by Aven Jayce
Tap, tap.
Tap, tap, tap.
A walking cane raps against my lobby floor, and all three of us turn toward the sound. An older man, much older, I’d say in his eighties, is sitting in one of the chairs next to the fireplace. His head’s down like he’s taking a nap, but his cane’s tapping some overt message... or perhaps following the beat of the music. It’s unusual to have someone his age at my hotel. I get baby-boomers every once in a while, but never anyone from the silent generation.
“That was weird,” Jack whispers. “He did that right after you mentioned someone knocking at your door. Ya think he’s listening? FBI? CIA? Do you have guys like that after you?”
“No. My life is black and white. There’s no grey area or unknowns. Stop fantasizing.” I look away from the old man and back at my son. “Where are you going and who’s driving?”
“Well, I heard the food at the Jameson is outstanding—the perfect spot for a romantic dinner, especially if you can get us a table that overlooks the lake.”
“Clever.” I grin. “Everyone’s using me for my restaurant this evening... just make sure you stay out of your suite.”
“Cool, I heard pool sex is a lot of fun.”
Fucking teenage boys. “Jack, I’ve got things to deal with other than making sure you behave inside my business. Try to act like a responsible adult.”
He rises quickly and puts on a show as a young girl walks through my front door. Once her winter coat is in his arms, he sets his hand on the side of her neck and rubs her cheek, telling her she looks delectable.
Delectable? What is she, a piece of chocolate cake? Is my son talking about a dish in a food magazine, or her face?”
They kiss... for way too fucking long I might add, and after she touches his hair, they walk past us without even saying hello. Down they go, toward the back of the hotel where my restaurant is tucked away.
“Did you see how short her dress is? And her heels are higher than mine.”
“Oh yeah, trust me, I saw... I can see.” I watch my son’s hand sliding down her ass. “I don’t understand where kids get so many tats from when they’re underage, or how they can afford to pay for them.”
“Right? She had a heart on her arm and wings on her chest, not to mention the birds on the back of her leg. The girl’s cute, and I hate to say it, sexy too. Other than the fact that she’s doused in patchouli, I’m jealous.” She caresses my knee and studies the door, waiting for her parents to arrive.
“Jack cleans up well, thanks for taking care of him today. I’m assuming you bought the ChapStick too?”
She nods. “Have you had the sex chat with him?”
“What? Jesus Christ, sometimes talking to you is like having a conversation with Sophia. Such random shit pops into your head.”
“It’s not random. He was just talking about getting laid. I hope you’ve discussed it with him. Does he have condoms?”
“From ChapStick to buying condoms.” My head falls back and I stare at the flickering white lights that hang from my beamed ceiling, reminding me of dripping icicles. “No. He was too young for a discussion about sex when my ex and I were still together, and I haven’t been around him in years. I was hoping she had gone over all that crap with him. And he’s too old now.”
“Don’t be ignorant.”
“Hey, I did alright without someone talking to me about things. Plus, I’m not going to embarrass him.”
Tap-tap.
Tappity-tap.
“Embarrass him or yourself?” she asks.
Tap.
That old fucker’s annoying.
I’m distracted from the rapping cane when Jules rushes to the door, putting her arms around a middle-aged woman while a man follows close behind. He brushes snow off his brown leather coat and nearly slips in the snowy entryway. After knocking the snow from his cowboy boots, he pulls Jules into a tight hug.
“Hi, peanut.”
“I’ve missed you,” she says. “You guys look great! Thanks for coming!”
“Are you kidding me? We finally get to meet this mystery man you’ve been keeping from us for a year.”
The three of them turn and I’m put on the spot. Fuck, I hate this shit. I’d favor smoking pot or watching porn right about now. Or better yet, I’d rather my son stab me again than make small talk for the next two hours. But for my beautiful woman, I stand, put on my best smile, and extend a hand. Her father gives me the firm, double-handed grasp.
“Mark, is it?”
“Yes, Mark Jameson.”
He nods.
“Great to meet you, finally. Nice hotel you got here. It’s a massive beast, isn’t it?” He gazes at the two-story, log-beamed ceiling and opulent decorations, but his wife clearing her throat leads him back to the conversation.
“I’m Sam.” He shakes my hand a second time then brings his wife closer. “And this is Karina.”
“It’s a pleasure, Mark. Thanks for inviting us,” she says tenderly.
I didn’t invite these people... “It’s my pleasure. I’m glad you could come.”
Sam and Karina Barringer. Their names sound like a couple of gangsters, but they remind me of real estate agents. She’s a gorgeous, tall, athletic, women with golden blonde hair and tanning bed, tinted flesh, just like Jules. A beauty queen, in fact. I was told she’d won a few pageants back in her day, which I suppose would be about twenty-five years ago. She takes off her long winter coat to reveal a black sweater dress that, although ordinary, looks stunning because of her add-ons—a red silk scarf and large-stone, turquoise jewelry.
And Sam’s also the type of guy who would’ve been prom king, standing like a marine, light brown hair neatly trimmed into a crew cut, broad shoulders, and wearing clothing that reminds me of something you’d find in Robert Redford’s Sundance catalog. Affluent, mature, and the all-American western man, right down to the classic musk-scented cologne. The two are classy, something I never imagined, especially considering Jules’ foul-mouth.
I motion for us to head to the restaurant, seeing Jules crack a smile. “Payback’s a bitch, just wait,” I whisper as we leave the lobby.
“It’s worth it. I love seeing you squirm every once in a while.”
“You’re the one who’ll be squirming later tonight.”
“Hey, I told you we’re not getting married until you meet my parents. Now buck up, buddy, and grow a pair. It’s one night,” she says under her breath.
“My nights are always long. Sometimes they can last weeks.”
“What the fuck, Mark? Just shut up and open the door for us.”
I walk ahead and hold the door of my restaurant open for her parents as they approach. The feeling in the pit of my stomach is exactly why I didn’t want to do this shit. It’s not nerves, more of a feeling of disgust for the common man. Yeah, sounds pathetic, but I’ve made it clear that I like to work, fuck, and get high, not have dinner with mommy and daddy.
“Wow, look at this place. It’s like a holiday movie set from the 50s that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. A winter wonderland.” Karina’s stunned reaction is exactly what I hope for from my guests. “Everything’s silver and gold, and the red lilies on each table are such a festive touch. It’s so beautiful!” She turns back to us and notices our outfits, Jules in a black dress with sparkling gold heels and me with a black suit and a silver-ish, light grey, dress shirt. “The two of you even match.”
“Follow me.” I grin, taking them to one of the tables overlooking the lake. “I have white Mariposa lilies on the tables year round, except during the holidays when red seems more appropriate.”
“That’s pretty, too.” She points out the window to a row of pines covered in white lights, creating a glistening effect on the snow around my property.
“Mark has a brilliant designer who comes in every three months to update the hotel for the changing seasons and holidays. He’s a fun guy. I got to work with him last time h
e was here.”
“I’m impressed,” Sam says, pulling a chair out for his wife. “Is it family money?”
“Dad, don’t be rude,” Jules scolds.
I notice Jack’s to our left, a few tables away with Emma’s hand in his. He’s ordering for her, something he must’ve picked up from me at some point in his life. And there’s that old fucker, across the room, staring at the four of us. There’s no way it’s a coincidence he’s here. Who the hell is this guy? He doesn’t look familiar... caterpillar eyebrows, deep forehead wrinkles, stern expression, and a fine black suit... whether on purpose or not; he’s got the typical mob boss appearance.
Nonchalantly, I rub the left side of my chest to check that my gun’s in place, and I sense he knows the weapon’s there. The guy’s a giant red flag.
“Some of it is family money and some I earned, and I’m not ashamed of any of it,” I finally answer.
“Earned how?” he asks.
“A couple of companies in Vegas.”
“Mark, you don’t have to get too detailed,” Jules cautions.
“Well, I’d prefer if he did, especially if you plan on marrying the guy,” he says. “What were the companies? Technology, insurance, pharmaceuticals, what?”
Our server pours four glasses of wine and I order a salad and the steak dinner for everyone. Thankfully, no one complains about it, and I’d say Sam’s too busy with my personal life to care.
“Manufacturing companies? Construction, retail?”
“No, personal services and hospitality.”
“Dad, drink some wine and stop harassing my man. I want to have a nice meal together, not an interview, okay? Please?”
“What do you mean by personal services? Like a massage parlor or an escort service?”
“In a sense, yeah.”
He leans back and the two of us drink, keeping our eyes glued on one another. I pour us both a second glass and we drink again.
“And here we go.” Karina smiles at Jules. “You know your dad needs to be in control.”
“Yeah, but Mark does too.”
“Should we make a bet over who’ll rule the table at the end of the night?” she jokes.
“I think Dad will win. I’ve got more power over Mark than you do in your marriage, so if I tell him to back down, he—”
“Excuse me?” I show my best authoritative look.
“We’re only teasing.” She grins.
“Sam, honey, why don’t you tell him what you do for a living.”
He swirls his wine, looking curiously at Jules. “You’ve been together for a year and you haven’t told him? How is it possible that my little peanut has kept her mouth shut for this long?”
“She told me you work in theater... that you do costume and makeup design. Which, I realize this will sound stereotypical, but I pictured you a little more feminine, less brawny, with more of the college professor look. Perhaps with longer hair and a beard. Maybe feminine is the wrong word. How ‘bout, hippy-like?”
They laugh, but I was being serious.
“Yeah, that’s quite the clichéd description,” he says.
I shrug and glance at Jack, then to the older guy who’s busy with a salad and a beer. He eats while keeping one hand on his cane, still tapping it every few minutes.
“What do you think an embalmer would look like?” Sam asks.
Embalmer? I study his face, wondering if he finds himself entertaining, only the guy’s dead serious... an embalmer who’s dead serious. Raising a brow at Jules, she bows her head and seals her lips. Her chair is pulled closer and her leg gripped tightly under the table. “And what, exactly, does your father mean by that?” I’m not even going to ask him... she’s the one who needs to fess up. “You lied.”
“What? No, I didn’t.”
“A makeup artist is a far cry from an embalmer.”
“No, that’s exactly how you would describe his job.”
“What the fuck? Not even close. Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”
Her mouth drops open like I’m the one being an ass, especially for swearing in front of her parents, but she’s the one in deep shit, not me. “A freakin’ embalmer?”
“So what’s the issue, Mark? I don’t make enough money for you to marry my daughter, or are you worried that I’m morbid? Perhaps into necrophilia?”
“Dad!” Her face reddens.
“I’ve met a few people who are fond of dead bodies, so no big deal,” I retort.
“Mark!” She smacks my side.
“I’ve even seen a dead man first hand, and yep, felt a twinge in my pants for the guy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I just noticed my son’s about to get me arrested.”
As I walk away, I can hear Jules stressing that I wasn’t being serious... “Don’t listen to him. He’s playing around like he always does, but just wait, eventually he’ll crack a smile and tell you he’s kidding.”
The bottle of wine was on Jack’s table, clear as day a moment ago. I’m sure of it, so he better not bitch when I call him out.
His date gets one of my warmest smiles as my hand rests firmly on his shoulder. “Son.” I lean down for a private chat. “I’m not getting shut down for serving liquor to kids, and you sure as fuck don’t want one of my guests to call CPS, so why don’t you be a good boy and hand me the bottle before I reopen your scabby ears and make you cry in front of your date.”
He laughs and reaches under the table, handing me the wine. “CPS would surely be on the way if you did that.”
“You know how it goes, buddy. Your ears got caught on my cufflinks as I was reaching out to give you a hug. Shit happens.”
“I wink at Emma and carry the bottle and their glasses back to my table. Someone’s getting fired tonight. Fucking staff, serving my kid alcohol.”
“Who gave him that?” Jules questions while her parents stalk my son. I wave the hostess over to find out what happened, watching her bright smile quickly change to a horrified expression.
“I’ll check on it, Mr. Jameson. I’m so sorry.” She hurries off, waving at the servers to follow her into the kitchen.
“So you were married?” Karina pries, curious as to Jack’s presence in the room. “Sorry, that wasn’t a polite thing to ask. And, I’m unsure why I did, Jules already mentioned it once or twice... or three times.”
Ah, so this is indeed an issue with them. “Married and divorced,” I respond, feeling a line form between my bows while placing a dinner roll on my plate. She has no reaction, but surveys her daughter for any indication that my baggage bothers her, only Jules is focused more on the arrival of our food than my past.
I’m not going to allow the previous conversation to slide. And we’re sure as fuck not going to discuss my ex... “How’d you get into the embalming business?”
“My father,” he says. “What about you and yours?”
“Same.”
We lift our knives, copycatting each slice into our tender, bloody steaks. My fork rises, his follows, and we chew simultaneously with forced smiles. I lick my lips, he licks his... and I imagine anyone watching would either think we’re about to beat the pulp out of one another, or rip each other’s clothes off and fuck. Yeah, it’s that type of tension.
“Women tend to marry their fathers,” I whisper, cutting another piece of meat.
“And men tend to marry women who look like their mothers,” he strikes back. “And from your blonde hair and the Detail’s-wanna-be, cover model look you’re sporting, I’d say that’s true. Is your mother a cute and fit blonde, like my daughter?”
“Hold on, you two.” Karina sets her wine down and takes her husband’s hand. “This table is oozing with testosterone for no good reason. For crying out loud, you just met. Focus on the fact that you both love this beautiful, young woman sitting before us, and she loves both of you. Now, play nice.” She takes a swig of wine and smiles at Jules.
“Well,” Sam starts another attack. “
He didn’t get that mug from Paul.”
“What the fuck?” I stand and reach for my gun while he follows suit. Goddammit, what the fuck is this shit?
“Whoa, whoa, wait.” Jules grabs my hand and keeps my weapon concealed as Karina does the same at Sam’s waist. “Sit down,” she begs. “You have an audience.”
“This is my fucking home, my hotel, my world.”
“This is my daughter and I have the right to know who she’s marrying.”
Our jaws are clenched, muscles tense, and hands confined, hidden under our jackets. My son starts to walk over, but I motion for him to stay back. I can handle this prick without the kid getting in the way.
“Mark, seriously, you hate it when people cause a scene and now you’re doing it. Breathe, love, just breathe. Let’s talk this through.”
My arm drops as I peer around the room, seeing my son looking at his date, then at me, the old man smiling, and the rest of my guests patiently waiting. With clenched fists pressed on the table, I lean forward and snarl, “Sit down.”
He drops his hand and Karina relinquishes her firm hold. How the fuck does he know anything about my dad? I turn to Jules, immediately feeling conned. I should’ve known better.
Sam sits, and gestures for me to have a seat now that he’s followed orders.
“Maybe we should call it a night. I didn’t picture things turning out this way,” Jules says, visibly disappointed.
“Hell no.” I pick up my steak knife, cutting furiously at my meat. She watches me shove a large piece into my mouth. I chew viciously then have a glance around the room. Jack’s at his table, my guests are getting back to their conversations, my hostess is still speaking to the servers while pointing in our direction, and the old coot is giving me a silent hand clap. Fuckwad. Sam’s first, but that guy’s next in line.
“The evening’s just getting started,” I say to Jules, taking a huge gulp of wine before pointing my knife across the table. “Who the fuck are you?”
