“Eh,” Darren said. “I prefer to think of it as talking business over lunch. Besides, Dad. It’s not like you haven’t done worse than that. And we all know you haven’t met a bet you didn’t like. And if you’re so sure you’d win, what’s the harm in having a little fun? And I’m comfortable in my job security, so I don’t think I have anything to worry about there, do I? I mean, even as something as minute as changes to my current position would be noticed. Plus, there’s the whole potential for wrongful termination. And obviously there couldn’t be any claims of nepotism, given my educational background. I worked hard without any hel
p from you to get where I’m at. And there’s a paper trail to prove it.”
Taylor sighed. “This is what you blackmail me for? A gay bar? I’m a little depressed at the thought. I would have expected you to dream… bigger. I don’t know. Why not just make it simple and ask for money like most other people? I honestly expected that by now given your parentage. Hush money changing hands to keep rumors of my tawdry indiscretions out of the public eye.”
I was mad on Darren’s behalf. Taylor was talking about his mother like she was nothing. “We’ll take your money,” I said. “If you want to place a bid on one of our fine bachelors. You’ve got that whole power kink thing going on. Or even better, maybe you’d like to be in the auction itself. You’d make us some good money, I think. Just wear that suit or one like it. I’m sure you have a closet full of them.”
“I still like you,” Taylor said to me. “I’ll crush you where you stand, but just know that I still like you. It’s quite a position to be in, if I must say.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I don’t know that the feeling is mutual. So. You know. There’s that.”
He grinned at Darren. “You better hold on to this one. She’s a spitfire.”
I rolled my eyes as Darren glanced at me, expression unreadable.
“When is your fundraiser?” Taylor asked. “The one you apparently already had planned before today’s lunch ever occurred.” He wasn’t as stupid as he looked. Which was very stupid.
“The second Saturday in December,” I said promptly.
He nodded as he pulled out his iPhone. “Then I suppose we can set ours for the following weekend,” he said after a moment. “The weekend after that is Christmas, so I expect people to be in a festive and giving mood.” He typed something into the calendar on his phone (I imagined it was something like DESTROY THE HOMOSEXUALS DINNER AND CASH GRAB!!!) and then stuck his phone back into his inner jacket pocket. “What more can I say?” He folded his hands in front of him on the table. “May the best man win.”
I got the dig.
Of course, little did he know that I had the balls to go up against him.
Literally.
And figuratively, but literally also.
“And who had the sea bass?” the waitress asked with a simpering smile, unaware of the Mexican soap opera that had unfolded right in front of her nose.
“Oh, right,” I said. “I don’t like fish. Give me Darren’s steak that he obviously ordered like a douche and he can have the seafood. That will teach him to order me dainty food. You eat it if you like it so much. I’m a lady, and I deserve to eat like a queen.”
Darren sighed while his evil father chuckled.
IT WASN’T until we were back in Darren’s SUV that I freaked out.
“How could you let me say those things to him?” I shrieked at Darren. “I basically threatened a government official! Are you out of your damn mind? Those are felony charges.”
“Oh boy,” Darren said, not even glancing at me.
“Do you know what he could do to me? Do you know the type of people he probably knows? I bet all it takes is a single phone call before he has his secret service taking a hit out on me! Do you know what hitmen do, Darren? Do you? They kill. Your father is going to use his powers to hire hitmen and they’re going to kill me and I’m going to be on the local news and they’re going to say something like middle-aged man found dead in his home, the victim of his own idiocy.”
“In what world are you middle—”
“And even if he doesn’t try and put a hit out on me, he’ll probably have the NSA tap into my phone and computers and they’re going to see my web browser. Darren, do you know how curious I am about fisting? Do you? Only a little bit. But that won’t matter, because I logged on to that fisting site three times, and that’s all they’re going to focus on. Pretty soon, everyone in the world will think Sanford Stewart wants to be some beefy bear’s meat puppet. I don’t. Most of the time. That’s beside the point. The point is… okay, the point is… goddammit. What were we talking about?”
“Honestly,” Darren said faintly, “I have no idea. I’m still stuck on the whole beefy bear meat puppet thing—”
“And okay,” I said. “So I tried cybersex. Like, one time. And maybe I used a pickup line to start it. Hey, I wish you were like a winter storm. That way, you’d give me your eight to twelve inches so I won’t be able to leave my house for days. I regret it, okay? I didn’t even like cybersex and I was nineteen years old.”
“It’s like Christmas,” Darren breathed. “And these are all my presents.”
“So, yes. This is all your fault. Your father is going to NSA me and then kill me and I’ll have to make a run for it and go into hiding. Do you know what happens to people like me when they have to go into hiding, Darren? I’m not Jason fucking Bourne, okay? I have a beauty regimen that I must adhere to nightly. Do you think all of this happens by accident? No! It doesn’t. I work hard for this, Darren. Hard. Do you think I’ll be able to exfoliate when I’m on the run from your father’s goons? No. No, I won’t. You’ll be able to see my pores. My pores, Darren. From space. Or, at the very least, I’ll go to prison. Do you know what happens to men like me in prison, Darren? Let me tell you. Men like me go to prison and get passed around like a church collection plate at Christmas mass. Everyone is going to have a finger in it, Darren. Everyone. And that’s at minimum. Because your father is, like, the president of Tucson. The president. And what if he—okay. Wait. Now that I think about it, I still don’t think I understand how local government works. Does your dad have secret service? I didn’t see any secret service. Huh. Okay. And I don’t have any more dick pics saved, so. That’s good. Okay. You know what, this will be fine. We’ll be fine. We just have to plan an entire fundraiser in about four weeks and pull it off flawlessly, all the while making more money than your father and his rich old white-guy friends and we’ll be good. Better than good. We’ll be great. We’ll make a billion dollars for crack babies by selling off men in dresses and it’ll be fine. Chances are I’ll probably need to make a second plan to somehow sabotage your father’s gala dinner, but I can worry about that down the road.”
I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
I felt much better.