“I’m good with figures,” he replies.
I frown. It seems like kind of a sexist statement for someone who wants to be in public office.
When his eyes grow wider I can see he looks a bit embarrassed. “I don’t mean figures as in figures.” He does a quick gesture toward my body. “I mean figures as in numbers. I’m an accountant and a lawyer. A tax attorney.”
“That sounds like a lot of work,” I mumble. Then I realize I actually vocalized my internal thought and I want to crawl into a very deep and dark hole.
To my surprise he laughs. “I’m sure it’s a lot easier than tending bar. You must have to deal with a lot of drunk jerks.”
“You have no idea.” And jerks who just snap my photo without my permission, I want to add.
He points at his business card in my hand. “Phone my assistant and get an appointment for later this week. Tell him it’s an urgent matter and you need the first available time slot.”
I’m not sure why it strikes me as odd that his assistant is a man. “Okay. Sure.”
He gives me one of his killer smiles that lights up all the space around him. “Great. I hope we’ll be able to work together in the future.”
Before I have a chance to respond his cellphone rings and he hurries down the hallway talking to on his cellphone at the same time.
***
“What took you so long?” Suzie asks when I return to the ballroom.
“Sam had hundreds of name tags she needed help with. Then I ran into Drew Graham.”
Her eyes grow wide. “What do you mean ran into?”
“I literally ran into him. Like he had to hold me up to stop me from falling on my ass.”
“Was he has hot as everyone says?”
“Hotter,” I assure her. I show her the business card. “He gave me his card and asked me to phone him. He may have a job for me.”
“What kind of job?” My sister sounds skeptical and I can understand why. I still have no idea what kind of job I’d possibly be qualified for.
I shrug. “He didn’t give me any details. Maybe he’s planning some private parties or events and needs a bartender or waitress. He wanted to know what size clothing I wear like he wanted me to dress in some kind of uniform.”
My sister looks crestfallen and I have an idea I know why. “I’ll definitely ask him about a job for you too.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to,” I assure her. “We’ve always been a package deal.”
“Thanks.” I can tell by the falter in her voice that she’s still a bit skeptical.
Two
Austin
After two blissful years rambling through Europe I’ve been summoned back to the ancestral mansion in New Jersey by daddy dearest.
“Austin.” My dad greets me as I walk inside the front door. He still looks the same as when I left. He’s an older and greyer version of my big brother, Drew. Dad is still tall and fit at fifty-six. He never wears a suit that’s out of season and always dons a flawless political smile. He’s always camera-ready, even standing in his own home without a reporter in sight.
At least he still acknowledges my existence. I haven’t become persona non grata yet even though I haven’t followed in his footsteps like my perfect brother.
“Glad to have you back home.” My dad’s words sound rehearsed and hollow. I’m sure the only reason he’s glad I’m back is because he needs me to complete the picture of the perfect political family he’s trying to portray. Having a stray son roaming around Europe instead of keeping his nose to the grindstone and working hard in the family empire does not sit well with his political party.
I’ve always been an outsider. The black sheep of the family. The nonconformist who didn’t aspire to be the next governor of the state or the next president of the country. Hell, I didn’t even want to go to college. The only reason I eventually decided to attend was that I realized I could spend four years partying. Much to my father’s disappointment I barely graduated with a 2.5 GPA. Needless to say law school was out of the question. But I did earn an undergraduate degree from an Ivy League school, my dad’s alma mater, even if it is in European history and not accounting.
“So why’d you call out the troops to find me in Prague and whisk me back to my native country?” I ask.
My dad glares at me. He has a way of staring at people that can chill them to the bone. Unfortunately I’m usually the recipient of his bone-chilling glare.
“We need you to assist in your brother’s campaign. I’m sure you’re aware that he accepted the party’s nomination to run for governor. It’s time to create a united front to stand behind him as he makes a run for office.”
A united front to stand behind him? I want to ask my dad how long it took him to come up with that ridiculous political babble, but I just got here and it’s still a little early for an all-out offensive. So instead I give him a small smile and nod, which I hope says that I’m behind him, even if I could give a rat’s ass about my brother’s bid for governor.
“How long do you want me to stay?” I ask as I throw my backpack at his feet.
“How about we play it by ear? I’d like you to consider settling down…maybe think about a career of some sort.”
“And what sort of career do you have in mind for me, Dad?”
“Aren’t you tired of backpacking through Europe?”
“A little,” I admit. “That’s why I was going to spend the next few years traveling through Asia.”
The scowl on my dad’s face is even more unnerving than his bone-chilling glare. “Your mother and I have certain expectations for you and your brother. Drew has done everything in his power to fulfill those expectations.”
The unspoken accusation in that sentence is that I’ve done everything in my power to defy those expectations. He’s probably right.
I heave a sigh. “I’m willing to stay until the election. I’ll smile for the cameras. I’ll even wear a suit. But as soon as he’s voted into office I’m leaving.”
My father’s mouth contracts to a thin line and his face is a stone mask. “Fine.”
“I’m sure Drew won’t mind if I borrow a few of his suits. I assume we’re still the same size.”
My father nods. “Be ready in an hour. We’ve got a bit of a drive out to Tawnee Mountain.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a new resort outside of Old Town. It’s where the political fundraiser is being held.”
Great. A drive out to rural New Jersey, where there are more cows per square mile than people. The only benefit of traveling out to the sticks is that we won’t be very far from my parents’ lake house.
“Why don’t I stay at the cabin?” I suggest. Cabin is really a misnomer. The place is just as palatial as this one, but it just happens to be next to a lake. It’s really only used in the summers for family vacations. But being over an hours’ drive from the rest of my crazy family sounds like a wonderful idea, even if it is in the middle of nowhere.
“I don’t care where you stay as long as you’re there when I need you.”
“I’ll be sure to make every photo op as requested. Just tell your assistant to text me the when and where and I’ll be there.”
My dad gives me one more glare for good measure and then turns and hurries out the door.
“I love you too, Dad,” I say to the empty space where my dad was standing.
***
My brother hasn’t changed very much since I left for Europe. He’s just a little more of everything. Cocky, charismatic, and quite charming. Give him an audience, no matter how small, and he’ll captivate them within minutes.
Not that I haven’t been accused of being cocky myself. Okay, maybe I’ve been called an asshole on more than a few occasions. But charming I am not. My brother is great at telling people exactly what they want to hear. It’s a skill that will serve him very well in politics. I’m more of a say-what’s-on-my-mind kind of guy. I’m always straightfo
rward and honest. I tell people what I think they need to hear even if they don’t want to hear it.
“Austin Graham,” my big brother says when he finally spots me. He excuses himself from the small group of would-be campaign donors and heads in my direction. “The rebel without a cause returns to the roost.”
To my surprise my brother grabs me into a hug. I reflexively look around the ballroom to see if there are any photographers snapping shots of us. That’s the only reason I could see Drew giving me such a warm greeting. We didn’t exactly part on the friendliest of terms when I left the country.
“I take it Dad summoned you back to the States to help with the campaign.”
“Help is really a strong word. I get the impression I’m needed for publicity photos. He says he wants to show the press that our family is strong and united. You are running a family values campaign, aren’t you?”
My brother glares at me. Then after a few moments of being at the center of his arctic stare he says, “Nice suit.”
“It should be. You probably paid top dollar for it.”
“I thought it looked familiar.”
“Suits and I don’t really get along.”
“I guess that means Dad hasn’t talked you into getting a real job yet.”
“I’ve had plenty of real jobs all over Europe. Everything from milking cows to fixing motorcycles. Whatever odd jobs people had in exchange for a hot meal and a warm bed.”
Drew shakes his head. “Sometimes it’s difficult for me to believe we’re products of the same two parents.”
“You were there when I was born,” I remind him.
“And you were stubborn and willful from the moment you took your first breath. Some things never change.”
“I need a drink,” I announce. Drew, always being the perfect politician and everything his constituents want him to be wrapped in a picture-perfect package, rarely drinks anything but water and orange juice. I, on the other hand, imbibe on a regular basis.
“Maybe stick with one,” he suggests. “Nurse it for a while.”
“Yes, Sir,” I give him a cheesy little fake salute.
As I approach the bar I see a gorgeous little blonde serving small cups of wine to several middle-aged women wearing matching conservative navy blue suits and single strands of white pearls around their necks. They all have their hair cut short and look like they’ll be absolutely no fun even with a little wine in them.
Once the women of the blue suit brigade have cups of wine in their hands they make their way over to my brother. As I wait for the bartender to acknowledge me I’m a little hurt that she doesn’t even glance up at me when she asks me what I want. Then I remember I’m wearing one of my brother’s stuffy suits and that I probably look just like another one of the conservative jackasses at the fundraising event.
This girl looks like someone who prefers a more down-to-Earth kind of guy. If I had on my everyday attire: leather jacket, well-worn jeans and black biker boots, I think I’d get her attention in a heartbeat.
“Beer,” I say, trying to will the blonde to at least glance at me once. But to no avail. She’s all business, serving drinks then taking the next person’s order.
“We’ve got Miller, Bud, and Coors.”
“Miller.”
She nods and fills up one of the small cups with beer. It’s not even the size of a Dixie cup. Maybe half as large. “Got anything bigger than that?”
She shakes her head. “Sorry. It’s complimentary. You can have as many as you like.”
I hold up the ridiculously small cup. It would probably take about ten of these before I even felt a buzz. “Thanks.”
She nods, but she’s only half paying attention to me. When I glance down at her name tag I see her name is Mazzy. Unusual name. I’m completely intrigued. Not just because she’s beautiful with a smoking hot body to match, but there’s something about her that’s different.
Most girls fall all over themselves to get my attention when they figure out who my family is. Being from a wealthy and well-connected family is like an aphrodisiac for most women. I look down to make sure I’m still wearing my name tag and it’s definitely there. This girl just hasn’t even bothered to take a look at it.
Two guys are now standing behind me so I know I have to let her serve them, but I don’t want to move from this spot. I just want to look at her for a few seconds more. I like watching the way she moves. She seems so carefree and comfortable in her body. As carefree as I like to pretend to be I know I’m really just a mass of insecurities and compensative tactics.
“Anything else?” she asks.
Your number, I want to say, but what’s the point. I don’t plan on being in New Jersey any longer than I have to. I promised my dad I’d stay through the election and that’s it. Then my backpack and I are off to Asia.
I take my ridiculous little cup of beer and head off in search of someone I might find even remotely interesting to talk to.
As luck would have it I run into my mother and her league of women voters. They’re all wearing the same conservative blue suits as the blue suit brigade who were ordering wine in front of me at the bar and they each have a tiny American flag displayed prominently on their lapels. As soon as my mother spots me a look of disgust overtakes her face. She can’t seem to control it whenever she sees me and I’m not sure she wants to. She’s even less thrilled with me than my father and she usually has no trouble expressing that displeasure to me. My only saving grace is that I know she won’t rail at me in front of her supporters. She’s much too shrewd for that. She’ll do her best to pretend I’m the perfect son in front of potential donors and wait to condemn me in private.
I’m so glad I’ll be staying at the lake house. My mother won’t consider venturing out to Northern New Jersey this late in the season. When it’s less than seventy degrees she has no interest in the lake house.
“Austin,” my mother says as she approaches and places a quick peck on my cheek. “So glad you could make it.”
The other women in her small group are all smiling and eyeballing me, even though they’re all my mother’s age or older.
I down the rest of my beer and stare into the empty cup. “I think I need a refill.”
My mother expresses her displeasure with a harrumph, but then quickly replaces her grimace with a broad smile. Hers isn’t as rehearsed as my father’s or brother’s, but it’s equally phony.
“When you come back, Mrs. Lexington has an opening in her firm that might be of interest to you and she’s already said she’d love to talk to you about it.”
“Great,” I lie as I loosen my tie. I’m already feeling trapped and the stupid material around my neck isn’t helping matters any. I can’t even remember the last time I wore a tie.
As I hurry back towards the bar I’m glad to see that Mazzy doesn’t have any other customers. She’s all mine, at least for a few minutes.
I order two beers and down them both double-fisted. When I look up I imagine that Mazzy will have a look of horror on her face, but all I see is puzzlement. As if she’s looking at a creature from a brand new species.
By the time I order my fourth miniature beer I have just enough liquid courage to actually start a conversation with her. It’s not that I generally have a hard time conversing with women. On the contrary, I’m generally quite smooth with the opposite sex. But I feel different in this monkey suit and a political fundraiser is definitely not my native habitat. I’m used to picking up women at dive bars or neighborhood pubs. The more relaxed and casual the atmosphere the better.
There’s absolutely nothing relaxed or casual about my present circumstances. But at least the beers have taken the edge off.
“Mazzy is an unusual name,” I say as she hands me my beer.
She just gives me a polite nod in return.
“Do you live around here?” As soon as the words leave my lips I realize it’s a ridiculous question. I’m sure she doesn’t commute very far for a job as a bartender.<
br />
“I’ve lived in Old Town my whole life.” Her clipped tone leads me to believe that she has little interest in talking to me. Not that I blame her. If I ran into me in this setting wearing this suit I wouldn’t want to talk to me either.
“Know of any good bars around here.” I hold up the small cup. “These tiny cups aren’t really doing it for me.”
That remark elicits the tiniest of smiles. At least it’s a start.
“Try Haymakers. It’s the only bar in Old Town. Do you like country music?”
I shrug. “I’m more of a rock-and-roll kind of guy.”
“Haymakers is definitely a country bar. I used to work there.”
“Maybe I’ll check it out.” I’ll be staying at my family’s lake house, which isn’t too far from Old Town. I’m sure I’ll go stir crazy after a while and will need some kind of escape. “Thanks for the recommendation.”
“If you tell them that Mazzy sent you they might even give you a free beer.”
“Free is good.” I give her my sexiest smile, but it doesn’t seem to make much of an impact. I realize that maybe she’s just being nice so I’ll give her a good tip. I reach into my pocket, pull out a five dollar bill and add it to the mostly singles lining the tip jar.
“Thanks,” she says and when she finally looks me in the eye I feel a little flash of something. I’m not quite sure what it is, but my entire body reacts to it. I put my beer on the end of the bar for a moment and put my hands in my pockets in an effort to lower the flag that’s starting to rise in my pants.
“Haymakers,” I repeat. “I’m definitely going to check it out.”
“Only bar in town. You can’t miss it.”
I don’t want to stop talking to this girl. She’s like the cool girl that guys love to be friends with, but who they also want to fuck. It’s a rare combination. Most girls who are as attractive as she is are a little high on the maintenance scale. And girls who are as cool as she seems, the ones you’d love to hang out with and drink on a Friday night, are usually not as attractive as Mazzy. She’s like the best of both worlds.
Another Mazzy Monday Page 2