Beautiful Revenge

by John Forrester

  “You know about the historical debate over ownership, the rumor that plays itself out among the old Andover families? The ruin that came after the ’29 stock market crash?”

  No, I didn’t know about that. Why hadn’t Grandmother mentioned such a thing?

  “I can’t imagine your family would speak of it.” He chuckles as if amused by some secret joke.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I blurt the words out before I can censor myself.

  He places his hand on my forearm and a million prickles of electricity scintillate along my skin. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it, honestly. When you grow up listening to adults playing gin rummy after drinking too much, you hear all kinds of secrets.”

  Secrets? What secrets is he talking about? Keary stiffens as Oscar, our butler, strides by, nodding slightly, a disapproving expression on his face. When Oscar disappears down the hallway, Keary grasps my hand, a questioning look on his face, as if he wants to go someplace with privacy. I lead him down the opposite hallway, snaking around the corner to my bedroom situated at the south edge of Harris House, where my windows overlook the gardens.

  I’m surprised by the urgency in my movements and how quickly Keary closes the door. I fully expect him to scoop his hand around me and tug at the low of my back, drawing me into an embrace, but instead he guides me over to the steel desk in the far corner of my vast room. His silence is unnerving as he places his Mac on the bare desk and motions for me to sit. I obey and gaze up into his now fierce eyes.

  “Servants talk and whisper things to people who shouldn’t know,” says Keary seriously. I want to giggle but suppress the feeling, remembering all the hideously delicious things O’Donell, Mother’s lady’s maid, has told me.

  “Don’t I know it.” Like the time O’Donell told me the weird exercises Mother does to keep her breasts perky, no doubt to entice teenage boys into nursing her nipples into a state of erection.

  “Harris House, or so the story goes, was stolen from the Barclay family in the winter of 1930, after poor Mr. Barclay lost his wealth in the stock market crash. Mr. Barclay, so desperate to retain his fortune, offered Harris House as collateral in a high stakes poker game, and lost to a notorious swindler and social climber named—”

  “Cornelius Chambers?” My heart pounds against my chest and sweat prickles under my arms as the painting of my great-grandfather flashes in my mind’s eye. Great-grandfather was a swindler? I never knew him, though my grandmother said he kissed me on the forehead when I was a baby and demanded Father and Mother name me Clarise.

  Keary bends down in front of me, holds both my hands, and gazes into my eyes, a worried, vulnerable expression on his somber face. “Don’t be angry at me, please. It’s just what I’ve been hearing for so many years from my parents and their friends.”

  My head sags to my chest and, in response, Keary kisses my fingers, creating a tingling sensation that ripples through my body, distracting my dark thoughts completely.

  “Forget I ever brought it up…you know how people like to gossip about the past. It’s probably not even true.” Keary’s face is reassuring and I brighten, unable to think clearly with the memory of his soft lips still lingering on my fingers.

  In response to my stupid stare, Keary clears his throat and stands. “Our project?”

  “The what? Oh, yeah. Sorry, just a bit of shock.”

  Keary opens his Mac and is busy in Final Cut Pro, but my mind is still on the feeling of his lips on my fingers, and even though I’m sort of working on my part of the project, I’m in a daze.

  Cornelius Chambers, a swindler and a social climber? I’m remembering now words that Phillip said months ago about Father and his investment bank. Father’s in a bit of trouble financially. After the economic downturn, his firm’s credit has run short and many of his investors have left him. Damned old families and their old grudges.

  Old grudges. As in old grudges going back to my great-grandfather? A soft knock at my door startles me from my reverie, and I’m surprised to see Phillip’s curious face peeking inside. Isn’t he spending the afternoon with Zachary and Giselle out on the ocean?

  “So this is why you turned me down.” Phillip nods, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Who’s your friend?” He saunters over and plops himself onto my bed, his crotch landing strategically on the face of my white teddy bear, the one that Father bought me in Paris.

  “Keary, meet Phillip, my infamous brother. Phillip, will you stop molesting Teddy? What are you doing here, anyway? You’re supposed to be on the boat with Zachary and Giselle?”

  Keary frowns and glances cautiously at Phillip’s widening smile.

  “They’ve grown tiresome. Keep freakin’ sending me texts all day long. She’s pissed, he’s sorry. I’m like, stop already.” Phillip’s gaze shifts over to Keary. “So…working on a video project for Mr. Masters and Johnson?”

  “Yes, and you can leave my room now.” I wave Phillip away dismissively, and he rolls off my bed and clambers to the door. Before he leaves, I catch him sending Keary a bizarre wink.

  “Sorry about my brother.”

  “That’s okay, I have a nightmare of an older brother also.”

  “Phillip’s not a nightmare.” The words come out of my mouth harsher than I intend. “He’s just…unique.”

  Keary opens his mouth as if to retort, but stays quiet and chooses instead to go back to editing his video. Phillip isn’t a nightmare to me, but his entrance did suck all the electricity out of the room, especially the feeling between Keary and me.

  After an hour or so of editing in silence, I finish my portion as best as I can and offer Keary something to drink. He rubs his eyes and gazes blearily at me, his face sleepy.

  “Sorry, I was up late last night.”

  “Come on, walk with me to the kitchen.” We stride down the hallway and I glance back at him. “Why were you up late?”

  Keary sighs and one of his eyelids twitch. “My fucking father. The drunk came home at, like, two in the morning and woke the whole house in one of his bitchy moods. My poor mother…we tried to get him to bed but he wasn’t cooperating.” His face twists up into an anguished snarl, scaring me in an instant. “He just…he just—”

  I place my hand on his shoulder and his head spins around at me. “Don’t worry about it…really. It’ll be all right. Did you have anything to eat?”

  His shrug tells me he hasn’t, so I ask Mrs. Coring, our cook, if she can make us a late lunch. We sit outside on the patio overlooking the garden, with its tulips and daffodils in bloom, new buds rising on the rose bushes, the Japanese maple tree’s shimmering red leaves, and pink chrysanthemums glistening in the brilliant afternoon light.

  Mrs. Coring brings us baguette sandwiches, arugula salad with cranberries and candied pecans, and her famous spring lemonade with a pinch of vodka. I watch Keary voraciously devour the food, and feel his mood calming and life slowly creeping back into his cheeks. After he takes a few sips of the lemonade, he winks at me and raises his glass in a toast.

  “How do you get her to spike the lemonade?”

  I laugh a small laugh. “I think she’s so used to my parents drinking, and they don’t care if I drink, so she just makes it.” The lemonade tastes sweet and bitter rolling around on my tongue. “It’s so hot today.”

  Keary leans in and wipes a bead of sweat rolling down the side of my forehead, and I can’t help but shiver in response. “Summer is coming soon, only a few more weeks. Is your family going to Martha’s Vineyard?”

  I picture our yearly trek to the island: the ride in Father’s sailing yacht, swimming along the shore, and Phillip and me crabbing across the beach, searching for shells.

  “Yeah, of course, we always go. You?”

  Keary nods and takes another sip of lemonade, his eyes flirting devilishly with me. “We should hang out…you and me. We’ll have fun this summer.”

  A thrill races through my body at the sound of his voice and the way his fingers delicately trace
along his neck. This summer, all summer, with Keary? Every summer before it was just Phillip and me—and his crazy friends. I was the tag along. But what would Martha’s Vineyard be like spending the summer with Keary? I think of the sand dunes and hot, muggy nights strolling the beach, flashlight in hand, chasing crabs, and drinking wine while cracking jokes with Phillip. I really want that to come true, I want to have my summer at Martha’s Vineyard with Keary.

  Just when Keary is about to hold my hand, my dream of his soft lips on my fingers is shattered by the sound of Mother’s hideous cackle, the kind she makes after she’s drunk more than her fair share of mimosas. I find myself cringing at her voice, my shoulders twisting up into knots, my stomach a plug of lead.

  “And can you believe they actually had the nerve to show their faces at the yacht club?” Mother’s nasally voice drones on like a swarm of angry bees. “Especially after he was caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.”

  “He took six billion dollars…six billion dollars of investor funding and backed bad bets, simple as that.” Father glances at me and Keary, frowns, and turns back to Mother, whose mouth is hanging open, eyes staring lewdly at Keary.

  “Why the hell are you gaping at him like that?”

  Fuck. What is my mom doing? I cough in surprise, make an apologetic face at Keary, and try to compose myself. “Mother, Father, meet Keary McNaughton. We’re working on a project together.”

  Mother stares aghast at Father, her head swaying back and forth drunkenly. She opens her mouth to speak but Father interrupts her.

  “Oh.” He attempts to pull his drunken self together, clears his voice, only to let out a scoff instead. “McNaughton?” Father’s face darkens, and he casts Keary a wary glance.

  “Good to meet you, sir. Clarise was kind enough to feed me.”

  “Feed?” Mother rolls her eyes and sits next to Keary, sizing him up with her bloodshot eyes. “I’d like to feed you—”

  “That’s about enough of that!” Father shouts, yanking Mother by the arm. She whirls around and tries to slap him on the face, but Father grabs her wrist instead. “You’re drunk. Go to bed and sleep it off.”

  “Maybe I should be heading home.” Keary stands and glances towards the door.

  Mother breaks free of Father’s grasp and places a hand on Keary’s chest. “No, stay. Have a drink. You boys all like to drink, don’t you?” She laughs bitterly, then whimpers in pain as Father twists her arm around and forces her back into the house, swearing at her in whispered, sadistic tones.

  Keary looks shell-shocked and amused at the same time. “Your mother really likes me.” He gives me a casual wink, notices my scowl, and holds my hand in response. “Don’t worry about it, my parents are just as fucked up. At least your father seems decent.”

  Father is good to me, but I just can’t understand why he stays with Mother. So many other parents get divorced, but my parents stubbornly stay together, going from loathing and all-out fights to tenderness and reconciliation.

  “I probably should be going. Show me to the door?” Keary flashes me a smile so hideously cute my legs turn into rubber as he squeezes my hand and pulls me to my feet. I lean in towards him, hoping to kiss his soft lips, but he turns and strides towards the house.

  I remind him that his MacBook is still up in my room, and hope for the opportunity to entice him to stay longer. But once inside, he just grabs his laptop and ignores my tantalizing eyes. Sighing, I follow him down to the entrance.

  “See you.” Keary makes a small wave with his cupped hand, and spins around through the door. My heart sinks down to my stomach; I feel like kicking the wall, angry at my mother for making such a stupid scene. Keary must hate me after how she’s acted. No wonder he’s in a hurry to go home. I contemplate murder.

  As I turn back towards the stairs, resigned to go the whole summer in solitary suffering, the front door slowly creaks open, and my heart thuds in my chest as I see Keary’s grinning face. He beckons me over, scoops his hand around the small of my back, and pulls me in until I’m so close to his face that I can feel his warm breath wash along the side of my neck. I shiver and crumble into him; he caresses the exposed skin just above my hips and my thighs start to tingle. His lips kiss me softly. He leans in and traces the tender area just below my ear. His voice, a low rumble like a coming storm, whispers, “I can’t wait until summer.”

  CHAPTER 4

  FATHER MUST HAVE seen the whole thing with Keary at the door because his face holds a scowl so dark that I want to turn the light on to read his full expression. He ambles over to where I stand in stunned silence, one part of me still aroused from Keary’s touch, his lips on my neck, and his words, but the other part is morbidly afraid of what my father is thinking.

  “Do you even know who the McNaughtons are?” Father’s voice is clenched in anger. “Do you know what Keary’s father has put me through?”

  I shake my head, trembling, retreating until I feel the wood of the door pressing against my shoulder blades. What is he talking about? The McNaughtons are members of society, in our circle; they belong to all the same clubs as Mother and Father.

  Father’s face softens a bit at my no doubt frightened expression, and he lowers his voice to a scary whisper. “Howard McNaughton was the person behind a business proposition that came to me in the spring of 2008—a way for my investment firm to diversify into the expanding world of real estate. He tricked me through a spy in my organization. Do you even know where I’m heading?”

  His voice sends a chill through me; I have no idea what he is talking about.

  “The financial crisis of 2008? Don’t they teach you anything in school?” Father balls up his fists and wraps his knuckles against the wall. “My firm was devastated from bad credit default swaps. They claimed they were AAA-rated, this spy showed years of stunning performance, but our investment tanked to practically no value. Don’t you realize I’ve been struggling to turn around my business for all these years?”

  “But what does Keary have to do with all this? He’s not his father. In fact, he can’t stand his father.” My voice quavers when I finally speak, as if uncertain about what I’m saying.

  “I can’t imagine that Keary doesn’t know; his father openly mocks me!”

  “Well if I didn’t know about it, why should he?” My words come out accusing and harsh, and Father looks like he’s been slapped in the face.

  “He’s ruined me…intentionally ruined me, do you understand that?” Father’s voice is so soft I can barely hear him, and that frightens me to my core.

  “Is it really that bad?”

  “Worse. My investors are fleeing the fund every day. Debts are piling up—” Father stops himself with a flap of his hand, sighs, and mutters to himself something that I can’t hear. Finally, after a long, awkward pause, he looks up at me. “I shouldn’t have told you all this. Look at your worried face. Don’t frown, things will be all right; we’ll manage somehow. Every day I’m working hard to settle the situation, to turn things around in the right direction. A brighter day is coming, my caramel.”

  My caramel. I smile at the name he’s called me since I was just a little girl, and reach out to hold his hands.

  “Please promise me you won’t see him again? I just can’t bear the torture of knowing that his son is seeing my daughter.”

  I try to swallow but my throat is dry; Father’s face is so earnest and lost, as if he’s drifting all alone in darkness. Even though I can’t stand the idea of not seeing Keary again, I nod in agreement.

  “I promise.” The lie slides easily from my lips.

  As Father turns to go, I catch Phillip hiding upstairs behind a billowing palm, an evil smile playing on his mouth.

  The days glide by quickly until school is finally over and Phillip and Zachary announce their grand end-of-the-year bash at Zachary’s estate. His parents have gone on a trip to their villa in Croatia, and as Zachary claims, they left the house to his whims. Phillip assures me that Zachary’s
parents are fine with him throwing the party, so I grudgingly go along with the plan.

  Everyone will be there, or so Phillip says. He’s just graduated and, short of his summer trip to Europe, this will be the biggest thing that happens all year. Phillip and his grandiose illusions. But a party will be good, as I’ve spent my final days in school studying, avoiding Keary, and generally living like a hermit.

  I go through my wardrobe, playing the elimination/selection game: too conservative, too boring, too last year, too springy, too wintry, too hideous, and everything is too sucky. After a long sigh, I realize I desperately need to go shopping.

  Giovanni’s Boutique in Boston isn’t nearly as cool as shopping in New York City, but it does have the up-and-coming designers my heart craves. I euro-kiss Giovanni and chuckle as he wiggles his white-pant-clad ass through the maze of dresses hanging like bodies strung from the ceiling.

  “I need something from the three S’s.” Fashion speak for slutty, sultry, seductive.

  “Oh!” Giovanni slaps a manicured hand to his rouged lips, his body as erect as the cocks he most certainly loves to suck. “Party time?”

  “The party of the year. Tonight Zachary is throwing a love-fest-euphoria event.”

  At hearing the word “Zachary,” Giovanni licks his lips lasciviously. “God, honey, you’re making me all wet, don’t even mention that disgustingly gorgeous man.” His knees push in together and to the side and he bends down like he’s having a Giselle-like orgasm.

  “Please, bitch, you’re dressing me, not serving up Zachary a taste.”

  Giovanni waves his hand in a pirouette, then spanks his ass. “Just releasing some steam, baby, because just the mention of that man fills me all up with heat. Anyway, where were we? Ah yes, let’s keep it sultry shall we? With your figure…uh-huh.” His fingers trace down my arms, his expert fashionista eyes inspecting every inch of my body. “Your breasts are filling out nicely. Perfectly flat stomach, tiny waist, and an ass to make all the boys hard in their pants. But let’s tone it down a bit, shall we? Understated, slinky black dress, indecently low cut in the back, but don’t you dare wear a bra—and don’t even think of wearing panties.”