The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels

by Girard, Dara

  Drake sat back in his seat, irritated by his failure. "Yep."

  "The way you two were staring at each other, I thought you were trying to create your own summer heat. What were you two talking about then?"

  "Food."

  Eric kissed his teeth in disgust. "Food? How did you manage to do that?"

  "It just happened naturally."

  Eric swirled his drink, then took a gulp. He looked at his brother as if he were a promising student who'd failed a class. "That's the problem with you. You don't know how to talk to women unless it's related to work."

  Drake raised his hand to signal the waiter to bring him another beer. It would be his third, perhaps his fourth. It didn't matter, because he wasn't driving. "Trust me. When I was talking to her, I wasn't thinking about work."

  "You're hopeless."

  "Wait a minute." He rested his arms on the table and looked at his brother's serious face with a smile tugging on his lips. "When did you become an expert on women, Mr. Casanova? Tell me the last time you had a date."

  Eric adjusted his glasses in consideration. "The last time I've wanted one."

  Drake accepted the beer the waiter handed him with a quick nod and took a healthy swallow. "So that would be in the fifth grade when you gave Margaret a bag of candied hearts."

  Eric grinned, not offended by his brother's teasing. "I think you're confusing things. That was what you gave your date at your senior prom."

  Drake's humor faltered. He hadn't been to the prom or any of the other high school functions. He had wanted to go. He had dreamed of asking Brenda Timmons, taking her to a fancy restaurant, then making out at one of the after-prom parties. He hadn't been able to dream long. He was poor and had to take care of two younger siblings. Whatever money he earned went to them. Nobody expected much from him. Many predicted he would end up a wino. Fortunately, that hadn't been the case. Now he was going to see his old classmates again in two months at his twentieth high school reunion and he would have the chance to prove them wrong.

  Eric banged the table with his glass, awakening Drake from the melancholy mood that had hit him. He shrugged good-naturedly. "Okay, so you made your point. I'm not an expert, but I've had more success than you. It's obvious you need to work on your technique."

  Drake clasped his hands behind his head. "Things were going great," he said, reviewing the moment in his mind. "I honesty don't know where I went wrong. We were both talking about great meals."

  Malcolm leaned forward, feeling safe to join the conversation. "No surprise there. I'm sure she's familiar with every meal around the world. Don't tell her you own a few restaurants. Hell, she'd probably eat you out of business."

  Drake's eyes flashed. "What do you mean by that?"

  Malcolm delicately cleared his throat, not wanting to get on Drake's bad side. It was not a pretty place. "I'm just saying she's a big woman."

  Drake's eyes didn't leave Malcolm's face, like a missile aiming for its target. His voice lowered dangerously. "And your point is?"

  Malcolm's eyes slid away. "I don't have one."

  He let his gaze fall. "I didn't think so."

  Eric hit his brother on the back to ease the tension that hovered over the table.

  "Look, we all miss opportunities. I'm sure there's someone out there for you."

  "And here she comes," Malcolm said, leering at a shapely woman with caramel skin and spice-colored hair. She had entered the bar and was now speaking to the bartender. Her tiny fluorescent green skirt hitched up her legs as she leaned on the counter.

  Drake saw her and turned away, letting his hands fall to his sides. "Oh, her."

  Eric leaned forward. "Kristin is someone you can handle. She likes you."

  "That's only because I ignore her."

  "Then stop ignoring her."

  "I'm afraid that would take too much effort."

  "At least practice on her. Most times, you're like a statue. This will give you a chance to talk, interact, practice your moves."

  "I don't have any moves."

  "Then make them up."

  He stood. "I call this one 'making an exit.' "

  Eric grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down. "Try again."

  "Hi, guys," Kristin said, sliding into a seat next to Eric, while she flashed a brilliant smile in Drake's direction.

  Both Eric and Malcolm said hello. Eric sent his brother a pointed glance that was as eloquent as a nudge.

  Drake sighed. "Hi, Kristin."

  "Hi, Drake. What have you been up to?"

  He wrapped his hands around his mug. "I've been working on this new recipe for brown rice. See I—" He stopped when he saw Malcolm shaking his head and Eric doing a sawing motion against his neck signaling him to cut it out. "Never mind. How are you doing?"

  "Just fine. I just got my nails done. Do you like them?" She rested her hand on his. Her nails were bright red with gold tips. They made him think of claws tainted with the blood of its victims. He moved his hand away. "Very nice."

  "For what they cost me, I hope they look more than nice."

  Malcolm spoke up. "You want compliments, baby? You'd better come to me."

  They began to flirt. Drake didn't care. He had done as much socializing as he had rationed for the day. He stared down into his beer glass, wondering where he had gone wrong with Cassie. If things had gone right, he would be sitting here with her.

  "Drake, you don't look happy," Kristin said, breaking into his thoughts. He glanced up; her lovely dark eyes showed concern.

  "Women troubles," Malcolm explained.

  "Is that possible?"

  "For him it is."

  "Lay off," Eric said.

  "Oh, poor Drake." Kristin leaned toward him, exposing an ample amount of cleavage. Drake was amazed and disgusted—disgusted that in his present state the invitation was tempting. "You know you can talk to me any time."

  He stood. "I think I'd better go."

  Eric opened his wallet and stood too. "Same."

  * * *

  "I don't know how you can hang out with those two," Drake said, squinting from the glare of the sun a few minutes later. "You have nothing in common."

  "Malcolm amuses me. I find his simplicity refreshing."

  "What do you see in Kristin?"

  "What's not to see?"

  "An intelligent thought perhaps."

  Eric wiped some sweat from his forehead. "True, but she's interesting in other ways."

  "Don't tell me you've slept with her."

  "Okay, I won't."

  Drake looked at the sky. "I don't believe it."

  "What's not to believe? She was willing and I was curious."

  He shook his head, then finally asked, "Was it any good?"

  "I don't tell." Eric took a flyer from a volunteer advertising a new store and scanned it "But she really wants you and just uses me as a substitute."

  "And you don't mind?"

  "Hey, if a woman wants to take out her sexual frustrations on me, I'm here to serve."

  "That is warped."

  "No, just sex." He tossed the flyer in a trash bin. "It usually happens that way. Women are drawn to your distant, brooding looks and turn to me for comfort." He straightened his glasses. "I comfort them. It all adds up."

  "A true Sir Galahad. I'm glad to have been of service to you all these years. How does it feel to be a scavenger?"

  "Hey, you got the looks, but I've got the brains and they've served me well. Started with Greta Rodgers my sophomore year. She was a senior and my first."

  Drake remembered a quiet girl with big glasses, and decided not to ask. "What about marriage?"

  "Now that's a nasty subject to bring up."

  "No, it's not, Peter Pan. Don't you want to grow up?"

  "In case you've forgotten we spent most of our childhood as grown-ups. Don't fault me for wanting to have fun now."

  "I don't." Drake shoved his hands in his pockets. "I want to marry and have kids."

  "Kids? Why? You spent most of
your time raising us."

  Drake shrugged. It had been hard, and at times he thought of giving up, but the struggle had ultimately made him strong. Coming home to see his brother and sister waiting for him had made him feel whole. He knew a wife and kids would give him that feeling again. "So you don't plan to marry?"

  "I didn't say that. Actually, I already have the type of woman in mind."

  "Oh."

  Eric kicked a pebble out of the way. "Aren't you going to ask what type?"

  "A woman who looks like Kristin, with the manners of Malcolm and the intelligence of a Teletubbie."

  Eric scowled. "Actually, I intend to marry a very educated woman, with refined manners who appreciates jazz and good food. We'll eventually have one child."

  "Reaching for the gold, huh?"

  "I've got money. There's no reason I shouldn't find her."

  "What about convincing this refined woman's family?"

  "I'll make sure she's desperate."

  "Your deviltry is troubling."

  Eric shrugged. "What about you? What kind of woman do you want to marry?"

  "Cassie. She's beautiful, funny, sweet, and she makes me feel... good. I actually flirted with her."

  "You flirted with her? Wow. She is a miracle worker. Did you say 'waa-waa' too?"

  "Are those a new pair of glasses? I'd hate to break them."

  "All right, I'm sorry. I just don't believe there's only one woman for you. For anyone. You'll eventually forget about her and find someone new." His brother stopped in front of his apartment building. "Come on up. You always get this way when you've been drinking."

  "No, I don't."

  The two brothers argued about this on the way to his floor, then stopped and stared at the bundle wrapped in a yellow and red blanket in front of Eric's door.

  "What the heck is that?" Drake asked.

  Eric lightly kicked the bundle. "Something I've unfortunately continued to feed. Wake up, Jackie."

  A small, female head popped out of the bundle and glared at them through almond-shaped eyes. "Where have you been?" she demanded.

  "You forget your key again?"

  She stood, barely reaching Eric's shoulder. "I was in a hurry. Come on, I'm hungry."

  Eric opened the door. "You know we did her a disservice. Because we took care of her, she's going to expect some poor chap to do the same."

  "That's not true. I only expect that of you two." She turned to Drake. "So what are you going to cook?"

  "He's not cooking. He's drunk."

  "I'm not drunk. Just pensive." Drake turned and hit his head against the base of a hanging plant. "Why do you have to hang these things so low?"

  "They aren't low. You just need to watch where you're going."

  "Your place looks like a damn jungle," he grumbled, surveying the many small indoor trees, plants, and vines that occupied the apartment. It was all cleverly done, but today the greenery irritated him.

  Eric headed for the kitchen. "Please file the rest of your complaints down the toilet while I find something to eat."

  * * *

  "So why are you unhappy?" Jackie asked, wolfing down the grilled jerk chicken and brown rice Eric had prepared.

  Drake pointed a fork at her. "If you don't slow down, you're going to get the hiccups."

  "I'm not going to get the hic–ups."

  Drake grinned. "I love being right."

  "Oh, shut—up." She took a large gulp of water and held her breath until they subsided. "Now answer my question."

  "No."

  Eric spoke up. "He met someone and it didn't work out."

  "Then it wasn't meant to be. You two think you can control life, but life happens to you. You can't lose the one you were truly meant to be with."

  They were quiet a moment and then Eric said, "You just broke up with Richard, right?"

  "Yep."

  Drake looked stunned. "How did you know that?"

  "She's always philosophical after a breakup," Eric said.

  "What do you do, study us?" Drake asked.

  "How else is the middle child supposed to entertain himself?"

  "Ignore him," Jackie said. "What I am saying is true. You won't have to change for the person you're meant to be with. It will just happen and it will be perfect."

  Eric nodded. "Good advice. So what did Richard want you to change?"

  "He thought that I would look good with a nose job and weave."

  Drake leaped from his chair. "That bastard's a dead man."

  Eric leaned back in his chair looking cold and vengeful. "Why kill him, when we can bring him to financial ruin?"

  "Cut it out, you two." Jackie grabbed Drake's shirt and nudged Eric with her foot. "I knew he was shallow from the beginning."

  Drake sat, his scowl still in place. "He insulted you."

  "Not really. You two have to promise to leave him alone. I've seen him with Betina Hart—man-crusher number one. When she's done with him, there'll be nothing left. So promise you won't do anything."

  They nodded. Satisfied, she kissed them and left.

  "She has a point," Eric said, watching Drake take dirty dishes over to the sink. "It wasn't meant to be. Now go along about your business, so that I can get some work done."

  "Right."

  "Besides, why worry about another woman when you've got Elizabeth?"

  Drake only smiled.

  * * *

  Drake tossed off his apron with triumph. Elizabeth— his beloved stove—had again worked her miracles. After creating raspberry tarts, he was beginning to feel better about his failure. Besides, he was finally going to do something about his social grace.

  He glanced at his watch. He still had a few hours before his class. His family didn't know it, but he enjoyed taking courses at the local community center. He'd learned how to play piano, choose antique furniture, and take photographs. He was making up for the lack of education he'd acquired in school. Back then he had spent most of his time either working or asleep. Since he was an unobtrusive student, teachers let him pass. Therefore, he had ended up with a degree and not much else. The adult classes helped him to socialize. He usually hid in the back of the class, but occasionally managed to tag along if a group went for drinks afterward.

  The course he was going to take was one he eagerly anticipated, "Attracting Anyone Anytime: the Art of Social Grace." He knew the instructor couldn't work miracles in the three days scheduled, but figured he could learn some much-needed tips.

  * * *

  The memory of Drake entered Cassie's mind as she changed into Cassandra. It usually took her two hours to transform into the woman of mystery that kept her audience captivated. She heavily outlined her eyes with a smoky gray pencil and sprinkled glitter on her bare shoulders. She glanced down at the turquoise dress she wore that floated about her ankles like a mist. She usually wore a choker, but tonight she tied a gossamer scarf artistically around her neck. She stared at her reflection, always amazed what makeup and clothes could accomplish. She looked like a woman who could capture any man's attention and place him under her spell. The perfect companion for a sorcerer with hypnotic eyes. Cassandra was bold, sexy, fearless, and quite capable of going after anything or anyone she desired. She smiled wickedly as she applied a deep purple lipstick. Good old Cassandra.

  "Cassandra" had come about by necessity for a shy girl who lived inside herself. Being the clown worked for a while, but made dating difficult since she always felt she had to provide the entertainment. One day at a party, she pretended she was someone else and was amazed by the response of men. The men who had seen Cassie as a pal suddenly saw her as a desirable woman, and to her disbelief they were entertaining her and it was empowering. Through college she perfected her technique, taking cues from her heroine, Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, then wrote a book called The Shy Girl's Guide to Romance. To her surprise the book sold well as did its sequel for men, The Way of the Wallflower, and The Fear of Ridicule. Her success led to conferences, lectures, and semina
rs. She loved the attention she commanded, watching as people hung on to her every word. It was wonderful being the mentor she hadn't been able to find while growing up. She enjoyed working with people and helping them find their potential.

  Cassie glanced at her computer, which frowned at her in the corner of the living room. She had a contract to write a new book on keeping romance alive, but her mind was blank. Since her own romantic life was such a disaster, she was having a hard time giving advice to others. She was too busy thinking of a book called How to Resist Killing Your Ex. Her divorce had hurt her ratings, so this next book had to be successful or she might have to find herself a new publisher or a new career.

  She sighed, resigned. She just needed to relax and the ideas would come. Perhaps the seminar would revive her. She could think about all the things Cassandra would do to her mysterious sorcerer.

  Heat rushed to her face as her mind filled with ideas her mouth would never utter. She pushed the thoughts aside. She had to focus. She slipped into her silver high heels and popped in her contacts. The day was over and the night was now hers.

  * * *

  The seminar was held in the Acton Center, a converted brownstone on one of the side streets in Dupont Circle. It was popular with both artists and academics alike, offering large and small rooms for speakers to share their knowledge. Cassie had reserved a medium-sized room on the second floor that boasted a view of the lighted garden out back, with rows of comfortable chairs, and a warm, relaxing atmosphere so that her audience could feel comfortable confiding in her.

  When she reached the second floor, she saw Adriana in a black bow-back chair waiting in the hallway with a cup of tea. She jumped to her feet when she saw Cassie.

  "You look wonderful," she said. "This is a definite improvement."

  "Anything would be an improvement to this afternoon." She moved to one side; Adriana did the same. "Why are you standing here?" she asked, wondering why her friend was blocking her path.

  "I just wanted to make sure that you were prepared."

  Cassie lifted her bag and shook it. "I am always prepared."

  "Even for surprises?"

  "Especially for surprises. What do we have? A desperate bride, an old sweetheart, a best friend hoping to confess her love?"

  Adriana straightened her friend's scarf and smoothed back an unruly strand of hair. "No. Him." She pointed to a man in the corner of the room who was stretched out across a row of chairs. He was dressed in complete black with a baseball cap over his face.