I return to my newspaper, which at least blocks him from view, but I can feel his eyes boring a hole in the back of it.
With probably my hundredth internal sigh of resignation, I set the paper down and focus on him, trying to think of something to say. Blessedly, we are alerted that cruising altitude has been reached and the staff jumps to attention.
“Will you be having your usual Mr. Bennett?” Alexa asks.
I just nod.
“And you, Mr. Bennett? What can we get you to drink?” I note the change in tone and broad smile. She’s positively smitten.
I haven’t had much, if any interaction with children, but even I can objectively see that he will grow up to be a good looking man. He’s got the Bennett genes that will leave him with a full head of dark hair for life. Despite the current softness of his features, which I attribute to his youth, I can see the squareness of the jaw he’ll soon have. A warm rush of genetic pride runs through me as I take in the whole picture. Definitely a Bennett, this one.
Stuart looks at Alexa, visibly relaxed in the presence of the attractive and attentive flight attendant. “I don’t know,” he says in that whispering tone of his.
Hopefully, the Knickerbocker School will have a positive effect on his self-confidence and commanding presence. He’ll need both if he’s to take over Bennett Financial one day.
“Well, we’ve got soda, juice, milk, chocolate milk….”
We both watch his eyes light up at the mention of chocolate milk. Alexa laughs with delight. “I can see someone has a sweet tooth.”
She cocks her head at him. “A good thing too. A big boy like you needs his calcium. How old are you? Six?”
He gives her a sheepish smile and shakes his head, then raises his right hand, all five fingers splayed.
“Five?” she says with true astonishment. “Wow, you’re big for your age. We’ll have to get you an extra large glass.”
As she walks away I look him over again. I have no idea how big the average five-year-old is, so I’ll take Alexa’s word for it that he’s above average. I had two inches on Kevin’s 6’2”. I can’t for the life of me recall how tall Bette was, but I don’t remember her being a short woman. I think back to the meeting with Simone. In those ridiculous heels it’s impossible to tell how tall she was. 5’6”? 5’7”? Either way, with yet another rush of pride, I again attribute this to the Bennett side of the family.
“Here we are,” Alexa announces coming back. She places the crystal tumbler with two fingers of whiskey and a large bottle of San Pellegrino in front of me. Stuart is handed his chocolate milk and his face breaks out into one of his rare smiles. At least he seems to have forgotten his fear of flying for the moment.
“Look what else we have!” Meghan announces, following Alexa as she carries in two small crystal bowls, one filled to the brim with gummy bears and the other with Swedish Fish.
I had completely forgotten about this request. Stuart actually giggles and begins eating his right away. Later on they will be serving dinner. I probably should have told them to wait on this instead of serving it right away. Isn’t there some rule about the dangers of candy before a meal?
The request for my preferred candy was made mostly in jest and now I’m feeling a bit silly sitting there with a bowl of big, red candy fish sitting in front of me. I stare down at it with a frown. No doubt Alexa and Meghan are somewhere in back giggling over Archer Bennett, the man with a heart of stone, actually eating a bowl of candy.
Still, they’re sitting here in front of me now.
I pick one up and bite down, tail first as always. One side of my mouth quirks up as I chew on the familiar sweet, fruity, and slightly plastic taste.
I notice Stuart is a nibbler as well, biting off the head of a gummy bear then stuffing the whole body in his mouth to finish. Just like a pint-sized predator—a jaguar. It’s crazy that I’m reading so much into the way he eats candy. Still, I can’t help but think, given the proper training, he’ll make a fine captain of the Bennett Financial Services ship.
“How about we make a trade?” I suggest, eyeing his bowl.
He just looks at me speculatively as he chews away.
“I’ll give you one Swedish Fish for…ten gummy bears.”
His eyes go back and forth between my bowl and his, calculating. He gives me a quick shake of the head, no. Smart boy. It only serves to fuel my pride. Kevin raised him well.
“How about…seven?”
Another shake of the head.
We go back and forth and I’m actually frustrated to find myself offering a one-for-one trade before he finally gives in. Either he really likes gummy bears, really doesn’t care for Swedish Fish, or is the best negotiator that I’ve ever come across.
I’m not sure whether to be humiliated or damn proud.
By the time dinner arrives, both bowls are empty and I’m beginning to think there is something to that saying about candy before dinner. Those red fish aren’t sitting so well in my stomach. Neither of us has much of an appetite, despite the gourmet offerings and instead spend most of our time looking out the window at the coming twilight.
We’re well over the Atlantic now. Stuart is on his knees, hands on either side of the window with his face is pressed against it, looking down on the ocean below us. I wonder if he’s thinking about his parents again, settled somewhere on the bottom of that dark water. The thought has my own eyes sliding out the window to the vast darkness below us.
What the hell happened out here, Kev?
Chapter Seven
3 Beekman Place.
We landed in New York at 8 p.m. By the time we arrive at Simone’s apartment building it’s already well past 9 p.m. thanks to New York traffic. I get out of the Town Car and Stuart follows close behind me.
The neighborhood is surprisingly much quieter than I would have imagined for someone like Simone. Then again, prior to the reading of the wills, I hadn’t seen the woman in almost six years. Perhaps she’s matured from that nineteen-year-old who nearly fell off the chair she was standing barefoot on at Kevin’s wedding rehearsal dinner while delivering a tipsy toast.
“This seems like a nice enough place,” I say briskly, trying to put Stuart at ease. He gives me a meek smile and looks around the darkened, tree-lined street with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation. I briefly wonder what it must be like to have your world turned upside down and then catapulted into a new environment halfway across the globe. It’s probably both terrifying and exciting at the same time. Hopefully, being with the aunt he seems to know far better than me will provide some sense of normalcy for him.
Then, I can get back to my own sense of normalcy.
I press the button for her apartment and wait. With any luck I’ve caught her at an inopportune time, maybe in a drunken stupor or entertaining a man who is completely unsuited to be around a five-year-old.
That last thought sparks a flash of sudden fury in me, mostly for Stuart’s sake, but also something else that I’d rather not think about. Before I can mull that one over, both Stuart and I flinch with surprise as the intercom hits us with a blast of music. I recognize the song, Raise Your Glass by Pink.
So raise your glass if you are wrong…
“Come on up, girlfriend!” a male voice with a sing-song lilt shouts.
It’s followed by silence that is almost deafening.
What the hell is going on up there?
I hadn’t heard the click of the door unlocking but I try it anyway just in case. Locked.
I press the button again. After a moment, we are assaulted with the same blast of music.
…We will never be, never be anything but loud and…
“That’s the wrong button CoCo!” someone yells over the music.
…All my underdogs…
“Honey, you handle it then. Oh wait a—”
The silence hits us again as “CoCo” signs off. It’s followed by a short buzz from the door as it’s unlocked for us. It’s so brief and I’m so
surprised that I don’t react quickly enough to open it.
As much potential as there is here for dirt to use against Simone, I’m getting damn frustrated. I press the button yet again.
The intercom crackles to life. “Sorry about that, he’s already had five cosmos. Come on up!” a female voice replies, actually giggling.
Oh, this is almost too good. Stuart is already blinking in surprise at this little introduction to his aunt’s life. Honestly, I can’t blame him.
The door clicks open and I grab it quickly before we have to go through another game of musical chairs via intercom. I practically pull it off the hinges swinging it open in exasperation.
Now that we are back in New York, my mind shifts into jaguar mode, hunting out any and every potential bit of evidence to use against Simone to prove that she is unfit to be Stuart’s guardian. The foyer is a bit dated but simple, clean, and well-lit, and the same goes for the elevator.
As soon as the elevator doors open on to Simone’s floor, I hear the same music. It’s muted behind the door to 7-B, where she lives. I note that there are three other doors on this hallway and file that away to give to Mike. If she’s throwing a party so close on the heels of her own sister’s death, then it must be a common occurrence. Disgruntled neighbors could be a gold mine for dirt.
The muffled music gets louder as we approach and I can sense Stuart move in closer to me with each step. By the time we reach 7-B his shoulders are actually pressed against my pants leg.
I knock and wait.
And wait.
Perhaps they didn’t hear me over the music. I try the door and of course it’s open. I focus as I push it in, ready to take in any and everything, etching it to memory to be saved in the remove-Simone-as-guardian file.
As soon as the door is fully open, I’m so shocked I instinctively take Stuart’s hand, filled with an uncular protectiveness that I find surprising. He’s more than happy to firmly grip mine in return. It isn’t just because of the music that blasts our ears.
It’s the pink.
Everywhere.
The balloons hiding the ceiling from view range in color from magenta to a cotton candy color that’s almost white. Pink streamers crisscross the air above us. Another set of pink balloons cover the floor, making it impossible to walk without kicking or stomping on one. In fact, in the five seconds it’s taken me to absorb the picture before me, I’ve heard at least three of them popping.
It’s like a pink nightmare, filled with wall-to-wall guests, all wearing pink. Each of them is holding a glass in the air, also filled with one pink concoction or another.
….Just come on and come on and raise your glass…for me.
There is a momentary lull as the song ends, which gives me enough time to recover and seek out the hostess of this little celebration.
“Hel-lo, Daddy!”
I turn and find a young man in his early- to mid-twenties who has taken the glaringly obvious color theme of the evening and run with it. Every detail has been covered, from the light pink frosted tips of his curly hair down to his pink and white saddle shoes. The pink frames of his eyeglasses show admirable commitment. I peer in closer. Good grief, is that pink glitter on his lips and eyelids?
He crosses one arm over his narrow waist and rests the elbow of his other arm on top of it. He gives me an assessing look then takes a sip of the pink liquid in his martini glass.
“I didn’t realize there’d be DILFs at this party,” he observes as he gives me a smirk.
“Stop it, CoCo,” says a girl approaching him in a pink t-shirt that is about three sizes too small. Under any other circumstance, my baser instincts might take over and let my eyes do a little inappropriate roaming. Right now, I find it absurd. I subconsciously give a quick squeeze to Stuart’s hand just to assure him that I’m still there.
“Who’s the hottie?” she asks ‘CoCo’ as she looks me up and down.
Before he can answer, Pretty in Pink from that 80’s Molly Ringwald movie blasts through the speakers.
“Ohhh I love this song,” the girl squeals, even though she doesn’t even look like she’s old enough to have been born when it came out, and runs off to dance.
CoCo comes in closer and places a hand—I note the pink nail polish—on my shoulder.
“F-Y-I, you are not allowed to mention Josh tonight,” he warns me above the music.
“Who the hell is Josh?” I ask in an aggravated tone.
“Exactly!” he says excitedly, before he downs the rest of his drink. “Una mas!” he yells, raising his empty glass in the air and wandering off.
Jesus, who are these people?
…Caroline laughs and it’s raining all day…she loves to be one of the girls….
I’ve already tallied up at least ten things I can use against Simone in court, but the way Stuart is squeezing my hand reminds me that there are more pressing matters to deal with. I’ve more than accomplished what I set out to do: paint Kevin’s sister-in-law as an unfit guardian. Now it’s time to go. I don’t want my nephew to be completely traumatized.
I turn around to head back out and I’m caught by a woman with an easy, laid-back vibe about her and a camera around her neck as she heads straight for us. Dressed in a filmy, pink blouse and black slacks, she’s the one ounce of sophistication and sobriety in this circus and is striking enough to stop me in my tracks. She has a head full of small curls surrounding her like a halo and facial features that almost make her look like a fashion model despite being the one holding a camera.
“You must be Archer. Aren’t you supposed to be arriving two days from now?” The look she gives me is cool and assessing as though she can see right through my game.
“We thought we’d come back early. Stuart was eager to see his aunt.” It helps that it isn’t technically a lie.
“Hmm,” she says, not buying it at all. The cynical look she is giving me transitions into delight as she leans down, placing her hands on her knees to greet Stuart.
“And you must be Stuart,” She says, smiling down at him.
Stuart wraps one small arm around my leg and presses his body into my thigh as he gives her shy smile and a nod. My body stiffens in response, unused to such intimate physical contact especially from something so tiny. Almost at the same time, another reflex kicks in, spurring me to instinctively wrap one large, protective hand on his small shoulder.
Perhaps it’s the long trip we’ve just endured together. Perhaps it’s the truth in the saying that blood is thicker than even the ice cold water that usually runs through my veins. Perhaps it’s because I’m too damn worn out to play the Jaguar of Wall Street any longer. Whatever it is, right now I just want to remove my nephew from this craziness.
“I’m Vanessa, your aunt’s good friend. She’s going to be so thrilled to see you!” Accusatory eyes roll up to meet mine for a quick second then brighten again as she brings her attention back to Stuart. “Would you like me to go get her?”
I feel his grip on me relax at that suggestion. Once again, the magic name has been spoken to draw him out of his shell.
“Yes, please.”
Vanessa laughs prettily at that formal request, then stands up. “She’s on the roof, taking a moment for herself. I’ll go get her and be right back.”
She casts one last accusatory glance my way before wandering off to get Simone.
…The one who insists he was first in the line is the last to remember her name….
So I guess we’re waiting. With Vanessa gone, Stuart is back to pressing his body into my leg again. It’s almost comforting, especially considering madness going on around us, which even I find a bit surreal.
Everyone here is young and tipsy and covered in pink. Balloons are being kicked about gleefully and bodies are gyrating to music that’s so loud I can’t even hear myself think.
This is ridiculous.
My initial goal of digging up dirt on Simone is slowly fading into an unfamiliar sort of moral duty. This situation isn’t
fair to Stuart. I’m just about to turn around and take him back to the car when I feel the absence of his small body as he pulls away.
“Stuart!” my voice roars out with surprising alarm, drowning out the sound of the music.
The large crowd of people goes momentarily silent and the only subsequent sounds are that of my nephew and the music playing.
“Aunt Simone!”
Pretty in pink, isn’t she-e
pretty in pink
isn’t she….
I see him running through the crowd that easily parts for him. Straight into the arms of Simone Parker.
Chapter Eight
“Stuart!” she squeals, lifting him up into her arms.
She’s wearing a dress that looks like it came straight out of Barbie’s catalog. It’s a pink (naturally), strapless number with a puff of cotton candy material for a skirt that falls just above the knees. The rhinestones that cover the top, and the strappy, metallic pink heels she’s got on, make her look like she’s on her way to senior prom.
What the hell kind of party is this?
I’m beginning to feel conspicuous in my trademark Armani suit, tonight in dark gray.
“Oh, my favorite boy!” Simone gushes. “I’m so happy to see you finally. How are you? What in the world are you doing here?”
The questions roll off her tongue a mile a minute while I wait. I note the near chokehold Stuart has around her neck as he presses his body into her. His legs are wrapped around her waist and she rubs his back in a maternal way. It’s as though the two of them have an instant connection with one another.
A tiny stab of guilt hits me regarding my ultimate plans. It quickly disappears when I remind myself of the man I plan on turning Stuart into. A man who will be successful, confident, and admired—or better yet, feared. Besides, it’s not as though I’d never let him see his aunt. I’m perfectly amenable to scheduling occasional visits, very supervised visits.
Archer~Ex-Bachelor_Ex-Club Romance Page 4