“It’s been a while since I heard from you. Thought I’d check in on my favorite daughter.”
I hate that that makes me feel good, I hate that even though I know that he’s not calling to actually catch up on me, that I wish he were. “How are you doing?” I ask.
“I can’t complain for being in jail,” he says, laughing. “There are worse things.”
Every time I talk to my father, I'm reminded of how he could pull off all the things that he's done. He has an undeniable charisma and charm. Only he could make being incarcerated sound like a fucking vacation. "I'm glad you're doing well."
"But tell me about you," he says. "Are you kicking ass, my baby girl storming the law offices of the world?"
I laugh. “No, Dad. No one will hire me. Because of you."
He makes a sound of disapproval. "That's too bad. I can make some calls for you if you like," he says. "Even from in here I still have influence. Besides, I may not be in here for that long. If you haven't heard, I have an appeal."
"I heard," I say quietly.
“Excellent," he says. "Then when I get out of here, you can come work for me."
I know that telling him no isn’t going to do anything. It didn't do anything when I was younger. He doesn't acknowledge the word if it's not the answer he is already looking for. "Thanks."
"So," he says, "we have lots of newspapers in here. I've seen some very interesting pictures of you."
“I try not to pay attention too much to what the newspapers say about me. What have you seen?" I can see him in my head. Stretching out lazily, pretending that he doesn't care about what he’s saying, when he's really circling in for the kill.
“Pictures of you with a wedding ring on. I never thought that my sweet baby girl would get married without talking to me first. But then again, I suppose I haven't been the best father for the past few years. I know who that man is," he says. "Daniel Argent. Didn't you go to high school with him?"
"Yeah, I did."
"Rumor is he's very successful now," he says. "Though he's generally a pretty private guy. But I have my connections, I know about Brazen Casinos, and all of that wealth."
I put a smile on my face so that my voice will sound cheerful. "I did what you always wanted. Married a rich man you can take care of me."
"And I'm very happy for you. I hope that you're having a good time with him. But remember, your loyalty should always be to your family."
I shiver, even though the room is warm. "What you want, Dad? I know you're leading up to it. Please just tell me.”
He lays it on thick. "Is that any way to talk to your father?"
“Get to the point," I say, frustration rippling through me. I don't know what he wants, but I know it's not good for me.
"Fine," he says, his voice no longer the friendly salesman. "You know what happened to the money. It's all gone in those stupid fucking lawsuits for those stupid fucking people. I need some to help fund my appeal, make it flow to the correct people, and set me up once I get out of this place."
I knew it was coming, and yet the shock still hits me with unbridled force. "Are you seriously asking me for money?"
"Why do you sound so surprised? I made your life good for you. I gave you everything in the fucking world. I took care of you for years longer than any father should have to take care of a child, and you lived in luxury. All I'm asking is for little bit of money from your new husband who's wealthier than we ever were or could be."
“How can you ask me to do this? You've stolen millions of dollars from people. You're responsible for hundreds of deaths. You haven't even spoken to me in years until it was suddenly convenient for you. How do you think that this is okay?"
I can see his expression in my head, and it is ugly one. "Do you know where your mother is?"
My heart stutters in my chest. "Do you know where she is?"
"Of course I do. She's my wife. You don't think I know where she is? I'll tell you, if you help me."
No matter what my parents have done, they are my parents. I love them even if I shouldn't. I miss my mother. I haven't seen her since the day my father was arrested. I looked for her, but I didn't have the skills or resources to find her. Plus, with all the media attention on me and my father, I didn't want to put them onto her scent, in case something bad might happen to her. "Plus," he says, "you owe me. You know you do. I got you out of trouble more than once, and you wouldn't be where you are without me."
I think back to that day in high school. As it so happens, it was the last day that I ever spoke to Daniel. The one that he referenced right before he punched Martin, in the car shop where Martin shoved him into a wall. He was drunk, we were pulled over. I wasn't drinking, but the cops didn't care. I would've had a DUI on my record if my father hadn't intervened for me. I never would have been able to become a lawyer. I can't find my voice to speak.
“He doesn’t even have to know," my father whispers. "He has so much money, that a couple hundred thousand dollars won't even make a dent. I'm sure the Bar Association would be interested in that little development, as well as some others.”
My throat feels like it's going to close up and I can't breathe. I still can't talk. But somehow I can't say no. All the things he says are true. I don't know what other things he's referring to, but nothing at this point would surprise me. My father forgets nothing, and he always makes sure that people are somehow indebted to him.
"I'll make sure you get the information of the bank account where I want the money. I am not ineffectual simply because I can't walk down the street. If I don't get this money, you'll not only be disbarred, you'll never work again. I will poison the water so thoroughly that you'll never be able to show your face again."
The line goes dead, and I feel like I just walked into a blizzard. My entire body is covered in shivers, and I'm shaking. I don't know what to do. I want to know where my mother is, but more than that, I don't want to lose everything that I worked for. No matter that the water was already poisoned, I was hoping that I would still be able to work while married to Daniel. I don't doubt that my father has the kind of influence that he claims. There are plenty of bad men in the world, and I'm sure that he still has many of them as friends.
Could I actually do this? Steal from my husband, who I’m actually starting to love? Is my father right? Would Daniel even know?
I can't believe that I'm actually considering it. But I already lost everything once, and I don't want to lose everything again. After everything that I did to him, has Daniel actually let it go? Is there any possible way that he could really love me after all the bullying? After my father and my family destroyed his life?
There are so many instances I can think of where I was cruel to him and I didn't have to be. I wanted to be. Because I thought he was insignificant. Because my friends and my family all told me that being poor was some kind of crime. The day that I broke his Game Boy flashes in my head, and it makes my heart hurt. I'll never be able to erase the pain and betrayal that was on his face that day. I knew it was wrong as soon as I did it, but I was so angry that he had dared to look at me. That he had dared to want me. I never apologized for that, and I don't know that I'll ever be able to.
Daniel hasn't said that he loves me, even if he is showing it with his actions. A deep fear takes root inside me that perhaps it's all just a game. Perhaps he's like my father in that way, playing everyone for his own advantage. Maybe he's showering me with affection and gifts and sex so that he can do even worse to me.
I know it's wrong. Deep down in my gut, I know that it's wrong, but I can't shake it. In my hand, my phone buzzes. It's a text message with a bank account and routing number. It doesn't surprise me that he's able to get a cell phone to text me in prison. It surprises me even less that he's able to speak about blackmail on a monitored prison line and know that nothing will happen. If anything, it proves that what he was saying is true.
Alex is still waiting for me, so I place a smile on my face and walk back ou
t into living room. "Okay," I say. "Sorry about that."
Looking up from her sketchbook, Alex looks at me. "Are you all right?"
I nod. “Of course."
She looks at me as if she knows I'm lying, but I plaster on my best smile and sit down next to her again. “Let's talk about the wedding dress.”
13
Daniel
I arrive at my parent’s home before Monica does. That's intentional. She wasn't wrong this morning when she expressed nervousness about how my parents might feel about her. I certainly was the one with the heaviest grudge against the Blasts, but that doesn't mean that my parents were unaffected, or that they'll necessarily be happy to see me with Monica. I'm hoping that if I break the news to them personally, and explain my change of heart, that they'll be on board.
Plus, it's been a while since I've seen them, and I'm banking on them being happy about that to soften the blow. My mother seemed surprised when I called her to ask for dinner, but happily agreed. She said she wanted to talk to me, which means they likely have seen the gossip and want to know what on earth is going on with me. I didn't lie to Monica. There was a moment a couple of years ago when the tabloids reported that I had gotten married, but it wasn't even close to true. So my parents always wait for confirmation from me for big life news.
However, I have to admit that the pictures of us with wedding rings on are particularly damning.
The house I bought for my parents is in the same upscale suburb as my own, though I don't spend much time there. I generally prefer to be at my hotel, closer to the casino in case something needs my attention.
I could’ve afforded something much bigger and grander for them, but they’re happy here. And that’s the most important thing to me. After all they did for me when I was a kid, trying their hardest even though we were broke more than half the time, I just want them to be happy.
When I pull up, my mother is already opening the door, but I take a second to text Monica and tell her that when she gets here, she can just come inside. The smile on her face is huge. "You really need to come see us more often, honey. You're getting too used to staying in a hotel."
I pull her into an embrace. “I like my hotel, Mom. I can get food delivered whenever I like."
She snorts. "It’s not as if we live on the moon out here. You could have whatever you want delivered.”
It’s a fair point. My dad appears behind her, and I hug him as well. "How are you, son?" he asks.
“I'm really good. I swear. In fact, I'm probably the best I've ever been.”
My father's eyebrows raise to his hairline. "Really? Because I could've sworn I saw a video online of you punching some guy in the face."
I laugh as we walk into the house together. "If you'd heard what the guy said, you'd have punched him too."
“Tell me," he says, "and I'll let you know."
"I'll get to that," I say, handing my father a bottle of wine that I've brought with me. "I have something else that I want to talk to you guys about first.”
My parents share a look which confirms all my fears. They've heard about the marriage, and right about now they're wondering if it's true. But my mother smiles and takes the wine from my father. "Well, take a seat," she says. "I'll pour this, and we’ll talk about it."
I let myself relax in one of the large comfy chairs in my parents’ living room while my father helps her with the glasses. It's a nice red wine that I've brought. Generally, I'm not a wine guy, and neither is my dad, but we’ll drink it for the sake of my mother. Wine helped her rediscover the joy in life after she recovered from her illness and things were looking up. She's become quite the connoisseur, and I have to keep her on her toes with what I bring her when I visit.
"This is quite good," she says as she enters the room. "Not the best thing you've ever brought me, but close." She winks as she hands me the glass.
"Well, you have to keep me on my toes," I say. "I can't be slacking off on my wine game."
My parents both sit across from me, and suddenly I feel like I'm in some kind of interview. "So." My father levels a look at me. "What do you have to tell us?"
I take a sip of my wine and clear my throat. "I need to invite you both to my wedding. I don't have a date yet, but you'll be the first to know when we do. It will be soon."
My mother looks at me like I've grown a second head. "So it's true?"
"What are you referring to?" I need her to be specific. There are so many things that the media has been saying, that I don't want to just say a blanket ‘yes’ when she could be talking about anything.
“I saw the pictures of her with the ring on but I didn't want to assume."
"It's more than that, actually. We are already married," I say. "We signed the papers three days ago." I swear all the oxygen gets sucked out of the room. A deadly silence is in the air, and both of my parents are staring at me in disbelief. They really didn't think that this was real.
"Are you serious?" my father asks.
"Yes." I let the information sink in.
"And her name is Monica Blast?” my mother asks. "Please don't tell me that it's the same Monica Blast that is the daughter of that monster." She looks at me with concern and pity, and I try not to be angry. I don't want pity.
She thinks that I'm doing this to satisfy some childhood dream. Maybe I was, but not anymore. "I know you thought you liked her when you were a kid, Daniel. But she was horrible to you. And you know what her family did to us. What would possibly possess you to do this?"
Because of the nature of what my family has gone through, we've always been able to be honest with each other. And so I decide to be honest with them. I tell them the truth: that I didn't expect to encounter Monica, and it started out as an endeavor for revenge. What quickly became apparent, is that neither Monica nor I were the same people that we thought the other one was. And that we were more well matched than we ever could have imagined.
So what started out as an endeavor of shame and humiliation, has turned into an endeavor of love. We haven't said it yet, but that's what I feel. I feel it in the silences in our conversations, and in the way we touch each other when we're not in the throes of passion. I feel it in the quiet moments when we don't have to talk to be comfortable. "I love her."
"No, you don't," my father says. "You can't possibly. There is nothing that woman could do to redeem herself for you. Her family is responsible for nearly killing your mother. Is that not important to you?"
"Her father is responsible," I say. "Not her. She had nothing to do with it. For God's sake, she was a child, just like me. There's a lot about her life that you don't know, and it's not my place to tell you. But you of all people should know that money doesn't automatically making your life better."
My mother's face darkens with anger, and she stands, pacing the room. "I thought you were better than this, Daniel. I thought you were better than being sucked in by the Blast family once again. I thought that you, being the genius that you are, would see how poisonous they have always been. It doesn't matter if she's not directly responsible for what happened to us, she’s still complicit. She bullied you for years. How can that not matter to you?"
"I never said that it didn't matter," I say. “I only said that I was able to move on. And if I, of all people, can move on and fall in love with her, surely you might be able to move on and see that she's not the horrifying monster that you think she is."
My father makes a face and a sound of protest. "I sincerely doubt that."
I'm not expecting the sudden anger, and I stand up, facing the two of them. "Honestly, I expected better from the both of you. If it was any other person—any other woman at all you didn't know—and I said that I had fallen in love and got married, you would have been happy for me. But instead, you're holding her accountable for crimes that she didn't commit. You've never even asked if she said she was sorry. Or wondered if she's a different person now. Do neither of you believe that people are capable of change?"
My
father is the one that speaks first, though neither of them speak immediately. "I remember watching your mother waste away with illness while we were sleeping in a car because condos and fancy restaurants were more important than the health of people living in that neighborhood. I remember seeing you come home ashamed, afraid, and downtrodden because she led a charge of bullying against you. I remember the terror and fear that it wasn't over, and that he would take more from us then he already had, simply because he could.
“And now I look at the news and I see him testifying, trying to get appeal and I know that he isn't sorry in the slightest. Why should I believe that his daughter is any different? Why should I think that she doesn't have some sort of personal stake in his release? How do you know you can trust her? How do you know she isn't just seducing you for your money, so that she can take it and run? Get back to the life that her family lost?"
"Your father makes an excellent point," my mother says. "I don't deny that people can change, Daniel. But we've lived longer than you have. And in my experience, they do not. Not when it comes to money. People are selfish, greedy, and they'll do whatever it takes to get ahead. No matter who they have to step on to do it. And the Blast family is the very worst example of that. So sure, people can definitely change. But in this case I highly doubt that it's true. You're being an absolute fool for trusting her, and I'm ashamed that you would do so."
It's then that I hear the smallest sound and turn to see Monica has stepped into the room. I don't know how long she's been standing there, but I know that I told her to come straight inside. For certain, she heard at least the last moments of my mother's diatribe against her. Probably more. The look on her face is stricken and broken, and all I can do is think: dear God, what have I done?
Everything freezes for just a second, and then I'm running, and so is she "Monica, wait!"
She's faster than I am, even in the heels that she's wearing. From what I can see, she looks beautiful, in a tasteful dark blue dress, dark hair curled.
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