Privileged

by J.M. Downey

  The driver reached for the handle. “Ma’am.”

  “Oh.” Katie stuck her head back in the car, and the door opened for her. She slipped out and turned to Keith, who stood with a slight smile on his face.

  “Your house. It’s old looking.”

  “It is. It was built in the 1700s by the Baron.”

  “The Baron?”

  “The Baron Elijah Wilkerson. The first Wilkerson in America.”

  “A great-grandfather?”

  “Yeah.” He walked up close behind her and placed his hands on her hips as he bent down and whispered, “it will be ours someday.”

  Her whole body warmed. She would be living here someday as the mistress. It would be like she was royalty.

  He kissed her cheek. “Come.” He took her hand and led her up the stairs to the front doors with a gold ‘W’ plaque which split when the door was opened.

  The house had a spacious opened foyer with an oakwood grand staircase that led to the second floor. A dark burgundy red carpet accented the light cream color walls, bearing paintings of the family and gold lamps. What must Keith have thought of her home in light of his? He had shown no dislike, but, then again, he wasn’t like that.

  Keith led her to the parlor. Sitting on the couch with a book on her lap was a small, frail woman, who had shoulder-length pale blonde hair with tips that curled out.

  “Mother,” Keith said.

  The woman put the book down. “Hello, son.” She stood from the couch, came to them and slowly kissed him on the cheek.

  Katie knit her brows. Mrs. Wilkerson kissed her son like it was a formality instead of greeting her beloved first born. Katie shook her head. She shouldn’t be too judgmental not every family was affectionate as her own.

  “This is Katie,” he said, placing a hand on the small of her back, nudging her forward.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said.

  Katie shook her cold, frail hand and stared into her empty light-blue eyes. Something flickered in them – something like a warning. A chill rippled over her. Katie shook her head again as if to dismiss the feeling. She was just seeing things; had to be, but his mom seemed like a shell – void, empty, with no emotion. Could she have a mental problem or something?

  “Come, sit with me,” she said.

  Keith led Katie over to the couch and sat on a chair opposite them. His mother asked her a couple questions about the trip and her own family. Mrs. Wilkerson spoke in a quiet, almost subdued voice and her face had a downcast look, as if there was no energy left in her. Keith soon took over the conversation. He told his mother how they met, and Katie would fill in the holes of his story, but Mrs. Wilkerson would only half smile and say, “that is nice, son.”

  Mrs. Wilkerson opened her mouth, but clamped it shut when the door to the room opened. Keith sprang to his feet, and placed both hands in front of himself. Katie tried to stand up to go to his side, but Mrs. Wilkerson placed a hand on her arm. From behind the door walked in a tall man in a suit, with almost black eyes, and a wrinkled brow.

  “Hello, son,” he said – his voice held a steady monotone.

  “Father, I want you to meet Katie.”

  He turned his eyes to her. Katie took a deep breath and squeezed the cushion of the chair. The man was an older version of Keith except for the deep dark eyes that pierced through her.

  “She is lovely,” he said.

  Keith smiled and held out his hand for her. Katie inched off the couch and stood next to him. She clasped her hands together. Her fingers were so cold. Why did his father unnerve her? But it wasn’t just him, it was both Keith’s parents – they came off cold as if they didn’t care she was here.

  Mr. Wilkerson held out his hand like he was asking her to dance. She placed hers in his – feeling the smooth skin that engulfed her fingers.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said.

  She swallowed hard, but the lump remained in her throat. “It’s nice to meet you, too, sir.”

  “Very polite.” He held up her arm and looked her over, making her feel like a horse being assessed for its worth.

  She glanced at the perfect row of teeth, but his eyes caught her. They didn’t smile back, but held a fixed glare. He didn’t even try to hide his displeasure. The smile was a ruse.

  “How was the trip?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath. Just be polite, and perhaps she could win him over. “It was fine sir, took a little bit.”

  He nodded. “I thought we would go out to lunch. Do you like Italian?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Let’s go.” He turned and walked out the door, leaving everyone to just stare at his back. He was an odd man.

  They went to a restaurant in the middle of downtown Manhattan. Keith explained that Ashley’s great-grandparents had started the restaurant, and it was still owned by the family. When they walked in, the host immediately noticed them and welcomed Mr. Wilkerson before leading them to a private room.

  Katie ordered exactly what Keith told her to, Veal Parmesan. With her hand she played with the bottom of her dress under the table, watching Keith and his father talk as if they were business partners going over details about how he was doing in school, and the firm. Mr. Wilkerson only addressed his wife once, and her twice. How odd. It was like the women weren’t there. Her family had greeted Keith with open arms, letting him into the fold. She would have to talk to Keith later about this, maybe he would say his parents were just like this but really loving inside.

  No one paid for the meal. Mr. Wilkerson just stood and the family walked out before parting ways: Keith and his father to the firm and she and his mother went back to the mansion.

  Keith rolled his head but the tension in his neck wouldn’t release. He knew what his father wanted to talk about. Katie.

  The tall glass building, the main hub for Wilkerson Attorney at Law stood before him, slicing into the skyline. He could never gauge what his father was thinking, but it was obvious he was not the least bit impressed with Katie. At least he smiled at her even if his eyes held that unwavering glare. The man was cold and emotionless as a crocodile waiting for its prey. Keith would highlight her submissiveness. That would be his only chance of being able to marry her.

  Keith glanced at the empty office next to his father as they made their way through the building. That office would be his soon. The receptionist in the center smiled at him behind her circular oak desk. The tall picture of the firm’s founder laid against the wall behind her, with his unwavering dark brown eyes watching his heirs, making sure they followed the path he had laid out before them. Keith shuddered.

  They walked into his father’s office and Keith shut the door behind him. He sat in a black leather chair opposite of his father’s desk and watched as Mr. Wilkerson looked at a document, trying to gauge something about his father’s mood, but it was pointless. His father showed nothing, a skill he needed to master.

  “What do you think?” He asked.

  “She’s a cute girl, but you’re going to have to convince me.”

  “What do you mean?” An intense feeling built in him. He clenched and unclenched his hands a few times, but the pressure only built.

  “She’s not like us. If you want to marry this girl, I need to know she can keep secrets. Because she will see them.”

  “I can trust her.” Keith let his breath out slowly. His father hadn’t straight out said no. There was hope.

  A smirk crossed his father’s face, highlighting his dark unwavering eyes. “Really, then what’s your deal with Jeff.”

  Sullivan had been active. “I….”

  “I bet she’d run to her pastor as soon….”

  “Look, I’m going to marry her.” Keith pounded his hand on the table and then stiffened.

  His father glared at him as he dropped the paper, took a quick step towards him and smacked him across the cheek. A sting spread through him, but he didn’t even budge, or move his face. Control was t
he key and he had lost it for a moment.

  His father pointed a finger in his face. “You can disagree with me when I’m dead.”

  His father walked back to his desk and picked up the document. “Now convince me.”

  Keith glared at his father’s back. “I will.”

  Mrs. Wilkerson flipped through pages of a photo album, taking Katie through the years of Keith’s life, pictures of him as a newborn and a cuddly toddler holding a ‘Vote for George W. Bush’ flag at a campaign event. One picture featured Keith’s father and Keith in the arms of a man she recognized but she couldn’t place. The man had a huge smile on his face, cuddling Keith as if he was his own son.

  “Who’s that?” Katie asked.

  “William Arther.”

  “Oh yeah.” Katie studied the two young men in the picture. Keith had the same jaw line and broad shoulders like his father. Even back then Mr. Wilkerson had no warmth in his eyes or even showed the smallest joy. But he did look handsome. His black eyes blended in with his dark hair that fell to the side of his head like Keith’s did.

  “Wilkersons must have always been so good-looking.”

  “They always marry beautiful people,” his mother said.

  Mrs. Wilkerson flipped through more pictures, progressing through Keith’s different ages. There was a picture of Keith at 10 in a suit, handing out election buttons during a parade, and at 17, working at a call center during an election. But the picture that she found the most interesting was Keith at 22 speaking during a Youth Vote rally at Harvard. The picture caught the essence of a facial expression that made him look so confident, so powerful. He looked like a leader. A future senator.

  The parlor door opened, just before Keith walked in.

  Katie smiled. “You were a cute kid.”

  His lips gracefully stretched into that mesmerizing smile. He took off his wool coat and dropped it on a chair before flopping onto the leather couch. “It’s always been one of my strong points.”

  She giggled. Yes, it was.

  “Keith, you should take her upstairs, and show her the paintings,” his mother said.

  Keith nodded and held out his hand for Katie. She stood and took his hand. They walked out of the room and up the grand staircase with a gold railing that shined like it had just been polished. Perhaps it had been. Not one item could be found out of place. No coffee cup on a table left by its user or a newspaper crumpled in a wastebasket. He turned to the right and led her down a long hallway with bare walls until he got to a row of paintings.

  Keith stopped in front of the first picture. “I used to play in this hall all the time as a boy. I never really thought about the people in the paintings even though I knew who they were.”

  Katie read the name ‘Baron Elijah Wilkerson.’ The painting was of an old man, with no hair, but a well-defined jaw line and deep, piercing black eyes. The man wore a suit with a high collar that almost stretched to his ears.

  Keith pointed to the painting. “He came to start over after his wife died, and brought his infant son.” Keith pointed to the next picture and Katie read the name ‘Elijah Wilkerson II’. This man, too, had a strong jaw line and piercing black eyes, the family traits. “He started the firm.”

  Keith brought her hand to his chest as he led her down the line of paintings of each heir who’d inherited the firm, telling her their stories; the stories he said he had heard his whole life. One heir was an officer in the Union Army who was given many medals for bravery, and another worked cases that helped shape the country. Katie squeezed his hand. Her Keith was a modern product of an ancient line that spanned centuries and was growing more powerful over time. Where would it go? How would she fit into the equation?

  When he got to the painting of his father, he stopped, staring at it for a second before he turned to the empty space next to it. He pointed to the wall. “Someday my painting will be there after I inherit the firm.”

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “And our son’s painting will be next to mine.”

  Katie looked at the blank space on the wall. Would their son inherit the strong jaw line that had been passed through the family? She closed her eyes and tried to conjure up the image of their son, but she couldn’t see the child, all she could see was the image of the baron.

  “What if we don’t have a son?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry about that, there has always been a Wilkerson heir.”

  Katie’s free hand moved to her stomach, thinking of the child that she would someday bear. It felt so empty. “Why couldn’t a daughter inherit the firm?”

  “Because that is how things are done.”

  Katie turned a sharp gaze to Keith. His face bore no emotions, but just held a fixed glare as he looked at his father’s painting. “What do you mean?”

  Keith kept his eyes glued to his father’s painting, his gaze moving over the face. But they stopped and she caught a glimpse of something; it was as though the confidence in his eyes, that was always there, disappeared, and was replaced, just for a moment, with a look of fear, but only a second, for his eyes straightened to their normal firm gaze.

  “Want to see my old room?”

  “Okay.”

  Katie followed him down the hall — her nerves settling as they left the paintings behind. Keith pointed to a door as he walked past it. “This was Amanda’s room.” He stopped at the next wooden door with a gold door handle. “And this one was mine.”

  He opened the door. She chuckled. It figured he would have black sheets on the bed and dark curtains. She looked around the room that was double the size of her bedroom, but not as big as she’d guess a room in a mansion would be. The size must have to do with when it was built. Posters of baseball teams and players lined the wall. A worn kid’s glove sat in a glass case on a cherry oak dresser. Above the dresser hung a picture of a baseball team, wearing red and white uniforms.

  “You really do like baseball.” She looked at him and her mouth dropped open. His eyes had a look of longing as he gazed in the direction of the picture. What was he thinking? He seemed so sad, so unsure.

  She walked over to the poster, and the rows of faces. What was so special about this picture? He walked up behind her – one arm slipped around her waist. He pointed to a player wearing the number 20. “There I am,” he said.

  A slight smile crossed her face. “You played ball?”

  “From the time I was eight until my senior year of college.” He paused for a second, and chewed on his bottom lip. “I was a pretty good hitter. I even got drafted.” His eyes brightened. “I was a late rounder, but at least I can say I got drafted.”

  “Did the team not sign you?”

  The brightness fled from his eyes, and he chewed on his bottom lip again. “Nah, they were going to send me to a minor league team. I didn’t sign because I knew I was going to Yale.”

  “You could have played….”

  “Hey, I got another picture for you to see.” He walked over to the bed and plopped down before grasping a picture on the night stand.

  Katie bent her head to the side. Why didn’t Keith want to talk about it? He had changed the subject so quickly. For some reason the whole time they’d been dating he had never told her about playing ball. Shouldn’t she have known? Katie walked over to Keith and sat down - the large oak bed creaked with her movements.

  The gold-framed picture featured Keith, as a child, sitting on Arther’s lap. He had a big smile on his face, as he held up a glove like he was waiting to catch a ball. A little black cap was pulled firmly over his ears. She lowered her gaze, and caught the sight of four pigtails; one set blonde and the other brown. Those must be the top of Amanda’s and Arther’s daughter’s head.

  “Arther used to take us to the games all the time,” he said. “We had a luxury box, but he’d sit in the stands because I always tried to catch the balls.”

  “It’s a cute picture.” A smile seeped across her face.

  “Yeah.” He set it down
and folded his hands in his lap.

  Katie sucked in her bottom lip, the taste of her strawberry lip gloss filled her mouth. The image of him as an undergrad wearing his uniform displayed the full muscles of his arms. Muscles she’d spent many nights running her fingers over. “Do you still have your college uniform?”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled and looked at the oak dresser behind her. “Why?”

  Katie brought her knees to her chest. “I always thought ball players looked nice in their uniforms.”

  His eyes brightened. “Want to see me in it?”

  A heat grew on her cheeks as she rested her chin on her knees and nodded.

  Keith bit down on the side of his bottom lip as he stood and walked over to a drawer, opened it, and grabbed the red uniform with white letters.

  Katie covered her eyes with her hands.

  “What are you doing?” Keith asked.

  “I want to wait for the full effect.”

  The sound of rustling fabric filled the air. In a few seconds she would see him in his uniform that hopefully would highlight his strong arms.

  “I’m ready.”

  Katie opened her eyes, and her smile widened. Something warm and sharp ran through her, making her stretch out her toes. He looked so handsome. The fabric of the uniform highlighted the muscles in his arms and his chest. The red contrasted with the dark locks of his hair.

  She slid off the bed, walked over to him and placed her hands on his chest. “You look so hot.”

  “Really,” he said as he wiggled his eyebrows.

  She opened her mouth to speak but before she could, Keith grabbed her by the hips and yanked her close to him, kissing her passionately — the brim of the hat bumping up against the side of her face.

  Katie and Keith laid in each other’s arms, giggling over a joke, he had told her, while he twirled a curl around his finger. She wore his ball cap and uniform shirt that fell over her body like she wasn’t even there.

  “You know, Katie.” He ran a finger down her cheek. “If you....”

  Someone knocked on the door, making Katie flinch and slide more under the covers.