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“No surprise. Your dad was an amazing player.”
“Yeah,” Travis says softly as we exit the arena. “I know.”
I drop my arm over Travis’s shoulder. “Come on. I promised your mom I’d have you home by five thirty for dinner, which means we have about enough time to grab a quick ice cream and ruin said dinner.”
Travis laughs. “She’s going to be so mad.”
I’m willing to risk it. “She’ll be mad at me, not you. I got this one, kid.”
CHAPTER 6
Camden
Graham Bale isthe owner of a franchise of gyms located throughout Pennsylvania, West Virginia and Ohio. While I’ve never worked out in his facilities, I certainly know all about them as they’re well branded and plentiful. They’re massive buildings outfitted to accommodate any type of workout you could imagine, from powerlifting to yoga. Each gym has an indoor and outdoor pool, saunas, café, physical therapist and chiropractor. It’s all sleek chrome, glass and fifteen-dollar smoothies.
Graham and his wife, Lindsey, have a son turning sixteen and to commemorate this event, they’re throwing a party the likes of which I’ve never seen.
At least not for a kid.
A large tent is set up on their spacious back lawn with heat piped in to keep it toasty on this blustery day. I certainly don’t know what sixteen-year-olds these days are into, but I can most assuredly say I would not have been interested in this type of party.
While it’s not black tie, it’s about as dressy of an event as you can get without a tux. All the men—including the birthday boy, Holden, and his ten friends—are wearing suits and ties. There are plenty of adults as well, the women in cocktail dresses.
In the center of the tent is a cherry-red Ferrari with a big bow to match the paint on the car. This answers my question as to why the party is outside rather than inside their fifteen-thousand-square-foot mansion. Large, round tables that seat ten are placed around the edge and a five-course meal is set to be served later. At one end of the tent is an ostentatious four-tiered birthday cake complete with a model Ferrari on top and a separate table to hold dozens upon dozens of gifts. But really, what more could a kid want than a new Italian sports car for his sixteenth birthday?
There’s a fully stocked bar from which the liquor flows freely to the adults and waiters circulate with hors d’oeuvres and champagne.
Soft music plays from obscure speakers and everyone mingles, including the sixteen-year-olds, offering sturdy handshakes and air kisses.
It’s all so refined and polite, and frankly… just weird for a boy’s birthday party.
“I kind of thought there would be, like… video games or paintball,” Danica says out of the side of her mouth as we stand along the inner periphery. “I mean… what sixteen-year-old wants this for a birthday party?”
I can’t help but chuckle, nodding toward the car. “I think the kid got exactly what he wanted. I’m guessing this party is for the parents’ benefit, not the birthday boy’s. A way to show off to all their friends how rich they are and how lucky their child is to have them as parents.”
Danica snickers, covering her mouth with her hand.
We’ve been here about an hour and were greeted at the front door by a woman with a clipboard and an earpiece who looked stressed to the max. I assume she’s the event coordinator because she had us wait inside until we could be formally announced to the partygoers. It was a little awkward as we entered the tent to polite applause, although to my relief, the boys were excited to see me.
For about half an hour, I took pictures not only with Holden and his friends, but with adults from whom I received three separate requests to attend birthday parties for their kids. I declined, stating this was a special favor owed.
They can all assume the favor is to Graham Bale, but it’s only to Danica.
After the pictures, I signed each jersey. Holden simply dropped his onto a chair and then ushered his friends over to look at—but not touch—his new car.
“What did you do for your sixteenth birthday?” Danica asks.
I have to search my memory for a moment. “My parents let me go to a Drake concert with two of my friends. I had a special one a.m. curfew and that was a big deal.”
“Yes… that right there. That’s what sixteen-year-olds should do, not stand around eating canapés with elevator music playing in the background.”
Laughing, I glance down at her. As always, she’s beyond pretty but she’s completely underdressed in wool slacks and a thick sweater. We weren’t told this was a fancy soiree. “What did you do?” I ask.
“My mom took me and my best friend on a weekend trip to New York. We went shopping and saw a few shows.”
I nod, totally seeing Danica doing that. “I guess when you’re filthy rich, concerts and weekend trips to the Big Apple are underrated.”
“Apparently,” she mutters, her gaze drifting over to the host of the party as he talks to a group of upper-crust-looking older men.
