and flag down the waitress? Your father’s cup is empty and mine is almost finished, too. We need some refills,” she said with a smile.
“Of course! No problem at all.” Michelle turned abruptly towards her brother. “And I’ll be finding out what’s taking Dad so long, too,” she warned him, her tone low and scolding as she hurried away with her child in tow.
“So, to address your true question, Joel, yes and no.”
“I don’t understand that answer.”
“If you’d be quiet for a second and let me respond, you will.”
The boy immediately turned beet-red and pursed his lips, no doubt holding back some retort.
“Here is what transpired. I’d heard of your talented father, Sloan Steele, but didn’t know he was the man I’d spoken to the night we met. I had never seen him. He didn’t include a photo of himself in the book of his I’d read, at least not that I recall. It also is not common, from my understanding, for a fiction author to use their birth name as their penname. Furthermore, I want to make something clear to you.” She pointed at him.
“For the record, Sloan is the one who asked me out and took the initiative for us to get together. I asked that man for a wine recommendation and had no idea who he was, nor did I care. Now, I have a question for you.” She crossed her arms over her chest, unable to hide her annoyance as she thought about the gall of the bastard. She could definitely see why Sloan complained about his son every now and again, though she tried to remain open minded about the kid, nevertheless.
“I’m going to ask you this question, and I want you to think about it before you answer. You’re sitting there, so ready to interview me, you’re half listening to my replies right now. I’m not stupid; we both know what your intentions were and it wasn’t to get to know me. Had to say that just so we’re clear. Now, are you ready to answer my question?”
His face turned even redder, though she’d never thought that possible. He gave an imperceptible nod. “All right…”
“Why didn’t you ask your father this? He’s a pretty honest man and from this time I’ve known him, he’ll tell just about anyone what he really thinks about people. He is not a sugar-coating kind of fellow.”
“Well.” Joel lowered his head, a silly smile on his face. “I did actually but my father is sarcastic… you probably know that by now. He gave me a senseless answer and refused to tell me anything more. He acts so secretive sometimes.” His huffed and slumped his shoulders.
“Hmmm, a silly answe
r? What did he say?” She tilted her head to the side, her curiosity getting the best of her.
“Emerald, I don’t think it would be appropriate to repeat it.” Joel’s body stiffened and his gaze went berserk roaming about the place, as if he could no longer stand to face her. He ran his hands up and down his arms like a man suffering a chill.
“Why?”
“Like I said, it would be unsuitable to recap… Dad can be a little crude at times.”
“Don’t act bashful. You had the nerve to sit here and ask me if I was gold digger, so—”
“Ohhhhh, hold the presses!” He put his hand up. “I didn’t accuse you of any such thing.”
“You did and you know it. I make my own money and have never asked your father for a dime, but that is beside the point. Please don’t pretend to care about protecting me from the ugliness of the world.” She rolled her eyes. “There’s no need to act coy and classy now. Too late. I’ve got your number, dialed it, left a message and hung up.”
The man swallowed, cleared his throat, and sighed as he slumped back onto his seat, a ‘woe is me’ expression on his face. “My father is insane.” He emitted a sound that seemed half way between a giggle and a snort.
“Well, we both can agree on that. So get to it; what did he say that was so crazy?” She looked down into her empty coffee mug.
That woman won’t be getting a tip…
“He said he’d jumped into the produce area, in one of those big bins filled with peaches, when he saw you coming. He said he made sure all of his body was covered, except… except one part. He said he then unzipped his pants and shoved his testicles in the air, hoping they blended in with the peaches and that his plan worked, because you came over and tugged on them, and then at that very moment, you two fell hopelessly in love…and…that everything was peachy keen.” Joel kept a solemn expression, but his lower lip quivered something terrible.