I can't help but laugh. I forbade mom and dad from attending my book signings – it would be too embarrassing to have them hovering over my shoulder as I worked – and dad has totally the wrong idea about what goes on in a book store. He seems to think I'm up on a floodlit stage surrounded by screaming fans.
"There's no star treatment, dad, but I did get unlimited coffee and access to the staff bathroom."
Dad chuckles and shakes his head. "So you didn't get dropped off in limo and served champagne? Penny, you have to set her up with a better agent."
Penny nods. "I hear JK Rowling gets male strippers sent to her hotel room when she's on book tours." She loves to tease dad. "I'll have a word down at the office, OK?"
Dad grins. "Only the very best for my little girl," the volume of his voice climbs a little higher, "the New York Times bestseller."
I sink a little lower in the seat. "I think they heard you in the kitchen, dad. You can stop yelling now."
"Actually," Penny pipes up, "we did get one special visitor to the store." I try to kick her leg under the table, but miss. "Rafe dropped by."
As soon as she sees my mom's face freeze Penny knows she shouldn't have mentioned him.
"Rafe Stone?" mom asks, coldly.
Penny looks like she's searching for a handy hole in the ground. "Umm, yeah. He, err, he just dropped by for a couple of minutes. No big deal." Penny grabs a glass of water and takes a big gulp to avoid looking at my mom.
Mom turns to me with ice cold fury in her eyes. "I thought we made it crystal clear you weren't to have any contact with that boy, Madison. I don't want him anywhere near my family."
I can't quite believe she just said that. I'm 25 years old, and I'm more than old enough to decide who I speak to. I feel like laying into her but I really don't want to get into a big thing in public. "Mom, can we just drop it please?"
"Drop it? Drop it? That little criminal almost ruined our lives! I don't even want him in the same state as you, never mind the same damned book store!"
"Mom, settle down," I plead, wondering how much she's had to drink. "It was seven years ago. Besides, he served his time. You don't think he might be due a little forgiveness?"
Dad puts his hand on mom's arm. "Aubrey, let's not make a big scene, OK?"
"I don't want you seeing that boy again, Madison. He's a loser. He's always been a loser, and he'll always be a loser."
"Mom! How can you --"
"I'll say my piece," she interrupts. "That boy forced us out of our home. We offered him nothing but kindness, and he threw it back in our faces. No daughter of mine will ever associate with scum like that. They should lock him up and throw away the –"
"Aubrey!" Dad barks suddenly. "For Christ's sake, knock it off!"
Everyone at the table freezes, and I hear the scrape of chairs as diners at the surrounding tables turn to check out the show. I don't remember the last time I heard dad raise his voice in anger at anything but ESPN.
"You're talking about my son," dad growls. "He may not be perfect, but he's still my son. He made a mistake as a kid, and he paid for it. Who the hell hasn't fucked up once or twice? Now it's seven years later and you're still not ready to forgive and forget? That enough, Aubrey. It's... it's just enough."
For a moment mom looks like she's going to burst into tears, but after a few moments of staring at dad in shock she kicks back her chair and bolts for the door, bumping into a waiter on the way.
Penny and I sat frozen through all of this. I've never once heard dad complain about the way mom speaks about Rafe. I'm guessing that was the culmination of years of frustration.
"Sorry about that, Maddy,” dad sighs. “Your mom had a few drinks at lunch. I don't think she meant more than half of what she said." He pulls out his wallet and fishes out some bills. "So Rafe's in town, huh?"
I nod. "Uh huh. He's living here now."
"Good for him. Did he look like he's doing OK?"
I shrug. "I guess so. He's got an apartment and a nice suit. I guess he can't be doing that badly. Ummm, he kinda invited me to go meet him at a bar. His band is playing."
Dad gives me a questioning look, and suddenly blurts out the last thing I'd ever expect his to say. "You still love him, don't you?" My shocked expression must be giving me away. "Oh, don't look so surprised, Maddy. Your think a dad can't tell when his daughter's head over heels? I knew how you felt about that boy the moment Don slapped the cuffs on him. If you'd had the chance you would have followed him to jail."
I can't believe he's being so... I don't know, so relaxed about it. "It doesn't bother you that I have feelings for your son?"
Dad sighs. "I'm not gonna lie, it isn't ideal, Madison. I'd really prefer it if you'd had the good sense to fall for one of the seven billion people on the planet who aren't related to me, but I don't think a father can reasonably expect to have any say in who his daughter falls in love with. I just want you to be happy, and that's all I'll say on the matter."
He drops the bills in front of me, pushes back his chair and knocks back the rest of his beer. I'm guessing mom wasn't the only one who had a few drinks at lunch. "Look, I better go find your mom before she finds herself in Jersey. I'll get her back to the hotel. Penny, it was great to see you."
Penny gives dad an awkward smile. "You too, Mr. Moriarty. Umm, I'm sorry about mentioning Rafe. If I'd known it would have caused a problem..."
"Don't worry about it, hon, it's not your fault. I've been wanting to tell her off for about five years now. I'm just sorry you guys had to see it." He sighs and looks towards the door. "OK, wish me luck."
"I hope you find her soon, dad. I'll see you back at the hotel."
With that, dad slumps his shoulders and heads for the door.
Penny and I sit silently for a minute, neither of us wanting to speak first.
"Huh," I say, eventually. "That was... unexpected."
Penny toys with her pizza. "What, the part where your mom turned into the Hulk, or the part where your dad kinda gave you his blessing to fuck your stepbrother?"
"Both."
"Yeah. So... you wanna head over to the gig?"
I stare at the crumpled business card for a moment, wondering if I really want to open up that can of worms again. Sure, dad doesn't seem like he'd be too weirded out if I pursued Rafe, but mom made it pretty clear that she'd die before she gave us her blessing.
Oh, fuck it.
"Yeah, let's go."
I can feel the butterflies fluttering in my stomach as the cab winds through the city, weaving left and right through the narrow, muddled streets of Downtown before turning north on Bowery, crawling through the heavy evening traffic and then peeling right onto 6th Street. I look down to double check the address scrawled on Rafe's business card: 525 6th Street.
I can't help but feel excited as I see the numbers on the doors of the buildings count up. At 200 I can feel my heart pound in my chest, and Penny takes my hand.
"Hey, girl, you look pretty hyper. Chill out, OK?"
I give her a wan smile. "I know, I know. I'm just a little... I don't know. I haven't seen this guy in seven years. I don't know anything about his life. What if he was just being polite with his invite? I mean, what if he's married?" My eyes widen. "Fuck, Pen, what if he's married?!"
"Settle down, Gobi girl, he's not married. Haven't you ever checked him out on Facebook?"
I give Penny a look and pull out the clunky phone I picked up at a market in Ulaanbaatar. "Pen, I use a ten year old Nokia 3210 and I wrote my book on my dad's old Selectric typewriter. You know I don't use Facebook."
"I always forget you left when MySpace was still a thing," Penny laughs. "God, it's like we found you frozen in a glacier. Look, check it out." Penny passes me her iPhone, open to Rafe's Facebook page. "I can't see much without friending him, but according to this he's not attached. Here, gimme." She takes back the phone and taps the screen while I look out the window and count the numbers on the buildings.
"Jackpot. Thank you,
Google. Rafe Stone, sole proprietor of Perfect Pitch. Let's see..." She taps the phone a couple of times. "Oh wow, look at this article from a few months back. 'New York musical wunderkind Rafe Stone today sold Perfect Pitch to Facebook for an undisclosed figure. It's hoped that his groundbreaking app will drive a new generation of...' yada yada yada, business stuff. Ooh, looks like he might be loaded, Maddy."
"OK, that'll do," I say, snatching the phone from Penny's hand. "Can we please not stalk the guy online? I'm an old fashioned girl, Pen."
"Oh, come on, this is the way it's done these days. Everyone knows everything about everyone. Get with the times, cave girl."
I shake my head. I can't deny I'm curious, but I really do hate this modern obsession people have with using the Internet to discover every little detail about each other. Mystery is underrated. I'm about to launch into a rant against the web when I catch a glimpse of number 500. I tap the driver on the shoulder. "OK, can you please let us out here? Thank you." I can tell by Penny's stifled laugh that this isn't how you're supposed to communicate with a cab driver in New York.
The cab pulls to the side of the road and lets us out on the quiet street. It looks nice, with manicured trees casting a shadow over well-kept red brick townhouses, but it doesn't look like the kind of place I'd expect to find a bar.
I walk quickly ahead of Penny, checking out the numbers painted above each door until I finally reach 525.
"Huh."
This definitely isn't a bar. The plate glass window looks in on some kind of reception area, and above the front door hangs a swinging wooden sign that reads '6th Street Pilates.'
Penny catches up, and looks at the sign. "Yeah, this place is really rockin'. Umm, are you sure you got the right address?"
I nod, slipping the business card from my pocket. "Definitely. Check it out. 525 6th Street. So where the hell's the bar?"
"He must have written the wrong address or something. Give him a call and double check."
"I didn't get his number, Pen, just the address." As soon as the words are out of my mouth I realize my mistake. "Ignore that, I'm being an idiot." I flip over the business card, pull out my dinosaur of a phone and dial the number. Rafe picks up on the second ring.
"Hello?" I can hear loud music in the background.
"Hi, Rafe, it's Madison. Hey, so I'm at the address you gave me but I don't see the bar."
"You don't see it? Can you not hear the music?"
"No, nothing. I'm in front of a building that says '6th Street Pilates', and there's... I don't know, a bakery across the street. No bars."
"Wait, wait. Where are you?"
I can feel a little twinge of anger appear now. "I'm at the damned address you gave me, and it's wrong. 525 6th Street."
Rafe's laughter comes through loud and clear. "Read it again, Princess. The address is 52 South 6th Street. You know, in Brooklyn?"
I look back at the card, and as soon as I see the writing I can see he's right. That second 5 is clearly an S.
"No, it definitely says 5. You have terrible handwriting, Rafe." I developed quite the stubborn streak in Mongolia, and I'll be damned if I concede the point that easily.
"Whatever you say, Madison," Rafe laughs. "Look, I have some buddies coming down from uptown right now. Stay right where you are and they'll pick you up in a few minutes, OK? Don't worry, they know how to get around even if you don't."
"Hey, I know my way around if I'm given the right address, jackass. Don't give me any of that yaksteh."
Another laugh. "Hey, I know that word from your book. You're saying I'm full of bullshit in Mongolian, right? Aww, that's sweet. OK, I gotta go, but you can continue swearing at me when you get to the bar. See you soon, Princess."
With that he hangs up the phone, and for the first time in many years I feel the weird, infuriating but strangely attractive rush of wanting to fuck and throttle a guy at the same time. I don't know what it is about Rafe. Even after a seven years absence he can still push all my buttons just by breathing in my direction.
"So what's the word, hummingbird?" Penny asks, lighting a cigarette.
"We got the wrong address," I reply. "But don't admit that to Rafe. Hey, put that death stick out. Our chariot awaits."
I see a yellow cab turn into the street, and when it pulls up beside us a young hipster dude with a fussily manicured beard pushes open the back door. "You Madison?" I nod. "Hop in."
The hipster and what looks like his female beardless twin move over to make space, and as soon as Penny and I squeeze into the back they both go back to silently staring at their phones as the cab moves away. A minute later we turn south onto FDR, and before I know it we've crossed the Williamsburg bridge to Brooklyn, and the cab turns onto South 6th Street.
"This is it?" I ask. "Hell, we could have just walked."
The hipster guy snorts with derision. "Walk? What are you, new?" He looks me up and down, and clearly isn't a fan of the leather jacket I made out on the steppe. "Hey Sara," he says, rousing his female friend from her iPhone coma, "Indiana Jane here wanted to walk."
Wow. Well, if nothing else this douche has helped me establish that I'm not attracted to just any guy who acts like a prick. That honor is reserved for Rafe, it seems.
The cab pulls in front of the bar, and I toss a few dollars at the hipster before climbing out. "Buy yourself a personality, asshole," I mutter, slamming the door closed as soon as Penny's clear. "Jesus, I hate New Yorkers. How do you survive here, Pen?"
Penny laughs. "Ummm, by avoiding bars like this, usually. Oh god, they're drinking out of jars."
I look around at the tables and cringe inwardly. The bar is some kind of disused warehouse, and out front a couple of dozen tragic hipsters sit on wooden kegs around tables made from old doors. Pretty much every guy here is wearing a beard and a weird, stylized approximation of a lumberjack outfit. I really can't explain why this turns me off so much, but these guys just look like boys dressed up as men. It's as if they think that a plaid shirt and a thick beard makes them woodsmen; like it's the look that makes the man. I don't know... I just think that if they want to dress up as lumberjacks they should know how to swing a fucking ax. I can.
Penny vanishes off to the bathroom, leaving me surrounded by a crowd of guys enthusiastically discussing the pros and cons of the craft beer they've chosen, and I'm relieved when I feel a tap on the shoulder and turn to see Rafe.
"You made it!" he yells above the music, and draws me in for a hug. I can't deny it feels good to be close to him again, and as his arms squeeze my body I can't help but remember that one perfect morning in the motel. As he pulls away he looks around at the crowd with something approaching annoyance. "Come on, I can't stand another minute down here. Follow me."
He takes my hand and pulls me through the crowd and into the building, where the sound of a fiddle solo from some Mumford & Sons knockoff is even louder, and on to the concertina door of an elevator. It looks like it hasn't worked for a century, but as Rafe pulls me in and yanks the door closed the motor kicks into life and we ascend, leaving the noise behind us.
"Sorry, I just can't listen to one more trust fund asshole tell me about his new artisanal ice cube venture. What the fuck happened to our generation?"
Jesus, I'm glad he said that. "I know, right? These guys aren't your friends?"
Rafe shakes his head. "God, no. I'm just doing the owner of this place a solid. It's opening night and he wanted me to play a little, but it turns out he doesn't have a piano. Asshole promised me he'd set me up, but when I got here it turned out he only has a fucking Casio SK-1. Can you believe it?"
Stepbrother Fallen Page 11
