by Nikki Wild
“Lucky guess. It just happens to be across the street from that huge gourmet food grocer that moved into the brick Cannery Building last week. The Greco Grocer is a very large new account of ours. Chef Armani gourmet products and Armani Napa wines will be featured throughout the store.”
“Greco Grocer……I think I remember seeing that name recently on a portfolio in your office.”
“They’re a giant global company. Coincidentally they started out in Palermo, which is where my grandfather opened his first restaurant. Isn’t it amazing that they both ended up expanding and eventually uniting here in the states so many years later?”
“That is pretty amazing. Speaking of amazing, you should come down and check out my brother’s band. Michael is the drummer.”
“I love listening to live jazz. Maybe I’ll….”
At that moment my phone played my grandfather’s ringtone: “ Moon River” was his favorite song. It was the hospital calling.
“Excuse me Julia, I have to take this.”
It was my grandfather’s private nurse. She informed me that he had passed away within the past hour while napping. I thanked her and hung up. I felt numb inside.
“Is everything okay Edward? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“My grandfather’s gone. He just passed away in his sleep a little bit ago.”
Julia reached across the table and sympathetically took my hand in hers. Her expression was one of true sadness and I could tell she sincerely ached for me.
“Edward I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do? Anything at all?”
“I appreciate that Julia. I honestly don’t know what I would do without you. Since you mentioned it, there is something you could do for me actually. Cancel that deal with the photographer. He’s not getting a penny now. The photos don’t matter anymore…….”
Julia looked at me in complete disbelief with her mouth open for at least a solid minute before speaking:
“On second thought Edward, I think I changed my mind about that wine. I could definitely use some after all. Anthony! We need another bottle of Merlot over here please!”
5
Julia
That damn wine hit me like a ton of bricks! I had always been a lightweight when it came to drinking, but the news of Grandfather Armani dyeing was simply the final straw today. I mean it really wasn’t a complete shock since he was sickly and old but I was still blindsided by it. And then to top it off, Edward telling me to cancel out all the work I had just done to save his ass AGAIN. Unbelievable! But I still shouldn’t have had that third glass of Merlot!
Now I found myself practically staggering down the street! I wished I hadn’t promised Michael I’d help him set up his gig; I just wanted to go home and lie down. But I couldn’t let him down. He was depending on me. As usual Edward had been too wrapped up in his own problems to notice the state I was in and I was too proud to let on that I needed help. To be fair, he had had a lot to drink himself and was obviously very mentally distracted by the distressing news.
I decided my best bet would simply be to catch a cable car that was heading in the direction of the wharf, even though it was only a short distance and it seemed dumb to pay six bucks for a 10-minute ride down the hill. But I just couldn’t bare the idea of walking any further. My legs were like noodles! I had no idea what use would I be to Michael in this condition but I felt like I had to at least make an effort.
The cable car bell rang twice as it approached the stop. It was completely full except for the running board on the outside. So I hopped aboard and hung on for dear life! Oh dear lord! My head was spinning. I could just imagine tomorrow’s headlines: Drunken Idiot Woman Hit By Bus After Fall From Trolley!
All the passengers disembarked in the park across from Ghirardelli Square. The tourist couple who had been seated nearest me looked relieved that I hadn’t vomited on them. I plopped down on a park bench in an effort to compose myself and hopefully sober up a little as well.
I had a perfect view of the Golden Gate Bridge but I knew it wouldn’t last too much longer as the late afternoon fog was starting to roll in. I gazed out over the bay as I contemplated the possible repercussions of the elder Armani’s passing. I knew it was selfish to think about myself at a time like this, but I had a very real concern about my job: If Edward no longer had to worry about maintaining a squeaky-clean public image for his inheritance, why in the world would he still need me on the payroll?
Of course it was possible that his grandfather had already cut him out of the will entirely. He had been disgusted with his grandson’s behavior for quite some time. Did I really want that to happen to Edward? No I didn’t. Not at all. Either way, I suspected my job was on shaky ground. And now just what I needed – the hiccups!
After about half an hour on the bench, I decided I’d better get over to the jazz club to help Michael. I was immensely proud of my little brother and I told him so every chance I got. He was truly a fine musician. I slowly stood up, inhaled a few deep breaths of cool sea air and made my way out of the park toward Louie’s Pier 55.
Michael and his band were setting up onstage. I waved to him from across the dance floor as I entered the club and he yelled, “Hey Sis! Thanks for comin’! C’mon up here!” As I ran up to greet him, I tripped on the final step and belly-flopped onto the stage. My initial laughter soon turned to uncontrollable hiccupping and then finally to a flood of tears. Michael and the guys helped me up and sat me on his drum seat. He gestured to them to leave us alone for a minute.
“Julia what is the matter with you? You smell like booze. Are you drunk?”
“I’m sorry Michael. I guess I did have a little too much wine at work with Edward this afternoon.”
“You worked today? I didn’t know that. I thought you were out running….”
“Uh huh….Edward called me into the office. It was an emergency.”
“Everything’s an emergency with that guy. But why were you drinking wine at the office?”
“We weren’t. We went out to lunch.”
“Let me guess…….lunch at Armani’s again!”
“Of course! Anyway, Edward’s grandpa died and I started feeling insecure about my job. I’m pretty sure it’s short-lived. What am I gonna do if he fires me?”
“He’d be an idiot if he even thinks about doing that. He’s always going to need your help... Anyway, don’t worry about it. I won’t kick you out on the street Sis! I won’t let you become a homeless bag woman!” Michael laughed at his own comments.
“That’s just it though! I’m afraid he won’t need my help anymore now that he doesn’t have to worry about pleasing his grandfather. The handwriting is on the wall…….”
At that point, I went into a full-on crying jag. Poor Michael. Just what he needed on opening night! But I couldn’t help myself. I was a wreak. He carefully walked me down the stairs, sat me in a corner booth and got me a cup of coffee. I apologized profusely to him for being a burden and my sweetie pie of a brother forgave me and assured me I had nothing to worry about.
“Don’t worry Julia. Sit here, relax and enjoy the show. We’ll talk more about all this at home okay? You don’t have to stay for our whole set either. But if you wanna leave early, please tell me so I can call you a cab. Promise?”
“Yes I promise Michael. You’re the best brother in the whole wide world Michael. I love you so much, you know that?”
“Yeah yeah, I know. Now please drink this coffee and sober up. I’m gonna join the guys now and finish getting ready okay?”
“Go ahead. I’ll be fine….thanks Michael. Break a leg!”
Regrettably, I missed most of Michael’s show. I sort of recalled listening to their first couple of songs but then I seemed to remember thinking how comfortable the cushy booth was. And then BAM I guess I went out like a light. I suddenly awoke to the sound of my brother’s voice whispering in my ear.
“C’mon Sleeping Beauty…….wake up. Time to go home.”
I
used the ladies’ room to freshen up while Michael called a cab for us. I was feeling extremely embarrassed and remorseful about how the evening turned out.
“I’m so sorry about tonight Michael. I let you down and I missed most of your show. I promise I’ll make it up to you somehow.”
“Julia stop beating yourself up. Shit just happens sometimes. To everyone. Plus we have a month-long contract with Louie’s so you’ll have plenty of chances to hear us play here again.”
We climbed into the backseat of the cab and I gave Michael a big hug. I couldn’t have asked for a better brother. He was so comforting and I felt so secure snuggled up next to him. I rested my head on his shoulder and smiled to myself at how lucky I was to have him.
“Ya know Julia, I am kinda surprised about one thing though. I really thought you had a lot more self-worth. Why do you care so much about working for that arrogant asshole anyway? He doesn’t even fully appreciate you. You already know you can get way more money at any law firm in the city. I would think you’d be happy to be free of that whole dysfunctional family. Edward Armani doesn’t deserve you. I don’t understand why you put up with him…..”
Michael’s voice trailed off, probably out of frustration. It wasn’t the first time he had given me that speech and I knew he was one-hundred percent correct on all counts. I appreciated his concern and loved that he always looked out for me and had my best interest at heart. We were very close and we normally didn’t keep secrets from each other, but I just couldn’t tell him about my sexual relationship with Edward. He would absolutely freak if he knew!
And he’d probably try to kick Edward’s ass in some absurd macho defense of my honor…….and boy would he lose!
Edward would wipe the floor with him. He outweighed my little bro by at least 50 pounds of solid muscle. It was definitely better that Michael didn’t know all the “duties” of my job. I smiled to myself again; hardly a duty. More like a very sweet “fringe benefits” package. Good thing I didn’t have to pay taxes on it, because I’d be broke…
“You just gotta trust me Michael…….. I have my reasons.”
6
Edward
The morning air was nippy and damp. I was relieved that I had the wind at my back instead of my face as I pedaled the final mile of my early morning bike ride across the Golden Gate Bridge, back into the city. The Sunday traffic was practically nonexistent since most San Franciscans were still just waking up. It was exactly what the doctor ordered, so to speak, after yesterday’s news of my Nonno’s passing. Nonno was the Italian word for grandfather and that’s what I’d always called him ever since I could remember.
I had awaken with an intense need to clear my mind and I knew a ride up through the spectacular Marin Headlands across the bay would do the trick. The low-hanging clouds obscured the usual breath-taking views but the natural wilderness up there on the hilly peninsula was still a perfect place to reflect.
I had such an array of mixed emotions whirring around in my head. Nonno and I hadn’t always gotten along. That was for sure! In fact our relationship was quite contentious at times. Nevertheless, I still loved that stubborn old geezer. The problem was that he had very traditional values from “the old country” and he was very set in his ways. He tried, unsuccessfully, to make me into a carbon copy of himself after my parents died.
Their private plane had gone down into the Atlantic Ocean, off the coast of the Canary Islands, during my last year of high school. I was totally devastated. There were no survivors and their bodies were never recovered. So I went to live with Nonno for a brief time during my remaining tumultuous teen years. I recalled people telling him how generous he was (and ambitious!) to take me in. They were right; I was basically a rich little shit-head with a chip on my shoulder.
My grandfather had definitely had a profound impact on my life but his frustration at his inability to completely mold me into my father was ever-present. He was proud of my dad because he was exactly like him; “A true Armani”, whatever that meant. But I was a different breed altogether and I knew I was most likely a disappointment to him. Nonno tried to shape my behavior by constantly hanging the threat of disinheritance over my head. That’s what pissed me off the most. I hated being manipulated by him and the fucking money, so I took on the attitude that it didn’t matter. Which in turn pissed him off even more!
But now it was all over. The reading of the will would take place this week. I would more than likely inherit the entire Armani family business and fortune. And that’s where the mixed emotions came in: Yes I felt sad about Nonno’s death, but I also felt like rejoicing from the fucking rooftops! A huge weight had been suddenly lifted off my shoulders. I would finally be free to live my life without Nonno’s oversight or the need for his approval.
The long winding driveway up to my palatial home in Presidio Heights was quite steep and pedaling up it took the final bit of wind out of me. My legs usually throbbed by the time I reached my garage. I parked the bike and took off my helmet and the rest of my gear before going inside. A nice soothing hot shower seemed like the perfect remedy for my aching muscles.
I had absolutely nothing important on my agenda for the day so I lingered under my luxurious rain showerhead for at least thirty minutes. By the time I dressed and went out onto my bedroom terrace the morning clouds had dissipated and the warm summer sun was shining brightly. My butler Nigel had already laid out Sunday brunch for me: Lemon ricotta pancakes, a veggie frittata, Italian sausage patties, a steaming cup of espresso and an Asti Spumonte mimosa. I took a seat, propped up my feet, and dug into the delicious feast while I enjoyed my phenomenal 180-degree view of the Pacific Ocean and San Francisco Bay.
About halfway through the meal Nigel popped back out and asked if I wanted anything else. I had known Nigel Kent for years and although he was technically what you’d call a traditional English butler, he seemed more like an eccentric old uncle. He had worked for my parents and just naturally stayed with me after their untimely demise. Sure, he took care of my every need like a servant but our relationship was really quite informal. He had addressed me as Master Edward for so many years it took awhile to get him to stop once I became an adult. My dad insisted on being called sir but I hated that formality. I told Nigel I didn’t give a shit what he called me as long as he called me for dinner. So he basically addressed me by whatever name flipped his switch at that particular moment.
“Sit down Nigel. Take a load off and join me. There’s plenty!”
“No thank you. I have a rather full schedule.”
“Full schedule? What the hell else do you have to do today?”
“Well I do have an entire staff to manage. This little castle doesn’t just run itself you know King Edward.”
“This is hardly a castle Nigel. At 19,000 square feet, this is a mansion at best!”
“Oh yes I see what you mean! It is quite tiny now that you mention it. How do you get by?”
“Alright cut the crap for a minute. I was wondering if you could answer a question for me Nigel?”
“I shall certainly try.”
“I was wondering exactly how well you knew my grandfather?”
“Please accept my deepest condolences again Edward.”
“Thank you Nigel.”
“I’d say I knew him pretty well. Why do you ask?”
“What did you think of him? Did you like him?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that at the moment…..”
“Why not Nigel? You know you can be honest with me.”
“Honesty is not the issue. It’s the blueberry compote on the tip of your nose. You look absurd and it’s very distracting.”
I laughed and wiped my nose with the linen napkin from my lap.
“Nigel! You crack me up! How’s that? Did I get it all off?”
“Yes very good! What was your question again?”
“Did you like my grandfather?”
Nigel squinted his eyes and gazed off into the horizon as if he
were traveling back through time in his own head. He appeared to be visiting a distant memory in quiet contemplation. I stuffed another forkful of frittata into my mouth and waited patiently for him to return to the present with his response.
“I’d have to say I respected your grandfather more than I actually liked him. He was quite stern as I’m sure you know and very no-nonsense. Very serious indeed. But also extremely generous, charitable to a fault even…. if that’s possible. He was honorable, well-mannered and his work ethic was second to none.”
“Wow. I appreciate your candor Nigel. I’m curious about something else too, if you don’t mind more questions.”
“Not at all inspector…….have you ever thought about working for Scotland Yard?”
“Do you think I’m like my grandfather at all? Do I remind you of him in any way?”
Nigel stared at me for a long time, seemingly composing a thoughtful answer.
“Yes there is a similar quality I suppose.”
“What is it Nigel? What traits do I have in common with him?”
“I must say your taste in suits is every bit as impeccable as his was. Very stylish…. Will there be anything else Edward?”
“No thank you Nigel. That will be all.”
“Thank you Edward.”
Seriously? Our taste in clothes?! That’s the only commonality Nigel could come up with? Really? What the fuck? I wasn’t quite sure if he was jerking my chain or not. His British humor escaped me sometimes. I’m sure he sensed my obvious frustration with his answer. I could tell the whole conversation made him somewhat uncomfortable and that’s why I didn’t press him any further.
Why was I so interested in being like Nonno all of a sudden anyway? Nigel’s description was completely spot-on accurate; charitable to a fucking fault. He gave away ridiculous amounts of money! I never understood it. As soon as Paul Newman started donating his food product profits to charity, that was it! Nonno wanted to do the same thing. Who the fuck cares what Paul Newman’s company does? What did some old actor even know about making Italian dressing and spaghetti sauce anyway? That remained our biggest disagreement right up to the end. Too bad he had to leave this earth with that unsettled argument between us.
