Dumb Luck (14 page)

chapter
twentyeight

On Saturday, a taxi took me to pick up Taylor. The driver, a heavyset man with a big gold chain around his neck recognized me from the papers. “You're that lucky-ass kid, right?”

“That's me,” I said, getting in. I had become used to the recognition by now and wondered when it would start to fade.

“You know what I'd do if I had all that money?” he said.

I'd heard that line plenty of times before. “What?”

He waved his hand in the air. “Nah. I shouldn't say. It wouldn't be polite.”

I didn't say anything so he picked up the slack anyway. “Well, the one thing I can say out loud is that I wouldn't be sitting on my ass fifty hours a week driving this sorry-ass car and taking crap from strangers.”

“I can understand that.”

I directed him to Taylor's house, and when she walked out the door and started walking toward us, the driver said, “Holy Mother of God, would you look at that?” I smiled. “She your girlfriend?” he added.

“Nope. My driving instructor.”

“I ain't never seen no driving instructor who looked like that,” he said.

“We're headed to pick up my new car,” I told him. The dealer had promised to have it detailed, prepped, waxed, and ready to roll. As Taylor got in, she kissed me once on the cheek lightly as the driver took in the show in his rearview mirror. I told him the location of the dealer and we drove off.

The
BMW
was sparkling and smelled new, as only a new car like this could smell. “It's intoxicating,” Taylor said as we got in. I started it up and checked the side mirrors and adjusted the electric seat. “Everything's electric,” I said, a little surprised.

“It's a luxury car. You're not supposed to have to work at anything.”

“But I still have to steer it, right, and use the gas pedal?”

“Yes.”

I was glad the car was an automatic. I wasn't ready for the five-speed standard that had first been offered. I took my time pulling out into traffic and just driving down the road. Taylor was looking into the little mirror behind the sun visor, checking her makeup. I said, “I can't believe I'm driving my own car.”

“Believe it, Brandon. Where should we go?”

“I don't know. Can't we just drive?”

“We should have a destination. Let's go back to the beach.”

“The beach it is,” I said, discovering the button on the dash that controlled the sunroof. It was a cool but clear day, and I liked the feel of the sunlight on my shoulders. Taylor looked up at the sky and laughed and then turned on the heater to low. “Brandon, you're starting to adjust to your new life. I see confidence where there was once none.”

I just nodded like I already knew that. I took my time as I drove, thought through each lane change, carefully put on my turn signals, and made perfect turns. I admit, it was like the car almost did drive itself, but I felt good about the fact I was a being a competent driver. I knew I was new at it and really needed to keep my wits. I couldn't believe I'd put off driving so long. As long as I was careful, I figured I'd be okay. Nothing fancy. Just basic driving.

Taylor put some music on and we cruised along with some serious volume, not talking at all, but then, as we got closer to the ocean, she turned it off. “Chelsea's feeling ignored,” she said. “You haven't called her for a while.”

“Didn't you tell me that cool was all about not caring, or at least pretending not to care?”

“Then, you do care about her? Just playing a little hard to get?”

I hadn't really thought about it that way. “Not really,” I answered. “I'm just not sure about the chemistry between us.”

“Brandon, she's just about the hottest girl in the entire school.” Taylor didn't need to add the part about herself being the hottest.

“Don't get me wrong,” I said, with the sound of ultimate cool in my voice, “I like her.”

“That's good. I was getting worried there for a minute that you might be gay.”

“I'm not gay.”

“But you are a very funny person.”

“Why funny?”

“Unpredictable. You ignore Chelsea but you take your old girlfriend, Kayla, out on the town to buy her a new look.”

I kept my eyes straight ahead on the road. “She's never been my girlfriend. Just a friend. And a good friend at that.”

Taylor scrunched up her pretty face. “Well, she sure looked different. You guys didn't exactly get the whole package right, though. In fact, some of my friends thought it was hilarious—Kayla trying to look like that. But it was an improvement.”

What Taylor had said struck me as condescending and cruel. Why did it shock me that she would say such a thing? What would Kayla feel like if she knew that some of Taylor's friends were laughing at her? Suddenly the old Brandon was the one sitting there in the driver's seat, wondering how he ever got there—how he got the car, and this beautiful girl beside him.

Taylor noticed that I was quiet. “Did I say something wrong? Hurt your feelings?”

I wasn't going to let on. I smiled. “'Course not. I was just concentrating on the road.” But when we got off the highway and hit the first red light, I put my arm around Taylor, pulled her to me, and gave her a serious kiss on the mouth.

She poked me in the ribs when the light changed. “Where'd that come from?” she asked, not sounding the least bit offended.

“Just making sure you didn't think I was gay.”

“Proves nothing,” she said joking. “I hear gay guys can
really kiss.”

We never really made it to the beach. As we neared the ocean, Taylor looked at the digital clock on the dash. “It's time for lunch. We need to celebrate. You have your credit card this time?”

I gave her a hard look.

“Great. I know the place.”

“The place” was Three Fathom Restaurant and it had a dining room overlooking the ocean. It also had a guy in the front in a uniform who parked your car. I handed him the keys. “Don't scratch it,” I said. “It's brand new.” The guy looked thrilled to be able to park it.

Inside, Taylor asked for a table near the window. The place was nearly empty and we were directed to our seats. As we were sitting down, Taylor asked, “Could we see the wine list?”

The waiter nodded and returned with one for each of us.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said. “You're still learning the ropes. I need to teach you about how to order the right wine with your meal.”

I was thinking about the driving afterwards but I
didn't want to sound like a party pooper. “How do
you know what the right wine is?” I looked at
the complex and rather confusing wine list, which was as
big as a menu and covered four pages. I'd never
once in my entire life worried myself as to what
the right wine for a meal would be.

“You look at the price, silly.”

So I looked at the prices. The cheapest bottle was $30.

“Red or white?” she asked.

“Doesn't matter to me.”

“Red then.”

“French, Italian, Australian, South African, or Chilean?”

“French,” I said, trying not to sound like too much of a lug nut.

“I can live with that. How about this one?” She held out her wine list and I saw her pointing to something with an unpronounceable name. And a price tag of $120.

I'm sure my eyes widened, but then the new me kicked in. The cool me. What the hell. “That looks good to me,” I said.

Taylor put a single finger in the air and the waiter breezed quickly and silently to our table. The deed was done. A bottle ordered, and elegant wine glasses appeared at the table. A small amount was poured in her glass, not mine. She tasted and approved. When the waiter poured some in my glass, I took a sip and found the taste rather unpleasant, if not downright obnoxious.

I guess the look on my face was a bit obvious. “It's a bit dry, isn't it?” Taylor asked. “Do you want me to send it back?”

“No,” I said. “It's fine.”

So fine that I ended up drinking half of the bottle. Well, maybe more than half. Taylor had ordered us what seemed to me to be the most expensive food on the menu. There were escargot. (I thought she was joking but they really were snails.) And there was some dish made from goose livers. (Although it had a French name and I didn't realize it was goose livers until I had already eaten most of them.) And there was something else involving mushrooms. “Chanterelles,” Taylor had said. “I totally adore chanterelles.” (Me, I've never been a fan of mushrooms of any sort.) So maybe this all explains why I drank so much of the wine.

But we had a fine view of the ocean and Taylor seemed to be loving every minute of it and, due to the glow from the wine, I suppose I was feeling like the king of the world. I remember that I became rather talkative and began telling her funny stories about when I was a little kid and thought I could fly. I would continually jump out of trees—from not too high up—and test my flight abilities, only to fail over and over. I had always believed that if I thought about it hard and long enough, it would happen.

But it never did.

“And then one day, I find myself sitting in a fancy-ass restaurant with the most beautiful girl in North America, eating snails and drinking red French wine.” There was no clear connection to the story but that's how I ended it.

Taylor laughed so hard she almost choked and the waiter came running. But she was okay. And I settled back into being the less extroverted version of me.

The bill was over $300 but I didn't blink. It was play money, after all. And the wine had gone to my head so it was worth it.

The car was brought to us and I noticed the air had become much cooler. There would be no open sunroof for the ride home. “Are you okay to drive?” Taylor asked.

“Absolutely,” I said.

I was aware of the laws about drinking and driving but was pretty sure that didn't apply to a couple of people having a little wine with a meal. Otherwise, why would they be able to sell wine to you with a meal? It had to be okay. And, in fact, as I got behind the wheel and headed us home, I felt even more confident in my driving than before. If anything, the wine had turned me into a better driver. I was more relaxed and more focused.

Taylor put on some quiet music and started telling me some things about her childhood. Her trips with her mom sounded exotic at first, but then it became clear she had spent a lot of her time alone while growing up with two very busy parents. “And then the boyfriends kicked in,” she added.

“How many have there been?”

“I've lost count,” she said. “But I'm not trying to brag. It's just that not long after I get involved with the guy I'm interested in, well, I seem to lose interest.”

“That's too bad. So what do you do?”

“Move on to the next one.”

“And there's always a next one?”

“Always.”

As far as I knew, though, there was no obvious boyfriend in Taylor's current life. She had explained fully to me, however, that she saw herself as a kind of “mentor” to me. She had no real “interest.” I thought about asking her if her views about me had changed. It seemed clear that she liked me and she liked being with me. But I decided not to push my luck. I looked straight ahead at the road.

When things got a little too quiet in the car, I looked over and saw that she was leaning against the door of my
BMW
and had fallen asleep.

chapter
twentynine

I talked to my parents on the phone at least once each day. I may have moved out and I was still mad at them, but I wasn't going to forget the fact that they were my parents and they had raised me. My mom was all flustered with details about moving. I talked mostly to her, since my dad was often working late and seemed not to have much time to talk to me if I called him at work. According to my mom, there were a lot of complications with the business that were troubling him. She wasn't sure he was really making any money at all, but then my father had explained to me that it could take a while before the business actually turned a profit. My dad, however, when he had a spare minute or two to talk to me, told me everything was fine.

“I finally found what I
was looking for. His name is Sidney. He loves selling
cars and the customers love him. Sidney could sell anything
to anybody. He and I have been moving a lot
of inventory.”

“That's great, Dad,” I said. But I think it was maybe an exaggeration, and I also took it as a kind of jab at me for not being a super-salesman. Oh, well.

Life on my own was sometimes good and sometimes not so good. After a couple of weeks on my own, though, I was starting to adjust. Kayla helped me buy groceries and I bought her some more clothes and makeup. She thanked me for the new look and told me that guys were actually starting to pay attention to her at school. I felt a little funny when she said that. Could it be that I was jealous? No way.

Kayla had been inspired by the new image to lose some weight as well and she was looking much different from the girl I used to climb trees with. She said she still experienced anxiety attacks and, if she was home, she'd call me and ask if she was interrupting anything. Usually she wasn't. A couple of times she called at night, when the anxiety set in, and she asked if she could come over. I always said yes. She'd stay the night. She said she'd had a long talk with her parents about sleeping over and they had said it was okay. They understood and, strangely, they said they fully “trusted” me. They probably didn't know that we'd have a couple of glasses of wine or some beer. But Kayla would always be ready for school the next day and we really didn't get into any trouble. Taylor dropped in from time to time—but never when Kayla was there—and we'd go for drives in my car or occasionally to one of the clubs.

And Chelsea. Well, Chelsea called me often. And she'd drop by without calling first. And she was still one of the sexiest girls from school. I was flattered that she wanted to be with me. And I had grown to believe that it was more than the money. But I could have been wrong. Chelsea liked to party. Chelsea liked to drink vodka coolers and she liked to smoke a bit of weed. She liked to turn the music up loud and she liked to sit in the hot tub with me. And sometimes it went a little further than that. We had some of the most amazing times together. She was never shy about anything. Let me just say that it got pretty wild sometimes. And I loved it. And if she stayed over, she didn't always make it to school the next day.

Since Chelsea now had her full driver's license, we two would go for drives. Chelsea in the morning, however, was different from Chelsea at night. The girl was moody and, in order to cheer her up, I'd take her to the mall and buy her some new clothes. I was amazed at how much time I spent in clothing stores since I'd moved into my new life. But I didn't mind. And it did cheer Chelsea up. And, after all, it was only money.

I tried discussing Chelsea and Taylor with Kayla. I wanted to be super honest and open about everything. But that didn't work.

Kayla was shaking her head. “Look, I just don't
want to hear about it. It's just too weird. I
need you, though, Brando. So if I call you and
Taylor is here ‘coaching you' or whatever the hell it
is she does, or if Chelsea is here getting high,
just let me know and I won't bother you.” She
was trying not to sound angry but she was angry.

“I know it's all kind of weird, I guess. Not quite normal. But this is just the way things have happened. It wasn't like I planned it. I'm sorry. But I'll be here if you need me. I promise. How are things going at school?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

She took a deep breath. “Better,” she said. “I can't believe people treat me differently because I look different.”

“Sometimes it works that way.”

“And I got asked out,” she said sheepishly with a half-smile.

I had mixed feelings ... which surprised me, but I said, “Excellent. Who asked you?”

“John Gardner.”

“The guy from the school newspaper who ran an editorial against my promoting gambling and greed?”

“He's very political. I wouldn't take it too personally.”

“He said I was encouraging people to become gambling addicts and ruin their lives,” I said a bit too loudly.

“He does get carried away. But he has very high ideals.”

“He's an asshole,” I
said. I remember how I'd felt after the article.

“He's been nice to me. We'll see how the date goes.”

“Do you mind my asking where he's taking you?”

“To see a documentary about child soldiers in Africa.”

“How romantic,” I said with a bit too much edge in my voice. I really didn't like the idea of her hanging out with John Gardner.

Kayla wrinkled her brow and took off her stylish glasses. She really had changed in some subtle way that made her so very different from the girl I used to climb trees with. “You're not jealous, are you?”

“No way,” I said. And for some reason I repeated it. “No way.”

In two weeks my parents would move into their new house—their new lives, as my mom was now prone to say. I had offered my parents a more than generous price for our old home. In two weeks, odd as it seemed, I could move out of my fancy-ass apartment and back into my home, a home which would be truly mine to do with whatever I wanted. Only now, that was starting to feel a little too weird. And even sad. Living there all alone.

Taylor kept saying that before I moved out of the condo, I needed to have a party. This was seconded by Chelsea.

Kayla was the first person I invited. Well, she was the only person I personally invited.

“I'm not coming,” she said.

“You can bring John,” I countered.

“I only went out on one date with him. And it wasn't like a date. It was more like a lesson in morality. But he was nice.”

“Bring him. I don't care if he insulted me back then.”

“No. The party thing is a bad idea.”

“It will be cool.”

“It will be trouble.”

And that was the end of that conversation.

But things were already in motion at that point, Chelsea and Taylor drawing up the guest list, making the appropriate invites on Facebook, etc. Taylor ordered some food and booze. I paid for it all, of course. Hell, I'd never thrown a party before.

“Get on good terms with the neighbors above you, below you, and on each side ahead of time. You want them to like you. Tell them things will be controlled and not too loud.”

I did this, offering a bottle of white wine to each of my neighbors, as planned. They all looked a little strangely at me, but I quickly learned that as soon as I told them who I was, they seemed to soften. “One night only,” I promised them. “This won't be a regular thing.” At least one couple, Steven and Wanda Richards, who owned an interior design business, invited me to stop over some time for dinner. Everything was cool. Taylor knew exactly how to handle these things.

“It's all about diplomacy,” she said, the afternoon before the big event.

Taylor and I split a bottle of wine around five o'clock the night of the party and ate some pizza as we made the final preparations. Music, food, booze. I was thinking that maybe this was another step on the path to my adjusting to being wealthy. Sure, I was only eighteen, but I sure didn't feel like a teenager anymore. This was the life.

The party was supposed to start at seven but no one showed up until 8:30, which gave Taylor and me a chance to share some more wine. Chelsea was the first to arrive with Brittany and Emma. Chelsea wrapped her arms around me and buried her face in my neck. I saw the look on Taylor's face—the smirk. I knew what Chelsea was doing, staking out her territory. I liked the hug though and I could smell that she'd been smoking weed. So what else was new?

Within a half-hour, it was clear that a real party
was in full progress. Some of Chelsea's pot-smoking friends arrived
and she lost interest in me as she followed them
out onto the balcony for a few puffs. I thought
maybe I should be worried about other residents calling the
cops, but the wine had gone to my head and
I wasn't much worried about anything. Everyone else had gotten
into the action fairly quickly. But then, that was what
a party was all about, right?

At first, everyone was shaking my hand, patting me on the back, and thanking me for inviting them. (Although I didn't invite them.) Even Grant Freeman, apparently, had been on the invite list.

“That whole ruckus back then was my fault entirely,” Grant said. “I wanted so badly to be you. Forgiveness?”

“Forgiveness,” I said. What the hell.

That's when Grant dropped his pants and tore off his shirt and jumped into my living-room hot tub. He flicked it on and a minute later Brittany had taken off her blouse and skirt and joined him.

I was a little shocked, but then I'd never partied with these people before. I wasn't about to join them. But it was the first true sign, my fuzzy brain concluded, that this was not
my
party at all.