by JD Hawkins
She laughs and hooks an arm in mine.
“My dad’ll love you,” she says. “He’s been nagging me to settle down for years.”
“What if he recognizes me?”
Now she turns that smile into a confused frown.
“Recognize you? Why would he recognize you?”
“Well, we did grow up in the same town, remember?” I say, covering my concern with sarcasm, but it lands flat. She only twists that perplexed frown a little harder. I look at her and realize the full extent of her obliviousness, the full extent of the truths I didn’t tell, building into a wall that’s bearing down on me now.
“My dad barely had time to pay attention to his own kids—let alone every random teenager in town,” she says, as if I’m being silly.
To Ash, her father was just a strict, overprotective patriarch who wouldn’t like a teenage dropout dating her daughter. And now that that’s all in the past, and we’re both grown up, she can’t see the problem anymore. She can’t see how much more there was to it. Why would she? I never told her.
She breaks that frown into another relaxed smile, stroking my arm like I’m a horse she’s trying to stop from bolting.
“We’re not teenagers anymore, Teo, and you’re not a dropout,” she says, mirroring my thoughts back to me. “There’s no need to hide anymore. Trust me, my dad’s not as overbearing as he used to be. He knows I date—and you’re far from the worst guy he’s met, anyway. You’re a business owner, he’ll love that.”
“I don’t know…”
“Just come and say hi. Give him five minutes. And once you do, we can grab something to eat and leave—I’ll say I have a migraine or something.”
“Ok,” I say.
“Ok?” Ash asks, to be sure.
“Ok,” I say, easing up a little. “Let’s go.”
She takes my arm and leads me to the fountain, as if instinctively knowing where her father will be. When we get there the group reshuffles automatically, so it’s just me, Ash, Grace, a guy who looks like every other mid-forties male here, and her father standing with one another. He eyes me with a relaxed smile, but his eyes can’t hide their shock and distaste.
Ash’s father’s a big guy, a little bigger than me, even, though he’s less muscle and more just big. Dyed black hair swept back, a youthful face betrayed by a droopy jowl that makes him look permanently angry. He looks exactly as I remember—like he’s always posing for some expensive portrait he’s planning to hang above the fireplace.
“Hey again,” Ash says to Grace, laughing gently and then looking at her dad. “This is Grace—whom you already met—Jared, Grace’s husband, and…this is Edward, my dad. Guys, this is—”
“Matteo,” Ash’s dad says, offering a hand.
“Mr. Carter,” I say as I take it, shaking while Ash and Grace look confusedly at each other. He doesn’t tell me to call him Edward, not that I would anyway.
“You know him?” Grace asks her father, while I exchange another little shake and a nod with Jared.
“Sure,” Mr. Carter says. “You went to school with my daughter, didn’t you?”
It sounds like an accusation.
“Yes I did,” I say, firmly.
“My daughter’s told me nothing about you. How long have you two been together?” he says, darting a suspicious glance at Ash, and I can almost hear him leaving out the word ‘again.’
“A few weeks,” an unperturbed Ash replies, happily clutching my arm and pressing herself against my side. “We bumped into each other again—really funny coincidence.”
“I’ll bet it was,” her father says, still staring daggers at me.
There’s a soft silence for a moment, probably caused by the fact that Ash’s father and I are staring at each other like cowboys at the OK Corral, suddenly aware of the guns at their sides.
“So…” Grace interjects, “Teo, you mentioned that you owned a—”
“Do you like whiskey?” her father interrupts Grace to ask me, as if not even hearing his daughter.
I shrug nonchalantly.
“Absolutely.”
“Good,” he says, stepping forward. “I brought a single malt I wanted to share. Why don’t you join me in the study.”
It’s a command, not an invitation, and I nod. He steps away, and I move to follow him. Jared makes a move too but is stopped by Ash’s dad gripping his shoulder.
“Not you, Jared. Just me and the new boy—talk man to man,” he says, slapping me a bit too hard on the back before moving away to stride toward the house.
I swap a quick glance with Ash, who’s making an apologetic face, and then take a deep breath and follow. I’m never one to back down from a challenge, and I might as well get this over with as long as I’m here anyway.
We step inside the house, into an echoing, marble-floored hallway too big for anything but a rock concert, even the groups of guests and waiters moving around not enough to make it feel small. Ash’s father leads me off to a closed door and I step through, slightly surprised at how the old man can treat Grace and Jared’s home like his own—then realizing that he probably bought it for them.
“Shut the door,” he says, moving to an old mahogany cabinet between the large windows with drawn curtains.
I oblige, reminded once again that I’m in completely foreign territory. The room is cast in dark, aged wood. Bookshelves line the walls all the way up to high ceilings, high enough to require a ladder. Bear rug, oversized desk, the smell of a million forgotten cigars, a landscape painting that makes nature look as tamed and ordered as the uniform of the soldiers in it. I’m a long way from Ginger slapping his belly and belching Lynyrd Skynyrd songs.
“I thought you left,” he says, putting the cap back on the bottle.
“I did. Sir.”
He turns in my direction and eyes me for an uncomfortably long beat. “And yet here you are.”
I don’t break eye contact. “Here I am.”
He slowly comes close, as if he thinks I’m about to run, and then hands me a whiskey glass, though I can tell it pains him to make even this small friendly gesture toward me.
I take a slow sip of the drink.
“What do you think?” he says.
“A little too smooth for me.”
He laughs, a low, mean cackle.
“That’s four hundred dollar scotch.”
“You must know it’s not that good either, if you have to tell me the price.”
His smile turns meaner, dismissive, and he turns away to move behind the large desk. He flips a box open and pulls out a cigar, offering me one. I shake my head and he lights it as he stands behind the desk, me standing in the middle of the room like I was brought here to be judged.
He waves the flame away from the match and looks at me like I’m a stain, cruel eyes burrowing their way into me.
“So is this your idea of revenge?” he says. “Did you plan this day for all those years? That you’d come into one of my family’s houses on a day of joy, and stink the place up like some unflushable piece of shit?”
I sip a little more of the whiskey, if only to ease the tension caused by being in his presence without the option of putting my hands around his neck.
“I’m not a kid anymore,” I say, after enough time has passed to let his anger fester. “You can’t scare me with the ‘power broker’ routine. You did it once, and it was the biggest mistake I ever made.”
“Mistake?” he says, poking his head forward, then turning down to gaze at the end of his cigar. “You know, I wonder if it was a mistake myself, sometimes. Then again, you’d probably have knocked her up eventually—and then we’d really have a problem.”
I down the rest of the whiskey and slam the empty glass hard on the desk.
“Thanks for the drink,” I say. “I should really get going, though—I hate to keep Ash waiting.”
I walk back to the door but stop halfway when he says, “I kept tabs on you, you know.” My blood runs cold. I turn back around. “A
fter you left. Wanted to make sure you wouldn’t come back like this.” He turns his eyes up at the ceiling. “Last I heard you were involved in some shady business down in Florida. Had to leave the country. Funny—how you always end up having to leave things behind, how you always run away from your problems, isn’t it?”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” I say. “This time I’m staying. This time I’m not letting Ash go.”
That laugh again, harder, louder, uglier.
“Oh I don’t doubt it! You must feel like you’ve hit the jackpot with her, am I right? Certainly a cut above the usual low-life trash that you must feel comfortable among, yes?” He wags his finger at me as he steps around the desk. “The question you need to ask yourself, Teo, is how long until Ash gets bored of you? How long until she finds out who you really are?”
“Ash knows all about my past,” I shoot back through gritted teeth.
He shrugs, gestures out at the curtained windows. “You’ve seen all this, haven’t you? There isn’t a person on these grounds who isn’t incredibly successful at what they do. Politics, entertainment, finance—it’s all there, out there on the lawn. People who’ve gone to the finest institutions, who make the decisions that keep the world ticking over. Fine people.
“And then there’s you,” he says, looking me up and down as he shakes his head, “with your neck tattoos and your caveman build. Your lack of basic politeness and appreciation for anything fine. A dropout. Trailer trash. Look, I don’t blame you, Teo. You were fucked from the start—growing up with that criminal of a father, what else could you be? But you’ve got to at least know your place—and it isn’t here. It isn’t with Ash. You can’t do anything but bring her down.”
Now I’m the one laughing at how ridiculous this all is.
“You don’t even know your own daughter,” I say, starting to look at him with a strange sense of pity at his cluelessness.
“Oh yes I do,” he says, with that smug self-assuredness that makes me want to slap him humble. “I know exactly what she’s doing with you. See, you’re a cliché, Teo. A ‘rough and ready bad boy.’ Nothing but a little adventure for her, a rebellious ‘walk on the wild side.’ A little vacation from the pressures of the responsibility and demands of the kind of life she’s meant to lead. A taboo, a way to get back at me. Let me guess, you still ride that motorcycle, right? See, that’s what my mistake was, Teo. I should have let her get you out of her system. It would have saved all of us a lot of trouble.
“Ask yourself, Teo, why would she want to be with you when there are men right here with fantastic careers, who know how to present themselves, who know how to treat a girl from a good background? Then ask yourself, how long until she gets bored, until she wants more than you’re capable of giving her? You’re just a novelty.”
I let the silence linger, wondering if it’s even worth the reply. Then, half knowing it’s a lost cause, I say, “You should really give your daughter a little more credit. Maybe try actually listening to her once in a while. Maybe you’d understand why she rejected all of your ‘fine’ suggestions up until this point and decided to go her own way.”
That riles him up, and this time he starts poking his cigar at me as he speaks.
“You think Ash would be fucking around on some third-rate gossip show if she didn’t have me? If she wasn’t sure that when it all goes to shit and she’s had her fun, daddy will swoop in to pick up the pieces? What can you give my daughter? Apart from a sense of danger and excitement?”
Through gritted teeth I say, “I will give Ash whatever she wants.”
“Oh, please! Tell me, what do you do now? Are you still driving trucks? Is that what brought you back to L.A., wheedling your way back into Ash’s life?”
“I own my own tattoo shop,” I say, angry at myself for even feeling that I need to justify myself.
He looks at me for a second, then breaks into the loudest, nastiest laugh yet. Stopping to say, “Tattoo shop?” and laugh even harder at the words. I say nothing, just stare him down.
“God! Are you serious? A tattoo shop? Well, I suppose there are plenty of morons like you, so there must be some money in it.”
“I make good money doing something I love. So does Ash. If you weren’t such a self-important, control freak excuse for a father you might understand.”
He straightens up a little, smirk gone and replaced by a sneer.
“I want to know something: Where do you see yourself in ten years, huh?” He lets the question hang there just long enough to confirm that I don’t have a ready answer. “You don’t know, do you? You don’t think that far ahead at all—you never have, and never will. As far as you’re concerned, you could be down and out in Alabama again, or hiding in the mountains of Colombia, right? Do you have plans to expand your business? Of course not.
“I’ll bet you hire people you regard as your ‘friends,’ and it’s all chummy-chummy. And I’d also wager that your little enterprise will be dead and gone in five years.” He leans close so that I can smell the evil on his breath. “What happens when your business fails, Teo? What if…let’s say…something should happen to it? A little fire, perhaps? A lost business license, a small mix-up with the tax board? Think you could overcome that? Or would you be back on an illegal construction crew? And who’s gonna take care of Ash if I cut her off?”
The restraint I’ve been maintaining for this long snaps hard and fast. I step forward, close enough to see every wrinkle in his face, close enough for him to see the anger in my eyes.
“Fuck you,” I snarl. “And don’t you ever threaten Ash or my business again.”
He squirms a little, backing up against the bookcase, but beneath the bravado of his hard, disgusted face I can sense his fear.
“You know I’m right, Teo,” he says, a little quiver in his voice, but his arrogance too pervasive to stop himself. “That’s why you’re angry. You got lucky, with her, with whatever this business is. But the truth is, when all’s said and done, you can’t give Ash anything. You’re a parasite, a loser destined for a correctional facility—just like your father. You stay with her, she’ll end up with nothing. From me or from you, you lowlife piece of—”
I grab his shirt and pull my fist back, breath steaming from my nostrils, body poised and ready to sink my anger into his skull.
“That’s it!” he says, his voice desperate once again, grasping at words as if to save himself. His eyes focus on my fist with heavy panic. “Do it. Hit me! Show everyone who you really are. Show Ash the truth.”
My heart pounds, every fiber of my being arguing against rationality, urging me to hit him. I close my eyes, and only then can I pull back, let him go and turn around to walk away.
That’s when I see Ash standing there. Right in the doorway. Her hands over her mouth, her eyes large, deep brown pools of shock.
“Ash,” I say, suddenly feeling like I’m running out of air. How much of that did she hear?
I step toward her and she backs away as if frightened. Hands going in front of her, showing me her palms. My heart breaks as with every step I take, Ash flinches back.
“Don’t come near me!” she says, looking at me like I’m some kind of monster.
“Ash! Listen! If you’d heard what he said just a minute ago you’d understand! He was threatening my business! Threatening us!”
“Stay away from me, please,” Ash says, through hitched breath, tears welling up in her eyes.
“Listen to her, Teo,” her father says. I try to stop myself from gritting my teeth and flashing hatred at his voice, but my emotions are too close to the skin now.
“He’s the reason we’re not together, Ash! It’s because of him! The thing that—”
“Just go!” Ash screams suddenly, loud enough to be heard throughout the house, to bring others peeking in beyond the open door.
The hurt and distress in her voice is too unbearable. It hits me too deep to even try and explain. I don’t ever want to be the man who makes her sound like that�
��and if that means leaving her like she’s asking me to, I’ll do it. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“I’m going,” I say, stepping toward the door.
I step outside and push through the crowd that’s gathered, glancing back despite myself one more time. Ash is crying into her father’s chest, his arm wrapped protectively around her. His eyes look straight at me, his gaze hard and victorious. Again.
17
Ash
Work is the last place I need to be right now, but it’s where I am. When I turned up this morning I kinda hoped that the dull routine and formulaic segments would numb the turmoil and shock inside, but they don’t. My nerves are brittle, my patience shorter than a grenade pin, and I keep having to take bathroom breaks where I breathe deep in order to get through the next hour-long chunk of time. I end up working through lunch, gritting my teeth through Carlos’ request for his ‘lucky’ red shirt, and order a double-helping of tacos to the office.
Jenny steps inside as I’m wiping up my crumbs, and it’s the first bright spot in my day. So much so that I want to clutch at her like a life raft. I smile, but when I see her miserable expression my heart sinks again.
“Just in time,” I say, pushing the leftover tacos across my desk. “You hungry? They’re still hot.”
Jenny steps to the desk, all slumped shoulders and downturned lips, then drops herself in the chair as if her strings have been cut.
“I didn’t pass the audition.”
“Oh, Jenny,” I say, getting up to move around and hug her in the chair.
“They said I gave off too much of an ‘intellectual’ vibe. Said they wanted something a little more fun and smiley. Probably just wanted a girl who showed more skin.”
“Intellectual is great,” I say meekly, grasping.
Jenny rolls her eyes at me and then spots the chips and guac, digging in and holding the chip in front of her mouth.
“They’re casting agents—they’re good at letting you down gently,” she says, then crunches mercilessly on the guacamole-laden tortilla chip.
