What Brings Me to You (34 page)

              Watching the fishing boats cast out, I realized that Charley was my white whale. I’d doggedly gone after her as the answers to all of my issues, but I was still me. I wasn’t ever going to be “that guy”; the guy that rode in on a white horse to save the day. The guy who captures the white whale, brings him in and receives a hero’s welcome. Instead I was Captain Ahab and allowed the idea to become greater than the thing itself and in so doing it became an unobtainable ideal; a symbol. The singular focus and unmatched hubris in searching -consequences, relationships, self-preservation be damned- hadn’t gotten me any closer to her. I was still a worthless guy; still not worthy of her. I made that Faustian deal with you without even batting an eye in the hopes that you would take care of everyone, in the hopes I wouldn’t have to. By doing that, I’d solidified myself as a coward, thus proving, without question, that I didn’t deserve her. I hated myself for it, Lace. I was used to being a disappointment to everyone else but to myself? That was new.

              I still wanted to be near her; to hitch myself to her star because as shitty of a person as I was, she was just as good. I thought that I could cancel out my pusillanimity by helping her anonymously.

              I thought the universe would look down on me as a good Samaritan by helping her without expecting her love in return, by denying myself the love that I wanted. I rationalized that this was in no way the same thing that my father was doing with Claire because a) no one else would be responsible for her; only me and b) because I wasn’t expecting to get my rocks off with her. I was going to help her and, in the most altruistic sense, make her dreams come true.

              It was that moment that I started planning and plotting a way to keep myself near to her without actually being near to her. At the time there were no holes in my plan; no possible way that things could go awry. I was going to help her and, at worst, she’d have everything she ever wanted and, at best, she would find out that I did all these wonderful things for her and come to me her Mr. Darcy to my Elizabeth Bennet. She’d come running to me in the rain,
Four Weddings and a Funeral
style. This was exactly the image in my head as Thom Yorke mewled his baleful lyrics.

*****

              The destructive parts of my plan were much easier to coordinate than I originally had thought. If the assholes in her life were anything like the ones in mine, the way to cripple them was by hitting them in their wallets. As much as I would’ve loved to fly to wherever they were and beat the shit out of them, it wasn’t going to come close to the kind of suffering my Charley had endured under their tyranny. An ass beating was too good for them; they need to be tortured. They needed the rug to come out from under them and their entire world to come crashing down around them, then, need Charley’s help to pick up the pieces.

              First there was Caleb. The PI I hired informed me he was, to use a Yiddish word, schtupping underage interns left and right and supporting a nasty coke habit. One word to his dean and a very public reveal of his despicable behavior and his tenure was revoked along with his salary. The scandal was printed up in the paper and I sent a copy to every University in the country; and of course to his daddy’s office.  He couldn’t get a job and ended up having to rent a shitty apartment that Paul co-signed. He wasn’t working, but he was bringing in money so the only thing I could think was that he became an entrepreneur of the drug he loved so much.

              I paid a more morally ambiguous, slightly nefarious house cleaner of the Holmes to get me copies of the incriminating photographs that son of a bitch Adam kept in his room. The asshat was a tactical blah-blah-I-don’t-care somewhere in Bagdahd. All I know is he wasn’t out on the front lines or anything, but in an office somewhere with a bunch of other chicken-shits reading maps or whatever and he still fancied himself hot shit over there which made retribution that much sweeter. In less than twenty-four hours the photos were in the hands of his superiors. I could only imagine that after a court Marshal hearing faster than he could say “incest” he was going to be dishonorably discharged and on the first flight back home. I made sure to include some pretty nasty things in his background, some true (child abuser) and some fabricated (drug abuser, animal abuser basically anything hyphenated “abuser”) so the only job he’d ever get included the phrase: would you like fries with that? I also made sure that anyone that worked directly under him knew exactly what he did. Two things I knew one: You don’t mess with the military unless you’ve got a good reason and two: they, just like prison inmates, don’t take kindly to guys who abuse women or children and this clown had done both. I was positive that his face would be rearranged well before the hearing and this pleased me greatly. The last I heard, he came crawling back to daddy too, and he and Caleb were sharing the shitty apartment
Breaking Bad
style.

              It wasn’t enough to destroy her family. I had to do something positive for her. She’d never gotten a break in her life. She told me as much. All she wanted more than anything was success, a life she could be proud of in spite the jerks who’d pushed her down. The day before Charley’s meeting I called mom and told her the plan. Stunned, yes, but she promised she’d go along with it. When it was over I went back to the house only half hoping Charley was still there. She wasn’t, but the dining room smelled of something garlic-y. Bouncing on the balls of my feet I stood in the living room while mom sat and talked too fast.

              “How’d it go, mom? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Okay, tell me.”

              “Teddy-mouse,” she said smiling, “You’ve got to get a grip.”

              “Just tell me, was it as epic as I envisioned?”

              “You envisioned?” she mocked.

              “Well yeah, I mean, look at this prospectus.”

              “I glanced at it, but you know me and numbers,” she said dismissively.

              “Well, it’s genius, mom.”

              “Okay Teddy let me say that, yes, that young man Markus’s dishes were simply exquisite and considering I gave him a difficult assignment he did an extraordinary job.”

              “I sense a
but
coming.”

              “But
she
is remarkable. Teddy, she orchestrated the entire thing down to the last detail. There was not one, and I mean not one, error all afternoon. It was like she could read my mind. It was the first time in a long time I’ve had a party that I could actually enjoy.”

              “That’s my girl!” I meant to just think it, but mom cocked an eyebrow at me so I must have said it out loud.

              “Oh?”

              “No ma, just an expression,” though she knew better she skimmed over it and so did I. “Well, that’s fantastic. So you told her you’d do it right?”

              “I need to talk to you about that, Teddy.”

              “MOM!” I switched from exuberant to furious in half a second. “You promised me that even if it was crappy you’d invest! It’s not your money you’re investing anyway, it’s mine! I haven’t touched that trust fund money at all, anyway. Besides it’s just got to have your name so she doesn’t know it’s me. Why would you deviate from the plan?”

              “Son! Get a hold of yourself and let me finish. I don’t know why you’re so hell bent on doing this considering you weren’t even there and would’ve done it sight unseen; further I don’t know why you want your identity to be kept a secret. I will not pry, though if you want me to know I’m all ears.” She paused long enough to know there was no way I was sharing with her. “That’s what I thought. Here’s the thing. I saw the prospecta-jig, I tasted the food, I met with them. I want in on this.”

              “Mom--“

              “I want in Teddy. Not up for debate.” She gave me a pointed look and it occurred to me that if mom invested and the business did well she could leave the cheating asshole I called dad. Maybe she knew that too.  “I believe in that girl,” she said. “I believe in the idea. You were right to, as well. She’s a good, no a great, investment.”

              “Mom--“

              “I can see why you love her Teddy-mouse.” That was the end of the conversation. Mom publicly, and me privately, invested in
La Marlotte
. You didn’t know that, Lace. That was the one thing I kept to myself. That’s why I went there all the time. Not like it mattered to you. You loved showing up there when it was the prime social hot spring and you could claim you were a friend of the Holmes. You loved to go there to schmooze or whatever. Those were the times you’d cling to me. When you had something to gain from it. Your brazenness was almost admirable, really. I just loved being in a place that Charley loved so much. Every once in a while I’d see her breezing around from the kitchen to the office, sometimes greeting regular guests, sometimes regaling the high rollers or dignitaries who’d show up at the only five star French Fusion restaurant within fifty miles of Tampa with her poise, her acerbic humor and her exotic beauty. She’d even pour them wine or comp them desserts. She’d whisper business in mom’s ear and several times had come within a hare’s breath of my regular table, but she’d never ever once even glance in my direction. I was glad for her though. Every time we went, every time I spoke to mom the restaurant was doing better and better. Last I heard it was featured in some magazine and there were talks of opening others.

              Call me old fashioned but, especially after getting to know her, I couldn’t do anything revenge-y to Iris. I actually liked her first of all and second she seemed genuinely remorseful for what happened to Charley so she escaped my wrath. Paul, of course, was not nearly as lucky. Screwing up Paul’s life was the most fun mostly because he was so closely connected to my family and HCI. He wasn’t a faceless jerk like her brothers, he was real to me and to my dad who had spent actual time with the guy, so I figured I could kill two birds with one stone. I made damn sure that his punishment was severe. He had to know that the daughter he shunned was a genius and the sons he worshipped and took the time to actually raise were worthless sacks of shit not unlike him. First, I made sure that he was keenly aware of everything happening to his precious dickhead baby boys. I sent him the clipping about Caleb and called him anonymously about Adam. He insisted, as I thought the asshat might, on representing them both in court.

Then, I talked to Andy. I told him that I knew about Claire and my dad, though I left out the part about the controlling interest of HCI. He bitched and moaned about Claire’s betrayal and the whole time I wanted to say: “Seriously, you didn’t see it all those years?” I never did, though. Would’ve been rude and hypocritical considering I didn’t see it either, but then again, it was my father, not my spouse.

              Fueled by his anger at Claire and my dad and the memory of, (his words) the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on, he was primed for the Save Charley Feinman plan. I gave him enough of her backstory that he’d have some point of reference, though I instantly regretted it. He was so disgusted with Iris for cheating (naturally) but as a father (albeit to the spawn of the devil), even one who’d been cheated on, he was even more disgusted with Paul’s behavior. I had to hand it to the guy, at first I thought he was another cheating bastard but he told me he’d never, not once, been unfaithful to Claire, even after she told him about the relationship between her and my dad. He was spending his time away from the house, trying to drown his problems in the bottom of a bottle, trying to reconcile the fact that his truth, almost his entire marriage, was a lie. I felt for the guy, I really did because I had felt that way for one whole second when you told me everything in your room. I was, on the other hand I was patronizingly quiet about it because I knew I’d never be in that position. For all your faults Lace, you weren’t one to sneak around, so I thought.

              Andy and I hatched the Make Paul Suffer plan. I made sure to be in the room for the razing. I couldn’t afford to be just a fly on the wall for that one. I leaned against a credenza right behind his desk in Andy’s CFO sized office of the seventieth floor of the HCI building in Tampa, arms crossed over my chest like I was a body guard or something. Andy had his secretary call Paul up from the legal floor on twelve. The shock on his face seeing me in the office alone was enough to get me a revenge woody, but I kept it in check for the good parts.

              “Paul,” Andy said sounding so official. “Take a seat,” and he gestured condescendingly to the chairs in front of his desk, rather than invite him to sit on the couches at the other end of the office. “I’m just finishing something up, be with you in a sec.” It was total bullshit of course. I could see over his shoulder he was on Facebook but he wanted to make him squirm.

              “Yeah, man,” Paul said with a slight strain in his voice. “No problem,” that’s when I saw it. The first time he pulled his hair out from the root. It lilted back into place of course, but if he kept doing it, which I’m sure he would, it’d be sticking out at all angles when he left the office. “Hi Gunther,” he said the strain even more evident.

              “Mr. Feinman,” I said blankly, sure not to give anything away. We just stayed there silently. Andy playing Farmville, me staring daggers at Paul, Paul doing everything in his power not to make eye-contact with me. Even though he was an asshole, he knew he was out of his depth with the Andy and me in the room. Andy finally clicked off and tented his hands on his desk.