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Edward
The morning airwas nippy and damp. I was relieved that I had the wind at my back instead of my face as I pedaled the final mile of my early morning bike ride across the Golden Gate Bridge, back into the city. The Sunday traffic was practically nonexistent since most San Franciscans were still just waking up. It was exactly what the doctor ordered, so to speak, after yesterday’s news of my Nonno’s passing. Nonno was the Italian word for grandfather and that’s what I’d always called him ever since I could remember.
I had awaken with an intense need to clear my mind and I knew a ride up through the spectacular Marin Headlands across the bay would do the trick. The low-hanging clouds obscured the usual breath-taking views but the natural wilderness up there on the hilly peninsula was still a perfect place to reflect.
I had such an array of mixed emotions whirring around in my head. Nonno and I hadn’t always gotten along. That was for sure! In fact our relationship was quite contentious at times. Nevertheless, I still loved that stubborn old geezer. The problem was that he had very traditional values from “the old country” and he was very set in his ways. He tried, unsuccessfully, to make me into a carbon copy of himself after my parents died.
Their private plane had gone down into the Atlantic Ocean, off the coast of the Canary Islands, during my last year of high school. I was totally devastated. There were no survivors and their bodies were never recovered. So I went to live with Nonno for a brief time during my remaining tumultuous teen years. I recalled people telling him how generous he was (and ambitious!) to take me in. They were right; I was basically a rich little shit-head with a chip on my shoulder.
My grandfather had definitely had a profound impact on my life but his frustration at his inability to completely mold me into my father was ever-present. He was proud of my dad because he was exactly like him; “A true Armani”, whatever that meant. But I was a different breed altogether and I knew I was most likely a disappointment to him. Nonno tried to shape my behavior by constantly hanging the threat of disinheritance over my head. That’s what pissed me off the most. I hated being manipulated by him and the fucking money, so I took on the attitude that it didn’t matter. Which in turn pissed him off even more!
But now it was all over. The reading of the will would take place this week. I would more than likely inherit the entire Armani family business and fortune. And that’s where the mixed emotions came in: Yes I felt sad about Nonno’s death, but I also felt like rejoicing from the fucking rooftops! A huge weight had been suddenly lifted off my shoulders. I would finally be free to live my life without Nonno’s oversight or the need for his approval.
The long winding driveway up to my palatial home in Presidio Heights was quite steep and pedaling up it took the final bit of wind out of me. My legs usually throbbed by the time I reached my garage. I parked the bike and took off my helmet and the rest of my gear before going inside. A nice soothing hot shower seemed like the perfect remedy for my aching muscles.
I had absolutely nothing important on my agenda for the day so I lingered under my luxurious rain showerhead for at least thirty minutes. By the time I dressed and went out onto my bedroom terrace the morning clouds had dissipated and the warm summer sun was shining brightly. My butler Nigel had already laid out Sunday brunch for me: Lemon ricotta pancakes, a veggie frittata, Italian sausage patties, a steaming cup of espresso and an Asti Spumonte mimosa. I took a seat, propped up my feet, and dug into the delicious feast while I enjoyed my phenomenal 180-degree view of the Pacific Ocean and San Francisco Bay.
About halfway through the meal Nigel popped back out and asked if I wanted anything else. I had known Nigel Kent for years and although he was technically what you’d call a traditional English butler, he seemed more like an eccentric old uncle. He had worked for my parents and just naturally stayed with me after their untimely demise. Sure, he took care of my every need like a servant but our relationship was really quite informal. He had addressed me as Master Edward for so many years it took awhile to get him to stop once I became an adult. My dad insisted on being called sir but I hated that formality. I told Nigel I didn’t give a shit what he called me as long as he called me for dinner. So he basically addressed me by whatever name flipped his switch at that particular moment.
“Sit down Nigel. Take a load off and join me. There’s plenty!”
“No thank you. I have a rather full schedule.”
“Full schedule? What the hell else do you have to do today?”
“Well I do have an entire staff to manage. This little castle doesn’t just run itself you know King Edward.”
“This is hardly a castle Nigel. At 19,000 square feet, this is a mansion at best!”
“Oh yes I see what you mean! It is quite tiny now that you mention it. How do you get by?”
“Alright cut the crap for a minute. I was wondering if you could answer a question for me Nigel?”
“I shall certainly try.”
“I was wondering exactly how well you knew my grandfather?”
“Please accept my deepest condolences again Edward.”
“Thank you Nigel.”
“I’d say I knew him pretty well. Why do you ask?”
“What did you think of him? Did you like him?”
“I’m afraid I can’t answer that at the moment…..”
“Why not Nigel? You know you can be honest with me.”
“Honesty is not the issue. It’s the blueberry compote on the tip of your nose. You look absurd and it’s very distracting.”
I laughed and wiped my nose with the linen napkin from my lap.
“Nigel! You crack me up! How’s that? Did I get it all off?”
“Yes very good! What was your question again?”
“Did you like my grandfather?”
