by Sadie Hayes
Shandi smiled politely at her younger sister and held out her right hand.
“Hello, my dear,” she said to Patty, who reluctantly obliged her beckoning, taking the hand and kissing her still-sitting sister on the cheek. The way her sister pretended to be some proper society princess from a Jane Austen novel made Patty want to gag.
“Hi, Shandi. Welcome back.”
“Thanks, love. You look . . . ” She struggled to come up with an adjective. “Tan.”
“Can I get you a drink, Patty?” her father offered as she took a seat on the sofa facing the two armchairs.
“Yes, please,” Patty responded, as though the thought of having a drink (or having had one already) hadn’t crossed her mind. “Is there any pinot grigio open?”
“Coming right up.”
The doorbell rang and Patty heard Felicia open it for T. J., who sauntered into the living room grinning and carrying a bouquet of white roses.
“Hello, ladies!” he said jovially to the Hawkins sisters. “How is everyone this evening?” He walked over to Shandi, protesting as she started to stand up, and leaned down to kiss her on either cheek. “Aren’t you looking lovelier than ever?” Shandi blushed. As much as she wrote him off as an asshole, the part of her that had had an enormous crush on him from fifth through ninth grade couldn’t help smile whenever he gave her a compliment.
T. J. crossed to the sofa and plopped down next to Patty. “Mind if I join you?”
Patty rolled her eyes. “Of course not, T. J.” He stared straight at Patty and smiled coyly, as if inviting her to start the charade.
“So,” he asked, “where’s Chad?”
Not picking up on where he’d directed the question, Shandi answered.
“He’s at a business school mixer but should be here any minute. I can’t wait for you two to meet.”
As if on cue, the doorbell rang again and Mr. Hawkins, who was walking back from the kitchen, welcomed his future son-in-law.
“Look who I found,” he announced to the room as he brought Patty her glass of white wine.
Shandi stood up from her chair and let Chad rush over to embrace her in his strong arms, kissing her gently on the lips. “My beautiful bride-to-be. Man, have I missed you.”
They stayed for a moment in that sickeningly perfect embrace. Patty watched them, and T. J. watched Patty.
Finally, Chad crossed to the sofa and stuck out his hand to T. J. “You must be T. J. I’m Chad. Great to meet you.” With a sly grin, T. J. returned the firm handshake. “It’s great to meet you, Chad. I’ve heard so much about you. And . . . ” T. J. glanced at Patty
“I’ve seen so many photos. I feel like I practically know you already.” Chad nodded politely. He didn’t care to fraternize with so many people who were younger than him. An unfortunate ramification of marrying someone four years your junior was that you didn’t always get along with her friends.
As if he had delayed the inevitable long enough, Chad finally turned to Patty, who remained seated. Walking across the room, he lifted his hand into a high five. “What’s going on, little sis?” She furrowed her brow, cocked her head to one side and looked up at him just long enough for them both, and T. J., to notice, but not long enough for anyone else to pick up on the exchange. She grabbed hold of his hand to help her stand up from the sofa and smiled. “I’m great, Chad. It’s really swell to see you. I’m also starving.
What does everyone say to forcing Mom downstairs so we can eat?”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Mrs. Hawkins called from the stairs, which she was hopping down in a cute Lily Pulitzer sundress and sandals, her hair perfectly coiffed and her makeup impeccably clean.
“Felicia, can you go ahead and start serving the salads?” The first course went smoothly enough. T. J. and Patty sat on one side of the table, facing Shandi and Chad, and Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins sat at either end. Shandi dominated the conversation, going on and on about Yale—she was staying an extra year to finish a master’s degree in art history—and about the latest parties in New York at the Frick and the New York Athletic Club and you-just-wouldn’t-believe-how-sophisticated-New-York-parties-are-compared-to-California-ones. Gross.
Patty watched T. J. politely nod as Shandi continued but could feel him waiting to say something and was terrified of what that something was.
As Felicia served the main course—poached salmon with dill-cucumber sauce, Israeli couscous, and grilled asparagus—T. J. saw his opportunity.
“So, tell me about the wedding planning,” he said.
Mrs. Hawkins was delighted. This was her favorite topic of conversation.
“Well, it’s going to be in Maui. I wanted the Glen Ridge Vineyard in Napa Valley—have you been there? It’s stunning and very difficult to book.
It was listed in Vogue last year as one of the top twenty-five most beautiful places in the world to get married.” Mrs. Hawkins shrugged. “But our Shandi wanted Maui so Hawaii it is.”
“Patty, are you a bridesmaid?” asked T.J.
Shandi answered for her. “Of course; she’s my maid of honor, but I’m having nine other bridesmaids.”
“You must be very excited to watch your sister marry Chad, Patty.” T.
J. turned to her. “I’ve never been best man, but I’ve heard it’s tremendously special to watch two people you care so much about give their vows to each other from the front row.”
Mrs. Hawkins was touched. “Well aren’t you sweet, T. J.!”
T. J. smiled gleefully and took a bite of his salmon. Patty took another gulp of wine.
“You know what would be really cool?” T. J. said. The table all turned to him. Patty cringed. “Remember in the Royal Wedding, when William drove Kate off in the classic sports car? You should do that. Dad has this great 1968 Lamborghini that would be perfect.” T. J. paused and grinned at Patty. “I don’t know if you got a chance to check out the collection at my party the other night, but this Lamborghini is something else. It’s navy—
oh, it would suit you so well, Shandi—and I’m sure if you promised to take care of it, Dad would let you drive it, Chad.”
“T. J. Bristol,” Mrs. Hawkins said, her eyes bright with if-only-I-were-thirty-years-younger affection. “You are too much. That is a lovely idea.
Don’t you think, Shandi?”
“That’s really sweet of you to offer, T. J., I’ll definitely think about it.
I mean, we’ll think about it.” She turned to Chad, who was mid-bite, and squeezed his hand affectionately.
There was nothing that bored Mr. Hawkins so much as wedding talk, and he used the pause to switch the conversation. “How long has your father been collecting those sports cars, T. J.?”
“Oh, I think he bought his first one after the Kadence sale. His celebration present to himself.”
Mr. Hawkins smiled. That deal had been huge. It had set a new bar for Silicon Valley wealth. “Well, he certainly deserved it. My, what a deal that was. I only put fifty thousand dollars in and the return was enough to cover both these girls’ college tuition, plus some. Wish I’d taken your father’s advice and put in more. He’s truly a visionary.” T. J. was focusing on his food, but he looked up politely at Mr. Hawkins, his affability somewhat diminished. “He got lucky, that’s for sure.”
“Luck doesn’t build the kind of reputation your father’s got. He fucking gets it; he sees where things are headed.” T. J. looked down at his plate and mumbled just loudly enough for Patty to hear. “Here we go again.”
Mr. Hawkins was on a roll. “I remember him talking about changes in music, practically forecasting the whole demise of the record industry. We all thought he was nuts. I wouldn’t even have put in fifty thousand dollars if it weren’t for the fact that I wanted to keep him on as a client.” Mr.
Hawkins chuckled. “Now, when your Dad offers me a deal, I don’t think twice. I mean, Gibly? Didn’t even hesitate. I don’t get it, I don’t get why it sold for so much, but if Ted Bristol tells me something’s go
ing to be big, I know it’s going to be big. I put in a ton of money, and now look: it’s like Christmas around here, all thanks to your Dad.” T. J. finally looked up and forced a smile. “Perhaps he’ll have a new sports car for you two to try out,” he said, looking at Patty.
Felicia, God bless her, interrupted to clear the plates and the conversation devolved into gossip at the tennis club.
As Patty ate her crème brûlée, she smiled. She’d just figured out a strategy for persuading T. J. to get rid of the tape.
Chapter 10
Deuce
After dessert, Mr. Hawkins asked if anyone wanted to join him in the movie room to preview a new documentary on the drug wars in Mexico. Like most homes in Atherton, the Hawkins’ house had a room in the basement with fifteen reclining theater seats, a massive projector screen, and surround-sound stereo for watching films. Mr. Hawkins’ latest hobby was an investment in Franklin Media, a socially conscious film production company. The investment made him no money, but getting early DVDs of upcoming releases made him feel cool and hip.
“As riveting as that sounds, I think Chad and I will head back to his place,” Shandi said. Chad shrugged his shoulders to his future father-in-law. “She makes the calls,” he said.
T. J. claimed he needed to get back to campus, and Patty declined on the basis of schoolwork. “I’ll walk you out,” she told T. J. Then, so that only he could hear, she added, “We need to talk.” T. J.’s grin returned as he followed her outside to the patio, where she pulled out a chair from a round wrought-iron dining table. “Sit down,” she said, as she took the seat opposite him.
He followed her instructions, pushing the chair back and leaning with his hands crossed behind his head and his right ankle crossed over his left knee. “Miss Hawkins, you are really something. Quite a performer.”
“Where did you get it? Who taped it?”
“You sweet little naïf,” he said. He loved this and she hated him for it.
“Do you really think my father would leave all those sports cars in a garage without a full security system?”
“Fuck,” Patty said. She shook her head as she realized her stupidity. Of course there were security cameras in the garage.
“Don’t worry, no one knows except me and a security guard. He had quite a good time watching you, by the way. Or, I guess I should say that no one else knows yet.”
“Why are you doing this? I’ve never done anything to you.”
“That’s not the point, Patty. The point is power.”
“What?”
“The point is to accumulate power,” T. J. said slowly, as though he were giving a lecture to a child. “I have something on you now, and therefore if I ever need something from you, you have a reason to give it to me.”
“How clever of you. And what do you think I might one day be able to provide?”
“I don’t know; you’re a popular girl. Maybe there’s a sorority sister I want to meet or a rumor I need to start. I think you could prove very handy, Patty.”
“What if I told you I had something that could help you deal with your daddy issues?”
T. J.’s smile evaporated and he glared at her. He uncrossed his hands from behind his head and said, with contempt, “What are you talking about?”
Now it was Patty’s turn to smile. “Your daddy issues, T. J. You know, your inferiority complex? Your hurt feelings that Ted never takes time for you, even answers phone calls during your graduation toast? The fact that you’ll never, ever, no matter what you do, live up to him in this town?” T. J.’s jaw was clenched and his lips pursed. “You have no right to—”
“Oh, T. J., I have every right to. You started this game, not me.” Patty’s mischievous smile acknowledged that she knew she’d struck a chord. The power had shifted in her favor.
T. J.’s anger was mounting, his chest expanding with every breath.
“What have you got?”
“Not so fast, my friend. Conditions first.” T. J. nodded with forced patience. “Okay, what are your conditions, bearing in mind they’re dependent on the quality of your information?”
“Oh, trust me, it’s quality. Conditions are: in front of me, you physically destroy the tape in full, including any copies that may have been produced by you or the security guard, and erase all digital evidence entirely.”
“And in exchange?”
“I give you information that will halt the Gibly deal and destroy your father’s reputation.”
“How on earth would you have that information?”
“I have my sources.”
“And why would you want to halt the Gibly deal? You just heard how much your family has invested in it.”
“I think the information is going to come out regardless. The difference is, I can give it to you now and give you a head start to tell your father and be a heroic son, or at least a powerful one. As much fun as it is to have me wrapped around your finger, I bet having Ted on your leash would suit you even more.”
T. J. considered this carefully. As annoying as it was, she was right. He wanted this. He wanted his father to respect him one way or another.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll destroy the tapes. There’s only one hard copy. I’ll mail it to you and you can do whatever you want with it. And the digital version is on my laptop in my car. We can erase it after you tell me what you’ve got.”
Patty’s thin lips spread into a satisfied smile. “Very good,” she said, sticking out her hand to shake on it.
T. J. thought the handshake a little unnecessary but did it anyway.
“Okay, spill.”
“So,” Patty sat up in her chair. “It turns out Gibly is stealing peoples’
information. Well, not really stealing it, but apparently when you download any of the applications onto your phone, it installs a chip that tracks everything you do on your phone, including all the websites you visit and, through your GPS, everywhere you go.”
“Lots of software tracks where you go. How do you think Google knows what ads to feed you? It drops cookies and follows where you go.
You’re going to have to do a little better than that, Patty.”
“Yes, but Google doesn’t keep a database that records everywhere you’ve been and everything you’ve seen, organizing it by the unique ID number on the back of your phone.”
“Gibly does that?”
“Yep! Did you seriously take Adam Dory to a strip club after your party?”
“How did you know that?” T. J. sat forward in his chair. “No way.”
“And that’s not all. Apparently Lloyd’s has been receiving massive payments from some random bank account for the past year for an unspecified service.”
“You mean . . . ” He started to put it together. “There’s no way they’d be selling that information.”
“Three-point-eight billion says they are,” Patty shot back, pleased with her wit.
“Patty, this is massive. I mean, that’s a huge fucking deal. You better be right about this. How did you find all this out?”
“Adam Dory was in my room the other day blabbing on about starting a company and told his sister, my roommate, about Gibly, and she hacked into the site and found the database. Then she hacked into Lloyd’s bank accounts and found the secret deposits.”
“But that’s . . . how is that possible? It’s maybe the most sophisticated software on the planet. There’s no way some freshman could hack in.”
“She’s a total nerd. Like, beyond nerd. Imagine if a computer and an iPhone had a baby—that’s Amelia.”
“And she and her brother told you about it?”
“They thought I was asleep.”
T. J. laughed. “You little bitch. You’re even more of a troublemaker than I gave you credit for.”
Patty smiled, knowing this was a compliment.
“Alright, my dear, let’s go destroy those tapes. Are you in charge of your own trust fund? Might want to call tomorrow and make sure whatever of it is invested
in Gibly gets sold, pronto.” Even though Patty didn’t have full access to her trust fund until her thirty-fifth birthday, Patty had assumed investment decision rights on her eighteenth birthday. Since she knew nothing about investing, she just signed whatever her father sent her and let him handle it. She made a mental note to go back and check what she’d signed to make sure none of it had gone to Gibly.
“Thanks, T. J. I actually hadn’t thought of that.”
“No worries.” He stuck out his hand. “I think we’ll make a good team, you and I.”
Chapter 11
Family Decisions
Where Patty dressed up on Sundays for three-course family dinners prepared by the live-in cook, the Dorii put on sweat pants and snuck food out of the dining hall for their Sunday movie night tradition.
They were working through AMC’s list of the top one hundred films of all time. Amelia plopped down on the mattress Adam had set up as a couch in his dorm room and pulled her tray of dining hall chow mein onto her lap.
Adam’s assigned freshman roommate, an aspiring nuclear physicist from the Ukraine who spoke broken English and had a penchant for heavy metal music, had had a mental breakdown in the fall and never came back after winter break. Adam considered saying something, but it was so convenient having a double dorm room all to himself that he eventually decided just to wait and see if the University figured it out. They hadn’t, or had chosen not to do anything about it, so he’d pulled the mattress off his roommate’s bed and made a makeshift sofa, on which he now joined his sister.
“What are we watching tonight?” Amelia asked between bites of greasy Chinese noodles.
“The Godfather, Part II,” he answered as he inserted the disc into Amelia’s laptop, which she’d brought over with a cable to connect to a thirty-six-inch monitor Adam had “borrowed” from the Gates Building.
