by Phil Swann
When Tom appeared at the top of the stairs in full dress blues, the tears begin rolling down his mother’s face. Ben looked to see if his father was crying too. Thankfully, he wasn’t.
“You look good, son,” Nikolai said, offering his hand.
“Thanks, Dad,” Tom replied, shaking it.
Antonia wrapped her arms around Tom’s neck. “Sure we can’t drive you to your bus?”
“No thanks, Mom. Stevie will get me there just fine. Besides, it wouldn’t look good for people to see a future five-star general’s mother cry all over him.”
Antonia playfully slapped Tom on the chest.
“That’s my boy,” Nikolai said.
The honk from the car horn outside caused Antonia to grab her son again. But this time Ben noticed that Tom returned the hug with more enthusiasm than he’d ever seen him hug their mother before. It was all so weird.
“Need to go, guys,” Tom said, releasing his mother’s embrace.
“Call us when you get settled…if you can, of course,” Nikolai said.
Ben thought he heard his dad sniffle but couldn’t be sure.
Tom looked at Ben for the first time since coming down. “Hey, bro, walk me out.”
Ben stood and followed Tom outside. Stevie Donnellson was standing by the car with the trunk lid open. “Let’s go, Captain. The war’s waiting, can’t be late.”
“Give me a sec, Stevie,” Tom said, tossing his bag in the trunk.
Stevie answered Tom with a salute.
“So, listen, bro,” Tom said, “you’re in charge now. Take care of Mom and Dad.”
“I will,” Ben replied, swallowing the lump in his throat.
“And if you come up against anyone you can’t handle, I gave orders to Stevie here to kick any ass you need. Right, Stevie?”
“You know it, boss. I’m here for you, Benny-boy,” Stevie replied.
Ben looked at the ground so his brother wouldn’t see the tears welling in his eyes. “Why you gotta do this, Tommy?”
“The country needs me, bro. Sometimes a guy’s got to step up, you know?”
“Maybe when I graduate from high school, I can join you. Could I do that?”
“Well, bro, that’s still a few years away, and we’ll probably have this little mess over there straightened out by then. Besides, you’re the smart one. You have to go to college and fill that big brain of yours with important stuff. You’re going to be somebody someday, Benny, I know it. Hell, you’ll probably end up being president of the United States, and I’ll have to take orders from you. Wouldn’t that be the shits?”
“I’d like that.”
“I bet you would, butthead,” Tom said, grabbing Ben’s head and giving him a noogie.
Ben flung around like a rag doll until Tom released him. Both boys laughed until Tom unexpectedly and uncharacteristically grabbed Ben and hugged him. Ben was frozen for a moment and then wrapped his arms around his brother too.
Tom let go and stepped back, both boys avoiding each other’s eyes. “You take care, little…” Tom interrupted himself. “You take care, big man. I’ll see you soon.”
Tom got in the car, and Stevie drove away. Ben stood in the driveway until the car disappeared from sight.
»»•««
As Ben made his way up the cobblestone walkway to Stephen Donnellson’s Green Hills home, his gut began tightening with every step. This was not going to be pleasant. The two hadn’t spoken since the day at the hotel, and he was certain that was exactly how Stevie wanted it. They had only seen each other twice since Tom’s death. Once at the private memorial service where he did his best to stay invisible, the second time when they were subpoenaed to testify before a congressional hearing on the assassination. Both times, no words were exchanged, but the silent loathing Stevie directed at him from across the room was loud and clear. I wish you were dead! was basically the unspoken message. Ben slowed his gait even further and seriously questioned the wisdom of his plan. If that’s how Stevie reacted when seeing him in places where he had to be, he could only imagine what levels of hatred the man would manifest when he showed up unannounced on his doorstep. This could get ugly, Ben decided, hovering his finger over the doorbell and considering that perhaps quietly slipping back down the walkway might be the better choice. He was recalling how Stevie used to be into guns when suddenly the door swung open, startling Ben to the point of jumping back. “Stevie?” Ben said, not really meaning for it to come out like a question.
“Hello, Ben,” Stephen Donnellson said.
Ben couldn’t believe the man standing in the doorway was the same person he’d known most of his life. The Stevie Donnellson he knew stayed manically well groomed with not a hair out of place. The guy in the doorway looked like someone who’d be more at home down by the train yards rather than an upscale suburb of Nashville. He wore old jeans and a wrinkled flannel shirt, was unshaven and in desperate need of a haircut. Also, and Ben couldn’t tell for sure, he thought Stevie might be a bit drunk.
“Hi, Stevie. I…”
“Come on in,” Donnellson said. “I’ve been expecting you.”
“Really?” Ben replied, taken completely off guard.
Donnellson gave Ben a sly smile and invited Ben in with a nod of the head.
The inside of the quaint two-story Tudor home looked like it had been ransacked. Unopened newspapers and magazines were strewn everywhere. Empty food containers were left sitting on practically every flat surface, and what furniture was left in the house looked to be old and very used. Ben might have sworn he’d walked into his own home except Stevie’s place looked even worse.
“Grab a seat over there,” Donnellson said, pointing to a chair stacked with old books. “Just toss that crap on the floor.”
“Thanks,” Ben said, placing the books on an adjacent table and sitting down.
“Drink?” Donnellson asked, heading to the wet bar in the corner of the room.
“No…uh, thanks. Still a bit early for me.”
“Mind if I have one?”
“No…it’s your house, Stevie.”
Donnellson smiled as he dropped three ice cubes in a highball glass. “For now, at least.”
“Where’s Julia?” Ben asked, attempting to sound casual but suspecting he knew the answer to the question already.
“She left eight months ago.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Took Freddie with her. I only see him on weekends now.”
“I’m truly sorry, Stevie. ”
“Thanks. Yeah, it really sucks.”
Ben didn’t respond. Donnellson came over and flopped down on the couch across from him. He didn’t know what to make of Stevie’s calm, almost friendly demeanor. Was he setting him up? Making him feel at ease so when the assault came he wouldn’t be prepared for it?
“How are you doing, Ben? Getting along okay?” Donnellson asked, sipping his cocktail.
Ben was tempted to say “fine” and let that be the end of it. Then he decided if an attack was coming, it might as well be on honest ground. “It’s been tough, Stevie. I’m wiped out financially, basically a leper in the music industry, and what friends I had have pretty much given me the ol’ heave-ho. I’m not sure what I’m going to do. So I’m just taking it day by day.” There it was. If Stevie was going to take a swipe at him, he just served up a big fat one right down the middle of the plate.
“That’s really tough, Ben. I’m very sorry. I don’t know why people act the way they do. It’s bad enough you lost your brother, but to have to go through all that as well…man, it’s just not fair. I wish there was something I could do to help.”
Ben was without words. It actually crossed his mind someone had stolen the real Stevie Donnellson and replaced him with this guy. “What happened with Julia, Stevie?”
“Nice segue,” Donnellson chuckled.
“Thanks. So, what happened?” Ben asked again.
“Ah, you know, she just got frustrated with me is the nice way of saying it.
”
“Does what’s in that glass have anything to do with it?”
Donnellson looked at the whiskey. “Nah, this is a recent hobby. Takes the edge off an otherwise miserable day. You, of all people, should understand that, Benny-boy.”
“Oh, I do. I’m not judging, just asking.”
Donnellson leaned back on the couch and looked at the ceiling as he talked. “She said I was angry all the time, Ben. Like I hated everybody, including her and Freddie. I don’t, of course, but I guess that’s how I made her feel.”
“Yeah, I know what that’s like—I mean the hating everybody part.”
“I bet you do,” Stevie replied. “Anyway, I’m talking to a head shrink about it. He says I have a kind of PTSD. He says I hate the world because I hate myself, whatever the hell that means. At any rate, I’m still holding out hope Julia will eventually forgive me and come back if I get my head straight. We’ll see.”
“How about me? You still hate me?” Ben said, deciding to lay it all out.
“I don’t hate you, Ben,” Donnellson said, still staring at the ceiling. “You didn’t know what that madman was going to do. You’re no more to blame for Tom’s death than I am, maybe less so, as was pointed out by our illustrious Congress.”
“It wasn’t fair, Stevie. What they said about you wasn’t fair at all.”
“Yes, it was. I blew it. I didn’t have Jackson properly vetted. That’s on me, and I have to live with it for the rest of my life.”
Jesus, this guy’s a wreck, Ben thought, watching Stevie drain his drink, get up, and head to the bar for another.
Donnellson continued, “But I’ll admit, Benny-boy, I never could understand your problem with Tom. Man, he loved you like crazy. I was thinking the other day about when you graduated from Oxford. He was so proud.”
“Yeah, everyone was pretty ecstatic about that. Everybody except me.”
“Really?”
“Come on, Stevie, international relations? Me?”
Donnellson chuckled, returning to the couch with his drink. “I always thought that degree was a bit out of character for you.”
“You think?”
Both laughed.
Ben said, “Yeah, everybody always had a plan for what I was going to be. Problem was, nobody ever asked me what I wanted to be. So, when I got out of Oxford, I just said fuck it. I’d done what everybody else wanted me to do and decided it was time for me to start doing what I wanted to do. Dad went completely ape shit when I moved back here and started writing songs. I was meant for bigger things, after all. I was the biggest disappointment in the man’s life.”
“And that’s when your relationship with Tom started going sour?”
Ben shrugged. “When Dad died, I thought Tom became Dad 2.0. He probably didn’t, but you know me, that’s how I saw it. I didn’t like the way he treated Mom, and when she died, I didn’t like the way he handled that either, so yada yada yada. You know, in retrospect, it’s all just trivial family bullshit that now seems completely idiotic. I disappointed Dad and Tom, and it’s as simple as that. Breaking news, youngest son rebels then regrets it. Could there be a bigger cliché? I wish I could tell Tom that. I really miss him, Stevie—Dad too. Who’d have thought it, right?”
Donnellson said nothing, but Ben couldn’t help but notice his expression.
“What?”
“I want to show you something.” Donnellson went to a bookshelf and pulled out a large photo album. “Sarah gave me this,” Donnellson said, handing the book to Ben.
“What is it?”
“Take a look.”
Ben opened the book and started turning pages. There were pictures of the three of them, Tom, Stevie, and him going back to when they were kids; playing sports, birthday parties, school plays, summer camp, the three of them dressed as cowboys, soldiers, and super heroes.
“Wow, would you look at us.”
“Keep going,” Donnellson said.
Ben turned the pages until he noticed the pictures became just of him. There was a picture of him graduating from Stanford, at the Nashville airport holding up his ticket to England, graduation ceremonies from Oxford, and then…what? Ben looked up at Donnellson.
Donnellson just nodded.
Every page became about Ben’s music career. Pictures, newspaper clippings, stills from TV appearances and press interviews, even copies of the sheet music to his biggest hit songs, all clipped and methodically pasted onto each page. Ben’s breath got shallow, and the knot in his chest felt like an elephant was sitting on him.
Donnellson said, “He wasn’t disappointed in you, Ben. Far from it.”
Ben swallowed hard. “I wish…”
“I know,” Tom interrupted, saving Ben.
Ben nodded and closed the book.
“You can have that, if you like.”
“No,” Ben replied. “Sarah wanted you to have it.”
Donnellson took the book and put it back on the shelf. Ben dabbed his eyes when Stevie turned his back. “I wish I could go back and change things, Stevie.”
“Boy, do I know that feeling,” Donnellson said, returning to the couch.
“And I know this is late in coming, but I’m sorry about how I treated you. You were always there for my family, and I treated you like shit…a lot. So…sorry, man.”
Donnellson raised his glass. “Thank you, and apology accepted.”
Ben smiled and waited a moment before getting to the business. Unable to think of a good transition, he decided to just plunge right into it. “So…Stevie, I guess you’re wondering why I’m here.”
“No,” Donnellson answered matter-of-factly. “I was expecting you.”
Ben cocked his head. “That’s what you said. Why were you expecting me?”
Donnellson leaned back on the couch and smiled. “Because you’ve met the one and only, Mr. Timon Baros.”
Ben went numb.
Chapter Sixteen
“You know Timon Baros?” Ben asked, unsure if he should even say the name.
“Oh, yeah. I’ve known Mr. Baros for several years now. He tried contacting me a few days ago, that’s how I knew he was in town.”
“What did he—”
“He wanted me to help him find you. I really wasn’t in the mood for Mr. Timon Baros, so I never called him back. But I figured he’d eventually succeed on his own, and it’d only be matter a of time until you showed up here.”
“You know why he—”
“Let me guess,” Donnellson interrupted again. “He told you about a super-secret group of international avengers he and your father started long ago with the noble mission of ridding this corrupt world of evildoers, thereby spreading truth, justice, and the American way from sea to shining sea. Am I close?”
Ben got a sick feeling in his stomach. “Yeah, something like that.”
“And now that Tom is dead, it’s up to you as a Lambros to take up the crusade. Yes?”
“Not exactly, but close enough,” Ben replied, feeling more and more nauseous.
“Yeah, that’s our butler,” Donnellson chuckled out the words.
“Butler?”
“Oh, you didn’t know? For almost half a century Mr. Baros has been a…what do you call them…a gentleman’s gentleman to Lord Vardis Papadakis, a mega-mega-rich Greek industrialist, real old money and real eccentric. I suppose I should say was, though. I heard Papadakis recently died. Guess our friend Mr. Baros is now unemployed.”
“He told me he was retired,” Ben said, dropping his head.
Donnellson laughed. “That’s one way to spin it when your employer goes tits up. Retired. Priceless.”
Ben leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. “You know, Stevie, I think I’ll take you up on that drink, after all.”
Stevie got up and headed to the bar. “Whiskey?”
“Whatever. I’m feeling a bit—”
“Stupid? Don’t. Baros even suckered Tom in.”
“Really? So Tom was working with him?”
>
“No, of course not,” Donnellson scoffed, handing Ben his drink and falling back on the couch. “Baros first showed up during the campaign. He introduced himself to Tom at some political rally. I don’t remember which one. He said he was an old friend of the family. Tom sort of remembered him and was nice to him, even gave him his personal cell number and had a few dinners with him. In the beginning I thought he was good for Tom.”
“Good how?”
“A presidential campaign is grueling, Ben. Nonstop speeches, handshakes, and never ever being allowed to let your guard down. One false move, one slip of the tongue, even the smallest misstep, and your opponent and the press pounce on it, then it’s game over. It was hard on your brother. Baros was a pleasant distraction to all that. He’d tell Tom stories of your father and him back in the old country. How they were secret agents or something in the Greek military during the coup. He talked about how your father and mother met, what brought them to America, and their life before you guys came along. Tom soaked it up, and in case you didn’t notice, Timon Baros is charming as hell and quite the storyteller.”
“I noticed,” Ben replied.
“But then the conspiracy stuff started. The worldwide cabal hurling us all toward destruction, the criminal plutocrats running the new world order, and, of course, the secret society he and your father created to bring it all down. What did he call it…?”
“The Song of Eleusis,” Ben said.
“That’s it, the Song of Eleusis. What a great name, right? Did you know Eleusis is the town in Greece where Baros is from?”
“No, I didn’t,” Ben answered, throwing back his whiskey.
“Small industrial city about twenty miles outside Athens. Anyway, it became clear the old guy was a whack job, and that was a problem for me. I couldn’t have that stuff anywhere near the campaign. I told Tom we had to eighty-six him. Tom was resistant at first. I think he felt some sort of loyalty because he was an old friend of your father’s, but he eventually came around. That presented a new problem, though. I was worried if we showed the old guy the door, he might get pissed and start spouting off to the press. So we took a more passive approach.”