“My daughter? Andy you know I don’t have a daughter.” He shifted in his chair almost indiscernibly unless you weren’t looking for it, which I was.
“That seems strange. Charley Feinman? Is she not your daughter? Because I gotta tell you man, she is a lovely young lady.” Paul flicked his eyes from me back to Andy. He was barely breathing.
“Andy, I don’t have a daughter,” he said more sternly though his voice wavered.
“Oh come on Paul. We know you do. Charley. We met her. She graced us with her presence at one of Brooke’s fabulous dinners.” Paul looked horrified but only for a split second, then he was completely impassive.
“She’s not really my daughter --“
“That’s kind of beside the point, Paul, don’t you think? Why didn’t you ever bring her around? She’s a lovely creature. Bright. Talented. That young lady is going places. Did you know that she met with Brooke last week? Nineteen years old and she’s practically running a business. She’s going to be on the cover of Fortune any day now.” Nothing. Not even a nod. He just stared. I think the absence of expression shocked us both more than anything else he could’ve done. The depth of his callousness was galling.
“Is that why you called me in here?” He asked, a slight ire in his voice. “To talk about my sons and Iris’s daughter?”
“Partly yes. I mostly called you in because I’m concerned with your flagrant disrespect for company policy, Paul.”
“What?”
“I have on good authority that you’re not only representing both of your boys but you’re doing it on the company’s, on his dime,” he said pointing a thumb back at me. I just continued to scowl, though inside I was laughing maniacally. “You’re a lawyer for Christ’s sake, Paul. Don’t you read your contract?”
“Andy… I just thought… these are my boys…”
“And Charley is your daughter but I don’t see you running out to protect her. Paul, those ‘boys’ are grown men who can afford their own damn lawyers; not to mention the fact that, and this is totally off the record, they’re both entitled jackasses. Maybe you should leave them hanging out to dry to teach them a lesson about life, eh? More importantly, I don’t really care who they are. You could be representing the queen of England and you’d still be in breach of your contract which categorically states that you, under no circumstances, can represent anyone or take any case that has not been given to you by HCI.”
“Andy, c’mon man, these are my sons. What if Lacey…” Andy looked angrier than I’d ever seen him. I wasn’t sure if it was for show or if he was truly incensed, but either way it was believable. He slammed his open palm on the desk, the sound reverberating through the entire office. Paul flinched and ran his hand through his hair again, which was now sticking up at odd angles all over his head. This, again, pleased me greatly.
“You’re taking a real risk bringing my daughter into this conversation, Feinman,” Andy barked. “This is not about her. This is about you and your inability to balance your job and your home life.” He cleared his throat and straightened his tie around his neck seeming to get himself composed. “It’s my fault really. I got too close and made allowed you to presume some things about this relationship. Let me be clear: we are not friends, and these are firing offenses. I could take this to the board.”
“Am I being fired?”
“Not yet, but you’re in a precarious position which means I’m in a precarious position. I don’t like to be forced into positions, Paul.
“I’m sorry I --“
“Whatever. Look, first thing, you’re taking an unpaid leave. Six weeks minimum. I need to get you out of here for a while so I can clean up your fucking mess.”
“Andy…”
“Also, I’m taking you off of all of the Asia accounts and turning them over to Ross effective immediately.”
“Ross? He’s just out of law school! Andy, I’ve been dealing with these people for years, Ross isn’t equipped to handle--“
“I suggest you show him real quick.”
“Andy can we just talk about this?” He asked pulling his hair out from the root and loosening his tie.
“Listen Feinman, you’re in no position to negotiate with me. I’m being generous by not canning your ass.”
“I appreciate that but --“
“Good. Get out of my office. Your leave starts today.” Paul sighed heavily and skulked away. Just as he was about to open the door, Andy called him back.
“Oh Paul,” he said without tearing his eyes from some Tumblr blog. “You really should choose your clients better. It’s my understanding that there’s a lot of damming evidence implicating both your ‘boys’. Academia doesn’t take kindly to anyone who abuses their given authority, the military doesn’t take kindly to child molesters, and HCI doesn’t take kindly to misogynists who beat their wives.” Paul just stared, dumbfounded. “That’s all, Feinman.” Paul pulled his hair out by the root one last time and left.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Charley
“I don’t really know what we’re doing here, Jaime.” I said nervously tugging on the hem of my blouse.
“Your mom invited us. That’s what we’re doing here.” You replied while ringing the bell.
“Right, but we didn’t have to come. We can go. We can go right now and she’ll never have to know we were here,” I pleaded, tugging your arm back in the direction of the car.
“Charley, c’mon,” you chided lightly. “She’s your mom. You two have been trying, right?”
“I just…things are going to be weird.”
“Charley, stop freaking out.” You held my face with the hand not holding mine. “I’m here with you. If it gets too uncomfortable we’ll leave.”
“Okay,” I said as you placed a chaste kiss on my lips. It had been a two weeks since our make up in front of your apartment, a week since the Holmes’ luncheon. Markus had knocked it out of the park and Mrs. Holmes had told us that very afternoon that she would invest, that we had impressed her. We were still reeling from that while Collette and I were queening out about my moving in with you.
After the meeting with Brooke, I was so slaphappy that I accepted your offer. By the time we found ourselves standing in front of my mother’s door I’d just finished moving all of my things into your apartment. We were still doing a cautious dance around each other: me keeping you at arm’s length emotionally, you towing the line with me physically because you were being respectful. We’d barely even kissed and we most certainly hadn’t had “the talk” yet, so it was understood that I’d be sleeping in the living room with the potential to move into more intimate sleeping arrangements.
When I told mom, casually over one of our lunches, that I’d be living with you over the summer, she insisted that she meet you officially. She hadn’t heard much about or seen you since the Sinatra Bar incident, and that wasn’t by accident. Now, there was no way to avoid this meeting. I still hadn’t come clean about everything to you and vowed to myself, after the Teddy debacle, that I never would because it was in the past. Mom promised not to bring anything up and swore that Paul would be away. “Why does it have to be at the house?” I whined to her over our Cobb salads.
“Because my car is in the shop,” she answered quickly.
“How did you get here, then?” I asked suspiciously.
“Friend dropped me off.”
“Mom,” I knew she was lying to me. Something, probably terrible between her and Paul, had happened and she was being punished. He did that to her frequently while I lived there. Still, she wasn’t sharing. “Where is the car, mom? Does Paul have it?”
“I told you, Charlotte, the car is in the shop. I had a friend drop me off. I don’t really appreciate your line of questioning so I’m ending this discussion. You and Jaime will arrive promptly at eleven for polite conversation and a light lunch. I want to know who the hell it is you’re going to be fucking this summer.”
“MOTHER!” I screeched. “First of all, I don�
��t have to do anything you say because I’m a grown up now. Second, I’m only concerned for your well-being, so if that asshole took your keys to keep you locked up then I’d like to know. Third, how DARE you even suggest that I will be fucking anyone! Jaime was nice enough to allow me a place to stay for free and you know damn well why I need it and why there’s no way in hell I would ever stay with you if you offered, which should be noted, you didn’t. So before you go off insinuating I’m some kind of whore you’d better think about why I’m in this predicament to begin with.”
We stared at each other. It was like one of those old-timey Mexican standoffs; neither of us willing to flinch first. Then, like flicking a light switch, she broke down into uncontrollable sobs.
“I’m so sorry, Charley. I shouldn’t…I’ can’t….I’m so sorry…I’m so sorry.” She was making a scene, so I rushed over to her side of the table and placed my arm around her petite, bony shoulders.
“Shh. Shh mom, it’s okay. I’m sorry, too. Okay, we’ll be there. We’ll come over for lunch. I want you to meet him. Okay? Just shh.”
So there we were, standing at the front door of my personal hell. The place I swore I’d never set foot inside again, ringing the doorbell begging to be let in. Abandon hope all ye who enter here, I thought scornfully.
The luncheon was, actually, quite pleasant. Mother was a doting host and she even made the little finger sandwiches herself which were good. Though I knew we’d have to pick up more food for you on the way back to the apartment, it was a lovely thought. You and she seemed to hit it off nicely. While you made small talk, I admired my childhood home. It was amazing seeing my former residence from the vantage of a wanted guest. Typically, I would pass through up to my room without daring to tear my eyes away from the floor lest I make eye contact with anyone. Sitting in the formal living room with you and mother, drinking tea out of the delicate china was surreal; almost like I’d never lived there.
“Where’s your room, Charley?” you asked innocently and the good vibe the three of us wilted.
“I…umm…”
“Oh, well you know how we empty nesters are, Jaime,” mom said, thankfully saving the moment, “we’ve already converted her room into an office.” Wow, mom’s a great liar, I thought inappropriately.
“Yeah, I know how that goes,” you returned with a smile. “Three months into my first tour and my dad turned my room into home gym.” And thus the conversation got back on track. We were finishing our tea when the front door slammed shut. Mom’s body went completely rigid, except for her hand holding the cup and saucer which were rattling in her palm.
“Mom,” I said, worried about her reaction more than who I knew had just entered the house.
“Charley, I’m sorry…” was all she said before he came into the room. It had been a long time since I’d seen him. He looked older, no that’s not it, he looked old. Gaunt. He was still in his suit, but his tie was loosened and it looked as if he’d been pulling on his hair all morning, the mousy grey-brown strands were sticking out in all directions. He was stunned for a moment, seeing mother, Jaime and me cozy in his living room. Then, stunned turned into monumentally pissed off. He dropped his briefcase and just stared at all three of us like we were intruders who’d defecated all over his fine furniture.
“Paul,” mother started, visibly grasping for something to say to make this seem okay. “It’s 1:30 in the afternoon,” she said, “what are you doing home so early?” He just stood rigidly, watching us. What was he doing home in the middle of the day? Why hadn’t mother expected him? He was so disheveled it had to be something with work. (I would later find out that he’d been reprimanded and forced into a six week unpaid leave that very day.) I had nothing to say to him. I hadn’t really looked at Paul straight on since I was six years old. The terrible fear of him that I had was transferred to my mother who seemed utterly terrified. A revelation; I wasn’t afraid of him anymore. All of it was replaced with a deep dread for my mother. I wanted was to reach for her trembling hand to comfort her because I knew the terror that she was feeling, I had felt it once, too. Instead I reached for yours and squeezed.
You must have taken this to mean I wanted you to talk, which I certainly did not, but you did anyway. You stood up, all six-foot-four of you, and strode confidently toward Paul, trailing me behind you by my hand.
“Hello sir. I’m Jaime Rosen. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You held your free hand out for him to shake.
“Paul looked up, yes he had to look way up, into your eyes then flicked his eyes back to mom. You, then mom. You then mom. Over and over again in complete silence without even glancing at me. He never shook your hand. He never even moved. The seconds just ticked by, devoid of the sound of anything except my heart beating in my ears. I squeezed your hand again and dragged you, as best as I could drag a two-hundred and forty pound block of muscle, out of the house without uttering a word. When the sun hit my face, I came unglued. My breath labored, a familiar crushing tightness in my chest returned.
“Charley,” you said holding me by my shoulders.
“Just. Get. Me. To. The. Car.” I said struggling for each word. I needed to get someplace safe. I needed to feel in control.
“Charley --”
“Jaime. Please. Car. Now.” You rushed me to the rover which was parked at the end of the driveway and blasted the air conditioning. I breathed and counted: 1...inhale…2….exhale…3…inhale, until I felt the panic beginning to wane. You pressed your palm to your forehead. You weren’t so much angry as you were frustrated. I don’t blame you. We were having a nice time and then POOF! All of the good energy was sucked from the room by an aged, faded man. I had been so unfair to you, keeping my secret while so willing to show and tell Teddy. It was at that moment I realized the depth of my betrayal to you and I started to cry.
“Charley, sweetheart, you’ve got tell me what just happened in there.”
So I did. We were still in the driveway, facing the house which from the exterior was beautiful and serene. It’s amazing that I lived there all those years and never noticed it for its pristine splendor. I watched the butterflies hover around the window boxes full of fragrant flowers, the small geckos slither from underneath the lantana while I told you the whole thing leaving out only one detail: Teddy. He was irrelevant in the grand scheme, I thought. Everything else I spilled: Paul, my father, my mother, Adam and Caleb, the colleges I got into and turned down, and about my panic attacks.
I hadn’t seen you that angry since you kicked that guy’s ass for me in the club. You were breathing raggedly through your nose. Your teeth were clenched so tightly the veins in your, now deep purple, neck were cording from the strain. Your fists were balled up on top of the steering wheel and the muscles in your arms were twitching excitedly like the tongue of a snake lying in wait for its prey; like they’d been waiting to exact the type of pain that your body was capable of inflicting. It’s silly now, but for those few moments, while we sat in silence and you fumed, I thought it was over. I knew at any moment you were going to throw me to the curb; that you hated me. Just as well, I thought. I could add your name to the list of men who’d left me. But you didn’t leave me, Jaime. You pulled the keys violently from the ignition, stormed out of the car, slamming the door behind you, and marched purposefully back to the front door of Paul’s house.
“Jaime don’t!” I screamed but you couldn’t hear me, or maybe you wouldn’t hear me. I’m not really sure now. I hopped out and ran to you tugging on your bicep, as if that was going to deter you from your warpath. Then, and I can only say this happened because I witnessed it, you put your foot through the tempered glass and wood of the French door like it was tissue paper and just barreled in, crunching over broken glass through the entry way.
Paul came careening around the corner from the kitchen, my mother nowhere in sight. Where is she? I thought, amid screaming futilely for you to stop.
“What are you doing?” Paul asked, incredulous. His voice was nothing
like I remembered. It was small. Nasal. There was fear in it. Fear, I thought. Paul is afraid. He caught sight of the mess from the door and glared menacingly, as menacingly as he could anyway in your presence, at you. “Did you do that? You bastard! This is breaking and entering!” he had just launched himself at you and you had launched a counterattack with me still glued to your arm, when my mother came limping around the corner.
“Paul. Don’t.” she whimpered. She was favoring her right side. There was already a bruise forming around her right eye and her lip was split open. Blood had dripped all over her ivory cardigan.
“Mom!” I gasped. Both of you stopped to look in our direction. Paul at mother, you at me.
“Where are they?” You barked at me, taking advantage of the small reprieve from Paul’s attack.
“Where are what?” Paul and I asked simultaneously.
“Are they upstairs?” You asked again.
“Jaime don’t!” I pleaded, the tears dripping from my eyes. It was like I had said nothing because you darted up the steps taking them three, maybe even four at a time. Paul tried to stand in your way but was powerless to stop you.
You found the room and scoured it, unconcerned with what you ripped or broke. All I could do was stand at the doorway and plead, but you weren’t hearing me. Your eyes were wild when you found the envelope, and you raced back down to the kitchen with me in tow. Mom imploring Paul not to call the police.
“Young man, you have no right to be in this house. You have thirty seconds to get off of my property before I call the police. You and her!” He cried astringently pointing his finger at us both. It struck me that this was the first time in twelve years he’d addressed me directly.
“Paul! Stop!” Mom screamed carefully placing a hand on his elbow. He tore his arm from her grasp like she was plagued with a disease.
“You want to call the cops on me old man?” you bit back at him. “I’d LOVE to speak to them about THIS!” You threw the photos at him one by one while you continued your rant. My mother gasped in horror then sunk to the floor in hysterical tears. “Let’s get them over here and show them what really went down in this house, because of your neglect! I’m sure they’d love to plaster your fuckin’ mug shot all over the eleven o’clock news. You really think you’d keep your high profile job once word gets out that you let shit like this happen to your step daughter?”
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