Exposed (13 page)

Because that's the way it goes. That's the nature of the beast. When someone says to you, “Oh, whichever, I don't mind,” chances are that on some level, they're flat-out lying. Okay, sure, maybe the truth of the matter is that ultimately they'd be happy to eat sushi instead of Chinese or vice versa. Maybe it's not a life-or-death decision. But
they
do
have a proclivity, however slight. There was a momentary flash of, “Gee, an egg roll might be nice,” before they realized that some crab tempura could do the trick just the same.

That's the thing about choices: they force a person to choose.

When you're given more than one option, one of the two will seem more appealing. Maybe it's not a value thing, maybe it's not really a judgment, but you're going to lean in one direction or the other. At least for a moment.

And that's the way it is with brothers.

Specifically, that's the way it is with Skyler and me. In some way, our father has chosen one of us over the other.

I wish it weren't that way. I truly wish we were one big, happy family the way that everyone thinks. Liz is funny and my friend as well as my sister, and my mom—well, I'm one of the kids that means it when I say my mom is great. For real. But Skyler. Ugh.

I don't know if I'd hate him so much if it weren't for my father. “There's room for us all in the company,” Liz says, parroting the party line. Yeah, sure. There's room for all of us to sit on a board nodding like a bunch of bobbleheads and deciding which philanthropies are going to reap the benefits of our big, honking checking account. There's room for us all to make a salary and sit pretty for the rest of our natural lives. And I'm not knocking that.

But Skyler's going to be numero uno, and I just don't think I can stand it.

I don't know why Liz is okay with things the way they are. Maybe it's because she's youngest, and she's a girl. Maybe in some twisted way she feels that Skyler is entitled to this? Entitled? For being born first? Hell, no.

Skyler and I, we're brothers. We get compared. Skyler's “the older one” (not his fault, really—even I can admit that), and I'm “the witty one.” He's
“the good-looking one” and I'm “the cute one.” All perfectly respectable compliments. But come on, admit it: you've got us ranked in your mind. You're keeping tabs, keeping track.

I'm okay with being “cute” and “witty.” What I'm not okay with is being an “also-ran.” Unfortunately, it's just a function of being a brother. A younger brother.

But there are plenty of other adjectives that could be used to describe me. And soon my father and Skyler will know who I really am. As in, “the smart one,” “the cunning one,” “the devious one.”

“The one who surprised them all.”

Boys
will be boys,” my wife says, and she's right. I never set out to create a competitive paradigm for my two sons. From the moment they were born, I loved them both equally and wanted them both to thrive.

DR. RODKE
Certainly not at my own expense, however. And it seems that's what at stake—my own reputation, my company, my empire—even, perhaps, my legacy.

I know it's been hard for Chris. He isn't the firstborn son, he isn't the youngest, the coddled little girl that Liz is. Classic middle-child syndrome, and I was sensitive to his needs. But I have my breaking point.

There was room for Chris in my plans, in the future of Rodke and Simon. I know my son feels that he's being edged out since Skyler is poised to take over the mantle once I step down. What can I say? It's true—I plan for Skyler to be my VP, my second in command. He has a knack for it, and I believe
in playing to people's skills; it's part of how I built the company into the phenomenal success that it is. But Chris had his own role; he was going to be involved. I pegged him as a distributor—and might I say, my instincts were quickly proven to be valid. Chris was good at his job. Almost too good. And now he's getting greedy.

I'm not a monster. I'm not heartless or cruel. I have no interest in seeing my own son suffer from delusions of inadequacy. But neither will I stand by as his own sloppiness, his own jealousy and insecurity threaten to expose my work before its time. Hopefully he heard me when I spoke. Hopefully he processed my warning. Because I won't repeat myself. And I won't stand for any more of this. Rodke and Simon needs to be a seamless operation. No unwanted attention from the outside over interfamily strife will be tolerated.

If “God” doesn't have himself a reality check and fast, well … there will be hell to pay.

This wasn't all that terribly out of the ordinary for Washington Square Park.

are you kidding
Top
Five Reasons People Have Hunted Me Down

1. Jealousy/resentment. (Ella, Tatiana—both were pissed that someone was more interested in me than in them.)

2. Payback. (Skizz, the skinheads in the park—Skizz was pissed that I took Mary away from him as a drug buyer; the skinheads were pissed that I was always breaking up their tea parties in Washington Square.)
^*

GAIA
3. Personal advancement. (George Niven—not quite sure, though, what he was going to get out of the deal.)

4. Pure, unadulterated mental instability. (Loki—first had some strange competition thing with my father, then saw me as my mother's legacy—never mind that he killed her to begin with—then wanted to harness my strange biochemistry for his own evil purposes. Yuck.)

5. ???
^*

I'm sure I'm missing something.

Oh, well. The list will still be here when I remember. There's always room for more.

ED WAS STARTING TO FEEL A LITTLE bit awkward about the amount of time he was spending Staring at Gala's locker. Wasn't it only yesterday that he had been in this very same position, concentrating fiercely on the space in front of her locker as if he could will her to materialize?

More Than Borderline Sad
Today was different, though. Today he and Gaia actually had plans. They had e-mailed. She had been willing to meet him. Yet here he was, concentrating fiercely on the space in front of her locker, feeling like some kind of chump, a massive glutton for punishment. Was there something wrong with him? he wondered. Did he have some sort of freakish disease? One that drove him toward unassuming young women who had demonstrated little interest in being his friend? Because this was starting to become more than borderline sad. Friendships implied, by basic definition, a certain level of mutual interest.

“Gaia late?” Ed heard a voice from behind him ask in a saccharine-sweet voice. “Or did she not even bother showing up for school again?”

Ed turned to see Megan standing behind him, looking like a refugee from
The O.C
. in a skirt so
short, it might better be called a belt, and a bright, strappy tank top that presumed a warmer climate than Manhattan's in May. Was she hoping to be spotted by the next reality-television guru and squired off to a farm in Iowa to play Paris or Nicole? Ed shuddered. “Why, were you looking for her?” he asked in a much less sarcastic tone than he would have liked, knowing full well that she hadn't been.

Megan raised a contemptuous eyebrow. “Duh, of course not.”

“Really feelin' the love, Megan,” Ed heard. The wooden tone tinged with apathy could only belong to one person. He turned again to see that indeed, Gaia had crept up behind them while they were exchanging “pleasantries.” Her timing was impeccable. But even if it hadn't been, she wouldn't have seemed any less the goddess, emerging as she did with her ratty ponytail still managing to bounce like in an “after” shot in a shampoo commercial. Ed grinned at her.

“Wasn't sure where you were,” he acknowledged. Not that it mattered. The sad truth was that all Ed cared about was that Gaia was here now. “Burritos?”

Gaia gave him an are-you-kidding smile. “I'm
starving,”
she said, acquiescing. God, he adored her overwhelmingly indelicate appetite.

“Benny's it is,” Ed said. He offered his bent elbow to her. She reached out and chucked him lightly on the
bicep, then slid her own arm into the crook of his. For a moment he imagined that they were going to skip to Benny's. After all, it took a lot to embarrass Gaia.

Or at least, once upon a time it had.

“Ugh,”
Megan groaned, sounding world weary. “What is with you, Gaia? Does Jake even mind that you're off on a date with your latest boyfriend du jour?”

Ed cringed but couldn't stop himself from glancing over to see how Gaia had taken the blow. Annoyance flashed across her exotic features, but only for an instant. She straightened and squared her shoulders. “Salsa fresca,” she said decisively to Ed. She pulled him toward the side doors without another nod in Megan's direction. “I want extra salsa fresca.”

“THAT'S A LOT OF SALSA FRESCA,” Ed noted as Gaia popped the lid off a plastic container, infusing their immediate surroundings with the clean scent of cilantro and ripe tomatoes.

Boyfriend du Jour
“Yes, well, I did ask for ‘extra,'” Gaia reminded Ed mock-sarcastically. She unwrapped her burrito, laying the wax paper carefully down on the grass between
the two of them for a casual picnic in Washington Square. Ed briefly reflected on how, not too long ago, this sort of after-school snack attack thing had been par for the course for the two of them.

Gaia fished a greased-stained brown paper bag from inside the larger plastic takeout bag. “Look at all the oil,” she exclaimed gleefully, shaking open the bag and releasing a few freshly fried tortilla chips onto the paper next to her burrito. She scooped up a handful and crunched away enthusiastically. “Perfection,” she pronounced, nodding in grave endorsement “Two thumbs up.”

Ed reached over and snatched a few away from her. “Me too.” He munched in contentment.

Gaia swallowed and made a face, as if suddenly remembering something. “So, what the hell was Megan going on about before? I mean, I try not to put too much stock in anything she says, but what the hell? Boyfriend du jour?”

Ed thought for a minute before replying. But hadn't that been the whole point in inviting Gaia out to begin with? He might as well be straight with her. If they didn't have honesty, then really—what did they have in their friendship after all? “Um, I don't know exactly what she meant,” he began carefully. “But maybe—and this is just a guess, you know—maybe it has something to do with how much time you spend with Skyler Rodke these days.”

Gaia instantly flushed, color flooding her cheeks.
“Oh,” she mumbled. “Yeah, I guess I have been hanging around with him a lot lately.”

Ed peered at her with curiosity. Her Stormy eyes were a deep gray rather than their usual green-blue hybrid. Gray couldn't be a great sign, he decided. “Well, look, G,” he said with a sigh. “I don't think you really need to waste any time worrying about what Megan and her friends say about you—or anyone else for that matter. But people
are
talking. And not just the FOHs, you know. And sure, I don't care about gossip, and I think you
definitely
don't care about gossip. But with so many people saying the same thing, I have to wonder if there isn't the tiniest grain of truth to the rumors. I mean, are you interested in Skyler? Are you involved with him? What does Jake think? Do you even
care
what Jake thinks?”

Ed took a deep breath as clouds formed across Gaia's features. He was taking a huge gamble, he knew, by asking her such personal questions. Gaia hated personal questions. But if there was anything going on, he wanted her to know she could talk to him.

“Gaia, I know I might be crossing the line even asking these questions. You can totally tell me to take a hike if you want. I just think … well, I just want you to be happy,” he finished finally. His words, suspended in the space between the two of them, seemed woefully insufficient now that he'd voiced them aloud. He wondered if he had taken the right approach.

“Ed,” Gaia started slowly, “that hike you were talking about? Please take it” Ed could tell she was teasing. But that didn't mean she was willing to bare her soul. She gave a weak and unconvincing half smile. “Get gone.” She toyed with the edge of her frayed T-shirt and looked away. She sighed heavily. It seemed to Ed that she was wavering, contemplating taking down some of the walls she'd built around herself.

Gaia coughed and made a small throat-clearing sound, jutting her chin out a bit defiantly.

“God is dead!”

The voice was little more than a throaty whisper, but as it sounded, Gaia and Ed found themselves confronted by a knee thundering squarely into their chips and salsa fresca. Suddenly a small, grungy-looking girl was face-to-face with Gaia, and she didn't look especially well-balanced. “Dead, dead, dead,” she repeated tonelessly, almost chanting.

The girl, whoever she was, reached out and grabbed Gaia's collar, steadying herself with her opposite arm on the grass. “Do you know him?” She giggled.

Gaia blinked in disbelief. “Do I know
God?”
she asked incredulously. “Not so much.” She shrugged.

Ed could see Gaia didn't think this girl was really a threat. But still, how had she landed between them so suddenly? How had they managed not to see her coming? Wasn't Gaia supposed to be, like, trained to sense her enemies? Clearly Gaia didn't think of this girl as
much of an enemy. Or maybe she'd been too distracted by his
Law & Order-
style interrogation, he thought guiltily. At least this situation looked pretty manageable.

A small
click
sounded, and Ed looked up to see that God Girl now held a small switchblade to Gaia's side.
Okay, less manageable
, he thought, panicking.