“Thanks, but I want to call her down. That way she’ll think twice about keeping me waiting.” He smiled at the guard as if to say it’s a male-togetherness conspiracy to keep women in line.
“Of course, sir.” The guard chuckled and picked up his station phone. After a few seconds he said, “Ms. St. Germaine, your son is waiting in the lobby.” Pause. “He says he prefers to wait for you here.” Pause. “No, ma’am.” Pause. “Yes, ma’am.” He hung up and smiled at Brash. “She says five minutes.”
“Well, then I’m ahead. If I’d gone upstairs it would have been thirty and we’d be late for our reservation.”
The guard laughed. “Your team is looking good this season.”
Brash was starting to think that standing around chatting was a bad idea. “Yeah. They are.” He had no idea which team was his team or even what sport they were discussing. “You know I just remembered I’ve gotta make a phone call. Will you let her know I’m waiting in the car?”
“Certainly.”
When the doorman opened the door, Brash said, “I’m waiting in the car for my mother.”
“Yes, sir.”
The doorman went around to Brash’s driver, asked him to pull up a few feet and pointed to the spot where they should wait.
“Charles, I need some privacy for a phone call. Would you mind waiting outside the car for five minutes?”
After Charles exited the car, Brash called his own phone to get Brandon.
“Yeah?”
“Good impression of me, asshole. Can you talk?”
“Just a minute.” After a thirty second pause, Brandon said, “Okay. Go ahead.”
“I’m sitting outside our mother’s building because I don’t know her apartment. Did you tell me?”
“I don’t remember but it’s the top floor. One of the keys in your possession goes in the elevator.”
“Which one?”
“Really? You expect me to describe which key fits Mom’s elevator?”
Brash growled. “Never mind. What team is your team?”
Brandon laughed. “The Mets. I don’t own them. I just like them.”
“Okay. I ended a project in the South China Sea. No idea what was goin’ on there.”
“No problem. I wrecked your bike.”
“YOU DID WHAT?”
“Not really.” Brandon was chuckling. “But there is…”
“Gotta go. Mom’s here.”
Brash ended the call just as Charles was opening the door for her.
“Brandon, why didn’t you come up? I wanted to show you those photos.”
“It’s rush hour. We just have enough time to go for drinks and get to our dinner reservation. I knew we’d be late if I came up.”
She relaxed. “It’s impossible to be miffed at the same time I’m so proud that you’re incredibly smart.”
Brash smiled, leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek, noting that her skin was soft, smooth like a much younger woman, and she smelled like lavender, which was incredibly soothing. He was finding it hard to hold a grudge against a person who smelled like lavender.
“So Adlay said you were gone trout fishing?”
“That’s right. Telluride, Colorado. It’s beautiful there.”
“Well, you do look good. Healthy.”
“Thanks.” He smiled.
“Except for that.” She pointed to the ink coming out of the sleeve of his cashmere Henley. “How big is it?”
He smiled. “You don’t want to know.”
“I do, but I’m already sorry for asking. You go to the gates of hell to bring a boy into the world and then spend every waking moment making certain that no evil in the world harms that precious skin. And for what? So that he can draw permanent pictures on it later?”
She huffed out a breath of exasperation.
“Let’s not fight. I appreciate you bringing me into the world. I appreciate you taking care of me. But now the body is all mine.”
She took in a deep sigh, looked out the window, then said, “Yes. You’re right. I missed you. A month seemed like a long time.”
“Missed you, too. What photos did you want to show me again?”
“Oh. I found those photos of you at the beach when you were three. So precious it hurts my heart. You were such a beautiful baby. Not that you’re bad looking now.”
“Thanks.”
The atmosphere inside Harry’s was like another world compared to the controlled chaos of the street outside.
Brash stepped up to the hostess. “We’re here for drinks.”
“We’re pretty busy. I can get you a table in, perhaps, half an hour.”
A man stepped in beside her and said, “I’ll take this, Patty. Right this way.” He led them to a comfortable booth in a back corner with upholstery covered in French striped silk shantung. “Enjoy yourselves. Always good to see you at Harry’s.”
“Thank you,” Garland said as she put her purse down beside her on the upholstered seat.
“What will you have?” Brash asked Garland.
“Wine.”
Brash ordered an Aubert Ritchie Pinot Noir to share. Brash was grateful that Brandon had spent some time drilling him on how to accept, or reject, a bottle of wine.
When he was gone and they were alone again, Brash said, “So, tell me, something.” Garland looked at him over the glass as she took a sip. She was beautiful at nearly fifty and he didn’t have any trouble imagining what a knockout she must have been when she’d met his pop, but it was obvious that he and Brandon had gotten their coloring and features from their dad. He wondered what it would be like to look every day into a face so very similar to the man you rejected. “Why have you never gotten married?”
“Well, that was blunt. Where did that come from?”
“Just interested in you. That’s all. But it’s not completely random. It’s a fair question.”
“But personal.”
“Right. But we have a personal relationship. Don’t we?”
“Don’t be silly. You know we do.” She sat back and sighed. “I loved your father, Brandon. Nobody else ever came close enough to be so much as a distant second.”
“Are you saying you still love him?” She sighed again, but didn’t answer. “Did you ever try to find him? Let him know how you feel?”
“No.” She looked around like she was anxious about people overhearing their conversation. The bar was crowded. And noisy. But in an odd way that can be an insulator and create a sort-of inside-out intimacy.
“I guess you’re old enough to know the truth.” She bobbed her head. “You’ve been old enough to know the truth for a while. Your grandfather was a man who liked to have his way. No. Correct that. He had to have his way, and wasn’t above being ruthless to get it. He was against the relationship. He told me he had something on your father that would send both him and your other grandfather to prison, among others.”
Garland looked at Brash as if she was willing him to read her mind and her heart, pleading with him to understand. “Your father was not the kind of man who would be okay with being locked up.” Brandon looked on, silently agreeing with her. “I let him go. Because I loved him. And, yes. I always will.”
Brash sat there, stunned and speechless. Of all the excuses he’d imagined she might make, that wasn’t a scenario that he’d considered. “Why didn’t you look him up and tell him? Your father’s been dead a long time.”
“Brandon, so many years had passed by the time your grandfather died. You were thirteen. I’m sure your father found somebody else and made a life. Dredging up the past might hurt him. And it would definitely hurt me.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
He saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes.
Chapter 7
Brant seemed irritable. “What’s the matter with you?”
“What do you mean?” Brandon sank down in one of the chairs in front of Brant’s desk. It was a tiny room, full of clutter, but there were three armless chairs availa
ble for conversations that required privacy.
“Okay. I’ll lay it out. First, you go all mysterious about gettin’ away when you’ve never taken a vacation.” Brandon opened his mouth to answer, but Brant held up a hand to stop him. “Or personal time. You come back after a month with your hair gone, claimin’ you’ve been fishin’. And if all that’s not suspicious enough, now you’re bein’ clingy as a little bitch.”
“I thought you don’t like disrespectful words bein’ used about women.”
“I’m not talkin’ about a woman. I’m talkin’ about you. And I’m askin’ you right out. Are you sick? I mean in the physical sense.”
“No. I’m not sick. I’ve just been thinkin’ we should spend more time together.”
“More time together,” he repeated drily. “Since you turned thirteen all you’ve wanted out of life is for me to stay the hell out of your way.”
Brandon’s head moved slowly from side to side. “I… didn’t mean to neglect you.”
Brant looked incredulous. “Neglect me? Boy, you better tell me what’s up right now. If you’re sick, just lay it out.”
“No. I’m not sick. But I’ve been wondering about my mother.”
“Jesus Christ. Not again!”
“Did you ever think about looking her up? See how she’s doing?”
Brant sighed deeply, sat back, turned his head toward the window and got a faraway look in his eyes. “Not more than a hundred times a day.”
Brandon took a hard look at Brant’s face. Perhaps he’d mistaken sadness for orneriness.
“Well, how would you feel about me tryin’ to find her?”
Brant ran a hand over his face and suddenly looked years older. “You’re a grown man.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Brant’s lips pressed together momentarily. “Your mother, she came from money. Lots of it. At first I thought that, if I could make this thing,” he waved his hand to indicate the clubhouse, “legitimate and profitable, maybe if I made enough money…”
Brandon was quickly putting the pieces together. Neither of his parents had married. Both wore sorrow like a cloak. Brandon had always known that his mother’s smile didn’t reach her eyes and her laugh didn’t go all the way down. She’d tried to cover her unhappiness with love and adoration. For him.
“You did great, Pop. But things change. Maybe it’s time to check in with her and see what’s going on?” Brant said nothing. “Aren’t you curious?”
“Of course, I’m curious. Also scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of having the heart that’s hangin’ off the end of my sleeve shredded. Again.”
Seeing Brant’s eyes turn red around the rims, Brandon swallowed hard and said quietly, “But what if she feels the same way about you?”
Brant lost his patience. “Was there somethin’ else you needed?”
“Lunch?”
Brant narrowed his eyes. “You forgot where to get lunch? Just turn around, walk down the hall to the second door on the left and make yourself a sandwich.”
“I mean maybe we could have lunch together. I’ll make two sandwiches. Or we could go out?”
“Go out,” Brant said drily.
“Yeah. How often do you go out for lunch?”
“Whenever I’m at Hollywood. Don’t you have things to do?”
“Yeah, but nothin’ more important than spendin’ time with my old man.”
Brant looked at Brandon for a long time, then said, “Chuy’s.”
Brandon grinned. “I’m in. Come on. I’ll follow you.”
Brant looked suspicious. “This ain’t a surprise birthday or some such shit. Right?”
“Is it your birthday?”
“No.”
“It’s just you and me and Chuy’s. For lunch.”
They got on their bikes. As Brandon followed his dad’s motorcycle along the curving two lane road to Austin, he decided it might be the best day of his life. He liked the feel of rushing through the air behind his dad, who gave every indication of being a genuine bona fide badass. Unless he was talking about Garland St. Germaine.
They ordered beers and tacos on the patio. Brandon noticed that people gave them extra-long looks. He supposed it had something to do with the SSMC cuts. They probably thought they were having lunch next to hardened criminals. Something about that was amusing. The looks they were getting from women weren’t about fear though. He knew how to recognize signs of feminine interest and he was learning that an MC cut beat out a fifty thousand dollar suit any day.
“So we were talkin’ about my mother.”
“We were not,” Brant growled as he swiped a tortilla chip through the hatch pepper salsa.
“Look, Pop. You know how you feel about Gram? What if you didn’t even have a face to put with the word ‘mom’?”
Brant leaned back and looked at his son as he took a swig of Lone Star. “I hear ya, but nothin’s perfect, Brash. You’ve always had people around who’d do anything for you. I always hoped that would make up for…” He didn’t finish that sentence.
“It hasn’t escaped my notice that you never got married. You’ve had a few women friends, but nothin’ lasting. Or serious.” He watched Brant carefully. “You still love her. That’s what you meant by that thing about your heart on your sleeve.”
“What difference does it make? Like I said, none of us get perfect outta life.”
The food was set down in front of them. Brandon picked up a taco and bit down. Before he chewed the whole bite he was saying, “Oh my God! This is unbelievable.”
Brant raised an eyebrow. “Brash. What the hell is the matter with you? You’ve been to Chuy’s at least once a week every day of your goddamn life. Now, all of a sudden the food is un-fuckin’-believable?”
Brandon grinned. “I’m workin’ on appreciatin’ things more. You. And Chuy’s. It is un-fuckin’-believable.”
Brant just sighed and shook his head.
Chapter 8
That night Brash was watching TV in bed when Brandon’s phone rang.
“How’s it goin’ there?”
“You first.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, there is a thing.”
“What thing?”
“This woman.”
Brash shot straight up and his heart rate did the same. How had it been possible, in a month together with Brandon, that regardless of his mental reminders, he’d never gotten around to addressing the issue of Brigid?
“What happened?”
“Well, she seemed expectant.”
“What did you do?” Brash growled into the phone.
“See, that’s the problem. I didn’t do anything. And she seemed kind of hurt by that.”
“Fuck!”
“Forget to tell me something important, brother?”
“Christ!”
“I take that as a yes.”
After a lengthy pause, Brash said, “Just stay the hell away from her. Leave her alone and I’ll make it up to her when I get back.”
“So she’s…”
“I don’t know have a name for it yet. It was kinda new and we were figurin’ things out. But until I’m done figurin’, she’s off limits.”
“Okay. I mean I’d offer to stand in for you because she’s just… well, you know. But I’m afraid she might have questions about my pierceless dick.” Brash growled again and Brandon smiled picturing him pulling out the little bit of hair he had left. “Okay. Don’t worry. Hands off. Pierceless dick stays in the pants.”
“It better.”
“There are lots of girls in Austin. I can stand having one of them declared off limits.”
“How much did it, uh, hurt her feelings when you…”
“Let’s just say you’d better learn to carry roses while you’re dancing like Fred Astaire.”
“Jesus.”
“And one more thing. I think our pop is still in love with our mom.”
“Glad you brought that up. ‘Cause I thin
k our mom feels the same way about him. What are we gonna do about that?”
“Let me sleep on it.”
“Okay. You know, when I get back I’m gettin’ a big ass TV like this one in my room.”
Brandon laughed softly and hung up, thinking that the next day he’d have one just like that installed in Brash’s room. He’d lived in a room that size when he was in college, but had forgotten what it was like to experience economy of space. The first time he’d opened the bifold door of Brash’s three-foot-wide closet, he’d laughed out loud. His brother didn’t even own a suit. Aside from his cut and a leather jacket, his brother owned five pairs of jeans. Sixteen tee shirts, ten with short sleeves, six with long sleeves. Three Henleys. And four pairs of boots.
“What else does a guy need?” he’d said out loud to the closet.
Brash nodded at Diane as he stepped off the elevator and headed back to his office, but didn’t slow down. He was almost to the double doors when the door just before his destination opened and Uncle Adlay stepped out.
“Brandon. Hold on a minute. Someone I want you to meet.”
Adlay introduced him to the head of Houma Rig and Dig. They had a two minute conversation about the future of oil exploration in the Gulf, then Brash excused himself.
By the second day on the job, he had figured out how to pull up his own calendar. Navigating the morning’s tasks was a minute by minute challenge, but he found it to be kind of exciting. He didn’t know if he was making a mess for Brandon to clean up or blossoming into a global finance genius. Just as long as he didn’t blow his cover, he didn’t care about the rest.
By lunchtime he was feeling pretty confident. Right up until his office door opened and closed behind a leggy brunette with dark blue eyes and awfully white teeth.
“Bran. I’m here for lunch,” she announced.
“I don’t see you on my calendar.”
She laughed, came around his side of the desk, picked up his phone and said, “Alice. Ginger Michelson is having lunch with the boss.”
Brash heard Alice say, “Yes, ma’am.”
He didn’t have a good enough reason to say no and, even though Brandon hadn’t mentioned any girl in particular, he thought he’d better not burn his brother’s bridges.
Two Princes: The Biker and The Billionaire Page 20
