Angel (2 page)

“What the fuck do you care?  It’s my fucking money.  My percentage of the profits, Erik, this is what I want to do with it.  Don’t cock-block me man, you’ll lose.  You know I won’t fucking back down.”  I suck my lips against my teeth with a quick crack of my neck.  I love my baby brother, but we’re not too old to throw down if need be.  He’s sandpaper on my nerves right now and he knows it.

If Mom was still here, the only thing she’d say to us is, “Take it outside, boys.  Supper’s at seven.” 

“That’s enough, man. Come on.”  Erik cracks his palm against the desk, toppling the picture of Mom and Dad sitting at the corner.

I reach over to right it and he’s drumming his fingers again, making heat start to rise from my core. God, I miss my parents.

He should know he’s pushing for a brotherly beatdown, but he keeps going anyway.  “Some junkie
broke into
your demo site.  You didn’t
do
anything wrong here.  Fucking tweakers looking for a place to squat for the night. One dies and
it’s her own fault
and now it’s your responsibility to save them all?”  He throws his hands up and his voice hits a high note.

“Do you fucking think people
want
to be addicts?  You think they enjoy that fucking life?  ‘There but by the grace of God go I.’  That’s what Mom used to say.  You should think about it.”  I point at the photo, then raise my hand up to cover my eyes and pinch at the corners of my forehead.  The pressure from my fingers somehow relieves the pressure inside my head.

Erik huffs a dramatic sigh as I rub my temples.  I’m thinking about her, the woman they found in the rubble.  Thinking maybe if someone had given
her
a chance, showed her they cared, maybe she’d be alive today.

I know Erik doesn’t want to hear what I say next but I don’t care.  “Do you know Sarah Templeton had been on her own since she was fifteen?  Ran away from home because her mother’s boyfriend thought she was his personal sex toy?  Then she found a new ‘boyfriend’ who promptly beat her ass until she went
to work
for him.  He also made sure he got a needle in her arm, so by the time she was sixteen she’d already been arrested eight times for prostitution and four times for possession.  But, yeah, I guess she just needed to pull herself up by her bootstraps, right?”  My nostrils flare as I stare him down. 

He’s the baby, and sometimes he needs the hammer between the eyes because he can’t see things from any perspective but his own.  “Not everyone has the same foundation as we had, Erik.  Keep that in mind.”  After the accident I wanted to know everything I could about the woman that died. 
Sarah Templeton
.  Even then I hated how the company lawyers tried to paint her as a low life.  They wouldn’t even use her name.

Like somehow her life mattered less because of her background.  I didn’t notice it before this all happened, but people assign a different value to women when they sell their body.  When they have an addiction.  It was so clear to me during the investigation and the case that somehow to most people, the human that was Sarah Templeton didn’t matter all that much and it infuriated me.

My brother stares right back at me, calculating whether it’s in his own interests to keep poking the bear.

Erik, my sister Cindy and I had an amazing childhood.  Even when we were dirt poor and supper was the one meal you could count on, we were happy.  Erik doesn’t seem to grasp the trauma some people go though in their lives.  Most of the addicts I’ve gotten to know since the accident have something horrible in their past.  Something that finds their weakness and turns them to the dark road.  He has no fucking idea how lucky he is.

From the way he settles back in his chair and his shoulders fall a few inches I think he’s decided to keep his mouth shut for the moment.  Smart choice.

“Now.  Are we done?”  My voice thickens as I stuff my hands down in my pockets.  The muscles in my shoulders ache and twitch.  My mouth is dry and I just need to be out of here.  I can’t stop thinking of where I want to be.  Even if it’s just looking at her.  I came here to sign some IRS shit for him but the conversation quickly turned and I’m ready to be gone.

“Yep.  I guess we are.  Thanks for coming by to sign. Fucking IRS wants to know every fucking thing.” Erik leans back in the chair.  He’s got Mom’s fair skin, Nordic light hair and lean build, while I, on the other hand, take after our father.  Mom used to say Dad and I descended from some ancient human-grizzly hybrid and from the view I get in the mirror every morning she’s not far off.  Even my voice comes out of me as a half growl most of the time. “I’m changing your direct deposit like you asked.  Once a month still fine?”

“I don’t care.  Whatever.  I don’t need the money.”  I pick up the picture of Mom and Dad from the edge of the desk, looking at how they still smiled at each other after fifty-two years of marriage.  It makes me happy and sad at the same time, and I dust the top of the frame with my index finger before setting it back in place, turning it to face him.

I’ve left the business in any official capacity, but Erik and my sister insisted I keep drawing a salary.  I also have a lot of zeros behind my company profit sharing account, but I only use that now for donations and contributions to the rehabs I support.  I’m starting a scholarship sort of deal with three of the best rehabs across the country.  The ones where the fucking celebrities go when they need to dry out, the best places.  The programs that actually work, where you’re not a junkie, you’re just a hero in need of a rest. But the real addicts, the folks on the street with nothing and no one, don’t get to go to those facilities.  No money, no help.  I want to change that.

“You earned your checks, man.  You turned this business around in the last ten years.  I just hope I don’t fuck it up.  You ever want to come back, no questions.  The whole wine business thing with Cindy—”  He laughs and pushes back in his chair with a knowing grin.  “We both know you’re just there to get her started.  Hell, you don’t even drink...”

He busts out with a hearty laugh as I back away toward the closed door, anxious to get back outside in the fresh air.  I’m done.  The room starts to feel smaller and smaller, and my heart is starting to pump faster knowing the sympathetic stares and averted eyes I’m going to get from the staff when I walk back toward the elevator.

“Hey, it’s something to do. Cindy needed some help.  I’m a glorified gopher over there, but if she needs me, I’ll stick around for as long as she wants.” 

“So now both of you are off doing your wine thing and I’m here steering the ship.  Not sure that’s what Dad had in mind when he left the company to all of us.”

“Cindy never cared about blowing shit up.  She’s happy as hell now that she’s bought the distributorship.”

She’s doing well. She has around seventy employees and the new building is almost ready.  The warehouse is state of the art.  Ten sections kept at perfect temperatures for the different kinds of wine.  Fuck if I know anything about it, but she’s in hog heaven.  I just do what I’m told and that’s fine for now.  Keeps me busy.  I can even bring my two mutts, Tinder and Leopold along to the offices.

I’m almost to the door when I turn around one last time to see Erik look at his watch then his fingers click on his keyboard.

“Okay.”  Erik stops typing and reaches up to the ceiling, stretching and leaning side to side.  “Well, I have work to do.  You go run your little errands for sissy and take care of those in need and those vicious dogs of yours.  I’ll be here blowing shit up.”

As I turn, I can’t help but think of where I want to be.  Who I want to be talking to.  I step forward, my gait slightly off balance.  My fingers grip the cool metal handle of the door and a rush of blood streams down south.  I know when I leave here my next stop will be to see her.

I lean to my right.  The pressure from my prosthetic needs adjusting.  Finding a specialist that could form fit and teach a six-foot-seven-inch, three-hundred-and-seventeen-pound man how to walk again with the bottom of one leg blown off hasn’t been an easy road.

Erik pushes back from his place behind the desk and steps forward as I start to open the door.  I pivot taking one quick look back his way.  Squinting into the morning sun as it streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“One more thing.”  His voice changes, the lightness gone.

He nods slightly and looks down at a thick folder at the corner of the desk.  For some reason he can’t meet my eyes. 

Our mutual discomfort heightened by the fact that one black boot is sticking out from under the hem of my charcoal gray slacks.  Where the other boot should be, there’s just slick, curved metal.

“We settled the last of the claim.”  He flips up the corner of the folder, then closes it again.  “It’s done.  I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I wanted you to know.  It wasn’t your fault, but we settled and accepted all of their terms just as you asked.  Now, you just need to settle it with yourself, Magnus.  It was an accident.  You weren’t at fault.”

I sniff. My hand tenses on the door handle, the veins traversing the bones leading to each finger in thick rivers.  My desire to turn the knob falters as the words tumble out of my mouth. “Tell that to Sarah Templeton.”  My head starts to pound.  “Oh wait, you can’t, can you?”

I force my wrist to turn my hand. 

The click of the handle, the blast of air as I jerk open the door.  I feel like I’m watching the whole thing from somewhere else. The irony of the entire situation is that Sarah’s piece of shit mother came out of the woodwork after her daughter died.  Found some TV attorney to take her case of wrongful death against me and the corporation.  Erik wanted it to go to trial, but I put my foot down.  We paid off that worthless bitch because there was no way I was letting Sarah’s name be dragged through the mud.  Her mother did jack shit for her until she was dead, then all of a sudden she was the grieving, long suffering, maternal figure.  Sarah deserves some peace, even now.  The ancillary benefit of settling out of court was it kept both Sarah and the entire sad event out of the media.

I shoot off one final barb. “Doesn’t feel settled to me.”

Erik shakes his head and looks down, but I finally walk away.  I turn the corner out of his office away from the elevators and onto the stairs, sparing us all the forced smiles and averted eyes on my way out.

_______________________________________________

CHASTITY

T
he sound of breaking glass doesn’t even turn my head anymore.  Working as a picture framer, the back room at the gallery is a mixture of nail guns, glass crashing in the scrap bucket, the lame piped in gallery music, and low conversations between co-workers.

My friend Andrea works here with me at Westwood Gallery and Framing.  She was a model for a while, and trained as a flight attendant after high school except the airline went belly up before she could start. 

We met at the Humane Society on one of my volunteer days and she was there doing some court ordered community service.  She made a bad decision one night and egged an ex-boyfriend’s car with four
dozen
eggs.  Found out that was what’s known as a misdemeanor. We bonded over homeless mutts, tragic rescue intakes, and cleaning cat boxes.

Someday I’d love to have my own rescue shelter.  Save all the animals I can’t save there. 

I was unemployed when we met.  Taking care of Mom had kept me busy for the most part, but when money started becoming even more of an issue, she encouraged me to step out. She knew I needed the push. Andrea helped me get the job here at the gallery, even though I had zero retail or picture framing experience.  She’s as close to a best friend as I have.

As close to any friend as I have.  Moving seven times before I turned sixteen didn’t lay the ground work for building lasting friendships.  Toss that in the blender with my facination with Disney princess movies, my voluptous shape, and my brain’s unique way of evaporating my power of speech around strangers, and you can safely say I was far from winning any popularity contests.

Andrea is typing away on her phone standing next to me while I work on a family photo.  She looks like a cross between Whitney Houston and Heidi Klum, minus about eight inches in height.  Oh, and the freckles. She has a nose full of them, and flawless, deep olive skin with runway-model cheekbones.  Yeah, she’s
that
girl.  The one men will break their neck to ogle. And whenever we are together, I’m definitely her wing-man.

Woman.

Wing-woman?  Is that a word?

Well, I may be on her wing, but I don’t feel like a
woman
.  I’m grown up on the outside, but not on the inside.  Not much about being an adult appeals to me to be honest.  I’m tough when I need to be.  I can take care of myself and others, but deep inside, I wish someone would take care of me. 

The thing that drew me to Andrea at first was when I told her my favorite movie she didn’t laugh in my face.  Almost anything Disney will have me snuggled on the couch, wide-eyed with anticipation. But then there’s
Beauty and the Beast
. I can recite every line in my sleep.  Sing every song with gleeful emotion into my hairbrush, hopping from my bed to the floor, spinning around and around.  I’m not afraid of a dramatic drop to my knees either for the big finish.