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“You think you can keep your dick in your pants for one night, brother.” Liam sniggers. I strike my eyes at him with a warning stare then smile wide.
“That’s not what your wife asked me last night, brother.” I taunt him with a laugh.
Liam’s face turns red as he leaps from his chair and lunges for me over the table. I stand, stepping back with my hands in the air, looking at my father as he tries to hold Liam back.
“Control your son, please, Father. This is a place of business,” I say, smiling with disdain.
“Enough!” my father yells, deep and demanding. “Pull yourself together, Liam.” He shoves him back in his seat, before turning his attention to me. “When the hell are you going to grow up, Roman?” Straightening his suit jacket, he stands at the head of the table. “How am I supposed to retire when both of you act like this? Clearly, neither of you are ready.” He points his finger at my sibling and then at me. “Sort this shit out before I sort it for you.” Leaving for the door, he turns back to me. “Georgiana will be your date Saturday night, Roman, if you know what’s good for you.”
Liam slams the folder in front of him closed and stands, watching my father leave the room. He glares at me intently before standing, then calmly walks toward me. “My wife is so out of your league, brother, It’s actually pathetic. But you keep dreaming, Roman, if that’s what helps you sleep better all alone at night.” He taps me on the back. I laugh to myself as he leaves the room. If he only knew his wife sucked me off in the pool house ten minutes before he proposed to her.
Back in my office, I sort through all this morning's emails. My assistant June knocks on the door briefly before entering with a coffee and a stack of paperwork.
“Excuse me, Mr. Judge.” She places the coffee on my desk. “These documents require your signature, and I moved your twelve o'clock meeting with Mr. Sullivan as requested.”
“Thank you, June.” I smile, taking the papers from her. She politely smiles back and leaves my office. I take note of her ugly, old lady shoes as she leaves and sighs. I asked her yesterday to move my ten o’clock meeting with Mr. Timms, not my twelve o’clock with Mr. Sullivan, but I didn't have the heart to tell her. She’s so old, it’s a wonder she doesn’t need a walking stick.
She has worked for Judge & Sons Legal for forty-nine years and used to be my grandfather's assistant. After I slept my way through five of my own assistants, my father’s punishment was June. It was the only way he knew how to get me to keep my hands to myself and concentrate on my work. I was younger then and far less disciplined, so I understood his motives. However, now, June is not as sharp as she once was. I mean she is a dinosaur. It takes her forever to do anything, and she forgets things constantly. I desperately need to hire someone to help her, seeing she’d sooner die than retire.
I stare at my phone for the longest time before texting Georgina and asking her to accompany me to the mayor’s fundraiser. Within five seconds, I get an acceptance with the color of her dress so I can match my suit and tie with her. God, that was fast, yet so predictable. Georgina would have been anticipating my invitation. Highly social, she is aware of every upcoming event like it is her job. In fact, she most likely knows the full guest list for Saturday night, right down to what canapés will be served. I’m almost tempted to wear a suit that will clash with her dress, just to teach her the element of surprise.
Daddy says jump, and Georgina asks how high. It’s pitiful. It amazes me how a woman of her beauty and stature could be so confident socially, yet such a coward when it comes to her father. I thought I had daddy issues, but the more I get to know her, the more I see how conditioned she is. Her father has molded the perfect compliant daughter, and it reminds me so much of my brother, it makes me sick.
“Sir. Your ten o'clock is here.” June pops her head through the door.
“My ten o'clock?” I ask her. I checked my calendar this morning. I didn’t have a ten o'clock appointment.
“Mr. Sullivan,” she replies, looking just as confused as I am. She was meant to move his twelve o'clock meeting today to next week, not earlier today. I have too much work on Peter's case to prepare.
“Right, well I guess you better send him in then.” I don’t bother to tell her she screwed up again because she will probably forget anyway by the time she gets back to her desk. I let out a long sigh and look up at the ceiling. God help me get through this fucking day without sending June to her grave.
Chapter Two
Indie
I HAVE TWENTY-ONE DOLLARS and two cents in my bank account. After paying rent and utilities, that’s all I have left. I’m surprised I even have that after last month's unexpected rent increase. I guess I will be eating all my meals at work this week... again.
Straightening my hair in the mirror, I pause for a moment to really take myself in. I look a lot older than my twenty-three years. The last five years have really taken a toll on me. Every day is a struggle. I study, work, sleep, and somewhere in between all that, take care of my little brother. I say little, however, Austin is a good foot and a half taller than I, but he’s only seventeen, and like it or not, I am his only living relative who is willing to take care of him. In truth though, I have been taking care of him my whole life. Dad took off not long after he was born, and we have not seen nor heard of him since. My mom did the best she could to look after us, that is the best she knew how, and well, that was not much.
Most of the memories I had of my dad faded away with my youth. I wish I could say he made a lasting impact, but my recollections fall short. I was only six years old when he left us. No goodbyes, no calls, no letters. I remember how sad it made my mom, and oddly enough, I remember the whiskers he left on the bathroom sink after shaving one morning. Then he left for the day and never came home again. She was never the same after that, and I hated him for it.
Mom was a free spirit; she didn’t believe in boundaries and rules. She lived by her own accord and never apologized for it. More of a friend than a mother, I learned to take care of myself at a young age. Too young actually. It was nothing for her to disappear for days at a time and then return as though she had never left. Strange men often frequented our home, and I was told to stay in my room and look after Austin because she had to pay rent this week. It wasn’t until I was older that I realized what she was doing. Even now that she is gone, I am still ashamed to say it. Mom sold her body to keep a roof over our heads.
Grief and selfishness took hold of her, and drug use became the norm. Often, I would return home from school and have to wash her vomit-covered body, put her to bed, clean up her discarded needles off the sofa, and beg our neighbors for some food. On her good days, she would pack us lunch and send us off to the bus with a smile and kiss. They are the memories I chose to keep close to the surface. The ones where she would comb my hair and sing to me. Her dancing in the kitchen, attempting to cook us dinner, our impromptu adventures, and twilight picnics by the Charles River. That's how I want to remember her, because if I allow the bad ones in, they haunt me, they enrage me, and I can’t afford to be bitter. I have Austin to take care of.
The day I turned eighteen, my graduation year at school, my mom disappeared again. Days passed into weeks and then months until I realized she wasn’t coming back this time. I filed a missing report with the police that resulted into nothing. They marked her as a drug addict and a prostitute. I found out she had been arrested twice previously and even served thirty days in the county jail. It explains why she went missing for a whole month when I was fifteen. That was when I got my first job. I worked every afternoon after school and most weekends at the local donut shop. I had to keep the landlords from evicting us, and even though I barely made enough to cover rent, we somehow managed. Although, eventually, her welfare payments stopped coming, and things got even worse.
Austin and I frequently ate meals at the local homeless shelter and lived off the leftover donuts and hotdog buns from my work that the owner Mr. Harris allowed me to take home. He would even sometimes give me a bonus in my paycheck. I think he could see times were tough for me and felt sorry for me.
Graduation day came, and I scanned the crowd for my mom, hoping she would return to us for such an occasion. Yet all I saw was everyone else’s proud parents and grandparents with tears in their eyes and an empty chair where mine was meant to be. The disappointment was not new to me. I had come to expect it over the years, but I would be lying if I said it didn’t hurt. That was the moment I knew she wasn’t likely ever coming back. Still to this day, I don’t know if she is alive or dead in an alleyway dumpster somewhere.
Did she leave us because she didn’t love us? Or, was she taken from us? Did guilt and regret become too overwhelming and so she abandoned us? Or, did she finally overdose and her dealer discarded her body? The questions never leave me. They accumulate, and they fester, remaining unanswered.
The state didn’t have time for my brother or me; we were just another statistic. They didn’t inspect our home or verify my capabilities for taking care of Austin. I was eighteen. It took them six whole months before they even came by and did a welfare check. I have a feeling it was Mr. Harris that alerted them to our situation. God, Austin was only twelve years old, and they palmed him off to me like he was a problem they couldn’t solve. I knew then my goals of becoming a professional photographer were a distant dream, and I would have to find another job to support us both.
Mr. Harris was kind enough to put me on full-time at the donut shop, and then five nights a week I would restock the shelves at our local supermarket. That was until I got caught by one of the bosses for bringing Austin to work with me. He would sleep in the staff room while I worked because I had no one to look after him. The first year on our own was so hard. I look back now and still don’t know how I managed, how we survived.
The second and third year was a little easier as Austin and I developed a flow between us. Mr. Harris got Austin an after-school job, washing cars at his brother's car yard across the street from the shop. It was a cash under the table deal, the extra money allowed us to eat a little better and got our utility bills out of arrears. We no longer waited for Mom to come back, Austin stopped asking about her, and we eventually accepted she was gone.
