Secrets and Charms

by Lou Harper

  “Shut up, Chard. It’s exactly the kind of boneheaded idiotic crap I expected from you, but why did you have to drag Olly into it?” She cast a deadly glare in Olly’s direction. “And you! You’re supposed to be the smart one. What the fuck?”

  “We did it to help,” Olly tried to explain. “Didn’t want a scandal to ruin your chances for the new role.” In hindsight, he had to admit the plan was less than perfect.

  She gave an unladylike snort. “Have you been watching Fangs?”

  Olly nodded vigorously, but Rich in the back said, “You know I don’t. I’ve told you.”

  Sandy huffed. “Well, if you did, you’d know the stuff that dickhead tried to blackmail me with is outright tame compared to the stuff I do on HBO. You remember the orgy scene from season three?” She aimed the question at Olly but didn’t wait for a reply. “I was fucking two guys and a girl. At the same time.”

  “And then you disemboweled one of the guys and ripped out the throat of the other,” Olly added. He saw Rich pressing his hands to his ears.

  Sandy started up the car. “Great scene. All sex is simulated, and the guys wear socks on their cocks during shoot. Most of them do, anyway. Compared to Fangs, kissing another girl and groping her boobs was mild stuff. Yeah, okay, I admit jumping into porn wasn’t one of my brightest ideas, but I shot only one scene. One of the crew had a freaking heart attack right there on the set. I took it as a sign and dropped out. Anyway…” She raised her voice. “If I fuck up, I’ll take the credit for it. Comprendo? I don’t need someone else to rush it and cover up for me. Everyone’s responsible for their own fuck-ups. Right, Chard?”

  Only silence came from the backseat.

  “Julie called me,” she added.

  “She had no right.” Rich sounded like a stubborn child.

  Sandy was gripping the steering wheel as if she was trying to strangle it. “I beg to differ. My brother spending every last penny he has on replacing the money his father embezzled from his own company is the kind of shit I need to know about.”

  “Our father.” Rich’s clipped answer gave Olly the impression they’d had this argument before.

  “Our biological father,” she snapped back.

  They drove the rest of the way in silence. “Would you like to come in?” Sandy asked Olly as they got out of the car.

  Olly knew better. “I better go home.” He hesitated. “Should I come by in the morning? I’ll be off work, and I could help with the floor.”

  She hugged him. “Please do,” she said, loosening her grip. “I might kill the jackass otherwise. I’m sorry about my idiot brother. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  Olly was hoping Rich would do the making up, but kept this to himself.

  Chapter Nine

  Sandy shut the door and turned to the near-empty living room. “Oh, Richard.” The doleful tone in her voice was worse than the yelling.

  “I don’t need your pity,” Rich said brusquely.

  Fight sparked up in her eyes. “You know what the dictionary definition of pity is? Feeling of sorrow and compassion. If you have a problem with those, too fucking bad, because you’re my brother, even if you’re an idiot, and I’ll feel sorrow and compassion when you do something monumentally stupid. You’ll just have to suck it up.”

  Rich spun, cut through the house and marched out to the back porch. Sandy was right on his heel the whole way. He slumped onto the lone couch and rubbed his face. He was too worn out to fight. “Sands, what do you want from me?”

  “Pulling your head out of your ass would be a good start,” she said on a gentler note.

  “I’m working on it, okay?”

  She plopped onto the couch too, sitting sideways and fixing her intent gaze on him. “Why did you do it?”

  “What Olly said.”

  “No, I meant the other thing. The money.”

  “I had to. He was my father.” Sandy’s expression darkened, but he cut her off. “Do you think you might possibly have anger issues when it comes to Father? A teeny bit?” He held up his hand, index finger and thumb a sixteenth of an inch apart.

  She gave him a silent frown. “Maybe a little,” she said eventually. “I thought I was over it. Mostly. But knowing what he’d done to you makes me mad.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s done with, and he’s gone. End of story.”

  “You should tell that to yourself. This is your chance to be yourself. You don’t have to live according to our so-called father’s double standards anymore.”

  “Why do you think I’m here? With you?” Rich said quietly. It wasn’t easy to let down his strong-guy façade and admit he needed her.

  Her expression softened. “I’m glad you’re here.” They sat there silently for a long time, surrounded by the night and the muted sounds of the city, lit only by the light filtering through the kitchen window.

  Sandy broke the silence. “You like Olly? He seems to be fond of you, I don’t know why.”

  Rich felt his face heat up but hoped she wouldn’t notice. “Yeah, uhm, I guess,” he said nonchalantly.

  She punched him in the shoulder. “You dog! You did the nasty.”

  “Ow!” Rich rubbed his bruised muscle, wondering how she did it. When he managed to meet her eyes, she was grinning. “It doesn’t bother you at all?” he asked. He knew Sandy was open-minded, but he was still nervous.

  “What? That my brother’s a fruit?” She snickered. “I’ve always thought you protested too hard. Plus, Julie’s hot.”

  “I don’t follow your logic.”

  “She once confided in me that you spent more time making furniture than with her. Not fair, if you ask me.”

  “I know.” Rich’s relief mixed with plenty of guilt.

  “Olly’s a sweet kid. You could do worse.”

  But it wasn’t so simple for Rich. “I don’t know what I am.”

  “Well, figure it out. But if you hurt Olly, I’ll cut your balls off. Just saying.”

  Rich was eager to table the subject. “Your obsession with my balls is unhealthy. People will start to think there’s something funny going on—very Game of Thrones.”

  She puffed her chest up. “What? You watch Game of Thrones but not my show?”

  “Do you have scenes where you keep your clothes on?”

  “Hm. A few.” She went quiet, watched him with searching eyes, then nudged his shoulder, gently this time. “Rich.”

  “Huh?”

  “You didn’t kill what’s-his-face, did you?”

  It took him aback to think she even considered the possibility. “You think I’m capable of murder?”

  “Anyone’s capable of murder under the right circumstances. I don’t think you’re stupid enough to kill someone to protect my honor, but you’ve been full of surprises lately. And I simply want to hear it from you.”

  “No, I didn’t kill anybody.”

  “Good. I’m tired. We’re camping again tonight, aren’t we? I’m gonna set the alarm on my phone. Olly will be here tomorrow and, knowing him, probably early. We’ll need to make a run to the hardware store to get…stuff.” She gesture at the house. “Time to wrap this thing up.”

  Olly arrived at eight, wearing ratty jeans and a T-shirt—dressed for work—but still managed to look fresh and crisp. Ever thoughtful, he was bearing coffee and baked-ham-and-cheese croissants, but for once Rich and Sandy were ahead of him. They’d had breakfast of cold cereal and taken a trip to Lowe’s to return the sander and buy all the things they needed for the hardwood floors. Not just the sealant and polyurethane, but brushes, applicators, knee pads, gloves and masks too. The whole enchilada.

  Once they were suited up, Rich led them to the smaller bedroom and demonstrated how to apply the sealant, starting at the edges and moving on to the rest of the floor.

  “I thought we were going to stain it,” Olly commented.

  Rich shook his head. “It’s pine—doesn’t take well to stain. Don’t worry, the wood won’t stay this pale. Once we’re
done, it’ll be nice and blond.” His gaze strayed to Olly’s light hair. “Honey colored,” he corrected himself.

  “Clover honey?” Olly asked, cocking his head to the side. The corners of his lips twitched with a smothered smile.

  Rich sensed zings of electricity starting to fill in the space between them. They made the small hairs on his skin stand up. “If you say so—you’re the honey expert.” Rich was surprised to hear his own words coming out in a low rumble.

  Sandy cleared her throat. “So, about the floor…”

  “Right, the floor.” Rich handed her the brush. “As I said, the edges first, then the middle with the applicator. Got it?”

  “Yes, boss.” Sandy pulled the mask over her nose and got to work.

  Rich sent Olly to the other bedroom while he moved on to the living and dining rooms. They opened into each other without doors, so it made sense to do them together. The others finished in their smaller rooms before him and helped him finish before moving on to the kitchen with a brief detour to the laundry room, making their way through the house front to back, and out to the back porch.

  “Now what?” Sandy asked, flopping onto the couch.

  “Now we wait. In about two hours, the sealant will be dry, and we can do a coat of polyurethane,” Rich replied.

  “Ah, good, my knees are killing me.” She unbuckled her kneepads and tossed them aside. “I need to pee.”

  Rich pulled a face. “Well, you can’t go inside.”

  She dug into her pocket to check for money. “I’m gonna walk down to the corner coffee shop and use the facilities. Should I bring you guys back anything?”

  Olly was cleaning brushes and applicators at the bottom of the porch steps. “Ice coffee would be nice.”

  She nodded. “You, Rich?”

  “Same.”

  “I’ll be back in twenty,” she said and trod off.

  Rich sat on the couch, leaned back and stretched his legs out. “Almost done.” He meant the house in general. The floor needed a few more coats.

  Olly laid the last brush out to dry on a rag and sat next to Rich. Close. He slumped low, leaning his head sideways on the backrest, and studied Rich through half-closed eyes. The languid-cat pose fit him well. Rich stared back, wordless and motionless. Being late morning, heat was filling the air, but it was still nice in the shelter of the covered porch. The trees shading the backyard rustled their leaves in the breeze, and a lovesick dove cooed on the neighbor’s roof. It was all very sleep-inducing, but Rich felt wide awake. Olly tilted his head an inch, and his lips parted, pink tip of his tongue darting out.

  Rich moved on impulse to close the distance. They kissed hungrily but slowly, tasting, exploring with every touch of tongue and press of lips. Rich felt Olly’s fingers dig under his shirt. They traced the edge of his jeans before dipping under and sending a shiver up his spine. At the same time, Olly’s teeth grazed his lips. For someone so young, Olly knew all too well which buttons to push, Rich noted with alarm amidst his adrenaline rush. He clasped Olly’s ass and pulled it closer. Olly had thrown one leg over Rich’s, and now they sat in an awkward position, thighs and groins pressing at odd ways and not giving enough friction.

  Rich knew they had to stop, but he didn’t want to. He finally mustered enough strength to pry his lips from Olly’s. “Sandy,” he croaked into the soft skin of Olly’s neck.

  “I know. And neighbors,” Olly replied with an unhappy sigh. He pushed at Rich’s chest. “Better stop, or we’ll be caught.”

  Rich reluctantly let Olly climb off his lap and slide a safe distance from him. Safer, anyway. He had to adjust himself. “I really don’t want a boner with my sister around,” he admitted. To be honest, he was weirded out by his own reaction to Olly’s proximity, but tried to hide it.

  Olly chuckled. “Yeah, me neither. Think unsexy thoughts. Big, hairy German tourists in Speedos. Eating ice cream.”

  “Now, don’t have to go overboard.” Rich was grateful for Olly joking the tension away. “You work hard,” he said to steer the conversation further away from choppy waters.

  “For a skinny runt?” Olly asked with a self-deprecating smile.

  “I wouldn’t say runt.” Olly was on the slender side, but not runty at all. Not by a mile.

  “Working at FTP builds strength. Lots of lifting crates and boxes, stacking and unstacking. I’m saving a fortune in gym membership.”

  Olly’s job didn’t quite make sense to Rich. “I’m sure you could get an easier gig somewhere. One of those fancy boutiques maybe?”

  Olly made a disdainful sound. “Oh, hell no. Those places pay shit and keep you part time just so they don’t have to give you benefits. I work thirty hours a week at FTP and still get top-notch health insurance, including dental and a 401K. You can’t beat that. And the pay’s good too.”

  “You’re awful sensible for someone your age.”

  Olly stretched, and his shirt rode up, flashing a strip of his stomach at Rich. “My friend Jem thinks it’s my way of rebelling against my flaky parents. He might have a point. I love my parents, but they drive me nuts. Have you ever had a rebellious phase?”

  Rich tore his gaze from Olly’s tattoo. “Nah. I’ve always been the dutiful son.”

  “What did you want to be when you were little? Very little.”

  Rich rummaged around his dusty memories. “Fireman.” The recollection surprised him a little. “I’ve totally forgotten.”

  Olly stopped stretching, thank God. “I could see it. Although, with your coloring, you’d fit better in forest service. Like a park ranger.” His expression turned more serious. “When you’re done here, are you going to return to banking?”

  “No firm would touch me with a ten-foot pole,” Rich said.

  “I don’t know shit about business, but I bet if you really wanted, you could’ve found another stuffy job someplace or other. I think you want to get away.”

  “You’re right.” Rich paused before adding, “You don’t know shit about business.”

  Olly didn’t seem convinced. “Hah! Do you want to go back?”

  Rich didn’t have to think long about it. “Nah. I don’t think so.”

  “Good. I’ve always thought you looked like a prick in a suit and tie.” Sandy appeared at the bottom of the porch, holding a tray of cups.

  Rich had been so absorbed in the exchange with Olly, he hadn’t noticed her come around the corner. “Easy for you to say,” he said to her. “I still need to figure out what to do for a living.”

  She climbed the steps and doled out the coffees. “It’ll work out. You could be my manager,” she suggested.

  Rich groaned. “No way. And don’t you have one already?”

  “I have an agent. It’s not the same.” She squeezed her behind onto the sofa, next to Rich, opposite from Olly. “Move over, fat ass.” She shoved him closer to Olly.

  They sipped their ice coffees and ate Olly’s morning pastries for an early lunch, straight out of the bakery box, wiping their greasy fingers on their jeans. The rest of the day was spent applying three layers of polyurethane on the floors with two-hour breaks in between. They killed time between topcoats chatting, mostly Sandy sharing Hollywood gossip. Rich had only seen her for short, hurried visits for years, so it was like catching up.

  Olly had entertaining stories of his own—for example about the so-called witch who’d given him the charm he was always wearing, and another one about a friend of his who supposedly had been cursed by a meter maid. Rich decided LA was full of wackos. Big surprise.

  They opened the window to the master bath and put a box on either side for easier climbing in and out. This way they didn’t have to make a coffee run every time one of them had to take a whiz.

  Between the second and third topcoats, they ordered pizza. Olly asked for a salad.

  “Who orders rabbit food from a pizza place?” Rich asked incredulously.

  “I like salad,” Olly protested. “There’s chicken in it. See?”

 
; Rich said nothing, just rubbed his chin. His beard had all grown out, and he wasn’t quite used to it yet.

  “It looks nice,” Olly said. “Now you just have to keep it trimmed. Unless you’re going for the Tom Hanks-in-Castaway look.”

  “Probably not.”

  By the time they put on the last coat, the sun was on its way down again, and the midday stuffiness was giving way to a balmy evening. Rich jumped into the shower before Sandy could—women always took way too long, in his experience. He put on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans he’d grabbed from a temporary pile in the garage.

  Olly went next, since Sandy was still digging through boxes, looking for a particular dress. “I can’t wait to be completely moved in and actually know where everything is,” she grumbled.

  “We can start moving the furniture in tomorrow,” Rich told her.

  Olly strode up, wearing clean clothes and rubbing his wet hair with a towel. Disturbingly, he smelled of Sandy’s soap and shampoo. Though, so did Rich. “Are you guys camping out again tonight?” Olly asked.

  “Not me. I have a warm bed waiting for me,” Sandy replied from practically inside a huge cardboard box. “There you are!” she added triumphantly as she pulled out a brightly colored sundress.

  Olly stood to the side, curiosity etched into every line of his face, yet not saying a word. Rich had far less self-restraint. “That’s it. Who’s this mystery man?”

  She gave them a coy smile. “Can’t say. Not yet.”

  “Is he married?” Olly asked the question also on Rich’s mind.

  “Goodness no. You’ll meet him soon enough. I don’t want to jinx things. Be patient.” She turned back to the box. “I know there are a pair of strappy sandals here somewhere.”

  Rich knew his sister well enough not to press. “Fine. But he better not be some Hollywood nutcase who thinks the sun shines from his ass.” Tapping his pockets, he found his wallet—he’d been wondering where it was. He must’ve grabbed the jeans he’d worn the previous day. Sticking his hand into the other pocket, he caught his fingers on something—a piece of paper. He pulled it out to see. It was a photo of two men. Naked, arms around each other. One of them had his back to the camera and his face buried into the neck of his partner. The other had his eyes closed, but his face was still recognizable.