Step Brother

by Jayna King

  I signaled to the bartender that we wanted another round and continued. “Anyway, she’s smokin’ fuckin’ hot, and I ran into her, talked the concierge into letting me use one of the suites, and let’s just say neither one of us got a whole lot of sleep last night.”

  Butch shook his head. “God, there are days when I miss being single.”

  “So back to today. I show up at this fuckin’ mansion, and my mom walks out. Turns out she got married to a guy who’s filthy rich—a guy she’d known for a week. They met at some yoga retreat in Costa Rica, and now she’s taking classes to talk like a country club wife and talking about doing charity work and shit.”

  “Wow. Is the guy willing to adopt you?”

  “No, and he’s kind of a dick. Offering me investment advice. Jackass told me at one point that I shouldn’t be stuffing cash in my mattress.”

  I thought Butch was gonna spit his beer out. “Did you tell him about how much money you’ve made in the stock market?”

  “Fuck no. He cares what people think about him. I don’t.”

  “Jesus, I wish I could have been there.”

  “Oh, I’m not even halfway done yet.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Completely. So before I meet the guy, Mom and I are talking in her ‘office.’ Why she needs an office I have no clue. Anyway, I’d decided that since she wanted me there, wanted to make up for the years she was too drunk or hungover to care much about me, that I was going to get what I wanted from her. You know she’s always refused to tell me who my father was, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I found out why. It’s Gordon fucking Gentry.”

  “You are shitting me.”

  “Not.”

  “Why didn’t she tell you? He’s rich as shit, man.”

  “Exactly what I asked her. Turns out, he was married with another kid on the way and didn’t want his wife to leave him. Add to that the fact that Mom was underage when he knocked her up, and he paid her off—rent money and shit, and she agreed to leave him alone.”

  “Jesus, Reed, that’s a whole lot to digest.”

  I shook my head. “Still not done.” I looked over at Butch to see his eyes widen. “I calm myself down and go outside to meet Mom’s rich husband, and who’s there? Tatum—the girl I fucked last night.”

  “What the hell was she doing there?”

  “Again—that’s what I asked her. You ready for this?”

  Butch nodded.

  “She’s my new sister. Well, stepsister.”

  “You’re makin’ this up.”

  “Nope. I slept with my stepsister last night. And you know what’s worse?”

  He shook his head.

  “She was fantastic.”

  Butch just lost it, and by the time he was finished laughing, he was holding his sides. “Dude, that’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life. Your mom’s banging a rich guy. Your dad’s a rock star, and you slept with your sister.”

  “Stepsister. Glad my life amuses you.”

  “So tell me about last night. She’s hot?”

  “Yeah, she’s hot.”

  “Was she off the hook in bed? Into anything weird?”

  “Quit it, man. I’m not gonna give you details.”

  “Well, this is gonna make Christmas interesting.” Butch was still howling with laughter.

  “Oh my God, I almost forgot. Mom wants us all to go to Tahoe together for the holidays.”

  “So you’ll be set. A piece of ass under the tree.”

  “Shut up, man. It wasn’t like that.”

  “What the hell do you mean? Were you going to see her again? Did you get her phone number?”

  “Fuck off. I didn’t get her number, but only because she left before I woke up.”

  “No shit? So she ducked out early? That’s a switch, huh?”

  “Yeah, I know. Normally, I’d have been happy to see her gone, but Butch, I actually kinda like her.”

  “No way. Reed Randolph wants to get it on with his sister?”

  “Stepsister. And it’s not that.” I paused, deciding that Butch was far too amused by the whole situation for me to try to convince him that I was actually interested in Tatum. “Anyway, so now I have to decide what to do about my dad. It’s not like he’s some ordinary guy that I can just call up out of the blue.”

  Butch finally stopped laughing and got serious. “Are you sure you want to meet him? I mean he didn’t just abandon you. He was never even there from the beginning.”

  I shook my head. “I know. Clearly the man’s a selfish asshole. It’s just that I’ve spent my entire life wondering about my father, and now I finally have some information about him, but it’s …” I hesitated.

  “It’s what?”

  “It’s kind of intimidating. I mean what if he tells me to fuck off? Says he doesn’t ever want to see me again?”

  “Then you tell him he’s an asshole and you leave. But what if he doesn’t? I mean, you’ve obviously wanted to know who your father is and get to know him. You have your chance. You can either take it, or you can be a pussy.”

  I could always count on Butch to tell it to me straight. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ll never know if I don’t try, huh? I guess I have a lot to think about.”

  “You and me both, man.” Butch waved for another drink. “This has to be my last one.”

  “It wasn’t that long ago that three beers was lunch for us. We’d just be thinking about getting set up for the night, man.”

  “I remember those days. Well, most of ’em anyway. Jesus, I think about how much money I pissed away on booze and coke. I wish I had some of that cash now. Marla’s talking about wanting to buy a house before the baby comes.”

  “Listen to you, gettin’ all responsible and shit.”

  Butch laughed. “Yeah, who would have thought it? Things are going good for me, man. I don’t want to fuck it up, and I want to make Marla happy. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me, and I don’t know if I’d be alive if she hadn’t forced me to get my shit together.”

  “I know, man. There are times when I miss the old days—that feeling of your heart racing from all the coke. Knowing you could go without sleep for a couple of days—booze, bump, repeat …”

  “I just hope I can keep my kid from doing all the stupid shit we did.”

  I shook my head, knowing that kids have to make their own mistakes, but not entertaining the idea of bursting Butch’s bubble. He was so excited about the kid. It was good to see, but it was hard for me, too. I felt like I was missing out on something, and I wasn’t sure how that made me feel. We drank our beers, talking about one thing and another, and when we were finished, I hugged him.

  “Hey, don’t say anything to Marla, but it’s been a while since I’ve given her a raise. I’ll take a look and see what I can do, since you’re gonna have some extra expenses coming up. Maybe that can help with getting a house.”

  Butch nodded his thanks. “Gotta go, man. She’s gonna be pissed if I’m late. Thanks.”

  He walked out, and I could hear his bike start, the distinctive roar of the Harley audible even indoors.

  That’s gonna have to go, I thought as I headed over to pay the tab.

  I drove home slowly. When I turned into my neighborhood, miles away from the Strip, the empty streets and the near silence of the Tesla’s electric engine gave the drive an eerie feeling. I was overwhelmed with the events of the day. I walked inside my house, locked the door behind me, and thought about the contrast between my house and the one my mother was living in.

  When I’d built the house, I could have afforded something bigger, more impressive, but it seemed stupid to pour tons of money into a showplace just to impress people, especially considering that the only people I’d be impressing were trashy women who’d prostitute themselves to anyone who’d pay their bar tabs. Don’t get me wrong. I love my house. It’s exactly what I wanted. Snug, quiet, efficient.

 
I walked into the kitchen and looked at the bar along the wall. Vodka. Tequila. Bourbon. Rum. Every last one of them would ease my mind, slow it down and make the day feel a little less raw. And every one of them would end up biting me in the ass come morning. I’d been down that road too many times before, and I was not going back. At least not tonight. I went to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. I’m not a fuckin’ boy scout. It wasn’t like I was going to make a cup of herbal tea.

  I sat down at the computer and resolved to drink the beer slowly, limit myself to just one before I went to bed—hopefully to sleep. But I had twelve ounces that I intended to make last. I checked my portfolio first—force of habit. Apple was down a little, so I bought a few more shares, certain that it would rebound. I sold shares in Whole Foods, pretty sure it had hit a temporary peak and was about to drop a little. When it hit what I thought was the bottom, I’d buy more and wait for it to go back up.

  My investments managed, I stared at the empty Google search box. I’m not sure what I was waiting for. I knew what I’d type there. I took a sip. Ten ounces left. And I typed in “Gordon Gentry.”

  There were thousands and thousands of results. There were articles about the Rebels’ current world tour and links to interviews on late-night TV shows. The amount of information was staggering, but what I was interested in wasn’t really the publicity—the spectacle. I wanted to know what kind of person Gordon was. I ran across a transcript for an interview he’d done on a National Public Radio show, and pulled it up. The interviewer had asked him a bunch of questions about his personal life, so it helped me get a sense of who he was.

  Gordon talked about his first wife and his two children with her. His oldest child, a son, was six months older than me. That was the kid his wife was pregnant with when Gordon had slept with my mom. I wondered if Gordon ever looked at his kid and thought about me. They had a daughter who was a couple of years younger, and Katey—that was his first wife—had finally divorced Gordon after about eight years together. He talked pretty openly about having been a shitty husband. There had been drinking, drugs, and other women, and he didn’t blame Katey for having kicked him to the curb. He was proud, though, that he’d always been a decent father—when he was home, anyway. He and Katey had a decent relationship, and there was a picture of them at their daughter’s college graduation. There were things that his legitimate kids had that I’d never had a shot at.

  Being bitter isn’t going to help you.

  I got back to my reading. Gordon had gotten remarried about five years ago, and he had a new kid with his current wife. She was a writer—no one I’d heard of—and they seemed pretty happy. Gordon told the interviewer that he’d given up drugs and didn’t drink very much, but he talked about his partnership in a new winery in Washington state. Apparently, he’d just graduated to classier booze. He lived in London part of the year and had houses in Miami, Santa Fe, and somewhere in Panama. He and his wife donated a bunch of money every year to provide music education for low income kids in public schools, and his bio sounded pretty much like every other self-indulgent, aging rock star I’d ever read about.

  He didn’t sound like a bad guy, though.

  I finished the beer, tossed the bottle, and went to bed, hoping I’d be able to sleep. I needed to find some way—some opening to approach Gordon. What would I say to him if I got him on the phone? Should I send him an email? Would he even answer? Obviously, he wasn’t worried about his first wife finding out that he’d slept with other women. The whole damn world knew about that. But the statutory rape, underage thing might still concern him. I knew I could make it clear that I wasn’t trying to cause him legal problems or hit him up for money, but as loaded as he was, I wondered if he’d believe me.

  All I wanted was to get to know him. I rolled over in bed and my thoughts drifted to Tatum. What a day. I knew she wasn’t going to be easy to convince, that she was completely freaked out by the fact that we were stepsiblings. But I could tell she was interested in me. Hell, I’d known she’d had a crush on me in elementary school, for Christ’s sake. I was certain I could get her to see me again. I just had to figure out how to do it.

  I guess I could call Mom and get her phone number. Maybe tell Mom I have a legal question to ask.

  I finally fell asleep to a tangle of thoughts about my past, my father, my stepsister, and my future.

  5 -- Tatum

  “You slept with your brother?”

  Chelsea’s obnoxiously loud laughter was getting on my very last nerve. “Stepbrother. Big difference. And could you please not say that so loud? I think the people fifty-five floors down heard you.”

  She giggled again, albeit at a lower volume, and I figured I’d have to be satisfied with that.

  “I still can’t believe you ended up in a suite last night. I’m so jealous. Does Reed have any friends?”

  “I’m sure he does, but we didn’t really … talk much. I drank way too much, and I’ve had a killer headache all day.”

  “You need another drink, bitch.”

  Chelsea could have flagged down a waiter, but she’d had her eye on one of the bartenders since we’d walked through the door. I watched her as she stood up, yanked her skirt down low enough that I could see her hip bones, adjusted her cleavage, and slinked across the room. There weren’t many guys who didn’t follow her progress as she walked. Chelsea looked like exactly the kind of girl who’d have done what I did the night before. In fact, if I had to bet money, I’d plunk down considerable cash on the likelihood of Chelsea’s not spending her last night in Vegas alone.

  I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed in comfy pajamas and try to wrap my head around the fucked up day I’d had. I’d tried to tell Chelsea that I wasn’t up for a wild and crazy night, but she was having none of it. Ghostbar was only the first stop of many she’d planned out, and I was determined to stick it out for at least a couple of clubs. I didn’t have that many girlfriends, and I wanted to keep the few I had. Chelsea might irritate the shit out of me, but I knew she’d be there in a second if I needed her. It wasn’t her fault that I’d had too much to drink and fucked my stepbrother the night before.

  “So…” she started as she placed two fruity martinis of some sort in front of us. “His name’s Jax, and he’s gonna be at Tao later and then some other club. Apparently it’s locals night. He said he’d look for us there.” She turned to wave at him before she sat down, giving him and the entire room a killer view down the front of her shirt.

  “Jax, eh? Wonder if he had that name before or after Sons of Anarchy?”

  “Oh, quit it, little Miss Smarter-Than-Everyone-Else. You’re just bitchy because you didn’t get enough sleep last night. If I’d spent all night sucking my brother’s dick, I’d be tired too.”

  “Oh my God.” I groaned. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “Come the fuck on,” Chelsea said, downing half of her twenty-dollar martini. “You’ve spent years giving me shit about my exploits. Let me enjoy the fact that you acted like a total slut last night. Not that I blame you, of course. Reed’s gorgeous.”

  I shook my head and flashbacks from the night before threatened to short circuit my brain. “You don’t have to remind me. I just can’t believe Dad married his mother, though. I finally hook up with a guy who’s not only ridiculously hot, but smart and successful, and he turns out to be my stepbrother. Seriously—out of all the women in the world, why did Dad have to marry Tina?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with dating your stepbrother, Tatum. It’s not like you grew up together. If you had, then that would be gross, but you didn’t. I’d hit that every chance I got.”

  “I can’t, though. How would I explain that to my dad?”

  “Who says you have to tell your dad anything?”

  “Well, I can’t just lie to him.”

  “C’mon. You and I both know that his interest in you is only going to last as long as there’s something he wants. From the sounds of it he’s the king of fly-by pare
nting.”

  “Yeah, as sad as that is, you’re probably right. I can’t believe he’s actually going to run for office again. You’d think he’d have learned his lesson.”

  “Are you sure he is? He didn’t actually tell you, did he?”

  “No. But I’m sure. I know the signs, and honestly, it was just a matter of time. He craves the attention. Can’t get enough of it. His campaigns are more important than anything to him.”

  “Wonder if your new stepmother knows that.”

  “She will soon enough. I can tell he’s been grooming her for her role. She’s using fancy words that aren’t entirely comfortable for her, and she’s started up her new charitable work. She’s practicing to be a politician’s wife.”

  “Sounds like a match made in heaven.”

  I knocked back most of my martini. “Costa Rica, actually.” We both laughed, and I pointed to the terrace outside. “You ready?” I asked.

  Chelsea grimaced. “Did I mention that I’m afraid of heights?”

  “Why did you pick Ghostbar, then? Where did you think the elevator was taking you?”

  “It was on the list of the must-visit clubs.”

  “Well, here’s the must-do while you’re here,” I said, grabbing her hand and taking her outside.

  The wind tugged at our hair, and I held my skirt down with one hand while I dragged her to the edge of the terrace and waited for the inevitable reaction.

  Chelsea looked out over the glittering lights of the Strip. “Oh my God.” She made sure to stay a full arm’s length back from the railing, and I knew she’d flip shortly.

  “Look down,” I said.

  She looked positively green as she looked straight down—fifty-five floors down. The glass section in the terrace floor made it feel like you were suspended high above the city, floating in midair. Though I didn’t really need to be drinking expensive martinis, Chelsea’s reaction was totally worth it.

  “I don’t feel so good,” she said, and I took pity on her and led her back inside to our table.