by R. S. Lively
“I may have no choice but to accept your largesse for this unnecessary program,” Matthews huffs. “But, I certainly don't have to stand here and accept your disrespectful attitude, Mr. Bishop. You are to leave my school grounds immediately.”
“Actually,” I say and chuckle, “if you read the final paragraph of the Superintendent's letter, you'll see that as the benefactor of this program, I am entitled to be on school grounds, if only to ensure that the supplies I'm donating are being put to the proper use.”
“This is outrageous,” she huffs.
I shrug. “Take it up with your boss,” I say. “But, I doubt it's going to do any good. He and I have a pretty good relationship. Which means, you should probably get used to seeing me around, since I plan on coming by if for no other reason, than I know it pisses you off.”
Matthews looks stricken, but quickly composes herself, giving me a deep, hateful scowl. I just stand there and smile politely at her. Without another word, she turns and huffs off down the hall, the sound of her muttering to herself echoing back to us as she goes.
I turn to Darby, who is doing her level best to hide the smile on her face. She grabs me by the arm and quickly pulls me into her classroom, where she bursts into laughter. She's laughing so hard, she doubles over with it. I look around the room and see all her students standing frozen, looking back at us, curious expressions on their faces. I give them all a small wave.
“Not to worry, she's not having a nervous breakdown or anything,” I say. “I just told her a really funny joke.”
“You're Carter Bishop,” I hear one girl say. “You're in the tabloids more often than the Kardashians.”
“And yet, I've never put out a sex tape,” I say. “Let that be a lesson to you all that –”
Darby punches me in the arm. “Carter,” she hisses, but can't keep the smile off her face.
The classroom erupts into laughter all around us. Darby can't help but shake her head and join in. Eventually, the laughter fades away, but the eyes of the students remain fixed on me, their expressions curious. Clasping my hands behind my back, I walk around the room. Some of the work I see is incredible. It blows me away. There is some real talent in Darby's classroom, and I can't help but see her artistic influence in some of their work.
“You kids are amazing,” I say. “There is some genuinely amazing work being done in here. You should all be proud of yourselves.”
“Mr. Bishop here is part of the Ravere Group,” Darby says. “I've told you all about them, have I not?”
The students all nod their heads and I see the light of excitement in their eyes. Some of them, I can tell, have dreams about going through the program. And I think a few of them have a real shot.
“Over the next few months, I plan on getting to know you all,” I say. “And evaluating your work. Of course, Ms. White is more of an authority than I am on the merits of art, so I will be leaning heavily on her for input. But, I want to advance some of you to a candidacy into the Ravere Group's program.”
There are scattered gasps and quiet applause around the room. I can sort of see why Darby is so attached to her kids. Even just this small, miniscule ray of hope I'm shining into the room is giving some of them a life and an energy that can't be denied. It makes me feel good to be able to do that.
“Anyway,” I say. “As budding young artists, I know that you need proper tools and supplies to put your best foot forward. So, it was with that in mind, that I have reached an agreement with your school district to make sure you all have what you need to be successful.”
I step to the doorway and motion for the man to come forward. It's a tight squeeze, but he's able to work the pallet through the wide doorway, rolling it to a stop next to Darby's desk. There are gasps from the students as they eyeball the mountain of supplies in front of them.
“Obviously, not being an expert in art, I don't know everything you all need,” I say. “Which is why it's going to be important for you all to communicate with Ms. White. Tell her what you need to be successful, she'll get word to me, and I'll make sure you have what you require.”
There's a ripple of excitement that runs through the students and I can tell they want to get to the boxes and see what's inside.
“One last thing,” I say. “Competition to get into the Ravere program is tough. I'm not going to lie, it's a highly competitive deal. So, make sure you're putting your best foot forward. Make sure you're putting all of your heart and soul into your work.”
I give Darby a small smile and step aside, the flood of kids rushing to the pallet is immediate. Darby wades into the pack, trying to keep it controlled and orderly. Good luck with that. I laugh and feel good as I see the genuine happiness and excitement I see on the faces of some of the students.
“Hey.”
I turn and see a tall kid with russet colored skin and a mop of shaggy, dark hair staring back at me.
“Hey yourself,” I say.
“Emilio,” he says.
“Nice to meet you, Emilio.”
“You Ms. W's boyfriend?”
I look at Darby, relishing the wide, genuine smile on her face. She's talking excitedly with the students and is busy passing out materials.
“I don't know what you'd call us,” I say.
He nods. “You want to be though, huh?”
I look at him and I can tell, by the look in his eye, that he's got a fierce crush on Darby. Not that I can blame the kid.
“Is it that obvious?” I ask.
“Dude, I can practically see the cartoon hearts floating over your head.”
I laugh and opt to avoid pointing out the cartoon heart floating over his own head. I like this kid. He's got some spunk – and obviously has excellent taste in women.
“Yeah, I imagine you can.”
“One thing though,” he says, his voice and expression turning serious. “You hurt her, I'll kick your ass. You feel me?”
I really like this kid.
“Yeah, I feel you, man.”
~ooo000ooo~
“I don't know what to say, Carter,” she says.
“You don't have to say anything,” I reply.
We're walking across the parking lot to my car. She agreed to a late lunch date with me so we could talk.
“Why?” she asks. “Why do this?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“Is this some scheme you've cooked up to get back into my good graces?” she asks.
“If I said it was, would you hold it against me?” I ask. “And more importantly, would it work?”
She grins. “No, it would not work.”
“Didn't think so,” I reply. “I did this for you, in a way, yeah. But I did it because I see how devoted you are to those kids. And I see some major league talent in that room. I wasn't kidding when I said I wanted to advance a candidacy for some of them to Ravere.”
We stop at the edge of the parking lot. Roger stands next to the car, waiting for us.
“I – I was going to call you –” she says.
I wave her off. “Don't worry about it,” I say. “I know you're conflicted. I just hoped that after the other night, that maybe – maybe, that connection between us was starting to be re-established. I know I felt it. Big time.”
“I felt it too, Carter,” she says softly. “And that's why it scares the hell out of me.”
“Why does it scare you?” I ask.
She gives me a look that says the answer should be more than obvious. “Really?”
I chuckle and look down at the ground for a moment. “Yeah, stupid question,” I say. “Listen though, I'm not going anywhere. I fucked up back then, Darby. I hurt you and I'm an asshole for it. I'm not hiding from it. I only want a chance to set things right with you. There's been a big Darby-shaped hole in my heart for the last decade and I want to fill it.”
She rolls her eyes and laughs. “Judging by what the tabloids say, you've been filling plenty of holes over the last ten years.”
I laug
h. “I can't believe you read that shit.”
“I don't,” she says. “It's hard to avoid hearing things in this day and age though.”
“Yeah, well, don't believe everything you read on Twitter.”
She laughs as I escort her to the car.
“Nice to see you again, Ms. White,” Roger says.
“Nice to see you too again, Roger.”
We slide into the car and Roger shuts us in, sliding behind the wheel a moment later.
“Where to, Mr. Bishop?”
I look at Darby and smile. “How about Dino's?”
Her smile is all I need to see to know I picked the right place.
“Dino's it is.”
Roger pilots us through the city and drops us off in front of Dino's Deli. It's been an institution in Hell's Kitchen for time out of mind. It's a place I loved growing up – and one of the only places I can think of that have survived the hipster tsunami that's gentrified the hell out of the Kitchen. Back in the day, Darby and I shared a few meals there, but I don't think she's been back since.
We walk into the deli and I inhale deeply, savoring the aromas floating out of the kitchen. Yeah, it's been way too long.
“Well, look what the fuckin' cat dragged in,” he says.
Eddie stands behind the counter, wiping his hand on a rag, smiling wide at us. Eddie is Dino's son and took over the deli after his father passed. Thankfully, the quality of the food they put out hasn't changed a bit. On the walls are scores of photos of celebrities and New York luminaries who've patronized the place.
It's not a big place, having room for just one row of booths along the wall, and four tables in the middle of the restaurant. Only one booth and two tables are occupied at the moment. We thankfully missed the afternoon rush.
“Eddie, how are you, man?” I ask. “How are the wife and kids?”
“Drivin' me fuckin' crazy,” he says.
“So, not much has changed.”
“Hell no,” he laughs. “Wouldn't have it any other way.”
“This is Darby –”
“Yeah, I remember her,” he says. “You two used to come in together a while back. Good to see you again, doll.”
Darby laughs and gives him a wide smile, clearly not buying the idea that Eddie remembers her, and is simply patronizing her. I could have told her different, but I figured I'd let it play out. If nothing else, it'll be good for a laugh.
“You obviously have a good memory,” she says.
“Like a steel fuckin' trap, doll,” he says.
“Uh huh.”
“You doubt me?” he asks.
“It was a long time ago,” she says.
“Watch this,” he says and studies her face for a long moment. “Beef brisket on rye, light horseradish, swiss cheese, two pickles, and one pickled egg.”
Darby's eyes widen, and shock is painted upon her face. She knows he's right, because that was the only thing she used to order. At the time, she argued that she found something she liked and there was no reason to change it.
She looks at me and then turns back to Eddie who's giving her a shit-eating grin. I could have told her he'd remember – he remembers the smallest details when it comes to his regular customers. Always has.
“Boom,” he says and taps his head. “Like a steel fuckin' trap.”
I laugh and give him a high-five while Darby continues to stare at him with her mouth hanging open.
“Go ahead and take a seat anywhere,” Eddie says. “I assume we're doin' our regular stuff?”
“Absolutely,” I say.
“I'll bring it out to you then.”
“Thanks, Eddie.”
Darby is still looking a little shell-shocked as we take a seat in a booth near the window.
“I can't believe he remembered that,” she says. “That was ten years ago.”
I laugh. “Eddie's good at what he does,” I say. “He knows how to take care of his regulars.”
“Obviously,” she says. “I'm impressed. Shocked, but impressed.”
We make small talk, falling into a pattern of comfortable conversation, as we wait for Eddie to bring out our food. One of his waitresses drops off a couple of lemonades for us. A few minutes later, he drops off our food and when he thinks Darby isn't looking, gives me a sly wink and a nod, obviously giving me his seal of approval. He chuckles to himself as he walks away, and I see Darby's cheeks coloring. She obviously didn't miss it. Not that I'm surprised. She's sharp and doesn't miss much.
Eventually, the meal comes to an end, but I'm hoping to draw out our time together for a while longer. I'm not ready to say goodbye to her just yet.
“Hey, I want to show you something,” I say.
“What is it?”
“Just – come with me.”
We slide out of the booth and I drop some money on the table.
“Hey, your money ain't no good here,” Eddie calls.
“Shut it,” I call back. “Thanks, Eddie. It was amazing as always.”
“Every bit as good as I remember,” Darby says.
Eddie gives us a smile. “Good seein' you two together again,” he says. “Don't be strangers, hear?”
“You have my word, man.”
I hold the door open for Darby and we step out onto the sidewalk. The light of the day is bleeding away, and dusk is washing in. Roger is standing by the car playing on his phone. He looks up and starts to put it away, but I motion to him to relax.
“Give us a few,” I say. “We're just gonna walk around the corner.”
“Very good, Mr. Bishop,” he says. “I'll wait right here.”
I nod. “Good. We'll be back.”
Darby slips her arm through mine as we walk. It still blows me away how much has changed over the last ten years. Hell's Kitchen used to be a dirty, rough neighborhood. Nowadays though, it's a lot more upscale and refined. It's been gentrified to hell and back, as the city is looking to attract more high-end shops – and tenants – to the area. It's nice, don't get me wrong. The bad element has more or less been driven out, but it's just lacking a little bit of the character and soul that made the Kitchen unique. At least, in my opinion.
“Where are you taking me?” she asks.
We turn a corner and I point to the building across the street. “Recognize that?”
She looks at it for a moment and then smiles. “I thought they were tearing it down?”
“They were going to,” I say. “I bought it, had it renovated, and kept it open. Though, I did insist they install some educational and vocational programs. Instead of just warehousing these kids, I want them at least prepared for when they get back out into the world.”
We're standing on the curb across the street from St. Agatha's. The city was set to demolish the building and move the home elsewhere – probably to some equally run down, derelict part of the city. When I heard it, I couldn't let it happen. Call me crazy, but I still have some strong attachment to the place. I don't know why. It's not like I was ever really all that happy there. But I do, so I kept it open.
The building now is a lot more modern and better equipped. The local church still retains the administration of the building, and it's still staffed by nuns who will whack you with a yardstick if you step out of line. I just happen to be the landlord. Though, I charge them a pittance on the place. The money isn't important to me. Making sure it stays open is.
“Why did you buy it?” Darby asks. “Why keep it open?”
I run my hand along the stubble on my jawline. “Crazy, right?” I ask. “It took me a long time to figure it out myself, to be honest.”
“And? What did you come up with?”
I let out a long breath, my gaze fixed on the building. “Back when I was in there, I really don't know what would have happened if there wasn't a St. Aggie's for me to go to,” I say. “I would've ended up on the streets. And who knows what would've happened after that. I guess I want to make sure the kids who wind up in bad situations have a place to go.”
Darby looks at me, an inscrutable expression on her face and gives my arm a tight squeeze.
“You're a good man, Carter,” she says.
I shrug. “I just know what it's like to have nowhere to go and nothing to your name,” I say. “And it sucks.”
“You are a complicated man, Mr. Bishop,” she says.
“Not really.”
“Yeah, bullshit.”
I laugh and look up at the rapidly darkening sky. “I should probably get you home.”
“Actually,” she says. “I was hoping to show you something now.”
I let my eyes roam up and down her body, a salacious grin on my face. She laughs and slaps my chest playfully.
“Not that,” she says. “Don't you ever get your mind out of the gutter?”
“Not really,” I say. “It's part of my charm.”
“Is that what you're calling it?”
I laugh. “And what are you going to show me?”
“You'll see,” she says. “Can you have Roger take us back to my place?”
I give her a long, even look. “And you wonder why my mind is in the gutter.”
She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Such a pervert,” she says. “Just because I'm inviting you back to my place doesn't mean I'm propositioning you.”
“Doesn't mean you're not,” I say.
“I'm not,” she says, still smiling and shaking her head at me.
“Well damn,” I say. “I had my hopes up and everything.”
“Yeah well, life is full of disappointments,” she says. “Suck it up, cupcake.”
I laugh as we head back down the street, toward the waiting car.
~ooo000ooo~
“Darby, this is really amazing,” he says.
I walk around the canvas, taking it in from several different angles. Her piece blends her original brushwork with clips from newspapers, making a sort of mixed-media collage effect. It's thoroughly modern, and abstract, but powerful in its own right.