“How you doing?” I asked as we sat in the living room. She had so many pillows on the couch I had to push some of them to the side and a few slipped to the floor.
“Better now that you’re here!” she sang out, and I realized she was drunk. That glass with ice clinking by her side wasn’t her first. Then again, I’d already had a couple, myself. “What can I get you?” she asked, motioning to her fully-stocked bar.
“I’ll get it.” I headed over and fixed myself a scotch on the rocks. She’d never been one to tend to my needs. She didn’t have to start now.
“You shaved!” She pointed to my face. “I’m so glad.” She didn’t get in touch too often, but when she did she always asked for a picture. “I want to see my baby!” she’d say. A few months ago I’d sent her a pic of me, forgetting she hadn’t seen my full beard before. She’d about lost her mind she hated it so much.
I had to reassure her, it was not my new look of choice. All of us grew beards. It was a way of fitting in, or at least not sticking out so much. Green Berets were meant to interact with the locals. Counterterrorism and unconventional warfare took many forms. I’d have to grow it back when I went back for the remaining six months of my tour. But for now, I enjoyed the shave.
“How long has it been since I’ve seen you?” she asked.
“Two years.”
“That long?” She poured herself another drink. “Well, you won’t believe what I’ve been up to.” She went on to tell me a bunch of stories about traveling and lighting up the town with her girlfriends. And then she really brightened up as she told me about her latest man.
“He’s no Richard.” She shook her head and kissed the cross she wore around her neck. She’d never been religious before, but maybe she’d started something new. “But he’s a doll.”
As usual, I let her words roll off me, paying attention to how she seemed to be doing rather than what exactly she said. Four years ago that had gotten me into a hell of a lot of hot water. If I’d listened more closely, or asked a couple of questions, I might have picked up on the fact that she was dating my girlfriend’s father. The chance of that happening again, though, seemed pretty unlikely. For starters, I didn’t have a girlfriend. I hadn’t been serious with anyone since I’d joined the army, and I wasn’t alone in that. Guys either had someone when they went in, or found someone when they came out. Serving a tour of duty in the Special Forces wasn’t exactly the best time to meet someone new.
My mother seemed happy, and I had to hand it to her. Once again, she’d rolled with the punches. Some might call her a gold digger, and that wasn’t completely off base. She was certainly after the good life, but it seemed to me a lot of people were. I wasn’t going to judge. And Richard has passed three years ago. She didn’t need to still be in mourning.
“Now listen,” she edged forward in her chair. “Do you want to come on a cruise? A group of us are heading out on one. We’re going to hit all the hot spots in the Caribbean. You’ve got to come. It’ll be just what you need to relax. You can get some sun.”
I stifled a laugh. Sun was one thing I’d gotten plenty of in Afghanistan. “I don’t know about a cruise.”
“Oh, don’t be a spoilsport. We leave the day after tomorrow! Don’t you want to spend Christmas in Guadalupe?” She snapped her fingers over her head and rose to do some version of a dance step.
“The day after tomorrow?” I did the math. That meant she’d be leaving on Friday. The party I’d thought she would be going to was on Saturday. “So you won’t be here this weekend?”
“No, it’s perfect. We’ll ditch this frozen city and have ourselves a good time.”
I paused, looking into my drink. I could let it slide, not mention it. But there was a chance she’d forgotten. She wasn’t the most organized person.
“So, you’re going to miss the Kavanaugh Holiday party?”
“Oh, that snooty thing.” She gave a dismissive puff of air. “They don’t want me there. And I don’t want to be there, either.”
“Really?” I guessed I hadn’t specifically asked her about the party before. She had told me that the extended Kavanaugh family had been less than happy with her share of the inheritance. But Colt always made a big deal out of inviting me. Every year he’d phone me, tell me he’d send a private jet, couldn’t I come just for the weekend? I’d always said no. This year? I was thinking of saying yes.
“We’ll have more fun on a cruise!” She got carried away again, telling me about her friends and what a nonstop party we would have. Apparently she did a lot of cruising now.
I would not be cruising. But I might still be going to the Kavanaugh Holiday party. Now that I was there in New York, it would be easy to stop by. I wasn’t far from the Waldorf Astoria where it would be held.
I could tell myself I was going for Colt. Colt had proved a true ally, checking in, helping me out even when he didn’t need to. As you went through life you realized that didn’t always happen. He’d said recently he wanted to catch up and hear about my plans for the future. After I finished my remaining six months, I had no idea. Most likely I’d sign up for another tour. But I’d be curious to hear what he had to say on the subject.
He’d also shocked me and said he wanted to introduce me to his wife at the party. I guessed time has passed for him as well. He might be 30 or even 31 now, and apparently somewhere along the way someone had caught his eye. I wondered how he’d found the time. He’d taken over Kavanaugh Investors after his father’s passing. He’d had to step into some big shoes, and I was sure he’d had to become damn cutthroat to do it. But somewhere along the way he’d also managed to fall in love. Interesting. Yeah, I decided I might as well head to that holiday party in a couple nights’ time.
Around midnight I excused myself. It had been a long day. I figured I’d turn in.
“Tomorrow night let’s go out!” my mother insisted. “I need to convince you to join us on the cruise.”
“Maybe.”
I headed down to the guest bedroom and took a hot shower, enjoying the convenience. I wasn’t big into getting pampered, but the rising steam, the heat on my sore muscles and shoulder, it felt good. I stayed in longer than I needed to, then pulled on some sweatpants and climbed into the guest bed. More cherubs flashed me from a lamp on the bedside table. It was strange to see my mother surrounded by wealth, living a life of ease. But I’d take it over most of the other more likely outcomes she’d faced. With the rough start she’d had, things could have ended up much worse for her.
I relaxed, letting my chest rise and fall. As always, when I let my mind wander, it traveled to the same place. The difference tonight was the woman I was picturing wasn’t thousands of miles away. Chances were good Gigi was in town for her family’s big party that weekend. She might only be a couple of blocks away.
As I’d done so many times in the late night hours, I reached for my billfold beside my bed. The picture inside had seen a lot of wear and tear. I’d ripped it out of a country club newsletter. They made a paper version for all the older members who liked to sit around the lobby and read up about themselves.
One issue during that summer in the Hamptons, Gigi had been on the cover. I’d torn it off before I could think twice, folding it up and putting it in my pocket like a guilty schoolkid. Once I’d gotten home, I’d tried to tell myself to throw it out. Acting like a love-struck sad sack didn’t do anyone any good. But I couldn’t make myself.
I’d kept the photo, cutting it out and putting it in my wallet. It traveled with me everywhere I went. Looking at Gigi’s radiant face with those wide, trusting eyes, I could hear her lilting laugh, remember the way she’d looked up at me as if I were her hero. I’d taken that photo out more nights than I cared to admit, turning to her when I needed it most. When everything around me seemed to be heading straight to hell, I’d look at her and feel lifted up.
If I went to the party Saturday night, I might not even speak to her. Maybe I’d say a brief hello to Colt, thank him, meet h
is wife, then make a quick exit. If I could only catch a glimpse of Gigi’s beautiful face, just for a minute, that would be enough. Gazing at her well-worn photograph, I knew even as I told it to myself it was a lie.
11
Gigi
“More tea?” Gram gestured to her elegant, flowered teapot. A servant hovered by the wall, awaiting the slightest nod.
“Yes, please,” I agreed, allowing myself to be served some more. This ritual was central to my grandmother’s sensibilities. British to the core, she felt strongly about teatime. Those few years I’d spent with her after my parents divorced, some of my fondest memories were coming in out of the brisk cold and having a hot spot of tea to warm me to my bones.