Devour, p.5
Devour, page 5
He whistled. “Maybe I should invest in a bag of clubs for Nattie.”
“She’ll be great at whatever she sets her mind to—just like her father.”
“Whatever,” he said, waving her away. “Anyhow, you were saying something about your parents?”
“Yeah, the thing with Dad was…I think he wanted it for me even more than I did, so he pushed me hard. And all the time.”
Michael fiddled with a spoon.
She reached over and took his hand. “I’m not inferring you’re doing that. You just want what’s best for her. And Dad did too. It’s just—I don’t know, he could’ve been less intrusive.”
When they were quiet for too long, she pulled her hand away and poured another coffee.
“How about you, Michael? Was your father a good encourager? And did he push you toward cooking?”
He looked out to people passing on the street. “Uh, no. And no.”
Silence.
“Sorry. And if I’m being nosy just tell me. We’re usually so busy, we rarely have any quiet. Like this.”
“True. And don’t be sorry,” he chuckled nervously. “It’s just a conversation. And to your point, no, he didn’t do much encouraging. In fact, none at all. As for pushing me toward cooking? Hell no. He thought it was women’s work. Now, Mom? That’s altogether different. She worked in a bakery. Probably where I got my love for cooking. In fact, I know it was. And besides a baker, she was a great cook. She could take anything you gave her, any meats, veggies—even parts of animals you’d never imagine consuming—and in minutes it would become magic. Why do you think my brother and I had weight issues growing up,” he laughed.
“That’s awesome. And look how far you’ve come. She must be very proud.”
The large smile on his face slowly faded. “Yeah, she would be,” he said, pouring the last of the coffee into both cups.
“Is she—”
“She passed away when I was much too young. Most everything I learned early on about cooking was from her...by the time I was eleven...which was when she died—one month before my twelfth birthday.”
“I’m sorry, Michael. You never talk about your family much. Was it—”
“I’m sorry, Jasmine, I don’t mean to cut you off, but I need to get a few more things done before I call it a day. Tomorrow’s gonna be stacked—”
“Of course. And I…I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, no, it’s perfectly all right. And I’ll share more another time. Promise. I just have a good bit of work to do.”
Smiling, she playfully said, “Just remember; it’s good to stop and smell the coffee from time to time.”
Staring at his steaming cup, he said, “What?”
“You know. Life’s not all about making more money…creating one more amazing dish. There’s more to life.”
Fiddling with a spoon, he forced an awkward grin. “You sound like my wife.”
Chuckling, she said, “And do you listen to her?”
He grinned. “Not exactly. But then, you know as well as I do; just like in Hollywood—where we’ll be soon—you’re only as good as your last performance.”
She stood to leave. “True. Well, I’m heading to a yoga class, then to a night off. And a date.”
Looking at her, his eyebrows jumped. “Oh, new guy, huh?”
“New? Yes. The guy?” Blushing, she hesitated, “Doubtful. I kinda have my eyes elsewhere,” she winked. “But we’ll see,” she said, turning to leave. “Have fun and don’t work too hard.”
In seconds, Michael was left alone with his thoughts, his empire, and a stack of paperwork. The silence was palpable and Michael felt empty. He looked out to the view peaking through the tall buildings of Nob Hill. He could see out through the Bay and to the hills of his home in Tiburon where his mind wandered to Katie.
Wonder what she’s doing. With all her travel, I’m sure she’s back in bed. Next, he pictured Nattie. Bet she’s spiking a ball down an opponent’s throat about now.
An hour later, he took a break and stood to stretch. His attention drifted to his quiet iPhone and touched the screen. It awoke to the two smiling faces of his girls.
The photo was taken last summer in Lake Tahoe. One of his investors, John, had invited the family out for a weekend of grilling and boating. The three of them hung out with him and his girlfriend, along with another business acquaintance and his wife.
He longed for another opportunity like that and felt heavy knowing it was one of the rare moments their family had spent quality time together in a long while.
Soon those outings would evaporate into a distant memory as his girl ventured out on her life’s journey. And Kathryn? Who knew where that was going. Glancing at the phone again, he saw someone had called but left no message.
Mentally waving aside the distraction, he continued to work, and yet another hour later—completely caught up on bill paying, event planning, and food ordering—he locked up and left.
Pulling out of the garage, he checked his watch and saw it was almost five. Since he was not due to get Natalie for a short while, he pondered what he could do in the remaining time.
That’s when a crazy idea hit him.
7
Favor Bank
Back in his office, Dalton loosened his tie and went to a small fridge in the corner to get some soft cheese, hard salami, and crusty bread. Spinning his chair toward the bookcase, he removed a bottle of wine, poured a glass, then leaned back and propped up his feet on a partially opened drawer.
He had grown weary of the same sad-sack stories he had heard dozens, if not hundreds, of times through the years, yet he remained curious as to how so many facts surrounding Sebastian’s demise could have slipped through the system, costing him most of his life.
With each sip of wine, its warmth helped dull an insistent pain, one he had tried unsuccessfully to bury for much too long. One of Dalton’s personality flaws—besides being a tyrant to coworkers—was his bipolar outlook on life. In one moment, he could be nearly kind, while at another moment, completely heartless. He had always been angry like his father, probably because neither cared for the other. His anger stole any empathy he would ever have. Empathy is for the weak, he thought.
Grabbing his forehead, he felt another headache coming. The periodic migraines had increased in force and occurrence over the past several months, and he had no idea why. Probably stress, he thought, convinced the increased pressure of meeting unrealistic budgets and moving deadlines worsened the stress. His line of work had a long history of creating short careers. As for the periodic memory lapses, he figured it was just part of getting older.
How did I never put Sebastian’s name to Michael?
Dalton squeezed his eyes closed, waiting for the crushing pain to pass, and in that moment, recalled the last time he had seen Michael in person. They were in Basic together, stationed in Fort Bragg, North Carolina. Both he and Michael were from New York; Michael from Manhattan and Dalton from Buffalo. He recalled them both hating the bitter cold and relishing the thick heat of the Carolinas, and how they both enjoyed cooking. Michael was better at it and that chapped him, but then Dalton was better with a gun.
He was also a good Medic. Hell, he was better at sports, too, Dalton groaned. And more handsome. And funnier, dammit!
Dalton opened his eyes, thankful the headache had passed. Finishing the snack and regaining his composure, he put things away and headed out, telling Baxter he would return shortly. Knowing Sebastian would be out of the infirmary, he headed toward that cellblock. En route, he ignored the officers—keeping his eyes straight ahead. That’s when he had an idea.
Approaching Sebastian’s cell, he found the old man sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. Without going in and with no plans to make the conversation more complicated than it had to be, Dalton leaned against the bars. Sebastian’s cell was the only one in solitary without a solid concrete door.
“Hey Geezer, what’s the number?”
Sebastian looked up, confused—as though awakened from a deep sleep. “Sir?”
“What’s Michael’s number? Write it down for me,” he said, passing a notepad and pen through the cell bars.
Standing, Sebastian took the items and whispered, “Why do you want to help me? I’m just another convict at the end of the road.”
Dalton knew but did not say.
“Why in the hell stick out your neck for me?”
Dalton had been an asshole most his life and had used the personality defect as a defense mechanism. Somewhere in the grand scheme of things, he was sure there was a kind of checks and balances going on in the universe.
“I suppose I could do one good thing while I serve my time here,” Dalton said, taking the paper and pen from the old man.
With an odd expression, Sebastian’s gravelly voice whispered, “Thank you.”
“But I’ll need something from you,” he tilted his head, “Before I do anything.”
8
Girl Crush
Natalie sat in class—her mind drifting to several months from now when she would be heading to college. No more mother-daughter shopping sprees whenever she needed something new. Then again, no more nagging to “stay skinny so boys will like you” insults. No more homemade breakfasts every morning—her favorite start to each day. No more quiet evenings around the dinner table—as rare as those had been for a decade. But then again, no more wondering when her parents were going to cash it in. No more rides with Dad to school—definitely something she would miss.
“What are your thoughts about this matter, Miss Rogan?” a voice snapped her back to the present.
“What’s that? Oh, yes, Mrs. Robinson. The idea of Special Relativity is a theory of the structure of spacetime, first introduced in Einstein’s paper “On the Electrodynamics of Moving Bodies.” It’s basically based upon two postulates which are contradictory in classical mechanics, and…”
Mrs. Robinson’s eyebrows were raised and classmates’ jaws slack.
With a grin, she asked, “Shall I go on?”
As if on cue, the bell rang. Mrs. Robinson said, “No, that will be all, Miss Rogan. Okay people, don’t forget you have a test tomorrow. Class dismissed.”
Natalie and girlfriend Rachel Bell sat in the courtyard inhaling a late lunch. In fact, the time was closer to dinner than lunch, but they had squeezed in a quick game of frisbee golf in nearby Presidio Park when everyone else was breaking for lunch.
“Damn, girl, that was hilarious in class. I didn’t think you were paying attention to Robinson, but how you pulled that shit outta yo ass? I have no idea.”
Rachel was a tall, beautiful young woman. Tall, thanks to her father, a former LA Lakers forward. Beautifully brown, thanks to her mother’s Jamaican heritage. Her eyes were the color of the Caribbean and her smile was fit for a magazine cover. She would likely play either basketball or volleyball next year because that was what Natalie was going to do.
Natalie stopped chewing long enough to say, “Yeah, lucky I guess. Comes from multitasking. You know, homework, TV, and monitoring both sides of heated discussions at home. And trying to decide which one I’ll support at any given minute. And just how did you know I was lost in thought?”
Rachel leaned over and bit Natalie’s earlobe. “Because you always twirl your curls with your left hand whenever your mind is elsewhere.”
Blushing, Natalie dug her finger deep into a set of curls and feverishly twirled which doubled them over in laughter.
Catching her breath, Rachel drank some bottled water and asked, “How’s your mom these days? Don’t hear you talking about her as much.”
She snorted. “Maybe it’s not so much I’m talking less about her…as much as I have less to say.”
Rachel frowned, “Huh?”
Laying back against her duffle bag, she stretched. “Not to be a bitch—which I can be of course—but it’s kinda like she hasn’t been as invested in me as Pops has, you know? I mean, I know she loves me, but she’s kind of a narcissist. Still doing a commercial here and there, but she’s now getting into acting. Full-time. And that means spending more time in LA.”
“That’s cool, right?” Rachel asked, pulling her hair back into a ponytail.
“Uh, yes and no. I mean, it’s cool she’s landed some pretty sweet gigs on TV, but that comes with its own…challenges.”
Rachel looked at Natalie, trying to read between the lines and lowering her voice, and pointed to her nose. “You mean…”
“I think she’s doing that shit again. And look, I get it when someone has high-pressured gigs and they need something to, you know, chill out after a hard day, but…” she stopped, looked around, and shook her head.
“What?”
Natalie dismissed it with a shrug.
“What? C’mon, you tell me everything.”
Natalie put her hand on Rachel’s leg and squeezed it. “I know, Babe. It’s just…I hate the thought of all that shit starting up again. And maybe it won’t. But maybe it will. And once it does it never goes well. For any of us.”
“Does your father know?”
Natalie burst out with a laugh. “No! He’s clueless. But then, he’s absorbed—like 24-7 with his restaurants, and TV shows, and all that. Shit, he’s got another one opening sometime this year. But here’s the real bite in the shorts: when I’m gone to school? And it’s just the two of them? That’s when they’ll miss me. But only when they’re home and it’s all quiet ’n shit. And they’re not fighting.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Rachel smirked. “What’s it been, like 20 years?”
“You got it. I guess everything they’ve been through…well, it’s bound to create pressures.”
Rachel looked away with a frown.
Natalie noticed and leaned in, “What?”
“Do they know about us?”
Natalie felt a blush coming. “Uh. No.”
From the corner of her eye, Rachel said, “Will they?”
“Do yours?”
Nodding, Rachel grinned broadly.
“Of course they do. They are way hippier than mine.”
“That’s funny,” Rachel said. “At least they’re not Tiburon.”
They started giggling.
“Yeah, like that’s so much different than Mill Valley.”
Forty-five minutes later, Natalie and Rachel had changed clothes, packed their gear, and were sitting on the half wall just outside the school. Checking her watch, Natalie started to speak then stopped.
“What?”
“He’s never late. Like ever.”
“Maybe he’s preoccupied,” Rachel said with air quotes.
Natalie snapped, “Dad? No way,” then frowned. “I don’t think. Heck, I don’t know.”
“What? How could you not know, Nattie?”
“Because like it’s none of my business. He’s a grown man. It’s his life.”
Rachel shook her head.
“What?”
“So progressive. I mean, if my folks were fooling around? Well, shit, I don’t know what that’d look like. But I have a feeling it would be Mom first. She’s, you know, the wild child.”
“See? There’s the hippie thing again. They’re also older than my folks. I look at it this way, times change. People change. Everyone evolves.” They got quiet, then Natalie added, “Look at us. A decade ago, we’d be shunned for our feelings for each other. Now? No big deal.”
With a snort, she said, “On this coast, anyway.”
Just then, Rachel’s ride pulled up. “Okay, more of this later. Your dad probably just got caught at work, right?”
Distracted, Natalie nodded.
“I gotta bounce. Ring me tonight?”
Punching up the moment with a big smile, Natalie whipped her head toward Rachel. “Of course, girlfriend,” she said, adding an emphatic fist-bump. “Later!”
As Rachel and her father pulled away, Natalie gave an enthusiastic wave but just as quickly dropped her brow into a frown. Glancing at the waning daylight, she took out her latest Tom Mercer thriller and flopped against her gym bag. “Might as well get caught up with my boy Tom,” she mumbled.
9
Slippery Slope
Leaning against the downstairs bathroom door, Michael watched Jasmine dry her hair as he sipped a glass of Prisoner Pinot Noir. He had shown up just as she was stepping out of the shower from a run and a yoga class. He admired how she kept in shape, and being a month shy of turning 40, she could easily be mistaken for someone a decade younger. This was the first time he had seen her in such disarray. Ordinarily, she was impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place.
Turning off the blow dryer, she let out a big breath. “It takes a lotta work to look this good,” she laughed while picking up her glass of wine and clinking his. “Follow me. I have a solid five minutes before my date arrives, so let’s take it.”
He waved for her to lead, then followed her to the kitchen. “I know this is completely out of the ordinary, but, well, I wrapped early and had a little time to burn before grabbing Nattie.”
Flapping her blouse open, she blew inside to cool herself off. “No biggie. And a nice surprise. It’s funny, just about the time….”
Michael was focused less on what she was saying than on what he was imagining.
“Then when you rang, I thought, sure, why not. And…” she frowned. “Are you listening to me?”
“What? Of course. You were talking about your class, the run through the Presidio, and getting ready for your date. Why?”
She took another sip. “Nothing. It just looked like you…” shaking her head, she stood. “I’ve got to grab—”
Just then her phone buzzed, and stopping at the table in the foyer, she picked it up and swiped the screen.
Watching her expression, he said, “What’s up?”
Checking her watch, she laid the phone down. “Looks like the new boy toy is off to a real bang. Running behind by about 20. Well…” she said disappearing into the kitchen, returning with the remainder of the wine. “More for us!”
