“Locks of Love. They’re based in Florida, so the stylist braided it up and mailed it off.” Taryn took her seat, still smiling wide.
“How thoughtful of you. Wow, a police officer, a good Samaritan, and now this!” The man said all the right things, but his tone…yes, that tone was haughty, pompous, and spiked with the bitter flavor of sarcasm-laced judgment.
It’s cool… I expected this. You’re kinda predictable, Mr. Jones… and how boring that is…
“Where’s Mom at? Mom!” Taryn called out, breaking into the conversation like a robber thrusting a rock through a damn window. She sat up a bit, her body language screaming, ‘Mayday! Mayday!’ He knew his sweetheart could feel the thick tension that piled up high like a 1960’s bouffant. And, being her typical self, she sought to protect him, bring out interference, push a pin in the mess, make it deflate and go the hell away.
“Here I am, baby!” her mother called out. The attractive middle-aged woman appeared before them in a black, slightly above the knee form fitting skirt. The light caught the silky material of her ivory shirt, granting her the right touch of elegance and sex appeal. She was a real siren, and it was evident where Taryn had gotten her unparalleled good looks from. The woman paused, crossed her ankles in a dainty sort of way, and tipped her head to the side, causing a salt and pepper cascade of hair to fall over one heavily made up eye.
“So we meet again.” She clasped her hands together and gave him a quick once over, clearly taking him in. Nick immediately got back on his feet. He extended his hand as the woman approached him, meeting at the crossroads. Instead of shaking it, she looked down at the thing as if he’d just finished scratching the crack of his ass good ’nd hard.
“Oh no, that’ll never do,” she chastised before she grabbed him in a strong embrace and pressed him close to her petite body. Her strong perfume assailed his nostrils, an expensive scent with which she’d doused herself quite liberally. Inside, he chuckled at how she held him so close. A wide grin snaked across his face as his chin hung over her shoulder, his face away from observant eyes, shrouding his uncontrollable amusement.
“Mom,” Taryn said dryly. “Is brunch ready?”
The woman finally released him, and cast a look at her daughter as if she’d been awaken from a long slumber. “Yes, I made it myself, too.”
“What?!” Taryn burst out laughing and slapped her knee in sheer amusement. “You rarely cook any more…wow! Nick, you’re in for a real treat then.” She got to her feet, took him by the hand, and led him to the gray and white kitchen lounge area with state of the art stainless steel appliances. Red electronic buttons gleamed from them, and it was more than evident they were programmed to take commands. He’d always fantasized of having a refrigerator that would select his beer for him, and hell, serve it, too. Now, those fantasizes had to be twisted, chopped and screwed, replaced with a desire for chilled juices or iced coffee. He continued to survey the place, duly impressed.
The long, futuristic area looked as if it were set up to show to a potential buyer with a sky-is-the-limit budget and money to burn. Taryn, her father, and he took their respective seats on a series of white leather bar stools at the granite counter, and inhaled the aroma of fried hickory bacon, simmering in its salty, savory oils and baked apples bubbling in a pool of cinnamon and brown sugar. He knew those smells… the same ones that had come from his kitchen as a little boy when Ma would make him a big breakfast for his birthday. Mr. Jones sat to his right, boxing him in like a big truck from an exit.
“Okay.” Mrs. Brown clasped her hands together as if about to teach a class. “Give me your coat. I will let Claire know we are ready for drinks. Virgin bloody Marys and chilled apple sparkling cider for you two.” She winked and smiled, as if what she’d said was particularly witty.
“That sounds really good, Mrs. Brown, thank you. I’ll just take it off and keep my jacket with me.” He nodded, keeping his internal smart-ass thoughts to himself. Besides, she didn’t deserve it; he was simply reacting to the vibe around him. Something was amiss, but he had to wait until his suspicions were confirmed, for delicate hands were needed for such an occasion, despite his desire to call everyone on their bullshit. The woman nodded in his direction then disappeared behind a partition, her bracelets clanking with each high-heeled step she took.
“So, I don’t know what my daughter has told you, Nick, but I’m not one to mince words.”
…And here it comes.
“Well then, we have something in common, because neither am I.” The shit just slipped out, and he didn’t dare look at Taryn. He just kept staring into the older man’s eyes, keeping his nerve on the trigger of his tongue. It didn’t stop the guy, who didn’t blink or halt, but jumped right the fuck in, without testing the waters for shit.
“Were you taking crack or heroine?”
“Dad, really?!” Taryn leaned towards the man, snaking her body past Nick and damn near knocking him off his stool. If she were a cat, her tail would be thick and twitching, bouncing about like some feather duster.
“Neither, actually I—”
“Don’t answer him, Nick,” she snapped.
“No, I demand some damn answers.” The man casually leaned across the bar, grabbed a small white cappuccino cup rimmed in gold, and placed it to his lips.
“I have no problem answering you,” Nick stated calmly.
“Don’t!” Taryn warned once again as her eyes constricted.
After taking a leisurely sip, the fella continued on his twisted campaign to seek and destroy.
“You’re dating my daughter. She’s moved in with you much against my wishes… My feelings about the situation have been ignored and you’re a damn drug addict.”
“And so am I! You and Mom act like I’m better than everyone else out here shootin’ up, drinking up, and falling down. I’m not!”
Her father ignored her, growing colder and ruder by the minute. “I want to know what the hell you’ve been doing, Mr. Vitale, and what plans you have for your life. Do you understand me?!”
No, I need an interpreter… I’m not well versed in the language of bullshit.
“Mr. Jones, I understand that you’re concerned, but let’s get one thing straight, make one thing clear, okay?” Nick lifted a brow and sat a bit taller, a smirk on his proud face.
The man leaned back and cleared his throat, a look of clear disdain and loathing etched across his wide, plain face.
“You have to treat me like a human being, talk to me like a man, or this won’t go anywhere. If you speak to me like a child, then you are setting up some problems in this communication process because then,” he said with a shrug, “I’ll shut down or start sayin’ things that really don’t help us progress. I’m not at work right now, I’m not in rehab either, and I’m not in a support meeting. I’m at my girlfriend’s parents’ home, and that is how I plan to treat this conversation.”
“Nick, I don’t care that you’re a police officer, okay? That might impress some people, but it holds no weight with me,” the man stated sternly. “I wouldn’t care if you were the damn President of the United States or the Pope! Right now,” the man hissed, stabbing the bar with his finger, “regardless of your background, in my mind, you are a drug addict, and drug addicts are unpredictable, and drama surrounds you people wherever you go.”
“Dad! I don’t believe you’re doing this. I just don’t believe this!”
“It’s okay, baby. Let him finish.” Nick grinned.
“As you know from my daughter no doubt, I own Information Capital, Inc., the software development company. Do you know that we have a no tolerance policy for people like you?”
“People like me?” He pointed to himself, his eyes narrowing.
“Yes, drug addicts! Dope heads! Drunks! I won’t tolerate it! If one of my employees is taking drugs, they are fired. No second chances.”
“Well, I’m glad that you’re not my boss then, Mr. Jones. I’m also glad you’re not God… I’m certain you�
��ve needed a second chance at some time in your life. Thankfully, when you did, you weren’t treated in the manner that you treat others.”
The man’s eyes widened, and so did his mouth, yet for a moment or two, nothing came out. Nick appreciated the silence as he was tired of hearing the bastard’s voice. But all good things must come to an end, for the fucker began again.
“My daughter almost lost her life to breast cancer, she became addicted to a pain medication that was prescribed to her. My daughter did not choose to become an addict! You chose to do what you did, didn’t you?! Answer me!”
“Dad, that’s it! Nick, come on, let’s go!” She got to her feet but he grabbed the woman around her waist, forced her to sit on his lap and hugged her tightly around the waist. He didn’t miss how the man’s eyes dropped to their joined hands…
No honey, I need to talk to your father…just chill.
“Answer you? I had no intentions of not doing so, but once again, you’re going about this all wrong.” He talked himself into conversing calmly, not allowing the man to rock him, for he had a final destination and one wrong move would force him off the edge. “Taryn is your child, I’m not. But despite her being your daughter, she is an adult. I understand that you are protective over her. Who wouldn’t be after all that has occurred? Back to you and I though… I don’t know you. I only know of you, so I expect you to acknowledge the same. If you want to get to know me, then we can talk. I’m open, just like I said, but you are coming at me in a rather hostile manner. Let’s start over, okay?” He grinned wide, extending the olive branch when in fact he wanted to take his fist and crack it across the man’s flabby face. The monster inside of him wanted a chance at bat; he told it to beat it, yet his threats were insincere…
“If you were a father you’d understand, Mr. Vitale. Or maybe you are, hell if I know.” Mr. Jones shot a disapproving glance at his grown child, then back at him. “You might have twenty kids spread across New York for all I know!”
“Dad.” Taryn sighed loudly, dropped her head and held it as if in serious distress. “I asked him here so that you and he could get to know one another, not to argue and hurl accusations. He is insisting on still being here when I was ready to leave ten minutes ago! Would you PLEASE stop it?! This is ridiculous!”
“I’m not arguing with the man, Taryn.” His brows dipped but his tone went icier as he addressed her. “I’m trying to get answers, figure out what’s going on here, and get to know him just as you said.”
“Get to know him?! Get to know him?!” Her voice became shrill with anger. “Really?! I can’t tell! Right out the gate your first question is not how he is doing, what does he like to do, or where did he grow up. Instead, it’s does he do crack or heroine!’”
“…It was past tense.”
“Who cares? That’s not the first thing you ask someone! He is a guest in this home!”
The back of her head continued to bob about in that ‘black woman gone rogue’ way he’d seen his entire life from various women in the neighborhood. He simply sat back and observed for a short while, watching her father very closely. He wanted to jump in, tag team his ass, but he thought better of it.
…Come on, keep control…stay in control…
“Claire is on her way out.” Mrs. Brown flaunted a pleasant smile as she reentered the room, seemingly none the wiser about the shit pile she’d stepped into. Taryn rose from his lap and returned to her original seat, though she kept a stern eye on her father, looking past Nick at the man, anger stamped all over her face.
“So, Taryn says you go back to work soon. Are you excited?” The older woman reached into a clear bowl in front of her, secured a green and white-striped piece of mint candy, and popped it into her mouth.
“I am.” He faced the woman head on, giving her his full attention as the scent of spearmint hit his nostrils. “It will be nice to get back in the swing of things.”
She nodded in understanding as she overtly assessed him. “You know, Nick, I’m a talent scout.” She noisily sucked on the candy.
“Yes, Taryn told me… Musicians, right?”
“Yes, classical musicians, particularly children,” she clarified, her eyes sparkling just so.
“That’s cool, really nice.” An image of Trey’s twisted face jumped inside of his cramped mind, assaulted the conversation, derailed his mood even further. The man’s angry expression regarding his son’s abuse bum rushed him and demanded examination at the most inappropriate time. At that moment, he imagined the piano, Oliver looming behind, and the little naïve black boy with the large dark brown eyes, fingers placed perfectly on the ebony and ivory keys, none the wiser to the terror that lurked in his wake…
Shit!
The whole repugnant ordeal fucked him over, made his heart beat a bit faster. He pieced the sordid scene together, though he’d never witnessed it. For some reason it seemed so eerily clear, his imagination getting the best of him. He closed his eyes for a brief spell and pushed the bad imagery away like dust particles into a broom pan.
“I don’t listen much to classical music, but I appreciate it,” he finally said, engaging once more.
“So were you ever drunk when responding to calls, Mr. Vitale?” Mr. Jones interrupted.
“Nick, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. Get your coat back on, we’re—”
“Taryn.” He turned slowly towards her, gently touched her shoulder, his gaze on the older man. “It’s okay, really… I have this under control.” He winked at the woman and started to speak but before he could reply, Mrs. Brown cut him off at the pass.
“Robert, now you know better than to ask something like that,” the mother weakly chastised.
He couldn’t see her, but he had no doubt from how the words rolled out of her mouth that she, too, felt shocked and indignant. Just then, a lofty woman with red hair secured into a sloppy bun entered the room. Wearing a crisp, white dress that tied in the middle and a pleasant smile, she emerged from behind the partition carrying an ornate silver tray full of drinks, some of which showcased sparkly fruit candies floating atop them.
“Perfect timing, Claire,” Mrs. Brown clasped her hands together as if deliberating her next chess move. “I’m parched.” The woman reached for the largest one, rimmed with what appeared to be large brown sugar crystals. “Thanks so much.” Tilting the glass to her lips, she took a delicate sip as the server nodded and placed the rest of the items down on the bar.
“I’ll be bringing out the potatoes, salmon, eggs, cream leek soup, and bacon in just a moment.”
“Wonderful.” Mrs. Brown took another sip of her drink.
“Thank you, Claire.” Taryn reached for a glass filled with something red and thick, a large stalk of celery sticking straight out of it.
“You’re welcome. It’s so nice when you come by,” the maid stated, sincerity in her voice.
“It’s always nice to see you too, Claire…wish I could say the same about my father.” The big man shot her a vile grimace. Claire tried to tuck away a smirk, but it was far too late for it showed before she turned her back and disappeared back behind the partition.
“Mr. Jones, do you mind if I ask you a question?”
The man turned towards him, releasing his big hands from around a martini glass filled with what Nick presumed was vodka.
“What is it?” He crossed his arms and sat back casually in his seat, his tiny eyes growing even smaller.
“Well.” Nick grinned. “Let me take a step back. I first want to say that I understand you being concerned about my relationship with Taryn. You asked if I’d be apprehensive if I were in your shoes, and the answer to that is, ‘Yes.’ Here is the thing though.” He coughed into his fist. “You’re angry. You’re worried and honestly, you’re scared. You also probably believe I’m not good enough for your daughter. Even if I had never been drunk a day in my life or never snorted coke, you’d still believe that because, well, I’m the boy from the wrong side of the tracks, right? I don’t
come from what you’d call a wholesome family. I’m sure you’ve asked Taryn all of these things, and you discovered her answers, though honest, weren’t to your liking.”
“Yes…” Mr. Brown stated in almost a whisper.
“Here is the very short version of what happened to me regarding my drug use. What I’m about to tell you are not excuses; they are just what led me to do what I was doing’.” He swallowed, gathered his thoughts before going on. “I have been struggling my entire life to find out where I belonged. I was not the worst child in the world, but certainly not the best. I grew up in a household with a woman who loved me but had no idea of the struggles I was going through on a daily basis.
“My parents weren’t married. I didn’t know my father, Mr. Jones, and still don’t. To pretentious people like you, that’s the definition of a bastard.”
“Now hold on a minute, Nick—”
“No, you hold on a minute, okay? You’ve sat here throwing out accusations that were designed to incite me, get me goin’. I’m not stupid and neither are you so don’t try to play me, alright?” His brows dipped and jaw tightened while his nerves strained, the bad monster within trying to take over and put in work.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said stiffly.
Nick dramatically rolled his eyes, looked over at nothing in particular then focused his attention again on the guy.
“Just stop, seriously. You said you wanted to know me, to find out what I’m up to and all of that, so be quiet and let me tell you. This isn’t a courtroom, but you treated me like some accomplice to murder. I don’t appreciate it.”
“Nick, please calm down. I’d like to apologize for my husband if he offended you…”
He looked over his shoulder at the woman, and smiled.
“In order for me to have been offended, Mrs. Brown, I’d have needed to have higher expectations… I didn’t.” She shot him a look of utter surprise just before he turned back towards the man. “Now, back to what I was saying. As a child, I watched my best friend get murdered in one of the cruelest ways you can imagine. I was covered in his blood for several hours and will never forget it. I saw three people die from gunshot wounds before I’d reached age ten. I knew what gun smoke smelled like and the noises a guy makes before he takes his last breath.” He plucked an odd looking orange colored drink from the tray, examined it for a second or two, then took a taste…
In the Nick of Time Page 46
