She laughed. “Do you believe this stuff?”
He smiled. “Just because it’s folklore doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
She sat back. “Whew. I’m stuffed.”
“Too bad.”
“What do you mean, too bad?”
“You’re about to find out.”
Right on cue, the waiter set a plate in front of her with the biggest piece of fudge cake she’d ever seen. In the middle was one red candle, which he lit, saying, “We hope you enjoy your birthday, Ms. St. Germaine. It’s been a privilege to have you as our guest for your special occasion.”
“Thank you,” she told him, cutting her eyes to Brant.
“Happy birthday, baby. You don’t have to make another wish if you don’t want to, but if you have one that makes you happy when you think about it…”
She blew out the candle without taking her eyes away from Brant and gifted him with her most radiant smile, the one that made his heart swell so big it felt like it would break his ribs.
Brant took her hand as they left the restaurant, making their way across the lobby to the door that led out to the street. Garland’s eyes were sparkling with that special light he treasured, when Brant heard someone behind them call her name. She froze, stopped walking, and her grip bit down on his hand like a vice.
A middle-aged man was coming straight for them with a scowl on his face. Brant put it together in a heartbeat. It was the dick who confused fatherhood with slaveholding.
David St. Germaine stopped in front of the two of them and gave Brant a once-over that couldn’t possibly have conveyed more contempt.
“So this is what you’ve been doing with your spare time?”
“Dad. This is Brant Fornight. Brant, this is my father, David St. Germaine.”
Normally Brant would have extended his hand, but decided to make an exception.
Since he was three inches shorter than Brant, St. Germaine tilted his head in a practiced way that gave the illusion he was looking down anyway. “You’re out with my daughter. What? On a date? And what do you do, may I ask?”
“Well,” Brant drawled, “I like watching “The Price is Right” and going for long moonlight skis on the lake.”
Garland’s father gave him a look dripping with disdain.
“You’re being rude, Dad.”
“I don’t need etiquette lessons from you, Garland. Go home. I’ll talk to you later.” He walked away, leaving the impression that there was no question his command would be obeyed. They’d been dismissed.
“Garland?”
She glanced at Brant. “Well, there went a perfectly lovely evening. I’m so sorry it was spoiled.”
“It’s not spoiled unless we allow it. Let’s go do what we came to do and forget him.”
Garland hesitated. She looked more than doubtful. She looked worried. “Okay. You’re right. He’s not ruining my birthday.”
“That’s right.”
“At least not until later,” she murmured.
“Baby. You afraid of him? Does he hit you?”
She shook her head. “God no. If he did then maybe I’d have the courage to… Never mind. Let’s go find some music suitable for slow dancing.”
“We can try, but that’s asking a lot for 6th Street on a Saturday night.”
Garland did her best to appear like she was enjoying a lighthearted night out. She didn’t want Brant to be disappointed, but she never stopped thinking about the run-in. It was around midnight when they pulled into Brant’s drive.
When the car stopped, neither one moved to get out.
“Comin’ in?” he asked, but had a sinking feeling that he already knew the answer.
She turned toward him. “Not tonight. There’s going to be an argument when I get home and I want to get it over with.” She paused. “I’m so sorry about the way he acted.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re not responsible for the fact that your old man is an asshole. You’ve got my number. Call me if you need me.”
“I will.”
When she reached for the door handle, he put his hand on her arm. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Of course. Tomorrow’s Sunday. We always spend Sundays together.” The words caught in her throat when she realized that over half their Sundays together were gone, and the rest were going to be threatened since her father knew about Brant.
He pulled her in for a quick kiss. “Countin’ on it.”
Garland’s father was sitting in the living room with an ankle resting on one knee and a highball glass resting on the other.
Waiting. For her.
She decided that the best course of action was to take the offensive.
“You were rude to my friend tonight, demonstrating exceptionally bad manners. What you do reflects on me, you know.” She loved having the opportunity to turn those phrases around on him.
Unbothered by her feeble attempt at independence, he smirked. “I brought you down here to keep you out of trouble this summer and you decide to use the time to go slumming?”
“Do you even hear yourself when you talk?”
“I do. That’s why I’ll remember telling you that you will not be seeing that garbage again.”
David St. Germaine rose and was almost out of the room when he heard her say, “Yes. I will.
“You said I had to come here for the summer. Nothing was ever said about choosing my friends or specifying how I’d spend my time. I’m an adult. It’s time to let me make a few decisions for myself and, if I make wrong ones sometimes, it doesn’t make me bad. Just human.”
“You don’t have the luxury of being ‘human’.”
“Do you think Mom fought to stay alive? Or do you think it just got too hard to not be human?”
His face was devoid of all emotion, his eyes hard and cold. He left the room without another word. As far as he was concerned, he’d made his desires clear and that was all that needed to be said.
By noon the next day Brant was getting worried that she wasn’t coming. When he heard engine noise outside, he closed his eyes with relief and felt his shoulders relax. He wasn’t happy to see how tired she looked when he opened the door.
“Sorry I’m late.”
“You look like shit.”
That got a little smile. “Thanks a lot. You look incredible. Like always.” She stepped into his waiting arms and let him rock her back and forth on her feet. “Hey. I finally got my slow dance. You’re pretty good at this.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
“Sure. He said I’m not to see you again. I said that wasn’t part of the deal.”
“That’s it.”
“You don’t really want a reenactment.”
“I want whatever will make you feel better.”
“You make me feel better.” The words were out of her mouth before she thought about the ramifications. That was not the kind of thing you said to a casual summer fling.
Brant knew it, too, and he didn’t want to leave her alone in her confession. “I feel the same way, baby. When you didn’t come this morning…. Well, you’re here. That’s what counts.”
He kissed the top of her head. “What do you want to do today?”
“Just stay here exactly like this.”
“Okay. If you get tired or hungry or thirsty, let me know.”
“Well, now that you mention it, I could use a slow hot screw and a fast frozen Margarita.”
“It just so happens I know where to get both those things.”
They started their Sunday with unhurried, thorough lovemaking. Brant insisted she keep eye contact with him. The combination of that and his excruciatingly slow thrusts made emotion bubble to the surface. It broke free in the form of big hot tears. He rocked her through sobs, murmuring sweet nothings about how he was right there with her, how everything would be alright.
“Brant, I…”
“What, baby?” When he could see she wasn’t going to finish the sentence, he said, “There’s nothin
’ you can’t tell me.”
She nodded, but didn’t say more.
Mid-morning on Monday the shop phone rang and somebody yelled that it was for Brant.
“Mr. Fornight, you’re needed at H.R.”
“Right now?” He looked over at the electric maintenance vehicle he was working on.
“Yes. Mr. Fornight.”
Brant wiped his hands and hopped in one of the golf carts. When he walked into the air-conditioned offices, the receptionist pointed him to the right.
“In there.”
Brant didn’t remember ever seeing the guy who sat down across the desk.
“Please, sit down.” He gestured for Brant to sit across from him.
“Getting right to the point. I’m afraid we have a breach of policy to bring to your attention. We strongly discourage fraternizing with guests, Mr. Fornight.”
He gaped. “Fraternizing with guests?”
“It has come to my attention that you’re seeing one of our guests socially.” He stopped to wrinkle his brow as if he was remembering what face to make when. “So I’ll be honest. You’ve done good work for The Yellow Rose and we don’t want to let you go, but we will have to insist that you curtail any plans to see our guests on your off time.”
Brant gave the guy a hard look. “Look,” he pointedly looked at the nameplate on the desk, since no introductions had been made, “Doug. What I do on my off time is my business. What guests of The Yellow Rose do on their time is their business.”
Doug pursed his lips. “It would be a mistake to take that stance. We won’t have any choice but to dismiss you.”
Brant clenched his teeth. “Do your worst.”
“You sure about that, son? Jobs like yours don’t grow on trees.”
“Anything else?”
Doug shook his head like he was a principal who was disappointed in a student demonstrating bad behavior. “Two weeks’ severance. One month insurance. You can opt in for COBRA if you want, but you have to let us know now.”
Brant got to his feet. “Yes to the money. Yes to the insurance and COBRA. I’d like to say no to the screw over, but looks like it’s too late for that.” He let the door slam against the wall on his way out.
It wasn’t that Brant cared about that job in particular. It wasn’t particularly better or worse than any other shop. It was the principle of St. Germaine using his influence to try to manipulate Garland that made Brant see red. When St. Germaine hadn’t been able to bend her to his will directly, he’d tried to use the indirect approach.
At least Brant knew what he was dealing with. Garland’s father was a slick, well-dressed thug.
“Hey, Boss. What’s up?” Apparently Ricardo could see that Brant didn’t look happy.
“I’ve been canned, man. Made a VIP mad.”
“No. Really?”
“Yep. Gettin’ my stuff and I’m outta here.” Brant paused and looked at Ricardo. “If you want my job, you should hightail it up to H.R. and apply.”
“Doesn’t seem right.”
“Hey. Somebody’s gonna get it. Might as well be you. I’m done with The Yellow Rose in this lifetime.” Brant threw him the key. “Treat everybody fair.”
An hour later Brant was sitting on his sofa staring straight ahead and pulling on a cold beer when the phone rang.
He answered. “Talk.”
“Sounds like you’re in a bad mood?”
“Aw, baby. Didn’t think it was you. I figured you’d think I was at work.”
“I did. There were leftover sandwiches from this golf thing I went to this morning so I brought them to you for lunch. One of the guys told me you were fired, like under his breath.”
“That’s the long and short of it.”
“I’m so sorry this happened.”
“No need to apologize, babe. We both know you didn’t do it. And we both know who did.”
There was a slight pause. “You don’t think my father…”
“They gave me a choice. Stop ‘fraternizing with guests’ and keep my job. Or not.”
“Oh no. He wouldn’t.”
“Oh yeah. He did.”
“You chose seeing me for another month over keeping your job?”
He sighed into the phone, not really understanding that she didn’t take that choice for granted. “Of course.”
After a lengthy silence, she asked, “What are you going to do?”
“Actually, I was just sittin’ here thinkin’ about that. When I see you I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Come get me.”
“Come get you? Yeah. I guess we’re done sneakin’ around.”
“He can’t put me in a cage, but he did take the wheels away.”
Brant clenched his fist thinking about St. Germaine and his overbearing tactics. “Look for me in twenty minutes. Bike wear.”
Garland was watching for Brant from the front window of the villa. When the Camaro came to a stop, she was already out the door and running toward the car. She jumped in and threw herself into a kiss he’d never forget.
“What was that about?”
“You chose me.”
Brant’s eyes half closed when he raised his chin. “Yeah. I did.” Pulling away, he headed out of the resort via the immaculately groomed, tree-lined boulevard. “You already had lunch?”
“No. I was planning on having sandwiches with you. At the shed.”
“Well, where are they?”
“I left them for the others.”
He smiled. “I’ll bet they’re even more in lust with you than before.”
“Pffffft. Doubt it.”
“So you could eat?”
She grinned. “Have I ever said no?”
“We still talkin’ food?”
She played at smacking his bicep. “Are you saying I’m slutty? Right now I say no to everyone, but you.”
“As it should be.”
“Do you?”
Brant glanced at his passenger and saw that she was serious. “Garland, I haven’t even thought about being with anybody else since the day you turned up lost and hitched a ride in a cart. Jesus Christ. Don’t you know that?”
She smiled with bright satisfaction and nodded slightly. “I wanted to hear you say it.”
“So what do you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“For lunch. Remember?”
“Do not speak to me as if I have dementia. I’m a Dartmouth graduate.”
“So you are. Do they teach question evasion at Dartmouth?”
“Something hot. Spicy hot.”
He smiled. “I know just the place.”
He pulled into a roadside dump with a tin roof and a sign hand painted in irregular letters, Ragin Cajun.
The place was open air with a stained concrete floor. Big ceiling fans turned lazy revolutions, fast enough to move the air around, but not fast enough to blow napkins off laps. The table tops were made of something that looked like gray plastic linoleum.
“You sure it’s safe to eat here?” She looked ready to run.
Brant laughed and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Pussy.”
“Don’t start with the name calling because you know it will not end well for you.”
“Feisty.” He smiled and guided her to a table in the back.
“Must be seat yourself.”
“Yeah.” He nodded toward the chair in front of her. “So sit those very fine hindquarters down in that chair there and grab a menu.”
Garland gave her order to a waiter with red sauce on his apron and a missing front tooth. She asked for the tamest thing she could find on the menu. Grilled chicken. Boiled potatoes. Corn on the cob.
“I thought you wanted spicy.”
She looked around at the lunch clientele. “This place is plenty spicy. So you were going to tell me what you’re thinking you’ll do next.”
He grabbed a hot hush puppy out of the basket that had just been set on their table. “You know that GTO I told you about? My nex
t hobby car?” She nodded. “Well I got to thinkin’ about how much money I make whenever I restore a classic car and sell it. Then I was thinkin’ that if I took all the hours I spend workin’ at a shop and spent that time on the business of makin’ hobby cars for rich guys, I’d make more money than I have been.” He took a swig of beer. “And I’d be my own man.”
“That’s a phenomenal idea. Phenomenal and entrepreneurial.”
“I can use the shop at the club, which means I won’t have any overhead.”
“The club?”
“I never told you about the club?” He looked down at the hush puppies. “Huh. Well, I know I told you my family lives close by.”
“You did tell me that, yes.”
“So.” He cleared his throat. “Here’s the thing. My dad is really involved in a motorcycle club. In fact, he’s the president.”
Her eyes widened. “You mean like Hell’s Angels. He’s in charge of a gang?”
“It’s not a gang. It’s a club. And no. It’s not like Hell’s Angels. Exactly.”
“How close is not exactly?”
“Well, income opportunities may not always be completely above board.”
“Oh God.”
“No. Don’t get me wrong. It’s nothing that would hurt people. Sometimes the law meddles in people’s lives when it shouldn’t.”
She stared. “I’m afraid to ask for details.”
“Wouldn’t do you any good, because I don’t know details. I’m not a member.”
“No?’
“Nope.”
“Why?”
Brant looked at her expectant face for a long time before answering.
“There’s a difference between what’s legal and what’s moral.” She nodded her agreement. “Since I can make enough money to cover my needs, it seemed pointless to take a chance on a jail sentence.”
“Jail?”
Brant nodded. “Yeah. My old man did two stints at Huntsville while I was growin’ up. Every time he left, he was somebody else when he came back. Decided pretty early on it wasn’t for me.
“Dad formed the club with six other guys who’d been to Nam. It’s grown. They’re about seventeen now. Plus a couple more who aren’t full-fledged members yet.”
Garland still looked as wide-eyed as if she’d just come upon the James Gang, which made Brant chuckle. “You curious?”
