Archer: Ex-Bachelor (Ex-Club Romance)

by Camilla Stevens

  Simone’s face is glowing as she closes her eyes and smiles, happily hugging Stuart. After a moment, they open, then narrow into slits as they land on me over his shoulder.

  She walks from the front door of the apartment toward me with complete agility in her stilettos, all while carrying Stuart. I’ve dated supermodels whose bare minimum job requirement is to walk in shoes like that and I am impressed.

  Stuart has finally pulled his face away from her neck and for the first time I see a genuinely happy expression on it.

  “What in the world are you doing here? I thought we agreed on Monday.”

  The music is still going but the testiness in her voice is enough to add a few decibels to her normal tone.

  “Stuart couldn’t wait to see you. I thought it might be a nice surprise for the both of you.”

  She glares at me, not believing one word of that. Now that we’re in such close proximity I am better able to see the slight puffiness surrounding her eyes, which are red, as though she’s been crying. Somehow they still manage to look spectacularly mesmerizing.

  “Surprise, hmm?” she says, searching my face. “I bet.”

  I find myself unsettled by how perfect her face is. It reminds me of Kevin’s wedding, when I first met her. She was a distraction then, and she’s even more of one now.

  “I have a pretty good idea what you’re doing here,” she says, giving me a hard look. Then she turns to Stuart and her face brightens. “Actually, it is a good thing. It gives Stuart a chance to see just how much his mother was loved.”

  Before I can figure out what the hell that means, she is gently disentangling Stuart’s arms and legs from her body.

  “Here Stuart, you stay with Uncle Archer.” She practically spits my name as she transfers Stuart to me. He feels like nothing as I take hold of him, tiny and lightless. His arms feel like twigs round my neck as he follows Simone with his eyes. I’m not suddenly flush with a bout of paternal emotion or anything, but I’m not completely immune to the effect of so much physical contact: how easily Stuart sits in the crook of my elbow; the faint smell of chocolate milk on his breath; the way his hair brushes my chin.

  Simone has disappeared into the crowd, but I stay put. Obviously, she has something to show us. With any luck, it’s as damning as this entire party has been. I’m nothing if not patient. Let her dig this hole a little bit deeper.

  The final notes of Pretty in Pink are cut off, which is enough to end the loud buzz of conversation and partying in the room.

  “Attention! Attention everyone!”

  It’s CoCo, leading a path through the room as he taps a spoon against his empty martini glass. Simone follows him like a queen making her way through her crowd of subjects. I notice that she’s barefoot now.

  The attendees part for both of them as she makes her way to the sofa that has been pushed up against the window in the living room. The removal of her stilettos is explained as she climbs up onto it, with the help of CoCo.

  It’s so reminiscent of the wedding rehearsal dinner, complete with the pink theme of the wedding, that I can practically feel the same bile of resentment rise in my throat.

  “Hello everyone!” she says looking around the room with a smile.

  That’s enough to silence even the few whispers and titters that have lingered during the initial procession. Vanessa hands her a flute of pink hued champagne and steps back, holding her camera up to take a photo as Simone raises it.

  “I just want to thank everyone for showing up tonight.” She’s made sure to focus on Stuart and me when she emphasizes ‘everyone.’

  “I know that most of you came out to enjoy yet another Saturday night party, and that’s perfect, because that was one of the main goals of tonight’s gathering: to enjoy yourselves and have fun.

  “Life is short. Tonight you could be partying here at my apartment and tomorrow, well, tomorrow who knows?” She gives a sad smile around the room.

  “I know that most of you didn’t know my sister Bette, but I’m positive she would have loved all of you. Bette loved everyone and always saw the good in them.” Once again she casts a direct look my way.

  “Most importantly, she wouldn’t have wanted anyone who knew and loved her to mourn her death by crying or feeling sad or, worst of all, wearing black. Because pink was her color. Hence the theme of this party!”

  She raises her glass in the air and a round of claps and cheers arises from the room.

  “I felt it was only fitting to celebrate, rather than mourn, the life of someone who was so considerate of others.”

  She pauses a moment as she squeezes her eyelids shut and presses her lips together to keep from crying. Once again, I have to wonder who would be giving me the same treatment at death. Actually, I can think of more than a few people who might raise a glass in celebration.

  “So tonight, I’m honoring my sister’s memory in the only way she would ever allow me to.” She laughs a bit and now I can clearly see the tears in her eyes. “By enjoying life to the fullest.”

  She raises her glass in the air and everyone else in the room follows her lead.

  “So here is to Bette Bennett. The sister who introduced me to the perfection that is the color pink.”

  “Hear hear!” shouts CoCo to laughter and a round of applause. Simone just laughs with everyone else and continues on.

  “To the sister who taught me how to braid my hair, and rescued me when I disastrously decided to cut my own bangs.” This gets a few chuckles. “To the sister who was the only reader of my blog for a whole month before it slo-wly took off. To the sister who supported me through my first crush and…well, I wish she’d been here for more recent events.”

  Simone frowns and there is a ripple of whispering circling the room, heavy with the negative undertone of that statement. I assume this is regarding Josh, who I’m not allowed to mention tonight.

  She perks up again. “To the sister who was my best friend in the world, even when separated by an ocean.”

  Now she lifts her glass to where Stuart and I are standing. “To the sister who married, quite possibly her perfect match, and created the most wonderful nephew ever. She left me in charge of her most cherished creation, and I plan on cherishing him just as much, if not more, than she did. That’s you, kiddo,” she says, winking our way and pointing her glass at Stuart. I see a teardrop fall from her eyes.

  Stuart smiles at her then burrows his face into my neck as everyone turns to look our way.

  “To Bette, the best sister a girl could ever ask for!” Simone raises her glass then drinks it down, indicating a conclusion to her speech.

  “To Bette!” the crowd echoes as they cheer and drink. As if on cue, the music starts up again. The saxophone is going into its solo, winding down the last few notes of Pretty in Pink.

  Simone hops off the sofa, puts her glass down and makes a beeline straight for Stuart and me. Without a word, she takes the hand of mine that isn’t holding Stuart and leads us toward the door.

  As we head out, Pretty in Pink ends and the first lines to LL Cool J’s Pink Cookies in a Plastic Bag begin.

  The act of makin’ love is…pink cookies in a plastic bag, gettin’ crushed by a building….

  As we walk out, any hint of emotion I’ve felt with that eulogy of hers evaporates. Simone can make all the sentimental speeches she wants, but it makes no difference.

  The Jaguar is back.

  Chapter Nine

  Based on the way Simone is leading me into the hallway, she is obviously out for blood, which I can appreciate considering my own shift into predator mode. She doesn’t even bother to put her shoes back on and I notice that her toes are painted the same color as the nails of the fingers holding my hand.

  She’s the one to shut the door behind us and immediately pounce. I watch her eyes dart to Stuart in my arms and I enjoy the mental conflict going on behind them. She would happily rip my throat out right now, but for the sake of her nephew, is holding back.

 
“So, you thought you would just drop in and surprise me?” she demands, trying to keep the anger out of her voice

  “I thought it would be a nice surprise for you, since you seemed so eager to take on the role of guardian. At least Stuart was here to see how his aunt honors his mother’s memory.” I make sure to add a subtle note of reproach to my voice. Let her get emotional. Perhaps she’ll say or do something regrettable.

  I see the instant fire in those eyes. One look at her nephew is enough to douse the flames. Slightly.

  Stuart is looking back and forth between us with those wide gray eyes. Not the best introduction to his new life I suppose. All the same, this little detour to Simone’s will be temporary. Eventually, he’ll be settled safely and securely up at the Knickerbocker School for Boys.

  With gritted teeth she smiles at me. “It was what Bette would have wanted. A proper Manhattan Wake.”

  “What the hell is that?” I blurt.

  One eyebrow goes up. “Like I said, a celebration of her life, of who she was. Having actually had some social interaction with my sister, I have a pretty good idea of how she would have wanted me to honor her memory.”

  She reaches out a hand to ruffle Stuart’s hair and he hunches his shoulders, cringing underneath it, but not without a big smile. “In fact, I’m glad Stuart was here to see it. So he would know just how much his mother was loved.”

  “You do realize that the song currently playing in there is about sex?”

  She gives me a bewildered look, which tells me that she had no clue. Yet another point in favor of me as guardian. Then her eyes land on Stuart and she darts them back to me with condemnation. “And you realize that you are holding a five-year-old boy in your arms?”

  “If we’d have known you were in the middle of a party we wouldn’t have dropped by,” I say with a sardonic tone in my voice.

  She rests her hand on her hip and presses her lips together. Then she straightens up and a lofty expression comes over her face. “Well, thank you for coming, Archer.”

  My brow wrinkles in confusion at her suddenly magnanimous tone.

  She looks at Stuart adoringly. “As much as I would love, love, love to have you all for my own starting tonight, your aunt has to finish honoring your mother’s memory, and it’s well past your bedtime.” She casts another hard glance my way. “Are you okay spending one more night with your uncle? I promise to pick you up tomorrow bright and early, how about that?”

  “I’d like that,” he says, giving her that gap-toothed smile.

  “Wonderful! We can catch up on everything and you can tell me all about your visit with Uncle Archer.” She raises an eyebrow my way with a satisfied look then gives Stuart her attention again.” Now how about a hug?”

  He all too eagerly unwraps his arms from my neck and falls into her.

  “Mmm, it’s so good to see you, my sweet, sweet boy,” she hums, closing her eyes as though that hug is the greatest thing to happen to her all year.

  I’m still holding on to his lower half which forces me to both crouch down and move in close to Simone. Close enough to smell the flowery, feminine scent emanating from her. Close enough to inspect every inch of that face that turned my world around so long ago. Close enough to….

  Her eyes blink open then flutter. I clear my throat as an indication that either the hug should end, or she should just take him out of my hands. Anything to get out of this awkward situation. In her bare feet she certainly isn’t short, but her five-foot-six or -seven inches still puts her about a head shorter than me.

  She lets go and I have to place one long arm around Stuart to pull him back up. Before I realize that I could have just set him down on the floor, his arms are around my neck again.

  “Is everything alright out here Simone?”

  We all turn toward the voice, which belongs to a man in his late forties who has one of those faces that’s permanently cheerful, even with the suspicious glance he casts my way. His face brightens when he sees Stuart.

  “Yes, Beau,” Simone says breezily.

  “Is this your nephew, then?”

  “Yes he is!” She says brightly. “Be prepared for the pitter-pat of little feet from now on.”

  If one of my neighbors cheerfully warned me about such a thing, I’d be breaking the lease on my apartment the next day, but Beau laughs merrily. “It will be nice to have a kid running around this place.”

  So much for tapping into the neighbors for dirt on Simone. Apparently, even with what has to be an ear-deafening party going on right next door, Beau has no issues with his neighbor.

  “Well, alright then,” he casts one more assessing glance my way, then smiles at Stuart. “I look forward to a more formal introduction one day young man.”

  “We’ll be by next week, Beau.”

  Mr. Rogers himself would be thrilled.

  “We should say our goodbyes, Stuart,” I suggest.

  “Good night Aunt Simone!” Stuart says loudly.

  “Good night Stuart!” She says with the same enthusiasm. Then her face becomes perfectly impassive. “Archer.”

  “Simone,” I say just as coolly.

  “We can meet around,” her eyes dart to the door where her party is, “noon.”

  I chuckle at her optimism. I am even more amused when I see her eyes narrow slightly as she reads my thoughts. I’d be surprised if the hangover is even gone by then. She spins on her feet and struts back to the party.

  I watch her go, then carry Stuart back to the elevator. If he was recalcitrant before, now the chatter is nonstop.

  “Are you going to have a Manhattan Wake for Daddy? If you do it should be blue. Pink is for girls, like Mummy.”

  Now that he’s actually saying more than one word sentences to me, I realize that he actually has a slightly British accent, which makes sense as most of his talking life has been in London.

  “Actually, Kevin’s would probably be more of an Irish Wake.” I say with a semi-amused grin as the elevator takes us down.

  I think about how Kevin would have wanted me to honor his memory. He also would have balked at the idea of anyone sitting around moping over his death. A few hard drinks and a playlist that leaned more toward the Beastie Boys, Radiohead, or Kanye West, that would be his style.

  “What’s an Irish Wake? Are there balloons as well?”

  Now I’m chuckling. “No, it’s a bit more…grown up than that.”

  “Will it be all green then? Can I attend?”

  These questions! I’m exhausted, but Stuart seems to have found his second wind. He barely even slept on the plane. How does he have so much energy?

  “Tell you what, we get back to my apartment, we can have our own version of a wake. It will be the special Bennett Wake, just for us boys.”

  “Can I have chocolate milk?”

  “As long as I can have whiskey,” I say with a tired sigh.

  He rests his head against my neck again, then he pulls it away again to look at me questioningly.

  “Uncle Archer?”

  “Yes,” I say wearily, ready for another onslaught of question.

  “What’s a DILF?”

  I stare in confused surprise before remembering our greeter “CoCo” earlier on. Then I give a short, hearty laugh. “I’ll let your Aunt Simone take care of that one for you.”

  Chapter Ten

  I had to have the driver make a pit stop at a corner store since chocolate milk isn’t something that has ever crossed the threshold of my refrigerator door. I have a feeling a nanny will in fact be a necessary expense during school breaks. Someone has to keep on top of these things.

  We’re seated at the kitchen island in my apartment located in the financial district. It’s a spacious penthouse decorated mostly in black and chrome with hints of gray throughout. Sleek and sophisticated.

  Stuart is on a stool, his legs kicking the air beneath him. He’s holding the glass of chocolate milk with both hands as he sips. I’m leaning over with both elbows on the counter
and a glass of whiskey in my hand.

  “So, I’m probably not as eloquent as your Aunt Simone regarding these sorts of things.”

  “What does eloquent mean?”

  I raise my eyebrows. Here we go again. Now I get why adults curtail their vocabulary when talking to children. I always thought it was somewhat patronizing, but perhaps it’s a way of maintaining their sanity.

  “It means well-spoken.”

  He looks at me and nods in understanding, then begins sipping his milk.

  “At any rate, I do think it would be appropriate to perhaps say a few words about your father.”

  He swallows and sets the glass down. There is a wide chocolate milk mustache above his lip that is an amusing, yet sad juxtaposition to the solemn wide eyes that stare at me.

  “Would you like to go first?” I ask.

  He gives that familiar twist of his lips, which is strangely fitting, and eventually shakes his head no.

  So we’re back to being closed-mouthed again.

  I exhale. “Okay then. Where do I begin with regard to your father?”

  I stare into my glass while I swirl it around, mentally scanning through my memories of Kevin. Then I look up into my nephew’s waiting eyes with a smile, remembering one event in particular.

  “Okay, just to show you what a good guy your dad was, I remember an incident when I was ten years old. Kev and I used to fight like a pit full of roosters, which was how my mother put it.”

  “You mean Grandma in New York?” he chimes in.

  I raise my eyebrows again. “Our mom? Yes.”

  He nods again. “Mummy’s parents were Grandma and Grandpa on the Boat.”

  Stuart was probably too young to remember Bette’s parents dying, but it hits me all the same how much loss he’s had in his young life. Of course, nothing compares to losing one’s parents I suppose, not that my own were anything like Kevin and Bette probably were. But something he’s just said tugs lose a string in my head.