So Wrong

by Camilla Stevens

“Mama!”

  “I think that’s wonderful, grandma,” Bonita interrupted before her father could go off. “It’s nice that you’ve found someone special after grandpa.”

  The couple beamed at her. Her father not so much. Her mother was concentrating heavily on her turkey and cranberry sauce.

  “And what about you and that Darryl, sweetheart. Are you still with that one?” The way she say “that one” was enough of an indication as to her opinion of the man. Bonita knew there was a reason she liked her grandma so much.

  “No. I officially broke up with Darryl.” There. She’d said it. Suddenly, Juanita wasn’t so interested in her meal. Suddenly, her father was no longer interested in who his mother was in a relationship with. Suddenly, her grandmother had a smile on her face when Darryl’s name came up.

  She forged ahead, figuring there was no time like the moment to drop the other shoe.

  “I’m actually dating a boy named River Wright.” She put it that way hoping he wouldn’t sound so notorious. All the same, the double whammy elicited a fury of reactions.

  “Wait a second, isn’t he the son of—?”

  “How come Darryl hasn’t said anything to us about—?”

  “Good for you sweetheart, now tell grandma all about this new boy of yours.”

  “I’ll tell you all about this new boy,” her father said, outraged. “He is the son of Richard Wright. Unless there is another River Wright out there I don’t know of?” he asked his daughter with a cynical tone.

  “No, he’s the one,” Bonita replied meekly, now following her mother’s lead and taking an overt interest in her turkey.

  “You left Darryl, a good and decent boy for—”

  “He is not a good and decent boy. He’s a tyrant, just like his father.” Bonita said it so forcefully that everyone at the table was stunned into silence.

  She figured her best bet was to use that opportunity to build River up in Darryl’s stead.

  “River is a good boy, Dad, a good man. He’s brilliant and fun and funny and sweet and protective. You have no idea how he’s…he’s helped me overcome so much.” Bonita paused, not wanting to expound on that. “The reason I went to Pierre University in the first place was to have new and different experiences, meet new and different people, and River has exposed me to that. I really like him.”

  “Mija, have you considered the implications concerning your… race? Not to mention what it would be like to date someone so…well known?”

  “I’d think you of all people would get it, Mom!” Bonita said with exasperation. “Yes, your parents had a difficult time coming from different backgrounds, but mostly because of their own parents,” She added accusatorially.

  “It isn’t just us. Obviously, your father and I support whoever you choose in life. I just want you to understand the uphill battle.”

  “That’s funny, because the only blow back I’ve gotten so far has been from you two.”

  “Well, I for one can attest to the fact that color doesn’t mean a thing,” Bonita’s grandmother said, turning to smile at Mr. Sorrentino. “Especially when the lights are out.”

  “Mama!” her father cried. All thoughts of Bonita were momentarily forgotten in the wake of that little piece of information. Bonita bit back her laughter as her grandmother winked at her.

  She could see that the main hill she’d have to overcome were the two people she cared most about in the world sitting right next to her. She sighed and dug into her turkey, briefly wondering how River’s Thanksgiving was going.

  31

  It wasn’t his relationship with Bonita that had River on edge as he rose to the penthouse of the building his father lived in, and in fact, owned. Richard Wright’s only concern when it came to who his sons were involved with was: is she “someone?” If not, he wouldn’t have cared if River told him he was dating a polka-dotted alien.

  But Richard was sure as hell going to care about what River had to tell him today.

  “Hello James,” River said to the man who had been his dad’s butler since before he was born.

  “Good morning Mr. Wright,” James responded dutifully.

  “Mr. Wright is my father, call me River,” he said, throwing the same old, tired line back at the man, and getting the same old, tired smile and nod.

  River made his way to his former bedroom, which still held some of the remnants of his troubled youth. Feeling no need to knock he swung open the closed door to find Chauncey, son of the current Mrs. Wright, sitting back against the headboard of his bed.

  “What the fuck!”

  The fact that they both screamed it at the same time was no surprise, but still less than amusing considering what was going on.

  Apparently, the recently turned twelve-year-old Chauncey was raging straight into manhood with the help of one of River’s old Playboy magazines. Miss February 2012 if his memory of the cover served him right.

  “For fuck’s sake, Chauncey, don’t you have your own damn bed?” River shuddered to think of the numerous times he’d visited this bedroom since starting college, sprawled out on those very comforters like old times. He was under no illusion that his half-brother bothered to clean up after himself. Hell, knowing Chauncey, part of the turn on was probably leaving a mess just to stick it to River.

  “Close the fucking door!” Chauncey roared, struggling to cover himself with the Playboy.

  “Don’t you dare get it all over my magazine,” River threatened, only half teasing.

  “Close the door!”

  “I’m warning you,” River continued, enjoying the torment he was putting him through.

  Chauncey threw the magazine at him. River dodged it with a laugh and closed the door adding, “Rule number one to puberty: always lock the door!”

  “Fuck you!” he heard as the door clicked shut.

  “Son, do you think I got this far by being stupid?”

  Richard was standing at his favorite spot in the spacious penthouse, the huge picture windows that overlooked the Central Park and the rest of the city. Here he liked to observe his own private empire, or so he thought of it.

  River pondered the question, thinking of a smart-assed remark. It was fairly well known that the only reason Richard Wright was accepted to Yale was because of his father, and even then he only managed a C-average.

  “No sir,” River said in a laconic tone.

  “That’s right. Because stupid people don’t come from absolutely nothing and build a multi-billion dollar empire.”

  Again, the urge to say what instantly popped into his head was overwhelming. Even a few years ago, River would have spat it out. Now he just kept it to himself, grown-up that he was becoming. The Wright family net worth hadn’t been “nothing” for quite some time. Even Richard’s own father, George, was the son of a fur merchant. Word was that George’s real fortune had been made in bootlegging and gambling during the Great Depression.

  “No sir,” River said again in that same placid tone.

  No sense poking the rabid dog, especially when that dog obviously had something on his mind. Choose your battles; and River had an idea that he was in for World War III when he hit his father with the news he’d come here to tell him.

  “Good, we both agree that I’m not stupid. Now, modest man that I am”—River had to strain to keep his eyes focused directly ahead instead of up and around—“I’d say I’m somewhat successful.”

  “Is there a point here, Dad?”

  Richard hated interruptions, as his current facial expression informed River, but sitting through another one of his dad’s self-aggrandizing monologues was something he was getting sick of. It had been bad enough during Richard’s disastrous run for mayor.

  “I don’t know River, why don’t you tell me?”

  River had set up this meeting—there was no “dropping in” on Richard Wright, even from his own son—but he hadn’t given his father any indication as to what it was about. However, if there was one thing he had learned from the Real Est
ate Emperor of New York, it was that you never spoke first during negotiations. Not that this was a negotiation; River was damn sure about what he was about to reveal. All the same, it paid to play it safe.

  “I have no clue what this is about, Dad,” he said cautiously.

  “Columbia.”

  Shit.

  “It was my understanding that you would be applying for early decision to the MBA program. Yet, my sources tell me they haven’t received anything from you.”

  River didn’t answer him. He supposed it was a good segue to the news he’d come to tell his father. The two things were related after all.

  “Dad, I’m not going to business school.”

  That actually caused Richard to spin around and face his son for the first time.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I heard you correctly. I could have sworn you said—”

  “I’m not going to business school, okay?” River said more forcefully. “Truth be told I actually came here during the break to tell you…I’m going to be a writer instead.”

  River could understand the dumbstruck look on his father’s face. It must be a shock to not only have your assumptions—assumptions River had never actually encouraged—obliterated, but to be hit with something so far out of left field.

  “If you think Wright Publishing is going to—”

  “Actually, I have an agent who’s shopping me around to other houses. I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of you that way.” In truth it would be a relief to cut as many ties to Richard Wright as possible.

  “You sure as hell didn’t have a problem when you were taking advantage of me paying for your education. Which stops today by the way.”

  “Understood,” River said nodding. It was a hollow promise and they both knew it. River had a ridiculously fat trust fund that Richard himself had set up to be untouchable, even by him. It could pay out the Pierre annual tuition ten times over.

  Worst case scenario, River’s mother had been awarded the standard Ex-Mrs. Wright queenly sum that had her set for life. Since she spent most of her time in places like India, Tibet, and other worldly locales that would never break the bank, River could always tap into her as a resource. Not that he ever would. Emma Wright was just as problematic a parent as Richard was.

  “Jesus, do you realize this means leaving my empire, my legacy, everything I’ve built, in the hands of…Chauncey?”

  It was indeed a sobering thought, but not River’s problem anymore.

  “Who knows, Dad, maybe the little tyrant will surprise you and be the one to actually follow in your footsteps.” River had an idea that the youngest Wright son was probably more like their father than any of his half-brothers. Yet another sobering thought.

  “Well, heaven knows my sons are known for surprising me,” Richard said with an accusatory frown.

  “Or maybe your fifth wife will be the lucky one.” It was a low blow, and River felt just a wee bit bad for going there.

  “Don’t get smart on me, son,” Richard said in a warning tone.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, Dad.”

  “So did you tell him about your writing?”

  “Did you tell them about me?”

  Bonita laughed on the other end. “I asked first.”

  River was sitting on the sofa overlooking his father’s favorite view. It really was quite impressive, especially in the middle of the night when the room was dark and the city was lit up below him.

  “Yes, I told him. He did not take it well. Basically, I’ve been cut off.”

  “Oh River!”

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry. My being cut off is like…well, like a billionaire going down to millionaire status. I’ll never starve, but at least I’m free to write. But never mind my pauper status, how did it go with your parents?”

  “Oh you know, blah, blah, blah race, blah, blah, blah Richard Wright”—River cringed at that part—“blah, blah, blah what will the parishioners of the church think?”

  “So, not good.”

  “Well you have one cheerleader in your court in the form of my grandma.”

  “Remind me to send her flowers,” River said.

  “And I told them you’d be visiting for Christmas.”

  She paused on the other end, waiting for his reaction. He could almost hear her holding her breath.

  “River sucks dicks!”

  He flinched in surprise, cringing at how loud the voice was next to his ear. In pure reflex he reached around and grabbed the little hellion in a chokehold.

  “Owww! Let go, asshole!”

  “What the heck is going on over there?” Bonita laughed into the phone.

  “Oh, just a little brotherly payback,” River said.

  “Listen, Bonita, I’d be thrilled to visit your family for Christmas,” he continued, struggling to hold on to his brother. With his strength, it wasn’t a problem save for how wriggly the little shit was.

  “Really?” She sounded pleased, which made him smile, even as he struggled to hold on to the phone with one hand and his brother with the other.

  “Really. And I can’t wait to see you on Monday.”

  “Once he gets the dicks out of his mouth,” Chauncey managed to scream, laughing.

  “I better go, I’ve got a few nuggies and neck burns to apply here.”

  Bonita just laughed on other end. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, River.”

  “Goodbye,”

  “Bye.”

  Once he hung up, he flung the phone onto the couch and proceeded to run through the gamut of every form of torture known to brothers the world over.

  “Think of this as preparation for the business world, Chauncey,” He said as he rubbed his knuckles over the boy’s head. “You’re the Wright Family’s last hope.”

  He was rewarded with a yowl of pain.

  32

  Bonita didn’t tell her parents about the roses Darryl had sent, not wanting them to worry. After all, it was one stupid bouquet. Even the message would have seemed perfectly innocuous out of context. She didn’t want them blowing it out of proportion, or somehow worse, not taking it seriously at all.

  She also managed to finagle out of going to church that Sunday by exaggerating the amount of schoolwork she had to complete. That was probably the only excuse that would have convinced them not to raise a fuss about it. In truth, she wanted to avoid running into Darryl at church. He was off for Thanksgiving as well and would obviously be making an appearance with his father. Heaven forbid the entire West family not make an appearance in church on the Sunday after Thanksgiving, the most popular day of church attendance after Easter and Christmas.

  She wondered what he had told his father. Christmas break was when she planned on having another, final face to face confrontation, so that both her family and the West family understood: as far as Darryl and she were concerned, it was over.

  She had no doubt that her college fund would go as dry as the Sahara after that, which was fine with her. She had already set up a meeting with Financial Aid on Tuesday. Already, she could feel a certain sense of liberation. The bubble of elation that had grown around her on the train ride in was abruptly popped when she walked into her dorm room.

  “Aren’t you Miss Popularity,” Stacey commented from her side of the room, side-eyeing her from where she was lying on her bed.

  This bouquet was an exact replica of the first vase of roses. There was an envelope perched right in the middle of them and she dreaded opening it. But knowledge was power and if this message was as succinct as the first one, it would speak volumes. Bonita walked over and bravely plucked it out of the top.

  Bonita,

  I look forward to our reunion at Christmas.

  Darryl.

  “River is obviously pretty smitten,” Stacey said, staring back down into her book with a smirk.

  The envelope hadn’t been sealed, just tucked inside. Bonita was under no illusion that Stacey, never one to mind her own damn business, hadn’t taken a peek at it. So b
e it, Bonita had other concerns.

  Without a word to her roommate, she grabbed the vase and subjected it to the same treatment the first “gift” had received. If Stacey was surprised, she had the good sense to keep her mouth shut when Bonita returned to the room.

  Bonita fell onto her bed and pulled out her phone. She knew texting was the coward’s way to deal with this, but she just couldn’t stomach a conversation with the man. Somehow Darryl would find a way to get under her skin and twist things so that she didn’t know what she was saying.

  You need to stop with the flowers. We are done!

  I’m seeing someone else.

  She hit send without thinking too long about it. She knew that would only cause her to second guess herself so much that she’d end up not sending it at all. Immediately, she regretted the last part. At least she hadn’t mentioned who she was seeing, which would have really set him off. Still, hopefully that would be enough to get him to finally see the light.

  They were done.

  She waited and waited for a response, purposely ignoring the curiosity from across the room that was practically tangible. After thirty minutes there was still no response.

  Bonita eventually relaxed onto her bed. Finally Darryl was getting the picture.

  “Get your fill of turkey and stuffing, Tulip?”

  “Too much,” Bonita said, sliding in next to Marianne in French Lit. “How about you?”

  “The Potter’s Thanksgiving tradition runs more in the vein of steak and lobster. Anyway, did you tell them about River?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  Bonita shrugged. “Not as bad as I expected, better than I feared. I’m sure he’ll use his remarkable charm to win them over when he comes down for Christmas.”

  “Ohh,” Marianne said, pulling away to look at her friend. “Straight into the lion’s den like a perfect lamb to the slaughter.”

  Bonita laughed. “They’re not that bad! Frankly, I think the culture shock might be the biggest obstacle for him.”