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1
Grayson
I sigh into my scotch. It’s not usually my drink of choice, but I’m biased when it comes to Bourbon. That’s largely due to the fact my family owns a distillery, and partly because I can’t help comparing our label to everyone else’s.
The distillery, aptly named Bassett Brothers Bourbon, runs through the family genes and has done for generations. Old habits are hard to break, and in Stoney Creek, Tennessee, nothing much changes. I’ve been away for a few years, and I’m only just moving back from Nashville. I’m done with the bright city lights.
Our Bourbon is undoubtedly the best I’ve ever tasted. It’s just the way it is. Whether it’s our straight Bourbon Whiskey – original cask strength – or our popular American blended rye.
So tonight I play it safe and settle for a Glenfiddich scotch. I’ll be back in Stoney Creek soon enough to sample the home brew as often as I want.
“Excuse me, Mr. Bassett?” The maître d, Bertram, approaches me at the bar in The Pickering Room at Casa Cipriani, the boutique hotel I’m staying at. I’ve been admiring the decor here, which is dark and a little moody with plush furnishings and heavy curtains. It has so much character and adds to the atmosphere and feel of the place. I guess old world charm combined with Italian marble and a shit load of cash will do that.
I can also appreciate the time that’s gone into the lacquered mahogany tables and chairs that match the elegant long bar where I sit.
I’ve been staying at Casa Cipriani on Wall Street for a couple of nights. Tonight, I’m waiting for my table at the adjoining Club Restaurant. It’s Saturday night and they have a full house.
I glance up from tracing my finger around the rim of my glass, contemplating all the pressing issues weighing on my mind while I’ve been waiting to be seated in the restaurant.
“Your table is ready, sir.”
I nod. “Thank you.” I slide off the bar stool and follow Bertram into the adjoining restaurant.
I ignore the admiring glances I get from women in the bar as I walk. I keep fit and look after myself. My brothers, all younger than me, call me grumpy but I prefer the term broody. Apparently I have a dark, moody look about me that women find attractive.
Of course, I’m in my usual attire; a well-cut suit. I’m a suit guy, favoring clean lines and Italian fabric of the expensive variety. Tonight I’m dressed a little more casual with a sharp dark gray suit, white shirt and silver tie.
I’ve been in New York for a couple of days sorting out some business and helping my cousin, Callan, with a mess concerning his girl’s ex-fiancé. Celeste, an old family friend, who happens to be my sister’s best friend, recently moved back to Stoney Creek after a long stint in L.A.
She and Callan just rekindled things after years apart. She was left at the altar by her money-grabbing, conniving, ex-fiancé, Anders, who used her to get his green card and fled when it came through just before the wedding.
Callan, along with her brothers Gaitley and Easton, all flew to New York yesterday to confront the asshole.
I assisted in some part as I know the CEO where the fucker worked in marketing. That’s why I’m in New York in the first place. Nothing gave me greater joy than knowing that asshole was about to get what he deserved, including losing his job.
After my part was done, I left them to sort the rest of it out. I have enough of my own personal shit to attend to with moving back home and sorting out my divorce.
I’ve been based in Nashville for a few years now, until recently. It’s where I lived with my soon to be ex-wife, Keira. Turns out she was only after my money, and was having some serious couch fun with the company accountant at her workplace. I came home a day early from a trip back from Stoney Creek to surprise her when I caught them in an uncompromising position. Unfortunately, I was the one who got the shock of my life.
To my knowledge I've never been cheated on before. Nor have I ever cheated on past girlfriends or my wife. My mom, Gayle, and pops, Robert, raised me and my siblings right. I’d never do something like that, even if we were having problems.
To see her riding pen-pusher Deacon Flatly, from Flatly & associates, on the leather Chesterfield she insisted I import from Europe, was a fucking slap in the face.
Then I was the one, ultimately, being blamed for being away too often. For being too busy. For not being a good husband. For supposedly never putting her first.
All total bullshit. I worked hard to keep her in the lifestyle she loved and craved. I would have done anything for her, and I did for a long time.
What happened to the promise she made when we got married? We were going to start a family within a couple of years, and move back to Stoney Creek to raise them on the family property. Keira kept putting off trying to start a family until she accomplished her goals within her career, but now I know she had no intention of starting a family.
Thinking about that whole unfortunate situation isn’t doing much for my already rattled mood.
Right now, I’m in the process of moving. Then after my divorce is settled I will be selling my shares in the marketing agency, Sphere Entertainment, I helped build for musicians in Nashville. Deciding to move back home to build my dream house at the very back of the family property wasn’t a hard decision. I affectionately call it Coyote Run. I nicknamed it years ago. Although the Coyotes aren't exactly running rampant on our property, it felt fitting when I was a kid, and so the nickname stuck.
My parents have over two hundred acres. There is enough room for the entire Bassett family to live here without constantly running into each other. I’m the first born. Then Gabe, Brooklyn, Beau and Georgia-Blue, who are twins.
For years, I've had a vivid image in my mind; a two-story, ranch-style home using traditional and recycled materials, mixed with modern touches and stainless steel appliances. I’d use the oak bush poles that grow vastly around the perimeter, making them a feature of my future wrap-around porch. For years, I have dreamed of building a house that fits with the country backdrop. A comfortable place where I once pictured Keira and our future children calling home, or at the very least, our vacation home when we visited. But that’s all gone by the wayside now and I’m returning to my hometown alone.
Still, it’s always been a dream of mine. I've never been able to let go of it.
