Clash (Gentry Generations)

by Cora Brent

  After coasting around for a while I lucked into a space in a small lot that overlooked Tempe Town Lake. I checked my phone and found that the message I’d avoided listening to this afternoon had not magically disappeared. I could have just deleted it. I knew what it would say. I listened anyway.

  “Tay, it’s your big brother here. The last three times I called I never heard back from you. I hope you’re all right. We worry about you, me and Ella and the kids. Look, I know Sierra says things she shouldn’t but don’t take her seriously. We’re all having a hard time. I really don’t know if I’ll be able to keep the house if something doesn’t happen soon. Call me.”

  I exhaled noisily and threw the phone back into my handbag. The message sounded harmless enough, just a brother reaching out to his sister. It wasn’t harmless though. Not at all.

  But the night had already produced enough unpleasantness. I didn’t feel like falling down the rabbit hole of brooding over my awful family. So instead of chewing what remained of my fingernails and reminiscing about the past I took a walk.

  Though it was technically still summer the air was pleasant, a soft breeze making it possible to forget this place had been carved from the savage desert. I wandered down the main thoroughfare that flanked the giant university, envying the people I passed.

  My stomach still complained but for a little while I wanted to escape the defeat of purchasing a cheap candy bar for dinner. I could have kicked myself for not pocketing some of those rolls.

  Or, I could have pretended to be charming long enough to score a decent dinner from Burk Thanopolous. Maybe. In my old life there were people who would have called me a bitch. Some of them would have been correct. But I was no phony. And entertaining Burk Thanopolous would never be part of my skill set.

  Getting lost in my own thoughts had made me clumsy and I collided with a person sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk. Beside him was a filthy upside down cowboy hat that had collected some loose change from pedestrians. He was bearded and his hair was long and very tangled. At his side yawned a skinny dog. He smiled at me serenely.

  We should be friends, I wanted to tell him. I have none. We’re not so different, you and me.

  And in a flash I imagined joining him as an itinerant sidekick. I’d wear my white bohemian dress until it was in tatters and idly drift through the prosperous collegians. Some would pretend not to see me. Some would stare in open fascination. Maybe now and then I’d run into someone I knew. But it was doubtful they’d speak to me. My friends, the ones I used to have, assumed poverty was contagious.

  I passed the man and his dog after I dropped a dime in the hat.

  The long vanished voice of my mother decided to take this opportunity to scold me. “Tay-tay, you know what the doctor said about your hypoglycemia. You need small, frequent meals throughout the day.”

  “Kind of tough when you’re cruising through the day on pennies,” I muttered and then stumbled.

  A pair of college girls gave me a curious look but said nothing. The sidewalk rippled. I bit the inside of my cheek, tasted blood, hoped it might make the shakiness subside.

  It didn’t.

  But now I was staring into a restaurant window. Two couples occupied the nearest table. Three quarters of the dinner party were staring at their phones. The fourth was checking out the waiter’s ass. I didn’t care about them. I cared about the half eaten plates of food they were all ignoring. The scene became tragically Dickensian as I stared through the glass like some miserable street urchin.

  I’d been to this place before. It was called The Outpost. It was all dark wood with Americana antiques like rusty biscuit tins and faded flag decor speckling the walls. My father had taken me here once, right after helping me move into my exclusive and very expensive condo the week of freshman orientation.

  It seemed like I had been here on other occasions too but I couldn’t remember who else I might have eaten here with or why. I just remembered that the sides of giant steak fries were legendary and the hamburgers were dipped in a heavenly mystery sauce that puddled on the plate whenever the burger was lifted for a bite.

  I remembered something else about The Outpost. Squinting through the window beyond the distracted dinner quartet confirmed it.

  There was a large salad bar in the middle of the dining room.

  And from the looks of things, the place was fairly crowded. If I walked in, if I smiled at the hostess and said I was meeting some friends, if I then sidled up to the colorful and generously stocked salad bar, if I snuck a few slices of bread from the pile on the right, who would even notice?

  It’s stealing.

  Yes, it would technically be stealing. But in all likelihood The Outpost, like all restaurants, discarded piles of uneaten food every night and would never feel the loss. Besides, someday my life would be different. Then I’d come back here and throw generous tips around like confetti.

  I was aware that I was having an argument with myself in my own mind. It’s a lonely realization. Meanwhile one of the guys who’d been occupied with his phone while ignoring both his date and his dinner looked up and noticed me. I offered him a smile. I was nothing but a happy college girl searching for my friends. I had no real worries. I stepped inside.

  The hostess merely nodded over my mumbled claim that I was meeting someone as I breezed past, feeling like a criminal. A dose of acting ability would come in handy right now. My mother had always complained that I was built for drama but she did so in that loving but exasperated way of mothers.

  I paused beside the salad bar. Clean white plates were stacked in the corner. I could take one and fill every square inch. But then I would have had to sit down. Occupying a table would certainly summon a staff member. Anyway, I’d already planned to only sneak a few things. I knew every bite I took would be layered with guilt. I’d never stolen before, not ever.

  Trying to look nonchalant, I surveyed the room and inched closer to the salad bar. My hand rested on the smooth marble surface, inches away from a bowl of cherry tomatoes. My heart pounded. A cold sweat broke out. My stomach rumbled again.

  “Excuse me,” murmured the cracking voice of a teenage boy. He averted his eyes with shyness and seemed reluctant to reach for anything within two feet of where I stood.

  “Sorry.” I slid away so he could comfortably grab the tongs and add cherry tomatoes to his overflowing plate.

  I can’t do it. I can’t steal.

  My knees wobbled. I knew what was happening. My blood sugar was bottoming out. I needed to eat. I needed to sit down. I needed to overcome the rapid heartbeat and the trembling before I was at risk of passing out. I would return to the hostess and ask to be seated. I was ashamed that I’d considered pilfering some scraps from the salad bar. I wasn’t that person. It’s true that I wasn’t in a great place in my life but I wasn’t desperate enough to steal. Not yet, anyway.

  And then I fell.

  My legs became gelatinous and my purse dropped out of my hands. The floor reached up and snatched me to its side and a brief pain shot through my left hip as it contacted with the tile surface.

  I rolled to my back and found an unexpected and incredibly good looking face hovering over me.

  “I know you,” I said to the face.

  The face raised an eyebrow. Maybe he didn’t remember that night at my place at the end of freshman year. He’d probably seen dozens of naked girls since then. Why would I have stood out after all this time?

  My fuzzy brain searched for and retrieved a name. Kellan. His name was Kellan. I was sure I knew his last name too. I just couldn’t recall it right now with all these dark spots dancing in front of my eyes. Perhaps it was better that he didn’t remember me. I hadn’t been nice to him afterwards.

  Another face joined the first one. It looked like Kellan too, only Kellan as he might look a few decades from now. Future Kellan was very concerned.

  “Did you hit your head?” Future Kellan asked in a kind, parental voice.

  “No.” I sat
up and felt a strong hand on my back, which was a blessing because black dots expanded before my eyes and the floor beckoned once more. The hand belonged to Original Kellan and he circled it around my waist to steady me as he knelt by my side.

  Gentry. That was his last name. He was Kellan Gentry and his reputation as a top tier social king was cemented long before we dry humped in the courtyard outside a crowded kegger and then scampered to my condo for the inevitable conclusion.

  But whatever else he was, right now he was propping me up to make sure I didn’t nosedive into the dirty floor again and I was grateful. I still wasn’t sure if he had any idea who I was so I decided to throw him a helpful hint.

  “I used to be blonde,” I explained.

  He nodded. “I remember.”

  Chapter Four

  Kellan

  The second I saw her fall I was out of my seat. I got to her before anyone else did.

  Her eyes opened, very dark and full of confusion. They shifted my way and lit up with recognition.

  “I know you,” she said.

  Technically, she was correct.

  I knew her too.

  I knew her name was Taylor.

  I knew what she looked like without her clothes on.

  And I knew she came lightning quick if she was on top.

  We’d both just finished our freshman year. And we both had the distinction of remaining stone cold sober in a sea of lurching, vomiting partiers. By the time we got back to her place we were practically panting with our clothes half off. She didn’t live in the sprawling coed-packed apartment complex. She lived in the exclusive gated section of condominiums down the street, which meant she had to come from money. She was hot and she was wild. But none of that was useful to dwell on while she was sprawled on the floor after fainting. My dad worriedly inquired if she’d hit her head.

  Luckily, Taylor hadn’t hit her head. But she was still woozy so I braced my arm around her in case she toppled over again.

  “I used to be blonde,” she sighed.

  As if there was a chance in hell I could forget her. “I remember.”

  By this time a lot of people had become interested in the situation. A heavily pregnant woman had left her nearby table and asked if she should call 911. Taylor shook her head and allowed me to assist her to her feet.

  “No, please don’t do that,” she begged the woman. “I’m really all right.”

  The pregnant woman was doubtful. She glanced at me with some suspicion as I kept my arm around Taylor. “Are you sure, honey?”

  “I’m sure.” She was steady now, eager to escape my arms. “I just got dizzy for a second but I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Her purse had fallen, spilling out a set of keys and a couple of makeup items, so I collected them. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my father lean close and say something to her. I couldn’t catch the words but his voice had the tone of a question.

  Taylor hesitated, then bit her lip and shook her head. My father exhaled. Whatever the question was it had been a painful one. And so was the answer.

  Taylor allowed my dad to lead her back to our table. My dad was like a people whisperer. Everyone instinctively trusted him. He was a perfect blend of sage wisdom and good humor. There was no mystery about how he remained extremely popular among his students year after year.

  By the time I’d followed them over there, purse in hand, my dad had already summoned the fresh-faced waitress and requested a new menu. Taylor slid onto the bench where my dad had been sitting and he opted to sit across from her in front of my plate, presumably to give her some space. I squeezed in next to him.

  A tense looking man with an overflowing gut arrived and announced that he was the manager. His voice was all syrupy concern but there was a frantic glint in his eyes and he was obviously terrified of young women collapsing in his restaurant on a busy night.

  Taylor turned on a sweet smile while one finger betrayed her anxiety by twisting a few strands of long hair. “This is so embarrassing. I was…looking for my friends and I lost my balance. Maybe my shoes are too big.”

  A weird explanation but Mr. Manager accepted it with relief written all over his broad, shiny face. “And I see that you’ve found your dining companions so I assume you’re in good hands.”

  “Ah, yes.” Her eyes darted to us and then lowered to the table. “I did find them.”

  The waitress reappeared with a menu. Mr. Manager took it from her and presented it to Taylor, saying we should order anything we wanted as our entire meal would be on the house.

  I was gearing up to say that wasn’t necessary, that we could pay for our own food, but my dad beat me to the punch and graciously accepted the offer.

  I was missing something, some puzzle piece that would explain why Taylor had wandered in here off the street, stared at the salad bar, then face planted. She didn’t seem high or drunk. I was familiar with the signs. I remembered her place being stocked with leather sofas and other fancy shit. I was pretty good at sizing people up and Taylor had long ago made an impression as gorgeous, snobby and the caretaker of a downright prickly personality. However, when you’re young and horny and offered a night of unattached fucking, who the hell cares?

  Anyway, this was a different version of Taylor. The haughty blonde who was sizzling in bed and positively arctic outside of it had been knocked down a few pegs for reasons unknown.

  This Taylor snatched a slice of bread out of the basket Luci deposited on the table and devoured it in about three seconds before reaching for another. I got the feeling she would have greedily gobbled the entire basket, crumbs and all, if she wasn’t aware that we were watching her. She chewed, swallowed and took a sip of her newly arrived soda.

  My dad met my silent question with the nudge of an elbow. Whatever was going on, he understood more about it than I did. He started talking, probably sensing that Taylor wasn’t willing to do much talking of her own. My dad yammered on about the lackluster monsoon season and the condition of the university football team. Uncle Creed would always grumble that someone ought to ‘gag that motor mouth brother of mine’ but even Uncle Creed would have to appreciate tonight’s effort was for a good cause. My dad left plenty of room for Taylor to chime in anytime she pleased but she said little and I sensed wariness behind her smiles and nods.

  Normally I could rival my father when it came to running off at the mouth but for the moment I kept a low profile because introducing the short, sordid history of Taylor and Kellan’s One Night Stand into the conversation would be rude.

  When Luci returned my dad ordered a mixed appetizer plate even though he’d already demolished his meal along with half my cheese fries and I figured he couldn’t be very hungry at this point. He was just trying to make Taylor feel more comfortable. I followed his lead and ordered some nachos. Taylor ordered a double cheeseburger and fries.

  She’d perked up a little after consuming the bread basket and by the time the additional food arrived she dove in cheerfully. Maybe some foolish fad diet had inspired her to try living on popcorn and water or something. Crappy diets did funny things to a person’s head and would explain why she’d looked so confused when she drifted in here.

  Once my dad was satisfied that Taylor would be well fed he announced that he had to get going.

  “Old timers like me have an early curfew.” He motioned for me to move so he could exit the booth. “You guys stay and enjoy the excessive food portions.”

  Taylor daintily blotted hamburger grease from her lips. “Thank you, Mr. Gentry. It was nice meeting you.”

  “Nice meeting you too, Taylor.” He shot me a look that was a little too artificially innocent before he slapped me on the back. “You kids have a good night. Don’t stay up too late.”

  I slid back into the booth and watched my father pause to speak to the uptight manager who’d been keeping a nervous eye on us. The man beamed and shook my dad’s hand, then stared after him fondly as he finally exited.

  What did I tell you? The
People Whisperer.

  Taylor set her hamburger down on the plate. “I guess you hear this all the time, but you’re the spitting image of your dad.”

  “There’s a reason for that.”

  “Genetics?”

  “Close. I’m a complete clone. But that’s a state secret so be vigilant. There are spies everywhere. I’m pretty sure that manager is employed by the Russians. By the way, I like your hair better now.”

  She didn’t miss a beat. “I’m so glad. I made the change just to please you in the hopes that someday we might run into each other again.”

  Ah, sarcasm. My kind of girl.

  “Here’s to perseverance well rewarded.” I raised my water glass in a mock toast. “You don’t live in Castle Court anymore, do you? I’m still over at The Palms and it seems like I would have seen you around.”

  “No.” Her eyes dropped. “I don’t live there anymore.”

  “You still at ASU?”

  She looked up. “Are you?”

  “One more year left.”

  “Hmm.” She found the news boring. Or else she was avoiding all questions. She picked up her hamburger and took an obnoxiously large bite.

  I decided to control my instinct to be a dick and allow her to finish her meal in peace. It didn’t take her long. About the time she was polishing off the final fat, greasy fry, Luci dropped by with a pair of hot fudge sundaes.

  Her manner had grown rather starchy since Taylor’s arrival. “Courtesy of management,” she said. No more cute smiles flashed in my direction. She turned on the heel of her pink Converse and stalked to a different table.

  “Did I interfere with something tonight?” Taylor mused as she scooped a spoonful of whipped cream from the top. “The waitress appears irritated.”

  “That’s because she’s my wife.”

  Taylor snickered.

  I wasn’t even slightly hungry after consuming roughly three thousand calories in the past two hours but I was too economical to allow free ice cream to go to waste so I dug into my sundae.