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1
EDWIN
“Fuck. Get your shit together.”
As I look at myself in my office mirror, adjusting my sleeves, my fingers run up against my cufflink and I pause. I trace the lion emblem, and my nerves start to settle down.
I’m Edwin Lyons, for god’s sake. This night belongs to me.
I used to look forward to this. Playing happy host to our members as they indulge in the hedonistic pleasures afforded to them in the confines of my club.
However, this year, my mind is far away.
My phone buzzes on my desk.
I rush over.
Maybe it’s him.
No such luck. Instead, a text from my daughter gives me the information I’ve been dreading.
Nate’s not coming tonight. Sorry, I did my best.
“Fuck.” I know Abigail has been trying her assoff to get her brother in touch with me. But that’s not working either.Nothingis working.
I navigate to his contact info and call him for the umpteenth time this week. If only I had tried this hard before.
I get that nasty ringing as I wait for him to pick up. Pray that he does.
“Come on, come on, come on…”
“You’ve reached the mailbox of –”
I hang up and curse myself, my fist clenching around my phone so tight it may snap in half. I put the damn thing on ‘Do Not Disturb’ and slide it into my pocket.
There’s a knock on the door.
A male voice sounds from outside. “Ed? You in there?”
Oh, good, Solomon is here.
“Come in.” I try to remain on an even keel despite my uneasy mental state.
My best friend throws the door open and beams at me. The shine of his crow’s-nested baldhead a close second to his white veneers. “There’s the man of the hour.”
I manage a poor impression of a smile.
My eyes land on the objects in his hand.
He holds one out to me. “I took the liberty of picking out yours.”
I take it. “What’s this supposed to be?” I turn the eye mask this way and that to try and figure it out.
The handcrafted piece of art is decorated with feathers made of wood that starts red and transitions to yellow until they’re something resembling flames.
“Why, a phoenix, of course!”
“Ah, I see that now.” The craftsmanship is divine. “I didn’t know Hans Christian Andersen wrote about a phoenix.”
