Unexpected Daddies

by Lively, R. S.

  We walk into the deli and I inhale deeply, savoring the aromas floating out of the kitchen. Yeah, it's been way too long. Like everything else, everywhere, Dino's hasn't escaped the plague of holiday cheer. Ornaments, tinsel, and garland are strung up everywhere, along with a tree that looks like it's seen better days, and holiday music is playing on an old, beat-up sound system.

  “Well, look what the fuckin' cat dragged in,” a voice says.

  Wearing a Santa hat that's stained and beat up, Eddie stands behind the counter, wiping his hand on a rag, smiling wide at us. Eddie is Dino's son and took over the deli after his father passed. Thankfully, the quality of the food hasn't changed one bit. On the walls are scores of photos of celebrities, and New York luminaries who've patronized the place over the decades it's been open.

  “Eddie, how are you, man?” I ask. “How are the wife and kids?”

  “Drivin' me fuckin' crazy,” he says.

  “So, not much has changed.”

  “Hell no,” he laughs. “Wouldn't have it any other way.”

  “This is Darby –”

  “Yeah, I remember her,” he says. “You two used to come in together a while back. Good to see you again, doll.”

  Darby laughs and gives him a wide smile, clearly not buying the idea that Eddie remembers her, and is simply patronizing her. I could have told her different, but I figured I'd let it play out. If nothing else, it'll be good for a laugh.

  “You obviously have a good memory,” she says.

  “Like a steel fuckin' trap,” he says.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You doubt me?” he asks.

  “It was a long time ago,” she says.

  “Watch this,” he says and studies her face for a long moment. “Beef brisket on rye, light horseradish, swiss cheese, two pickles, and one pickled egg.”

  Darby's eyes widen, and the shock is clearly painted upon her face. She knows he's right, because that was the only thing she used to order. At the time, she argued that she found something she liked and there was no reason to change it. She’s always been somewhat of a creature of habit.

  She looks at me, and then turns back to Eddie, who's giving her a grin. I could have told her he'd remember – he remembers the smallest details when it comes to his regular customers. Always has. It's one thing people love about Dino's – you don't get this kind of personal attention anywhere else.

  “Boom,” he says and taps his head. “Steel trap.”

  I laugh and give him a high-five while Darby continues to stare at him with her mouth hanging open, standing there in stunned disbelief.

  “Go ahead and take a seat anywhere,” Eddie says. “I assume we're doin' our regular stuff?”

  “Absolutely,” I say.

  “I'll bring it out to you then.”

  “Thanks, Eddie.”

  Darby is still looking a little shell-shocked as we take a seat in a booth near the window.

  “I can't believe he remembered that,” she says. “That was ten years ago.”

  I laugh. “Eddie's good at what he does,” I say. “He knows how to take care of his regulars.”

  “Obviously,” she says. “I'm impressed. Shocked, but impressed.”

  We make small talk, falling into an old, familiar pattern of comfortable conversation, as we wait for Eddie to bring out our food. One of his waitresses drops off a couple of lemonades for us. A few minutes later, he drops off our food, and when he thinks Darby isn't looking, gives me a sly wink and a nod, obviously giving me his seal of approval. Eddie chuckles to himself as he walks away, and I see Darby's cheeks blush. She obviously didn't miss it. Not that I'm surprised. She doesn't miss much.

  We dig into our food, the conversation light and fun. Any residual awkwardness from before has faded, and it really does feel like old times. Eventually, the meal comes to an end, but I'm hoping to draw out our time together for a while longer. I'm not ready to say goodbye to her just yet. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to be in a very big rush either.

  “Tell me something,” she says.

  “Anything.”

  “Back in the day, I knew you hated Christmas and all, but you never told me why,” she says. “I mean, I figured you'd tell me eventually, but you never got around to it, and I didn't want to press, since it wasn't really my business. But, I'm curious about why you turn into such a Scrooge this time of year.”

  I chuckle. “Honestly, I've never had a good Christmas,” I say. “Nothing but bad associations with it, so I just choose to ignore it.”

  “Tell me,” she says.

  I tell her the whole story – from my childhood up to my time at the home, and everything in between.

  “Pops tried to get me to warm up to Christmas, but by that point, I was pretty done with it, so it never really stuck. I put on a front, and tried to fake it for his sake, but I can't say I ever really enjoyed it.”

  “That's really sad, Carter,” she says.

  I shrug. “It is what it is,” I say. “No biggie. Just another day.”

  “But, it's not,” she says. “Clearly, we need to give you some positive associations with Christmas. Everybody should enjoy this time of year.”

  I laugh. “Good luck with that.”

  She gives me a long, level look. “I can be just as much of a stubborn ass as you, you know.”

  “Don't I know it,” I respond.

  There's a long silence between us. We simply stare into one another's eyes. And in that space between us, it feels like so much is being left unsaid. So much we both want to say. So many feelings we want to express. It's a silence filled with expectation, and – something more. What that something more is, I have no clue. I can just feel it.

  “Hey, I want to show you something,” I finally say, breaking the silence.

  “What is it?”

  “Just – come with me.”

  We slide out of the booth, and I drop some money on the table.

  “Hey, your money ain't no good here,” Eddie calls.

  “Shut it,” I call back. “Thanks, Eddie. It was amazing as always.”

  “Every bit as good as I remember,” Darby says.

  Eddie gives us a smile. “Good seein' you two together again. Makes it feel like old times up in here,” he says. “Don't be strangers, now.”

  “You have my word, man.”

  I hold the door open for Darby and we step out onto the sidewalk. The light of the day is bleeding away, and dusk is washing in. Roger stands by the car, playing on his phone. He looks up and starts to put it away, but I motion for him to relax.

  “Give us a few,” I say. “We're gonna take a walk around the corner.”

  “Very good, Mr. Bishop,” he says. “I'll wait right here.”

  I nod. “Good. We'll be back.”

  Darby slips her arm through mine as we walk. It still blows me away how much has changed over the last ten years. Hell's Kitchen used to be a dirty, rough neighborhood. Nowadays, it's a lot more upscale and refined. It's cleaner, and more family-friendly. It's been redeveloped to hell and back, as the city is looking to attract more high-end shops – and tenants – to the area.

  It's nice, don't get me wrong. The bad elements have more or less been driven out, but now it’s lacking the character and soul that made the Kitchen unique. At least, in my opinion.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asks.

  We turn a corner and I point to the building across the street. “Recognize that?”

  She looks at it for a moment and then smiles. “I thought they were tearing it down?”

  “They were going to,” I say. “I bought it, had it renovated, and kept it open. Though, I did insist they install some educational and vocational programs. Instead of just warehousing these kids, I want them at least prepared for when they get back out into the world.”

  We're standing on the curb across the street from St. Agatha's. The city was set to demolish the building and move the home elsewhere – probably to some equally rundown, derelict pa
rt of the city. When I heard about it, I couldn't let it happen. Call me crazy, but I still feel a strong sense of attachment to the place. I don't know why. It's not like I was ever really all that happy there. Yet, it was important to me and seeing it up and running just feels – right.

  The building is a lot more modern and better equipped now. The local church still retains the administration of the building, I just happen to be the landlord. Though, I charge them a pittance on the place. The money isn't important to me. Making sure it stays open, and these kids have somewhere they can go and feel safe, is what's important.

  The exterior of the home is decorated for Christmas. The nuns all make a big deal of it now, and I make sure to maintain a fund that allows them to give the kids a proper holiday. No more socks and underwear. I have shoppers who go and purchase gifts for the kids being housed at St. Aggie's, put on a big, fancy spread, and make sure they all have a great Christmas.

  Just because I'm a Scrooge, doesn't mean they have to be. Those kids are in a shit situation and deserve to have something nice done for them as often as possible.

  “Why did you buy it?” Darby asks. “Why keep it open?”

  I run my hand along the stubble on my jawline. “Crazy, right?” I ask. “It took me a long time to figure it out myself, to be honest.”

  “And? What did you come up with?”

  I let out a long breath, my gaze fixed on the building. “Back when I was in there, I really don't know what would have happened if there wasn't a St. Aggie's for me to go to,” I say. “I would've ended up on the streets. And who knows what would've happened after that. I guess I wanted to make sure that kids like me – like us – who wind up in bad situations, have a place to go.”

  Darby looks at me, an inscrutable expression on her face and gives my arm a tight squeeze.

  “You're a good man, Carter,” she says.

  I shrug. “I just know what it's like to have nowhere to go and nothing to your name,” I say. “And that sucks.”

  “You sure are a complicated man, Mr. Bishop,” she says.

  “Not really.”

  “Yeah, I call bullshit.”

  I laugh and look up at the rapidly darkening sky. “I should probably get you home.”

  “Actually,” she says. “I was hoping to show you something now.”

  I let my eyes roam up and down her body, a scandalous grin on my face. She laughs and slaps my chest playfully.

  “Not that,” she says. “Don't you ever get your mind out of the gutter?”

  “Not really,” I say. “It's part of my charm.”

  “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

  I laugh. “And what are you going to show me?”

  “You'll see,” she says. “Can you have Roger take us back to my place?”

  I give her a long, even look. “And you wonder why my mind is in the gutter.”

  She rolls her eyes dramatically. “Such a pervert,” she says. “Just because I'm inviting you back to my place doesn't mean I'm propositioning you.”

  “Doesn't mean you're not,” I say.

  “I'm not,” she says, still smiling and shaking her head at me.

  “Well damn,” I say. “I had my hopes up and everything.”

  “Yeah well, life is full of disappointments,” she says. “Suck it up, cupcake.”

  I laugh as we head back down the street, toward the waiting car.

  * * *

  “Darby, this is amazing,” he says.

  We're in her studio, and I walk around the canvas, taking it in from several different angles. Her piece blends her original brushwork with clips from newspapers, making a sort of mixed-media collage effect. It's modern, and abstract, but powerful in its own right.

  Once she took over the condo her aunt and uncle owned, she renovated the interior a bit, carving out a spacious studio for herself. There are several completed canvases scattered around – more of this mixed-media style of art, that are all just as striking. All with a powerful message.

  On the canvas in front of me are headlines from a number of local papers about recent shootings in the city. She's painted what look like chalk outlines, abstract looking faces, and a stylized representation of both bullets and blood. It's moving. It's powerful. In a way, it reminds me of some of the pieces we saw at Harold's gallery. It carries the same powerful social message.

  “I painted this after we visited that gallery in Brooklyn,” she says. “It inspired me.”

  “I can definitely see the influence,” I say. “Kind of hard to miss.”

  Other completed works I see carry strong messages about abuse, poverty, sexual assault, and hunger – Darby has a powerful vision, and voice with her art. It really is unlike anything I've ever seen before. Her work is dark, but profoundly beautiful.

  “These pieces – they all need to be in a gallery somewhere,” I say. “People should be seeing these. People need to be seeing these.”

  She nods. “I actually have a show coming up later this year,” she says. “I'm hoping to have a dozen pieces completed by then.”

  “Your work is extraordinary,” I say.

  She gives me a soft smile, her cheeks coloring. “Thank you,” she says as the doorbell rings. “Be right back.”

  She hustles off to answer the door, and I walk around her studio a little more, enjoying her work. I always knew Darby was talented, but seeing her work now, and the message, as well as the progression of her maturity as an artist – blows me away.

  I'm squatting down, looking closely at one of her paintings when she steps into the room wheeling a box in on a small cart, a puzzled look on her face. I already know what it is and give her a smile.

  “You had something to do with this, I take it?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Won't know until you open it,” I say. “Call it an early Christmas gift.”

  She laughs. “And you say you hate Christmas,” she replies. “Looks to me like you're starting to warm up to it a bit.”

  I shrug. “I just thought you deserved something nice.”

  “You know, spending money on me won’t win my heart.”

  “Not trying to win your heart by spending money,” I reply. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

  I lift the box and put it on a table that sits against the back wall. She uses a box cutter to open it and when she has the cardboard peeled away, she stands there, looking at the contents, a solemn look on her face, but one infused with a touch of awe, as well.

  “I can't believe you bought this for me,” she says softly.

  “I saw how hard it hit you, Darby,” I say. “I thought you might like it. I thought it could inspire you.”

  She turns to me and smiles. “I do,” she says. “Very much. Thank you, Carter. This means – this means a lot to me.”

  On the table is the piece from Morton's Gallery of Urban Art that had impacted her. A sculpture made of spent bullets. The piece had hit me hard as well. It's a serious punch to the gut. I saw the impact it had on Darby, and knew she needed to have it.

  “If nothing else, I thought you might want to display it in your classroom,” I say. “Maybe, your kids can draw some inspiration from it like you did.”

  She steps forward and wraps her arms around the back of my neck, pulling me into a tight embrace. I kiss the top of her head, relishing the feel of her body pressed to mine. It's these quiet moments we share that mean the most to me. It's what's been missing with all of the other women I've dated. Pretty much non-existent.

  Which, of course, only makes me more determined to make her mine. To make her see that she and I belong together – that we were supposed to be.

  She looks up at me and pulls me down to her, pressing her mouth to mine. Our kiss starts slow and gentle, but quickly gains steam. Our tongues swirl together, and I feel my body instantly responding to her. I want to stop this train before it gets too far down the tracks though, so I pull back and give her a wry smile.

  “I thought you said –�
�

  “I changed my mind,” she says, cutting me off with a mischievous grin. “Shut up.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Shut up and get naked,” she says. “Now.”

  I kiss her again, harder, and with more fire and passion. I feel myself stiffening in my pants, my cock growing harder by the second, begging for release. Darby grips me through my slacks, stroking and rubbing me, making the desire within me swell like a tide.

  Reaching up, I unbutton her blouse and slip it off her shoulders, dotting kisses down her neck and chest. I unhook her bra and let it fall to the floor as her breasts fall freely into my hands. I slide my tongue down, and take her nipple into my mouth, sucking on it gently at first before giving it a slightly harder nip, drawing a gasp from her.

  “Wait,” she says.

  I stand up, thinking she's about to put an end to it, when she turns and hustles out of the studio. She comes back a moment later with a condom in her hand, and a sultry smile upon her lips.

  “Better to be prepared,” she says.

  “Absolutely,” I say.

  I pull her to me, and kiss her hard, sliding my tongue in her mouth forcefully as I grip her hair and give it a firm tug. As we kiss, she slips my shirt off my shoulders, and lets it fall to the floor. Slipping my hands underneath her skirt, I pull her panties down, sliding them all the way down her legs. She kicks them off but leaves her heels on – which I approve of. Turning her around, I bend her down, making her brace herself on the wide, padded stool she uses when she works.

  Grabbing her hair, I pull her head back and slide my hand back up her skirt. Standing behind her, I kiss her neck and shoulders, before plunging my fingers into her warm depths. She gasps and cries out as I start to bang her, driving my fingers into her again and again. She calls out my name, fueling the fires that are burning within me.

  I slowly withdraw my fingers and let her turn around. I make her watch me, as I slip my fingers into my mouth, relishing the taste of her. Lust is shining bright in her eyes.