JAKE
Ileft the house in a rush on Sunday afternoon. I’d completely forgotten that I agreed to meet my brother at a private men’s club he had a membership at. I’d been a handful of times, but not recently, so it took me a minute to find it.
It was a hole in the wall place from the outside looking in—just a set of double doors one floor below street level at the bottom of an iron staircase. Two security guards stood outside, one of them puffing a cigar, the other crushing a cigarette under his shoe. They greeted me with gruff grunts and asked to see my member card.
“I don’t have one,” I explained, “but my brother does. John Cassidy.”
The one puffing the cigar tugged the door open and stood aside, inviting me in with a wave of his hand.
I stepped inside and had to stand still as my eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. I heard pool balls striking each other and falling into corner pockets. Men’s voices created a low hum. Cigar smoke filled my lungs along with the scent of beer, old carpet, and cedar.
When I could finally see where I was going, I moved deeper into the place, looking around the highbacked booths and velvet sectional sofas in the middle of the room. To my right was the billiard area, and past that was a wall full of dartboards. To my left was the bar, which held only the finest assortment of liquors.
I stopped there first and ordered a rye and ginger. Not my usual drink, but I felt like one.
With my drink in hand, I moved through the club, looking for my brother. I found him in a corner booth under a green blown-glass ceiling light. He grinned when he saw me and popped to his feet, clasping my hand and pulling me in to bump his shoulder against mine.
“How have you been, Jakey?” he asked as we sat down.
“Actually?” I sipped my drink, set it down, and watched a bead of condensation roll down the side of the glass. “Pretty damn good.”
My brother’s dark eyebrows lifted, disappearing under his mop of even darker hair. “No shit? That’s a first. What’s got you singing a new tune? Don’t tell me you finally took my advice and stopped working so damn much.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “No, I met a girl.”
My brother leaned forward, curiosity piqued. “A girl, huh? Who is she?”
“She works for me.”
He clicked his tongue. “My little brother the panty dropper. What’s she like?” He snorted and put his hands over his chest, mimicking small or large breasts. “Tell me when I get close.”
“Fuck off with that shit. She’s a good woman. A hard worker, too. And she’s got a good heart and a steady head on her shoulders.”
Why was I telling him any of this? John and I weren’t particularly close. We hadn’t even talked since we’d argued at the coffee shop a few weeks ago and he’d told me I was going to turn into our father one day. It still pissed me off thinking about it, but fuck him, he didn’t know what he was talking about. And with a girl like Gabi by my side, there was no possible way I could be anything like my old man.
“Come on, she has to have nice tits too,” John said.
“I’m serious. Cut that out.”
He shrugged. “Fine. You’re no fun. I’m glad you’ve got someone in your corner who makes your days better. You deserve it. You’d better treat her right. None of that glum bullshit you’re always pulling or those mood swings. If she’s got a good heart, don’t take advantage of it.”
My brother was incapable of sitting back and keeping his opinions to himself. He always had to tell me what to do and how to do it. Sometimes I wondered if the things he said were more relevant to himself than to me. Not that it mattered. We only saw each other once a month or so. Sometimes less.
John suddenly stiffened. His eyes shifted so that he was looking over my shoulder before he looked down at his drink.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
He shook his head once. “No, nothing’s wrong. I just, uh, well, Jakey, you’re not going to like this, but I had to get you both here and I knew you wouldn’t come if I told you he was coming, too.”
“Stop talking in riddles. What the fuck are you trying to say?”
A man stopped beside our table and looked down at us. He had a white moustache, no hair on his head, broad shoulders, and a pipe between his lips. His voice rasped and sent shivers down my spine. “He’s trying to tell you that your old man is in town, boy. Now stand up and shake my God damn hand.”
My father stepped back and held out his hand for me to shake. I stared at it.
What the actual fuck was going on?
John rubbed the back of his neck and swung his head up to our father, suggesting I do as our old man said and shake his hand.