The Other Brother

by Lauren Baratz-Logsted

  “But what about your driver?” I called.

  Without even going outside, I knew there was a driver out there, waiting in the car, just as there had been when we’d been at Burt and Edith’s back at Easter.

  “You mean Jeeves?” Denny called.

  “If that is really his name,” I countered.

  “Oh, you needn’t worry about Jeeves. He prefers to stay with the car at all times. Well, except for when he needs the loo. He worries if he leaves it unattended, some fan might nick it for a great big souvenir.”

  Who could sleep after all that?

  I certainly couldn’t.

  But Jack could, apparently. And so I lay there, propped up on an elbow, watching my husband’s face, so peaceful in sleep, the slightest of smiles playing the corners of his mouth.

  I wondered: What did he really make of all this, this being what I had already come to think of as The Advent of Denny? Did he take what Denny’d said at face value, that he was here simply to finally bond with his younger brother? Was he satisfied with that? Or was he suspicious? Maybe satisfyingly suspicious? Or suspiciously satisfied? For the life of me, I couldn’t tell. I had no idea what was going on in his sleeping head.

  But I knew one thing; two, actually: I wasn’t satisfied. And I was suspicious.

  I remained like that, thinking, until the light coming through the curtains began to heighten, midnight blue turning into purple and then a strip of gold, and there came the sounds of the boys pounding down the stairs. The boys could sleep through anything, but they could also wake anybody, only in this instance, they hadn’t wakened Jack. They’d be wanting their breakfast soon, so they could take off on another day. They’d also no doubt be wondering why three men were sleeping in our living room. I hauled myself out of bed and to the bathroom, after which I threw on a robe and headed down.

  • • •

  I passed through the living area, in which Matt and Walter, still in their suits, had made themselves at home by shoving several wicker chairs with overstuffed cushions close together and were now snoring soundly. In the dining area beyond I saw a curious sight: my two boys, mouths all but gaping open in agogment, seated across the table from my brother-in-law. Like his bodyguards, Denny also still wore the same clothes he’d arrived in last night. He even still had on the hat. I wouldn’t say he looked tired—far from it; he looked wide awake, his clothes improbably unrumpled—perhaps, like me, he hadn’t slept.

  As I approached, he inclined his head toward me and then spoke sotto voce: “Are they always like this? I swear, they haven’t moved a muscle since they got here.”

  “They’re probably just hungry,” I said in a normal voice.

  What was with this sotto voce nonsense? Did he think they were animals in the zoo behind glass? That they could neither hear nor understand us?

  “Ah!” Denny said. Then: “I suppose I am too, now that you mention it.”

  If he was so flipping hungry, couldn’t he have helped himself?

  I gathered three glasses from the kitchen, along with a pitcher of milk.

  “You’re looking fetching this morning, Mona,” Denny observed.

  Without comment, I went back to the kitchen, grabbed the cereal box, and returned, slapping it on the table with little grace.

  “Ah, Tony the Tiger!” Denny said when he saw what I’d placed in front of him.

  He poured some into his bowl, set the box back down, and reached for his spoon. When neither boy reached for the box, he picked it up a second time, waving it at them so I could hear the contents shaking around.

  “What?” he said. “You don’t like Tony the Tiger? I mean, he’s no Captain Rik but…”

  “You know who Captain Rik is?” this from Harry, breathless. I could be wrong, but I’m fairly certain that this was the first time one of my boys had ever addressed words directly to their uncle. Of course it would be Harry. He was always the bolder of the two. Bold or not, Harry’s eyes were still practically bugging out at the idea of Denny knowing who Captain Rik was.

  “Course,” Denny answered mildly. “Doesn’t everybody?”

  When the boys continued to stare, Denny filled his spoon with a heaping mouthful of cereal, shoveled it in as though demonstrating that it wasn’t poison, and commenced to chew, considering.

  “You know,” he said finally, “it’ll never be Ricicles.” He chewed some more, considered some more. “But it’s got plenty of sugar, plenty of crunch.” He shrugged. “I can’t imagine asking more from a breakfast cereal.”

  “You eat Ricicles?” Harry again.

  Denny snorted a laugh. “Doesn’t everyone, mate? I mean, except when I’m in America of course. Then I eat this.” He offered the box again. “Like I said, Tony the Tiger’s no Captain Rik. But it’ll do in a pinch.”

  This time Harry did take the box, breaking off in a peal of near-hysterical laughter as he did so. I could understand the feeling. Really? Denny Springer ate Ricicles? And he knew who Captain Rik was?

  Harry poured himself a bowl, still giggling, before handing it to William, who began giggling as well.

  Since Denny wasn’t laughing, they quickly sobered up, commencing to eat their cereal, crunching whenever Denny crunched, though I noticed Denny’s spoonfuls had gotten substantially smaller after the first heaping one. Then:

  “So, are you staying here?” Harry asked.

  “It would appear so,” Denny said.

  “But how long will you be staying?” Harry persisted.

  For the first time, William spoke, only he didn’t even look at Denny when he did so. Instead, he looked directly at his younger brother as he said in a hushed voice, “You can’t ask him that question! Remember what Mummy always says? We’re not to ask people how long they’re ever staying, not even Grandma, because it makes people think we want them to leave.” His voice going lower still, he added, “She says they think that even the times we don’t mean it that way.”

  Denny glanced at me with a smile that was at risk of tipping over into a smirk, but he said nothing.

  And neither did I. True, a part of me wanted to validate William, tell him that he was right, that I did always say that. But a far bigger part of me wanted to know the answer to Harry’s question. Just how long was Denny planning on staying?

  “No need to stand on ceremony,” Denny informed the boys. “You can ask me anything. After all, I am your uncle, right?”

  The boys looked startled at this last, as though registering the truth of it for the very first time. Somehow, one of the most famous people in the world also just happened to be their uncle.

  “And you know,” Denny went on, “it’s not like I’m Grandma.” He rolled his eyes at this, waggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated fashion.

  The boys giggled again at this last, and I could tell that they were well and truly charmed by him. I couldn’t help it. In the moment, I suppose I was too.

  “As for the question of how long I’m going to stay?” Denny pondered. “I couldn’t really say for certain. At least a bit, anyway.”

  A bit?

  Was that the best he could do?

  And back to being uncharmed.

  “But where will you sleep?” Harry asked. “We only have three bedrooms.”

  “Last night,” Denny said, “the boys and I slept here, in the living room. Well, the boys slept. I mostly just watched the light change over the water.”

  “You have boys?” Harry asked. For him, this must have seemed like even bigger riches than his uncle loving the same cereal, the idea that Denny might have boys like him and William. Perhaps, I could see the wheels in Harry’s brain turning, Denny’s boys—William and Harry’s cousins—would be close to them in age and they could all play together today?

  “Well, I do have some boys, but none of them are your ages nor are they here.” Denny gave a sigh that was almost sad. “When I said, ‘the boys,’ I was referring to my bodyguards.”

  “
Oh.” Harry looked a little disappointed. But not much stops Harry for long. “You could have my room! And I could move in with William! William would like that!”

  William didn’t speak, but he did nod vigorously, and anyone looking at his eyes could plainly see: he would like that.

  “Thank you!” Denny said. There was a long pause before he added triumphantly, “Harry!”

  It was then I was sure that he hadn’t known which boy was which until that moment.

  “William.” Denny, looking satisfied, regarded my eldest before turning to my youngest. “And Harry.”

  I would have bet anything that he still was unsure which was the oldest. He was probably thinking, They always refer to them as “William and Harry.” People have a tendency to name their children in descending order, and William is the slightly larger of the two. But then, I’m smaller than Jack even though I’m older, so size isn’t always a reliable marker. And too, what if my brother and his wife are odd ducks who refer to their children in ascending order?

  Whatever was going on in his brain, after all these years if he didn’t know which of his nephews were which, and who was older, I certainly wasn’t going to help him.

  “But wait,” Denny said. “Are you sure I won’t be putting you two out?”

  “Oh, no. Even though William’s two years older—he’ll be ten soon—he doesn’t mind rooming in with me,” Harry supplied helpfully.

  And thank you, Harry.

  “But what about…the boys?” Harry asked. “Will they room in with you too?”

  “Oh, I shouldn’t think so,” Denny said. “I prefer my own room if I can get it, and the boys prefer theirs. I think they rather like living rooms. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Fantastic.

  Two large shadows fell across the table, and there were the boys even as we spoke: Matt and Walter. They both looked a bit bleary eyed.

  “Good morning, Boss,” they said.

  Back at the travel agency, I never liked it if one of the workers referred to me to my face as “Boss.” There was just so much wrong with it—the idea that they were living in a subservient status; add to that the feeling that could never escape me that, perhaps, they were using the term ironically?

  Denny, on the other hand, looked as though he wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Denny picked up the box of cereal again, waved it in their direction. “This. Apparently this is what we’re all having for breakfast this morning.”

  One of the bodyguards, I believe it was Matt, took the box, but then he looked around expectantly, so I went and retrieved more bowls and more glasses from the kitchen, placed them on the table.

  Matt and Walter looked around the table, but there were only four chairs, three of which were taken up by Denny, William, and Harry. I remained standing.

  The bodyguards just shrugged, poured cereal into their bowls, and commenced to eat standing up. I suppose they felt that, if only one of them could sit, then both of them must stand.

  “William, Harry,” I said, “shouldn’t you be going? I’ll bet your friends have been wondering where you are.”

  The boys did as I said, but they half backed their way out of the room, as though worried their uncle might be a chimera that would disappear while they were gone. But then the screen slammed. Matt and Walter were about to assume William and Harry’s seats when Denny stopped them.

  “Wait,” he said. “Did you boys brush your teeth yet?”

  Matt and Walter stared down at their feet, looking suitably embarrassed.

  “Gross,” Denny said. “Don’t you know that if you don’t brush your teeth regularly, they could all fall out? Or worse, you’ll wind up looking like Lex?” Without waiting for a response, he added, “Do it now, please.”

  As Matt and Walter headed off to do his bidding, it occurred to me for the first time that if Denny stayed, keeping his entourage with him, there wouldn’t just be five of us now sharing a single bathroom—which would be bad enough—but there would be seven. Plus the driver.

  The driver!

  I got another bowl and glass, filled them, headed out to the driveway. When I got to the driver’s side of the white stretch limo—what? Did Denny make sure to have one of these in any country he traveled in?—I made an impatient rolling-down-the-window gesture with one hand, spilling some cereal in the process.

  “Ma’am?” the driver asked politely. “Can I do something for you?”

  “Did you brush your teeth yet?” I demanded.

  “Why, yes, ma’am. First thing when I get up and after every meal.”

  I shoved the glass of milk and bowl of cereal through the open window.

  “Then here’s your breakfast.”

  • • •

  I reentered the back door to find Denny, in my kitchen, dumping the remainder of his cereal into the trash bin. Come to think of it, after the first few dramatic bites for William and Harry’s sake, he’d only eaten a little more from the heaping bowl he’d poured himself.

  “Not as hungry as you first thought you were?” I asked.

  “I am, actually. But I can’t eat that stuff. I prefer a Mediterranean diet. And I only eat organic.”

  Ooh. La-di-dah.

  “I’ll be sure to make a note of it,” I said, “for the next time I’m at the shops.”

  “Please do,” he said, and may I add, he said it without any irony whatsoever. Then: “But I wouldn’t want you to go to any special trouble, not this very minute. I’ll simply send the boys. Boys!”

  He exited the kitchen, heading back to the dining area, and I followed him. Matt and Walter were at the table, eating. I could only assume they’d brushed their teeth.

  “When you’re done here,” Denny announced, “I need you to go into town, find the finest organic market, get everything we need—you know, the usual staples. Also, I was thinking: a nice gazpacho for lunch and then, perhaps, Fontina-stuffed chicken for dinner?”

  Fontina-stuffed…? Who did he think was going to make all this?

  “We’re at the beach,” I pointed out. “We grill out, hamburgers and hot dogs mostly.”

  For once, I internally praised the Americans for their bizarre obsession with summer barbecuing.

  “Right,” Denny said to Matt and Walter. “Get some of those too. But be sure it’s organic. None of that meat that has who-knows-what stuffed into it.” He turned to me. “But surely, you can also grill an organic chicken on your grill, can’t you? One stuffed with Fontina cheese, perhaps?” Not waiting for my answer, he turned back to the boys.

  The boys. Gack! Now he had me doing it!

  “We could also use some farm-fresh eggs for tomorrow’s breakfast, and whatever vegetables are in season too.”

  This man really was the limit.

  The boys moved to do his bidding, but he stopped them.

  “Wait! How could I have forgotten?” He shot an embarrassed look my way. “We came away so quickly, it was all so spur of the moment, we didn’t bring appropriate clothing. Really, we didn’t bring anything at all except our toothbrushes, passports, and my credit cards.” And back to the boys: “I’ll need everything top to bottom: daywear; eveningwear; something for bedtime too, I suppose. But, you know, as Mona has so helpfully pointed out, we are at the beach, so it should all be appropriately beachy. Lots of cotton and some linen. I’m thinking lots of neutral colors, definitely plenty of white. Specifically, I’d like a whole bunch of pristine white T-shirts, new of course, but they should also look as though I’ve worn them forever, so see what you can do about that.”

  “Right, Boss,” Matt said.

  “You did bring my size chart?” Denny asked.

  “Always, Boss,” Walter reassured him.

  “What?” I rounded on Denny. “You’re sending the boys to do your clothes shopping for you?”

  “And?” He looked completely perplexed.

  “Can’t you even pick out clothes for yourself?”r />
  “I can and have. Come to think of it, I just did. Did I not tell them exactly what I wanted?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “It’s like this, Mona.” He paused long enough to make a slight shooing motion at Matt and Walter.

  I have to say: It was offensive.

  “Oh, wait!” Denny called after them. “And don’t forget to pick up whatever you might need for yourselves as well, Jeeves too.” He made the shooing motion again.

  With Matt and Walter off, Denny began once more.

  “It’s like this, Mona. I simply can’t go shopping for my own clothes here, not in a town like Westport.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Well,” he snorted, “I’d get mobbed, of course. I mean, obviously.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” he demanded.

  “I just don’t think it’s like that here.”

  Now it was his turn to laugh. “It’s like that everywhere, Mona. I think I should know.”

  “Maybe everywhere else. But not here.”

  “What’s so special about here?”

  “It’s Westport.”

  “And?”

  “A lot of famous people have lived in Westport.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald.”

  “Still around, are they?”

  “Of course not. They’re both dead.”

  “Well, then…”

  “Bette Davis.”

  “Another dead one.”

  “That Martha Stewart person.”

  “Hardly rates.”

  “Look, I’ve actually seen them: Paul Newman, Robert Redford, Al Pacino—and no one was bothering them.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Well, it’s true. I don’t think they all live here—if the neighbors’ account is to be trusted, many celebs just like to visit Westport, probably because they don’t get bothered here. Even Diana Ross. Sure, people ogled her more than the usual celebrity—”

  “I’d ogle Diana too. When it comes to other celebrities, Diana is highly oglable.”