Fool's Gold

by Sarah Madison

  “Yeah.” Jake wondered why. It wasn’t like his father to give up any negotiating advantage he might have. It struck him that most people probably didn’t have to think of their relationship with their parent as a series of battleground engagements, but he did. Nothing about Donald Stanford was easy.

  “Ready?”

  “No,” Rich answered honestly. “But let’s get this over with.” His smile was rueful as he unbuckled his seat belt.

  They got out of the car. His father watched them expressionlessly as they approached. Jake noted he managed to retain the air of ownership even though he scarcely spent more than two weeks out of the year at Foxden these days. Maybe he doesn’t need the impressive chair in the study.

  His father lifted his glass and took a sip. It might have been Jake’s imagination, but his father’s hand seemed slightly unsteady. There was no mistaking, however, that his father’s eyes looked red-rimmed and watery, almost as though he’d been crying. Which was impossible—the man would have had to have had a heart for that.

  “Father.” Jake hated the wariness in his voice when he spoke. Rich came to a stop just a heartbeat later; his cane tapping on the paved surface of the driveway.

  “Jacob.” His father’s voice was smooth. The cultured overtones never failed to stir a bitter resentment in Jake on hearing it. “Jacob.” That’s a bad sign. Donald flicked a dismissive glance in Rich’s direction before turning his attention back to Jake. “Tom looks like hell. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Alarm flared, gripping his guts painfully and causing him to catch his breath. “He wasn’t feeling good when we left, but he’s doing as well as expected, according to Carolyn. I got a text from him a little while ago. Is he here?” He took a step toward the barn, but Rich stopped him with a touch to his arm.

  “I suspect your father hasn’t seen Tom in a while and the change in him caught him off guard.” Rich studiously avoided looking at Donald as he spoke, but Jake shot his father a sharp glance at Rich’s words.

  “I daresay Evans is right. You, of course, have had a chance to get used to it, but I was surprised at how ill he looked.” Donald, too, seemed unable to see Rich, yet spoke without obvious rancor.

  He probably prides himself on his civil self-control here.

  The tension eased out of Jake’s body slightly. It dawned on him that he’d been poised on the balls of his feet, and he slowly sank down to a more natural position. He unclenched muscles he hadn’t realized were locked down and forced himself to face his father. His parent, however, did not look as though he was gearing up for a fight. As Jake frowned in puzzlement, his father wiped at one eye with the heel of his hand. Even the end of his nose looked red.

  “What are you doing out here?” Jake asked. The hell with the unwritten rules of etiquette, which demanded Jake pretend his father’s presence in the driveway was a normal, everyday occurrence. It was getting harder to play the game, to mutely accept the conditions under which Jake and his father had always operated. Even though he knew better than to challenge his father openly right now, he just couldn’t help it. The sight of him, drink in hand, as though they were all about to go inside and sit down to dinner, vented the old resentments like cracks in damaged piping.

  “There are cats in the house,” Donald said. Frost formed on his words. His posture was one of extreme indignity. “I’m allergic.”

  “What did you do to my cats?” Rich launched himself forward, raising his cane slightly, almost threateningly. The move took Jake by surprise, and he grabbed Rich by the shoulders to hold him back. “If you’ve hurt them—”

  A memory suddenly rushed into Jake’s mind: the two of them standing in Rich’s tiny kitchen, waiting for the coffeemaker to brew the first pot. Rich with his bed-mussed hair backlit by the morning sun coming in from the window behind him. He’d been wearing a threadbare T-shirt over briefs, the shirt washed and worn so many times the collar was fraying and the print design was no longer legible. Brain had been yowling for breakfast for the last thirty minutes, and as Rich opened a can of cat food, Jake had made some joke about the animal. It was then that Rich casually mentioned Brain was the first pet he’d dared to get when he was on his own because one of his mother’s boyfriends had drowned his kitten when he was a child.

  It had been one of the most devastating things Rich had shared with him, and the more so for how simply the story came out. As though it wasn’t anything that unusual.

  No wonder he expects you to let him down.

  “He wouldn’t do anything to hurt them,” Jake said hastily. Rich’s muscles were like bands of steel under his grip. At the same time, Jake’s father looked down his reddened nose at Rich.

  “I haven’t done anything with them, except request that they be confined to one room. I couldn’t breathe, so I came outside. At least until the antihistamines kicked in.” Jake’s dad eyed Rich as though he was a small dog that had suddenly sunk his teeth into an ankle.

  Rich shook Jake off, straightening his jacket, never taking his eyes off Donald. A small moment of envy stabbed Jake that Rich hadn’t been this willing to fight for him, apparently. Cats yes, me no. Well, at least he knew where he stood.

  Maybe he finds cats more trustworthy.

  “Shall we go inside?” Donald suggested, indicating the house with his drink. He turned toward the mansion without waiting to see if they were coming.

  Jake and Rich exchanged a silent glance before falling into step together. Rich’s eyes flashed with the need to impart some information, but Jake couldn’t interpret the message. Rich slumped his shoulders as he trailed slightly behind.

  Entering the front door was like walking into his prep school. It even felt as if he were being called into the headmaster’s office for a dressing down. Jake had hated every moment of boarding school, and had been relieved when he’d been called home. Relief had turned to guilt when the reason for his freedom from school had been his mother’s illness, and still he resented the time wasted there. The school had been a point of contention between his parents as well, with his father touting the superior education and life experience Jake would gain, while his mother had been unhappy at the distance and the fact Jake was only home during the holidays. After his mother’s death, he’d refused to return to the boarding school, insisting on the local high school so he could come home and ride every afternoon. For some reason, his father had given in. Probably because he hadn’t known how to deal with Jake then. Because he couldn’t be bothered. The thought was sour and tasted of bile.

  Donald led the way to his study, seldom used but still dusted and kept ready for his eventual return. Their footsteps echoed along the tiled floors, emphasizing the resemblance to the prep school once more. The servants were nowhere in sight, having melted into the woodwork at what was no doubt his father’s wrath on arrival and discovering Rich was living at the house. Jake felt very much on his own, and having Rich at his side was reassuring.

  Donald entered his study and held the door open so Jake could follow behind him. He blocked Rich at the door when he would have come in as well.

  “I need to have a private discussion with my son.” Donald wasn’t taking no for an answer, despite the fact Rich was practically in his face. Rich swelled in response, taking a deep breath to defend his right to be present, but Jake intervened.

  “It’ll be okay. Wait here.” He traded a long look with Rich, willing him to understand.

  “Fine.” Rich gave in with poor grace. “I’ll be right outside the door if you need me though.” The look he shot Donald shimmered with dislike, and Jake wondered if he had any idea how expressive his face was in moments like this. Rich’s bulldog tenacity warmed him, gave him the courage to have this meeting, even if he felt the need to reel Rich in a little.

  Jake saw the mix of belligerence and worry in Rich’s expression as he pushed the door closed.

  He father hadn’t waited but had seated himself behind the desk. He was staring absently into his glass of Scotch when h
e seemed to become aware that Jake was standing in front of him.

  “Take a seat,” he said irritably. His mouth tightened, emphasizing the small downward lines at the corners of his mouth when Jake didn’t move. He’d aged since the last time Jake had seen him, or may it was just his chronic disillusionment that made him look old. “I’ll be brief. I don’t approve of the choices you’ve been making here. I think it’s only fair, as the one paying the bills, to ask you to abide by my wishes if you want me to continue to bankroll your expensive hobby. One that is growing harder to justify every year. In this difficult economic climate, luxuries such as horses, of necessity, must be scaled back.”

  “Oh, so now we’re blaming the economy?” Jake smiled slowly, imitating his father’s best boardroom face. “That might have worked if you’d brought that up a few years ago, but things are turning around now, and you know it. You might as well blame the Democrats. Or the liberal media.”

  A muscle in Donald’s jaw twitched, indicating he was grinding his teeth. Good. Jake felt pleased at the score, even though he knew making his father angry wasn’t smart at this juncture. He was just so goddamned tired of tiptoeing around his father’s arbitrary rules, the ones that allowed him to guild the cage in which Jake lived. Because that’s what it was. Sure, it was more of an aviary, decorated to mimic the wild in every aspect except one: the open door. It was safe, it was comfortable; it was goddamn luxurious when you came right down to it. All he had to do was obey the rules. Sudden self-loathing washed over him in a fetid tide and he took his seat in the chair opposite Donald.

  Donald looked at him with disfavor. “I’ve financed your desire to ride all these years because you obviously had a gift and a passion for it. I daresay I’ve spoiled you, no doubt as a result of your mother’s death. But I draw the line at supporting your relationship with Richard Evans. I cannot condone such an aberrant lifestyle, and I know your mother wouldn’t have approved of it either.”

  “How the fuck would you know what Mom would have wanted?” Jake spoke flatly, and his father looked up, clearly startled at his choice of words.

  Every nerve in Jake’s body insisted that he jump up, that he thump his fist on the mahogany desk between them, that he demand his father admit his failure as a parent once and for all, but instead he sat perfectly still. He was handling this badly, and he knew it, but the resentment that had been simmering for years now threatened to boil over completely, and he wasn’t sure how to turn down the heat.

  “Don’t you take that tone of voice with me. I’m still the one that pays the bills around here and don’t you forget it.” For a split second, Donald’s face appeared vulnerable and old, and then it hardened into the battle armor Jake knew only too well.

  “How could I possibly forget it when you remind me every chance you get? I’d like to point out that I’ve been putting my winnings back into this farm and the running of this operation. Not to mention working twelve to fourteen hour days, six to seven days a week, for the last ten years. You act like I’ve been taking a free ride. We’ve got a moderately successful business here. Not every equine outfit can say that.”

  Donald set his drink down. “I don’t deny you’ve worked hard. I’m impressed. If you’d worked half as hard at any one of the positions I’ve offered you in the firm, you’d be running your own company by now. That doesn’t negate the fact that this is an extremely expensive and frivolous hobby.”

  Jake took a deep breath. Okay, they were getting down to it now. “I don’t see it that way, but I can see where you might. Fine. Only, I find it interesting that you didn’t have any problems with our arrangement until Rich came back.”

  “You act as though there is some secret meaning behind that. There isn’t.” There was no fumbling for words, no angry sputtering. His father spoke with clear, cold deliberation. “I find the idea of you in a relationship with another man abhorrent and unnatural. Not to mention unsafe and immoral. Though you may not accept this right now, I am thinking of your best interests here.”

  Jake slowly blinked and tipped his head to one side, lacing his fingers together. “How so?”

  His father looked at him as though he’d just said something incredibly stupid. “Because I don’t want you to ruin your life and risk your health because of some idiotic phase you’re going through.”

  “Name one of my high-school girlfriends.”

  “What?” It was plain that the non sequitur had thrown him.

  “Name someone I dated in high school.” Jake waited patiently.

  “You went to a boys’ school.” Donald frowned. “When you attended high school, you seemed too wrapped up in the horses to date anyone.”

  “Noticed that, did you?” Jake had the satisfaction of seeing his dad color up at that. “I’m almost twenty-nine, Father. I’d hardly call this a phase.”

  “I forbid you to… to… carry on with that man under my roof!” The veneer of culture was cracking at the edges as his underlying anger bled through his self-control.

  Jake wanted to laugh, wanted to offer alternative phrases to “carry on.” I don’t “carry on,” Dad, I suck him. I fuck him. We get each other off. I really like cock. He wanted to shock his father with crude vulgarity, but tempting as it was, he had to keep a tight rein on his own seething fury. There was too much at stake. Instead, he asked, “Is that why you paid Rich off to get out of my life before? After the accident?”

  Donald inhaled sharply. In the blink of an eye, he seemed to shrink in on himself, an evil wizard who’d suddenly been stripped of his robes and revealed as nothing but an ordinary old man.

  “Yeah, I know about that. You want to talk about disgusting acts? Try taking advantage of a guy when he’s critically injured and doped to the gills because of the pain. When he’s lost his future and has no idea what he’s supposed to do next. I don’t suppose you told him that he could have sued for his medical expenses, did you? Mack wasn’t at fault—the other driver was.”

  “The other driver was uninsured. Son, I only wanted—”

  “Yeah, yeah, what was best for me. So you said. Never mind what I wanted or needed.” He’d have to live with the fact he hadn’t been there for Rich. Was it even possible to make up for such an utter failing on his part? How had his head managed to get so far up his ass all these years?

  Donald’s face seemed to solidify into concrete; the wizard was back in control. “What you want is wrong. It’s vile. Even worse, it’s a mortal sin. You shouldn’t even want it. The Bible is very clear on that.”

  “The Bible,” Jake said slowly, almost caressing the word with his tongue. “So we go to church now, do we?”

  Donald cleared his throat. “I attend services in town. You’d know that if you bothered to call me from time to time.”

  “The Bible has some very clear positions on eating shellfish and getting tattoos as well. Funny, but I don’t see anyone boycotting Red Lobster because they sell shrimp. Or beating up and killing someone because they have a tatt. Even better, Jesus never said one word about homosexuality, but he said a fair amount about rich men and their ability to get into heaven. So, nice play with the Bible card, but I’m not buying it.” Resentment made him continue when common sense told him to shut up. “Which denomination are we supposed to be? I’d like to know if I’m interviewed. I’m sure attending church makes for a good photo op. Lots of politicking going on in church these days too. Nice built-in base for you when you—”

  “That’s enough,” Donald snapped. “I won’t support your bid for the Games as long as you’re in a relationship with Evans, and that’s final.”

  “I guess the papers will have a field day, then. Well, it’s a slow news week, right? Right. Don’t worry, I’ll manage without your money.”

  Donald leaned forward, placing both palms on his desk. “Go ahead. It’s your life you’re throwing away. You’re done here. Pack your things. Get out. Don’t come back.”

  Jake met his father’s gaze and held it. “If you’ll recall,
I’m very good at leaving when I’m told to go.”

  Cold fury slowed everything down, as if his blood had turned to slush and moved with great chunks of ice through his veins. He stood with deliberation, as though completely unconcerned at the carnage of his life. Shock did that to you, anesthetizing what was not immediately necessary to stay alive and sending blood pumping to muscles in order to move. His pulse pounded in his ears, giving his limbs a weird rubbery feeling. When he stood, the room seemed to oscillate slightly at the edges of his vision, and he held himself still until it stopped spinning. “When the shipper gets here, I’ll have them unload Kryptonite and take The Moose on to Rich’s place.”

  He strode to the door and opened it abruptly. Rich was leaning against the far wall. He pushed himself upright, biting his lower lip at Jake’s sudden appearance.

  “Get your cats. We’re leaving.” He brushed past Rich to march down the hallway toward the staircase, not waiting for Rich to catch up.

  “What did you say to him?” From the open door, Evans shot him a look of such disbelieving scorn that Donald was slightly taken aback.

  “Come inside,” Donald ordered from his seat behind the desk. “I won’t have this conversation in the hallway like cast members of some seedy reality show.” He motioned for Evans to enter the study.

  Evans shut the door behind him and moved into the center of the room with a slight limp. “Is that a not-so-subtle dig at my background? Because really, you should try indulging in a good old-fashioned shouting match someday. It clears the air. You upper-crust types hold everything in until you’re constipated or burn an ulcer through your guts. What the hell did you say to Jake to piss him off so badly?”

  “I told him that as long as he was aligning himself with you, he was no longer welcome to stay at Foxden or train out of this facility. I will not be a party to supporting a lifestyle of which I do not approve.” His words sounded priggish even to him, and he busied himself with his drink again, topping it off from the bottle still sitting on his desk.