by R. S. Lively
“Sorry, man,” he says. “My bad.”
I turn away when his voice stops me again.
“Hey, you lookin' to score, man?”
I turn back to him, my anger beginning to simmer once more.
“What did you say?” I ask.
“Coke. Meth,” he says. “Whatever you need, I got it. Or – can get it. What's your poison, man?”
“Are you even fuckin' kidding me?” I growl. “You're out here dealin' dope? Outside of an old folks’ home? What the fuck's wrong with you?”
He grins, showing off a mouth that's missing more teeth than remain in it. Clearly, he frequently samples his own product.
“Guy's gotta earn a livin', am I right?” he says. “And this is a rich old folks home, lots of fat cats needin' some good shit to get them through their day.”
“Get the fuck out of here, maggot,” I hiss. “And if I catch you around here again, you're gonna be one sorry sack of shit.”
“What are you gonna do, call the cops on me?” he scoffs. “Big fuckin' deal. I'll be bonded out and back on the block in an hour.”
I smirk at him. “Nah, man,” I say. “I don't believe in callin' the cops. We don't do that shit where I'm from, kid. No, I ain't gonna call the cops. Not when I can deal with a piece of shit like you on my own. In my own way.”
I narrow my eyes and stare daggers through him. It's taking everything in me to not throw down and beat the shit out of the guy right here and now. The guy can obviously see something in my eyes – something that scares him. He takes another step back, a flash of uncertainty crossing his features.
I quickly close the distance between us, my face twisted up in fury. The kid backs up and when he bumps into the wall, pinning himself between me and it, his eyes widen, and he looks like he's about to panic. I step forward and despite the pungent aroma wafting off him, put my face mere inches from his.
“Let me say one more time, you get the fuck out of here,” my voice is low and menacing. “I'm gonna have people watching, and if I ever see you or any of your friends around here again, I'll get them to tell me where to find you, and then we're all gonna take a ride. Nod if you understand.”
The kid nods quickly, his eyes wider than dinner plates.
“Good,” I say. “Now, get the fuck out of here.”
He trips over his own feet in his haste to get away. Quickly picking himself back up, he runs headlong down the sidewalk, bumping into more than a few people. I watch until I can't see him anymore, then turn and walk to the car. My driver has the door open and waiting, and isn't doing a very good job of hiding his smirk.
“Sorry, Roger,” I say. “Had to take out the trash.”
“Very good, sir,” he says.
He gets behind the wheel and pilots us out into traffic, bound for home.
Chapter Six
Darby
“So, how are things at work?” I ask.
Mason takes a sip of his drink and sets the glass back down on the table and nods.
“Excellent,” he says. “I just closed a big case.”
“Oh yeah? Congratulations.”
“It was a long process, but we finally got everything we needed to prove this hedge fund manager was receiving inside information,” he says. “This arrogant prick thought he was going to get away with nothing but a hefty fine. We nailed his ass to the wall instead.”
I swallow down a mouthful of wine and nod. Honestly, Mason's job bores me to tears. Actually, it's his evangelical zeal when he recounts his victories that put me off. And, it's mostly because he's so self-righteous about it. It's like, he's made it his own personal crusade to take down the wealthy and the elite – as if he didn't come from a family and grow up as of the wealthy and elite himself.
No, for whatever reason, somewhere along the line, he decided that hunting people who gamed the system for personal gain was his mission in life. Which, in and of itself, isn't a bad thing. If you're a crook, you're a crook, and you deserve to be punished to the fullest extent of the law. I have absolutely no issue with that.
But Mason, takes it well beyond that. It's not enough for him to punish them. He has to humiliate them on top of it. Rub their noses in it and prove his superiority. He's a zealot, plain and simple, and he's a little hard to deal with sometimes because of it.
Honestly, that's probably why his marriage didn't last. I can't blame his wife for wanting to run. And if I'm being totally honest, I'm surprised she agreed to marry him in the first place. He was arrogant and condescending when we were younger, but he's only gotten worse as the years have gone by. His zealotry has only deepened with age.
“I'm guessing he got more than a big fine,” I say, feigning interest.
He holds up his glass of bourbon and stares at it lovingly. “Gave him the death penalty,” he says, a reverent tone in his voice. “Seized all of his assets, hidden offshore accounts, homes, everything. And, we stripped him of all licenses, so he'll never be able to play the stock market again.”
“Wow,” I say. “That sounds harsh.”
He shrugs. “He broke the law,” he said. “I threw him a bone though, just to prove I'm not a totally heartless asshole. I let him off without any prison time.”
Wow. What a gesture of kindness and compassion. The man has no home, no money, and nothing left, but at least he's not going to prison. I take another drink of my wine to make sure something snarky and sarcastic doesn't come flying out of my mouth.
“You should have seen his face when I dropped that on him though,” he said, smiling wide. “It was priceless. I thought he was going to shit himself right there. Christ, I love doing that to these cretins. Makes my day every single time.”
“That's great,” I say. “I'm proud of you, Mason.”
“Thank you,” he says, the edge of arrogance thick in his voice. “No victory is as sweet as a total and complete annihilation of your opponent.”
He sits back in his chair and preens like a peacock. Part of me wants to smack him for being such a pretentious ass, but I don't want to make a spectacle of myself in such a nice restaurant. Especially since I enjoy coming here from time to time. His smug attitude isn't worth me getting blackballed from this place.
After our aunt and uncle passed, we're the only family we have left, so we make a point of getting together for dinner every few weeks or so. Our relationship though, is strained. Has been since we were kids, really, but it hasn't gotten any better as adults. We go through the motions though, spending holidays together, celebrating birthdays together now and then – all in an effort to seem like a normal family.
Because that's what's expected of us. Or rather, was. Our aunt and uncle always stressed the importance of family. Couldn't stress it enough, in fact. They told us, I don't even know how many times, it's because family is such an important thing that made them pluck us out of St. Agatha's all those years ago. They told us if it hadn't been because they were such firm believers in family, they probably would have left us there.
Yeah, nothing like a little guilt to inspire gratitude and obedience.
But, with each passing year, it becomes ever more clear that Mason and I are just two different people. We see the world in two different ways and have two different sets of values and priorities. His is climbing the ladder and building a legacy. Mine is leaving the world, and all those people whose lives I've been fortunate enough to touch, hopefully better for my having been in it.
Mason saw people as pawns in his game. Stepping stones in his climb up the ladder of success. I saw people as beautiful, flawed beings. I find people fascinating, rich with stories to tell and experiences to share.
The one thing that's abundantly clear is that although we make the pretense, our shared last name is the only thing that really bonds us together. The only thing we have in common.
“I have to tell you, a few more wins like this, and I'm really going to put my name on the map,” he says.
“You're a U.S. Attorney,” I say. “I'd sa
y your name is already on the map.”
He shrugs. “But, it needs to be in the right circles,” he says. “The right people have to know my name if I'm going to get to where I want to go.”
“And where is it you want to go?”
“I am going to be Attorney General one day,” he says. “And who knows, maybe after that, I'll run for the presidency.”
If anybody else had said that, I would have laughed, assuming it was a joke. But, not so with my brother. His ambition outstrips everything – including his compassion and humanity. All that matters to him is rising in status and prestige.
He swallows down the last of his drink and sets it back down, motioning to the waitress for a refill. A moment later, the waitress comes by and drops off a fresh round for us.
“Your meals will be out in a few moments,” she says.
“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate your outstanding service.”
The girl gives me a smile and then scampers off. Mason doesn't even acknowledge her, taking a sip of his drink as if she doesn't even exist. That's one thing that really irritates me – when people like my brother treat servers like garbage. Like they're beneath his notice. To me, it speaks to a person's character – or lack thereof.
“That's my dear sister,” he says. “Champion of the lesser among us.”
“Lesser among us?”
He shrugs. “You know what I mean,” he says.
“I do, and I don't like it,” I say. “I think your attitude sucks and –”
He laughs and holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I'm sorry,” he says. “You're right. That was a dick thing for me to say. I'm sorry.”
I know he's only saying it to pacify me. It's not like he really means it. That really is my brother's attitude. He sees people not in his circles as less than he is. He barely considers people in the service industry to be human beings at all.
It's just the way he's wired and one of the many things that makes us so different. It's just one of the things that makes us so incompatible as people.
“Do you forgive me, sis?”
'Sure, Mason,” I say and drain the last of my wine.
Our meals arrive, and we pass the time making light conversation – thankfully, not about his job. The atmosphere between us is tense and brittle, but I don't think he even notices. He just goes on and on like everything is normal and fine. But, then he has to go and spoil even that.
“Have you considered leaving that awful school you teach at?” he asks.
“No, actually I haven't.”
“Huh,” he says. “I couldn't imagine being locked into a small room with all of those thugs and crooks in the making. It's dangerous.”
I let out a long breath. “You really don't know what you're talking about,” I say. “Most all of my kids are good kids.”
He scoffs. “While they're with you, maybe,” he says. “But, I'd be willing to bet a huge percentage of them end up either dead or in prison. Public schools are a breeding ground for those types of kids, sis. It's dangerous.”
“Like I said, you have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.”
We finish our meals and I push my plate away from me. The waitress is right there, clears the table, and I'm counting down the moments until I can make a graceful exit. And then he orders coffee and dessert.
Damn.
The waitress comes back with coffee for the both of us and a couple slices of cheesecake – the best cheesecake in the city, if not the entire state.
“So,” Mason says, “are you seeing anybody new?”
I quickly take a bite of my cheesecake, trying to come up with a convincing lie. It's bad enough when Jade gets onto me about my love life. It would be ten times worse getting into it with my own brother – especially given how different we are from each other.
Unfortunately for me, I'm not a very convincing liar. Letting out a long breath, I guess I have no choice but to tell him the truth.
“Not at the moment,” I say. “But, Jade is trying to get me to go out with a friend of hers.”
He scoffs. “Jade? From high school?” he asks. “You still talk to her?”
That alone tells me how little he knows about me – or retains the things I tell him when we do talk.
“Yeah, Mason,” I say. “She's been my best friend since high school. Nothing about that has changed.”
He sips his coffee and looks thoughtful. “Huh,” is all he says.
I'm ready for this evening to end before I say something I'm going to regret.
“Listen,” he says. “There's a guy who works in my office – he's about your age. New guy. Bright kid. Good looking, smart –”
“No,” I say. “But, thanks for thinking of me.”
“Oh, come on, Darby,” he says. “How can you shoot down somebody before you've even met them?”
Because he's associated with you and the last thing I want, or need is somebody as arrogant and pretentious? Which, if he works for you, he's bound to be. The thoughts go through my mind, but I'm able to bite them back before the pass my lips.
“I'm just not interested in dating anybody right now, Mason,” I say.
He cocks his head and looks at me. “Are you a lesbian?”
I stare at him slack-jawed, the rage in me building. “No, Mason, I'm not a lesbian,” I hiss. “And frankly, that is such an asshole question. I should slap the shit out of you right now for –”
He raises his hands again and gives me an apologetic expression. “Okay, okay, I'm sorry,” he says. “I didn't mean anything by it. I was just curious.”
“Just because I don't want to date somebody right now doesn't mean anything other than I don't want to date somebody right now,” I seethe. “Got it?”
“Fine,” he says. “I got it. I apologize.”
There's actually a hint of sincerity in his voice, which surprises me. But, it doesn't make my anger at him dissipate entirely.
“Anyway,” I say. “I need to be going. Thank you for dinner.”
He lets out a long breath and sighs. “I really am sorry, sis,” he says. “I only asked because sometimes I feel like I don't even know you. We never really talk. I know we're not all that close – and I know that's my fault. It's late in the game, but I'm hoping that maybe we can start having a relationship.”
I look at him a long moment, trying to figure out where I believe him or not. Trying to figure out if he's just saying what he thinks I want to hear to mollify me. Mason is a gifted liar, and sometimes, it's hard to tell.
I honestly don't know why he's making this belated push to be an actual family all of the sudden, and it makes me feel a little suspicious of him. But then, being suspicious of him also makes me feel a bit guilty. There's part of me that says he has an ulterior motive and to not trust him, but there's another part of me that thinks maybe, he's realizing family actually is important and is trying to repair that long-damaged relationship with me.
Part of me wonders what the point is, and the other part of me wants to give him the benefit of the doubt. The problem is, I don't know which part to listen to. Do I hold my arms wide open for him? Or keep him where he's always been – at an arm's length?
“You know, it would be a lot easier if you weren't such an elitist asshole sometimes,” I say.
A wry grin touches his lips. “Believe it or not, you're not the first person to tell me that.”
“I believe it,” I reply.
“Ouch,” he says, though he looks somewhat amused.
He's the only family I have and although the rational part of my mind tells me he's not going to change, that he is who he is, the emotional side of me has trouble just cutting bait and walking away. My relationship with my brother is – complicated. To say the least.
“I promise to do my best to stop being such an elitist asshole,” he says. “As long as you can try being a little more open and honest with me.”
I look at him for a long moment, the debate within me raging. Eve
ntually, the need to have a family – that silly longing inside of me – carries the day. I nod and give him a small smile.
“Deal,” I say.
His face lights up as he returns my smile. “Oh, listen, before I forget, I have something for you,” he says.
I cock my head and look at him. “For me?”
He nods and fishes an envelope out of the inside pocket on his jacket. I take it from him, looking at it like it's a snake coiled and ready to strike. He nods, a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eye. I open the envelope and pull out a pair of tickets – and feel my eyes grow wide.
“You're kidding me,” I say. “How did you get these?”
He shrugs. “I get all kinds of weird crap floating through my office. Most of it, I just toss,” he says. “I saw this though, and immediately thought of you. I know how big into the art scene you are.”
I nod enthusiastically. “The Sheldonhurst gala is one of the premier events,” I say. “This is an exclusive event – you have to be somebody of great influence and importance to even get an invitation.”
“Well, good thing for you, you happen to know somebody just like that.”
I jump out of my seat and run around the table, squeezing him hard, a rush of warmth and gratitude flowing through me.
'Thank you, Mason,” I say. “This means – a lot.”
He nods. “Of course,” he says. “I'm glad you like it.”
I stare at the tickets again, resisting the urge to pinch myself. The Sheldonhurst gala. I can't believe it. Never, in my life, did I think I'd ever be able to go. And yet, here I am, tickets in hand, a rush of excitement flowing through me.
I can't wait, and I look across the table, smiling warmly at my brother for the first time in – well – as far back as I can remember, to be honest. Maybe, he really is making an effort.
And if he is, I probably should too.
Chapter Seven
Carter
“You look wonderful, sweetie,” she purrs. “Good enough to eat.”
I stare at myself in the mirror and adjust my bowtie. “Don't call me sweetie,” I say.