Death Prefers Blondes

by Caleb Roehrig

  His tone was so meaningful, a shock went through Margo like a blast of cold air. She was already flustered by his heartfelt honesty, his first wholly supportive words in as long as she could remember; but was he really implying what it sounded like? “The doctors can’t possibly have tried everything. I just learned about a hospital in Geneva—”

  “They’ve tried enough for me.” Harland raised his hand, then let it fall. “I’m done wasting time. It took me almost eighteen years to figure out what was truly important to me, and I’d like to enjoy it for the time I’ve got left.”

  The room blurred, and Margo barely managed the five steps to her father’s bedside, where she took hold of his hand and squeezed it, unable to speak—hardly able to breathe.

  21

  She held his hand until he fell back to sleep, and for more than an hour sat perched beside his bed, considering the strange new world she lived in—a world in which she finally felt close to Harland, just as he was slipping away. When the door to the private room opened again unexpectedly, she was startled from her daze, and felt warmth break through her tangle of complicated emotions when she saw who was there. “Uncle Win!”

  “Margo, my girl, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” Clive Winchester Martin was a white-haired and florid seventy-something with a puckish grin and a dry wit. He’d been Harland’s personal attorney for longer than Margo had been alive, and was as good as family. “Lovelier every day, of course, just like your mother. I think it’s awfully unfair of you to keep getting older without asking permission.”

  “It won’t happen again,” Margo promised, a genuine smile breaking across her face for the first time in hours. She stood and gave the man a hug. “You heard what happened?”

  Win nodded. “Your father and I had an appointment for later this week, but when Irina called … well, I thought Harland would appreciate it if I changed my schedule.”

  “An appointment? But what—”

  She was interrupted when a second visitor shoved his way into the room as well. “Okay, Win, I asked the ‘cute’ nurse to bring us some coffee, but I swear she—Margo?”

  “Dallas.” Margo blinked. The boy was wearing another pair of hip-hugging khakis, and a white button-down that showed a V of golden brown skin just below his throat. “I, um … it’s good to see you again.”

  “You too.” He gave a smile, fleeting and sympathetic, dimples winking.

  “Ah, so the two of you have already become reacquainted,” Win observed.

  “She was at the house the day I went to get those documents signed for you.” Dallas’s face turned a little rosy. Clearing his throat, he added, “I was pretty sure I’d mentioned that.”

  “I am pretty sure that you didn’t.” Win’s tone was suspiciously innocent.

  “How’s your dad doing?” Dallas asked, his face even rosier.

  “He’s…” Margo didn’t even know how to answer. He’s great—he’s accepted the inevitability of death! “He’s comfortable, I guess. He’s been sleeping most of the morning.”

  “I hate to disturb him.” Win frowned, thinking. “Perhaps we should go down to the cafeteria, and see if the cute nurse will fetch us when he wakes up? Or perhaps—”

  The door flew open a third time, and another man marched in, stopping short when he saw the assembled group. “Well. Evidently, I’m late for the party.”

  “Mr. Brand?” Dallas’s eyebrows went up.

  “Good morning, Addison.” Win seemed surprised. “What brings you by?”

  “Checking up on Harland, of course.” Tucked under his arm, Brand carried a folio emblazoned with the thunderbolt M, and he seemed to realize everyone was looking at it. “We were going over some figures last night when he … took ill, and it’s somewhat urgent that the matter be addressed.”

  “Don’t you think it’s rather a poor idea for him to get back to work so soon?” Win arched a brow, gifted in the art of disdainful leading questions. “Surely he can afford to rest a day or two.”

  Brand responded with an unfriendly smile. “Am I to assume, then, that you brought your errand boy here on a purely social call?”

  “No.” Win turned sober at this, his shoulders going stiff. “No, I suppose I didn’t.”

  “It would be nice if you allowed me to weigh in on this discussion.” Harland Manning’s voice rose from the bed in a disgruntled crescendo. “And nicer still if you would all just shut your traps.”

  “Apologies, Harland.” Win turned to face the patient. “I came about the matter we were to discuss on Thursday. I thought perhaps you wouldn’t wish it to wait.”

  “No.” Margo’s father peered up at his attorney with a guarded expression. “I suppose it’s best if we take care of that now. You have—”

  “I have everything.” Win’s glance flickered to the side, touching on Margo and darting away. “If you’d like to put it off until we have a little more privacy, I—”

  “Will this top secret conversation impact the business?” Brand’s tone was remarkably bitchy. “Because, if so, it seems like something I ought to be in on—seeing as I’m acting in your stead, and all.”

  “It is my personal business, and does not require your input or approval, Addison,” Harland snapped, still capable of delivering a good smackdown, no matter how weakened his condition. “Whatever you came here for can wait a few minutes while I deal with this.”

  With a thoughtful air, Win said, “Actually, Addison, why don’t you stay—we may need you after all. Dallas?” He gave his intern an avuncular smile. “I have a feeling Margo hasn’t left this room all morning, and I bet she could use something to eat.”

  “I am a little hungry,” Margo realized. Aside from some truly abysmal hospital coffee, the last time she’d consumed anything had been before breaking into Petrenko’s place.

  “Don’t you…” Dallas shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “You don’t need my signature?”

  “I’ve got Addison now, and maybe I can talk the cute nurse into acting as a second.” He gave the teenagers a smile. “You two go find a corner of this place that doesn’t smell like medicated ointment.”

  * * *

  “‘The cute nurse’?” Margo repeated later, as she and Dallas roamed the hallways, following signs to the cafeteria.

  “She’s, like, sixty.” Dallas laughed, his brown eyes gleaming. “I swear, half my internship is just Win Martin using me to Cyrano de Bergerac the ladies.”

  “The sexy ladies,” Margo corrected him. “Sexy sexagenarian ladies.”

  “He’s one part sweet old grandpa and one part gross pervert. The other day he asked me if the plural of dominatrix was ‘dominatrixes’ or ‘dominatrices.’”

  “Argh, don’t tell me this!” Margo cried, covering her ears. “He’s practically my sweet old grandpa—and I just hugged him, like, ten minutes ago! Now I’m thinking about him in a rubber dog mask and a choke chain.”

  “Welcome to my life.”

  They were still laughing when they found the cafeteria at last, a space of fold-up tables and linoleum, where the air smelled only slightly of medicated ointment. Margo grabbed a croissant and some yogurt, her stomach empty but sensitive, and sat down across from Dallas as he dug his fingers into the peel of an orange. For a moment, she just watched him—his cheekbones, his pouty bottom lip, the beauty mark beneath his right eye.

  Without so much as glancing up, he intoned, “Mesmerized by my beauty?”

  Caught, Margo’s face warmed. “I’m just trying to match you up with that loudmouth seven-year-old I once knew.”

  “How’s it going?”

  Margo considered. “You’ve changed.”

  “Yeah, I’m sexy now.” Dallas grinned at her, mashed-up orange spilling out between his teeth.

  “There he is. I knew I’d see that seven-year-old sooner or later.”

  He sipped some coffee. “You’ve changed, too.”

  “Not that much,” she protested. “I wanted to be Wonder Woman when I was five, and I sti
ll want to be Wonder Woman now.”

  “Ah yes! But when you were five, I thought you looked ridiculous in your Wonder Woman bathing suit. I bet I would feel differently if I could see you in it today.”

  “That’s not me changing, that’s Win rubbing off on you.”

  Dallas grimaced. “Please don’t talk about Win rubbing things off when I’m eating.” He set his orange down and wiped his fingers on a paper napkin. “But you are different. I always remembered you as this bossy kid in costume jewelry ordering me around—and then one day, there you were on the cover of In Touch, and it was this story about you going to Paris Fashion Week and having a whirlwind romance with some actor.”

  “Yeah, well. You can’t believe everything you read,” Margo said stiffly. The “whirlwind romance” had been little more than a publicity stunt; a rising star and a buzzworthy socialite courting the media together. “I’m a lot of things, and I’ve done a lot of things, but magazines only tell the parts people want to hear.”

  “Don’t worry. I know a little bit about having your book judged by its cover.” In a nasal tone, Dallas whined, “‘Do you have any baby pictures? I love mixed babies!’ ‘Where are you from?’ ‘No, but where are you frommm?’” He let out a derisive snort. “People love to assume shit about me because of my appearance, and I can’t count the number of people I’ve known who suddenly said something ridiculously offensive and then pointed to me, like, ‘I can’t be racist because one of my friends is fill-in-the-blank.’”

  “Yikes.” Margo made a face. Axel and Joaquin had faced similar aggressions, classmates and strangers asking them intrusive questions about their racial background, their sexuality, acting entitled to answers and angry when they weren’t forthcoming.

  “Anyway.” Dallas forced a smile. “I already knew there was more to you than just what’s in the gossip rags. The girl those magazines describe wouldn’t have spent the night sleeping in a motel-grade armchair just to be close to her father.”

  She nibbled at a point of her croissant, and then blurted, “This morning is the closest Dad and I have been in a long time. Years. Maybe since he and Mom split up.” With an apologetic smile, she added, “Sorry, I’m sure you didn’t mean for this to be talk-show time.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “How is your mom?”

  “Fine. She married a banker and lives in Italy. I see her a couple times a year.” She made a listless gesture. “You know, neither of my parents were ever present when I was a kid, and after they ended things, she left and Dad just … never showed back up. It’s like he went to work and never came home. And then today, he finally said some things—” Margo broke off, her chest getting hot, and stuffed a piece of croissant in her mouth to buy time. “Well, even if he was never around, he was always around. What am I going to do when…”

  “I’m very sorry,” Dallas said quietly.

  She chased down the lump in her throat with a gulp of coffee that tasted like the floor of a barn. “Okay, enough Poor Little Rich Girl. What’s the top secret business Win is upstairs conducting with Dad, anyway? Why’d everybody want me out of the room?”

  The boy’s expression faltered, and he took a breath. “He’s finalizing his will. I guess he hadn’t updated the documents in a while, and he told Win he had some changes to make. I was supposed to be a witness, but I guess Mr. Brand is taking my place. I’m sorry. I think they didn’t want to say anything because … well.”

  “Oh.” Margo shifted, wiping pastry flakes off her hands, her fingers unaccountably trembling. “I should’ve … I mean, really, I should’ve guessed that.”

  “Margo—”

  “No, it’s okay.” She stood, leaving her yogurt untouched, her stomach suddenly too small to accommodate anything else. “We should get back upstairs. I mean, if you think they’re done.”

  They were quiet most of the way back to Harland’s room, but as they got on the elevator, Dallas gave her a sheepish smile. “Since we’re busy confessing things, I guess I ought to tell you that I kind of volunteered to bring those papers to your dad the other day. Win was going to pay a messenger, but I … might have insisted.”

  “That’s not a very scandalous confession,” Margo remarked. “I’m disappointed.”

  “Uh.” Dallas cleared his throat. “I maybe asked because there was a chance I’d run into you.” His face was a lovely shade of pink. “Whether the girl in the magazines is all real or not, I’ve been kinda-sorta-maybe a little bit of a fanboy. For a while.”

  “A fanboy?” Margo couldn’t help it; she smiled. “Oh wow, I’m flattered. Am I going to have to sign your boobs?”

  “I’m sure I can think of something more embarrassing than that.”

  She gave him an expectant look. “Well? Was seeing me in person again as amazing as you always dreamed?”

  “Meh,” he replied in a critical way. “You’re a lot shorter than I—ow! I’m just kidding!”

  When they reached Harland’s room, the door was open, and Win was in the middle of an energetic story about a capsized sailboat. Margo’s father looked pale but relaxed, chuckling along gamely, while Addison Brand stared grimly into space, eyes unfocused, like a grouchy teenager forced to babysit on the night of the Big Party.

  “Ah, Margo and Master Yang!” Win gave the two teenagers an expansive welcome. “How did you find the cafeteria?”

  “Easy,” Margo riposted. “We followed the signs, and there it was.”

  Win hooted with laughter, as if he hadn’t been the one to teach Margo that joke in the first place. “Grand, just grand! Well, Master Yang, you’ll be happy to know our business here is concluded. I’m sorry you came all this way for such an anticlimactic morning.”

  “You’re the boss. I just go where you tell me.” Dallas snuck a glance at Margo. “Besides, there are worse ways to spend a few hours.”

  “Yes, try being stuck on your back in a room with an old goat who won’t shut up,” Harland interjected in a surly tone that set Win roaring again. “If we’re done, does that mean I can finally get back to sleep now?”

  This, at last, roused Addison Brand from his stupor. “Harland, there’s still the matter that I came about. I’m not happy with the numbers for the—”

  “Addison, you’re never happy about anything,” the older man retorted. “Whatever’s bothering you, I’m sure it’ll still be in your craw after I’ve slept for a few hours.”

  Chastened, Brand’s mouth snapped shut with a click, and Margo asked, “Is there anything you need? Water, something to eat?”

  “The only thing I need just now is peace and quiet,” Harland insisted, his face pale. His tone softened a little as he added, “But thank you.”

  “I suppose that means we’re dismissed,” Win remarked. Herding them out of the room and into the hallway, the lawyer gave his intern a sympathetic smile. “Dallas, I still feel badly for making you come out all this way and then banishing you to the cafeteria. I can handle filing the paperwork. Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off?”

  “Are you sure?” The boy gave him a doubtful look.

  “Don’t look the old gift goat in the mouth,” Win advised with a wink. Then, “Goodbye, Margo. I hope to see you again soon—and if I have to use my assistant’s charms to make that happen, I’m not above it.”

  Margo laughed, rolling her eyes. “Goodbye, Uncle Win.”

  “Wait, I’ll walk you out.” Addison Brand marched to the elderly attorney’s side as the man began to move off down the hallway. “I have a few questions about estate law that I’ve been meaning to research.”

  “Oh, good.” Win’s sarcasm was thick enough to leave a handprint in, but Brand launched into a long-winded question anyway as they disappeared around a corner.

  “Well, I guess this is goodbye for us, too,” Dallas said, turning to Margo. “Unless … you know, maybe you’ll let me buy you an actual cup of coffee? One that isn’t made from nine parts industrial-grade cleaning solvent, I mean.”

  �
��My, you do know the way to a girl’s heart,” she cooed. “And how could I possibly say no to my biggest fanboy?”

  “Hey now, I said I was a fanboy, not your biggest. My roommate last year had a picture of you taped up over his bed.”

  Margo thought for a moment. “I … I can’t tell if that’s flattering or creepy.”

  “Trust me, it’s both.”

  * * *

  An hour later, they were seated on the patio of a hipster café, and Margo was drinking cappuccino from a comically oversized mug. The espresso was rich and earthy, the foam smooth as silk, and caffeine buzzed in her veins like hornets after one sip. “Excuse my fucking language, but this is amazing.”

  “They do everything by hand here,” Dallas explained. “They even roast the beans on-site. It’s my secret hideout; coffee is my one serious vice, and finding this place was like hitting oil. They don’t advertise, because they don’t want to be overrun by the trendy crowd.”

  “Does that mean I have to wear a disguise when I come back?” He probably thought she was joking, but in her mind, Margo was already sorting through possible “hipster coffee maven” wigs. “What other secrets are you hiding? What else should I know about?”

  “Well, let’s see…” Dallas made a face. “Here’s the big one: I don’t think I want to be a lawyer.”

  Margo raised her brows. “Then why the internship?”

  “Making my mom happy. I used to play lawyer as a kid—you know, dragging around her old briefcase and pretending to take appointments—and she’s never stopped thinking it’s my big calling. And maybe it is, I don’t know.” He tossed his arms out, shirt straining across his chest. “Honestly? I don’t know what the hell to do if I grow up. The only thing I really love is … well, diving out of airplanes. And rafting, and rock climbing, and BASE jumping. But making a living at that stuff is almost impossible—and nothing takes the fun out of a hobby like getting paid for it, because then it’s work.”