Never Say Never

by Taylor Holloway

  “I don’t care. We live in the future. There are cars, trains, planes, and Skype.”

  “Your Dad is terrifying.” He wasn’t wrong. My dad was a military badass who made lesser men quake with fear. But he was also secretly a huge teddy bear who just wanted his daughter to be happy.

  “He’s not that scary once you get to know him. He likes you.”

  “My mom is sick.”

  Charlie’s mom had just had surgery. She was battling breast cancer.

  “I know. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Maybe having someone to talk to would help?”

  “You’re Dylan’s sister.”

  “And?”

  “And he’s my best friend. We’ve just got way too many strikes against us.” Charlie sounded defeated.

  I really wanted to argue, or say it didn’t matter, but it did. There were a lot of reasons we shouldn’t even try. Charlie and Dylan were close, and my brother was incredibly protective of me. Their friendship could easily become collateral damage and I didn’t know if I could live with that. Over and above everything else, this was one obstacle I had no reply against.

  “It would never work,” Charlie said.

  It wasn’t until later that evening, after Charlie had dropped me back off with Dylan and we said our goodbyes that I thought of the perfect reply. In Belgium they have a phrase for that feeling of having missed the perfect retort only for it to dawn on you once it’s too late: ‘l’esprit de l’escalier’ or ‘the wit of the staircase’. If only I was able to go back in time and deliver it to Charlie in that moment.

  I would have told him ‘Never say never’.

  1

  Charlie

  Five years later…

  “Did you get the tape?” Richard Durant asked me, upon seeing Senator Ellis and his family enter the room. They’d arrived fashionably late. Probably just to show they could.

  “Yes. It’s all taken care of,” I replied.

  We were keeping our voices low in the quiet parlor of the funeral home. People milled around us oblivious to the salacious nature of our discussion. A few feet away, my boss Lou ran interference on anyone that might approach. His bombastic personality was more than enough to shield us.

  Across the room, the four members of the Ellis family looked like a picture of American wholesomeness in mourning. It was just as much a display of the power the Durant family exerted that the entire Senator’s family would be in attendance, The oldest daughter, Angelica, noticed my attention and smoothed back her glossy blond hair. She whispered something to her teenage sister, who looked at me, blushed, and shook her head. Angelica looked me up and down and bit her lip coyly. She thought I was checking her out. I dropped my gaze.

  “Every copy has been destroyed and all parties dealt with,” I answered after a moment when Richard continued to stare at me. “Why, did you really want a copy for leverage with Ellis?”

  His silence meant yes. I handed him a thumb drive, which he pocketed discretely. I’d been hoping he’d been joking about wanting it.

  She’s 23. She’s easily young enough to be your daughter. You’re supposed to be her father’s friend not using her embarrassing mistake as potential political ammunition…

  I wanted to say it.

  My mouth stayed wisely shut.

  Richard smiled, shook my hand, shook Lou’s hand, and drifted off in the direction of Ellis. I’m sure he wanted to share the good news that Ellis’ daughter’s tequila-fueled bad decision would not be strewn across the internet tonight. Tom Ellis might be less enthused to know Richard had kept a copy. Not that Richard was likely to tell him. Not until there was a good reason, anyway.

  I reminded myself firmly that this was none of my concern.

  It was all just business.

  Edith Durant’s wake was lovely. The Durant family had spared no expense for the patriarch’s youngest daughter. I’ve become something of an expert at funerals, so I can state that with authority. On a scale from zero (Bin Laden) to ten (Queen of England), this funeral was a solid seven.

  The white tulips adorning every surface must have been expensive and difficult to find in late October. The harpist was a nice touch as well. Sadly, there weren’t many people in attendance to admire either. Most (if not all) of those who did attend had never met Edith.

  Each of today’s guests had an ulterior motive for participating in the organized mourning of the wealthy, middle aged, possibly mentally ill shut-in. For me, attending funerals for people I’ve never met is part of the job. It isn’t billable, at least not officially, but any client conversations that happen to occur there are.

  No one tells you about this part of being a lawyer. In law school everything is lofty ideals and academic discussions. The real, unglamorous practice of law is as distant from the minds of tenured law professors as worries about job security. I suspect this is by design; fewer bright young men and women would willingly go so deeply into student debt to become lawyers if there was truth in advertising. In hindsight, “Schmoozing 1o1” would have been a lot more useful to me than “Wills and Trusts”.

  What I really needed was a few more hours each day. Billing is breathing to young lawyers like me. In the rat race to make partner, I billed over 2,400 hours last year. Most of that came from a single whale of a client: Durant Industries. I’d voluntarily been on “permanent loan” from the firm that I started at, Clark and Jeffries, for the past four years as the guy who fixes the company’s embarrassing problems. For Durant Industries this often boiled down to containing the antics of the Durant family.

  The Durant family had a lot of embarrassing problems, so I did a lot of fixing, and the Durants paid their bills on time and in full. It was a good arrangement. They never batted an eye at the hours on my invoices because I was very good at what I did. I was exhausted, disillusioned, sarcastic, and bitter—but effective.

  So, when I was told to jump, I inevitably asked “how high?”. When Richard asked me to clean up a mess for his favorite pet Senator’s daughter, I’d done it without blinking. Perhaps another year of this nonstop nonsense and I’d finally make partner. Then, maybe, I could actually practice law and never pay off another hooker or grease another palm. Preferably before I was disbarred. Or forty.

  “Hello Charlie. Nice funeral, huh?” Alexander Durant III used a far less discreet tone than his uncle Richard had a moment earlier. “What exactly are you here for? Some new crisis you’ve come to contain? Has my father done something exceptionally stupid this time?”

  Several heads turned our way, and I cringed. Sadly, this was actually Alexander’s attempt at being pleasant and amiable. He’d actually sprung for a greeting before getting to the point. Inadequate as it was, Alexander was making an effort. This meant he really wanted to know what I knew. He correctly interpreted my professional, polite, nonplussed silence as confirmation that there was a scandal of some type and then he laughed loudly enough to receive a glare from his uncle and interested looks from his three cousins.

  Great.

  They converged on Lou and me within moments. We managed to pull them out into the hallway, out of the view of the crowd, and a respectful distance from their aunt’s embalmed corpse. None of them seemed particularly saddened by her passing.

  “Spill counselor,” Alexander III ordered. He glowered at me in a way I’m sure he expected to work, but his father Alexander II had taught him that particular expression and did it better, and the patriarch Alexander senior did it even better than both of them when he wasn’t in the haze of Alzheimer’s. Plus, I was slightly older, slightly taller, and immeasurably tougher. Unlike any of the Durant clan, I grew up in the city of Philadelphia and not it’s cushy, pampered suburbs. I was immune to rich kid threats.

  “I’m afraid that client confidentiality demands—" I began.

  “Oh, don’t be such a stick in the mud, Charlie. Get a load of this,” Lou interrupted, pulling out a file with screenshots of Angelica in various stages of undress and penetration. My ja
w dropped open and I took several steps back and put my hand over my mouth. When did he make those? Why did he make those?

  The four Durant heirs looked at the pictures, then at Lou, then at one another in stunned silence.

  “Holy fuck, why would you bring that here?” Nicholas demanded. “This is our aunt’s funeral.”

  Lou tried in vain to defend his disgusting display, “You asked,” he sneered.

  “We did not ask you show us the gory, nasty details of Angelica’s sex tape,” Nathan interjected. “You two don’t show up for nothing. We just wanted to know what was going on.”

  “Preferably through an original interpretive dance,” David added. All six of us gave him a weird look. “Or maybe not,” David amended with a shrug.

  “Did you know Lou was keeping photographic evidence of the tape, Charlie?” Alexander III asked me.

  I shook my head defensively.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so. Lou, you’re fucking fired.” It was Alexander that said it, but all four clearly were in agreement. Hell, even I was in agreement. Lou might be my boss, but there are some things you just don’t do. Lou had fucked up majorly.

  “You can’t fire me.” Lou seemed certain he was safe. “I don’t work for you. I just thought you four would think this was as funny as I do.”

  “You think it’s funny that Angelica Ellis’ sex tape almost became public without the consent of everyone involved? You printed out pictures that exposed her without her knowledge? That’s so majorly fucked up,” David sneered as Alexander headed back into the room, presumably to get his uncle Richard. Richard could definitely fire Lou. And me. I really hoped he wouldn’t fire me.

  “We can’t even have a normal funeral.” Nathan was exasperated. I couldn’t say I blamed him. There was always some sort of drama when the Durant clan got together. It was as inevitable as the sunrise. .

  “Yeah, but I would hate for things to ever get too boring around here,” Nicholas told him.

  Alexander, Nathan, David, and Nicholas were some of the most wealthy, talented, and successful young men in the country. They’d been born into great wealth, but not entirely defined by it. Each had established themselves separate from family dynasty. Alexander built multimillion dollar resorts. Nathan was an officer in the Air Force. David was about to open a restaurant. Nicholas was an academic wunderkind destined to run the family business.

  It was hard not to be jealous of them, although I’d observed that their lives weren’t quite as much of a cakewalk as people might think. The mega rich often have mega problems. These four definitely had mega egos. And like any young men of their age they were often also mega stupid. Still, even they realized that bringing photographic proof of Angelica’s sex tape to a funeral was not a great idea.

  Alexander III returned then with his uncle Richard, snatched the file out of Lou’s hands and showed Richard.

  “Whoever he is, the poor guy probably got the clap,” Alexander remarked as Richard thumbed through the photos. Lou shifted from foot to foot uncertainly.

  “Oh, is that how you got it Alex?” Nicholas was watching Alexander with a mixture of amusement and disgust. “From Angie?”

  Alexander III glowered again, this time at Nicholas. Nathan high fived his cousin. Alexander’s expression softened after a second, and he shook his head in disgust.

  “No, Nicky. There’s no way I’d touch that hellish woman without the safety if a hazmat suit,” Alexander III replied. “Probably not even then.”

  The other Durant heirs nodded sagely at Alexander’s assessment of Ms. Ellis. They clearly had an enormous dislike for her, despite being decent enough to stick up for her at this moment. It was a strange mix of chauvinism and chivalry. I wondered which one got his heart broken. Maybe all four. Angelica Ellis was, admittedly, not ugly. She definitely wasn’t my type, however. As Sir Mixalot wisely asserts, silicone parts are made for toys.

  “Lou, why the hell would you make copies?” Richard asked quietly, cutting through the ongoing flow of the Durant banter.

  “I thought it was funny,” he said. He seemed genuinely mystified by the reaction he was receiving. “I thought the boys here would agree.”

  “You idiot. Don’t you realize the value…Ok. You’re fired,” he said to Lou dismissively. Then he turned to me. “Charlie, you’re promoted.”

  Lou started to protest, but David and Nathan were already on either side of him and preparing to frog-march him off the premises. I watched my boss of five years disappearing around the corner and took a deep breath.

  “Ok Charlie. I trust we won’t have any problems. You can’t be any dumber than Lou. Welcome to prime time.” Richard shook my hand and turned to go, then turned around and snapped at his son and nephews. “Get back in there and pretend you’re sad about Edith.”

  The four of them scattered wordlessly and with varying degrees of surliness and reluctance.

  “They’re a bit like hyenas,” I remarked once we were alone in the hallway.

  “They can smell the blood,” Richard replied with a casual smirk. He looked vaguely proud of the fact, but then his expression hardened, and his smile faded. “Although this is not the way I would have liked you to be promoted, I do think you’re ready to take charge. I’ve also got a new project to discuss with you.”

  “What’s the project?”

  “This matter involves my late sister Edith.”

  I nodded.

  “What’s the issue?” I questioned, pulling out a small notebook and a pen from my pocket. I’d been looking forward to a full night’s sleep and a weekend where I actually had time to see Dylan and mom, but whatever.

  I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

  2

  Eva

  “It’s really something, isn’t it?” Paul asked as he drove us around the Durant Mansion and into the resplendent dozen-car garage. He chuckled good-naturedly at my open-mouthed expression and drummed his gloved hands on the steering wheel. “You’ll get used to it.” I felt fancy; my driver even wore white gloves just like in the movies.

  “I’m not sure I will,” I admitted when I recovered the powers of speech a moment later. “I’m already overwhelmed, and we aren’t even inside yet.”

  In the Durant garage, I spotted a Lamborghini, a Maserati, and several makes and models of vehicles that I couldn’t identify. There was even a real, military grade, up-armored HMMWV (aka “Humvee”). I hadn’t seen one of those in years. I wasn’t entirely sure if civilians were allowed to have them or why they would ever need one. Paul, the live-in driver and mechanic who picked me up, must have had his dream job.

  How many great adventures start when a young ingénue arrives to a big house in the country? Too many. I hoped this experience would be closer to ‘The Secret Garden’ than ‘The Turn of the Screw’. Or ‘The Texas Chainsaw Massacre’. I’d come here to escape the ER night shifts, a change of pace via change of place. But now that I was here, it was scary. Maybe Dylan was right about the Durants.

  In my defense, it was a place that easily inspired magniloquent thoughts. I learned that word for the SAT and had never found a proper use for it until I saw the Durant mansion.

  Paul led me down a series of beautiful, shadowy, ornate hallways. Acres of black marble and dark paneling passed by in a whirl and faded into a dull, baroque tableau in my memory. I could get lost forever in here. We saw no one else the whole time we walked.

  “Do I get a map?” I asked Paul hopefully. My voice echoed loudly against all the hard surfaces. He shook his head and grinned at me.

  “Within a week, you’ll have the layout down,” Paul promised me as we walked. He sounded much more confident than I felt. “It’s actually pretty simple once you memorize which paintings are where. That’s how I navigate. We mostly stay here in the east section. The family lives in the west section. If you ever hear the sound of basketball, you’ve probably gone too far. Alexander Jr. likes to turn up the TV to maximum.”

  Deborah Durant Breyer, the woman who
hired me, was waiting in what I imagined was one of dozens of formal living rooms. Mrs. Breyer was every bit as cold and dignified as her voice on the phone. She was so stiff she could have been carved from marble.

  “Welcome to Philadelphia,” she said tightly. Her smile was pleasant, but it didn’t reach her green-blue eyes. She smoothed her black bob and then her grey tweed dress as she rose from an uncomfortable looking chair. I extended a hand and she looked surprised for a moment before reciprocating the handshake. Her grip was weirdly limp, and her fingers were freezing.

  Do rich women not shake hands? Perhaps touching “the help” was simply repellent to her. I stepped back and hoped I looked halfway dignified in my scrubs. I’d braided my baby fine, dark brown hair into a long plait before I got on the plane, but I could feel it escaping from all angles, and looking at the polished Mrs. Breyer made me feel more than a bit dumpy.

  I decided the formal approach was warranted. “Thank you, Mrs. Breyer. I’m delighted to be here, and to work for you.”

  She smiled again, and it was slightly warmer this time. Yep, formal was definitely the right choice.

  “We’re delighted to have you,” she replied. “I never thought it would be so difficult to find a French-speaking, live-in RN. Dr. Matthieu was very enthusiastic about you coming aboard and I’m sure Dad will love you. Once he adjusts, that is. As we’ve discussed, he’s very set in his ways. But we can deal with all of that later. Come, let’s get you settled into your room and I’ll introduce you to Rita, our housekeeper. She rules the roost around here.”

  More dark hallways. Miles of dark marble. Stairs, stairs, stairs. Eventually we arrived in my “room”.

  I almost laughed when I saw where I’d be staying. It looked like something out a fairy tale. I had a four-poster bed, a little living room, a kitchenette, a bathroom with a spa tub, huge windows, and a balcony. The entire thing was designed in a classic, beautiful sapphire blue and bright white pallet that would never look dated. This was where they put the household staff? I could only imagine where the real guests slept. I’d been expecting, well, a room. As in one room. This was all mine? I spun around in wonder.