Letters From The Ledge (24 page)

“So, what do you think?”

“Of Brendan? He’s great.”

“He sure seems to be enjoying himself, which is always a plus in my book.”

“Yeah. He’s really passionate, and he showed me some of the photos he’s taken. He’s got a real gift for photography.”

“Hard copies?”

“No, but he’s got a gallery online. Said he’s sold a couple of shots to magazines and is hoping to continue freelancing while he’s in Europe this summer.”

“Send me that link, would you?”

“Sure thing, boss.” Jeremy laughed and turned in his chair. A few clicks later he turned back.

“Thanks.” Nate was watching the bathroom. “You like him, don’t you?”

It didn’t take Jeremy long to answer. “Well, yeah. He’s funny and talented and he seems to love this stuff. What’s not to like?”

“I knew you’d be the right person to train him, Jeremy. You’re secure enough in your own abilities not to be threatened by other people with talent. I have a lot of respect for that.”

Jeremy nodded his mutual respect. “Wait. Train him? Are you hiring him? I thought this was a high school, job shadow type of thing.”

“It is.”

“But…you’re looking with eyes toward the future?”

“Always.” Nate stood up just as Brendan got back. “I’m going to let you two get back to work. Lunch will be here in about a half hour.” He slapped Brendan playfully on the shoulder and inclined his head toward Jeremy. “Don’t fry his brain, ok? I need this one alive after you leave.”

Brendan looked surprised. “Me!? I’m the one taking a sip of water from a fire hose over here!”

But Nate was already halfway to his office and he didn’t look back. Sitting back at his desk, his thoughts continued to churn. He picked up the phone and dialed his father’s cell.

“Nathan! How’s my favorite son?”

Nate took a deep breath and let it out as he talked. “Great dad. Where are you at? Sounds like the club.”

“You always did have good ears. But I’m not in the city. We’re in Connecticut. Your mother and I came out for the day to visit some friends and play a round of golf. Would you like to join us for dinner?”

“I’m afraid I can’t make that tonight dad, but I do have some things I need to discuss with you. How’s Monday morning?”

“Are you alright Nathan?”

“Fine dad. It’s just business.”

“Well then, if it’s business I’ll make the time. Why don’t you come by the house? I’m sure your mother would love to see you. We can have breakfast together–that will make her happy, and then you and I can have our business meeting in the library.”

“Fine. I’ll see you Monday. Eight-thirty, right?”

“You remembered the time. Impressive!”

“Like Daria would ever let me forget? The woman is a stickler for mealtimes. She’s worse than mom!”

“Ah yes, but she does make the best Belgian waffles, doesn’t she?” His father chuckled.

“When are you going to let that old woman retire?”

He laughed again. “All she has to do is ask. She likes me, what can I say?”

“I’ll see you Monday dad.”

“See you then.”

Nate hung up the phone and spun his chair toward the view. As much as he hated it, it was game time.

“My boy’s wicked smart.”

- Good Will Hunting

At twelve-thirty, Jeremy brought Brendan back to Nate’s office. “I think we’ve both had enough for one day.”

Brendan shook Jeremy’s hand. “Thanks for your time, man. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem.” The young man looked at Nate. “I’m outta here.”

Nate nodded. “Thanks Jeremy. See you next week.” He gestured to the chair across from his. “Sit down, Brendan.”

Brendan did as he was told, but Nate didn’t say anything at first. He walked around the side of his desk and fired up the espresso maker. “Americano?”

Brendan nodded. “Sure. Thanks.” He sat looking at the front page of the newspaper that was sprawled across Nate’s desk.

“You read The Journal?”

Brendan looked up. “Huh?”

“The Wall Street Journal. Do you read it?”

“Um–no. But my dad does. It’s like a religion or something.”

“It can be for some people.”

Brendan took the drink Nate offered. “My father has seen fit to fund my trip to Europe this summer."

“How’d that happen?”

“He’s a business man. He’s playing the odds.”

“And the odds are…”

“That I’ll get whatever it is out of my system and start Wharton in the fall like he planned.”

“Did he say all that?”

“He didn’t have to. The note said it all.”

“The note?”

“The ‘Here’s five thousand dollars, I can’t make it to graduation because I’ll be out of town, see you when you’re packing for Wharton’ note.”

“Guilt money.”

Brendan sighed. “Most likely. But I’m not complaining.”

“Well, a smart man never looks a gift horse in the mouth.”

Brendan didn’t say anything.

"So that’s it? You’re out of here?"

"Maybe."

"I’m not sure I’m following you. Did you change your mind?"

Brendan started fidgeting, shifting in his chair. He bit his lip and took a deep breath. "The things you had me do–on the tutorial. You know, when I was learning those programs?"

"Yes?"

“And all of this, today?” He pointed to the desk he and Jeremy had just vacated, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on top of his thighs. "It’s what I was made for."

Nate could see the intensity rimming Brendan’s eyes, which were otherwise clear. "How long have you been clean?"

"I’m working on it."

"How long, Brendan?"

"Not quite a week, if you don’t count the withdrawals. I’m not there yet, but I’m trying really hard."

"Who’s helping you?"

"You are."

Nate shook his head. "Brendan, I applaud your efforts, but–"

"I’ve been working on the stuff I’ve been creating–that stuff I handed you this morning."

Nate took the folder and fanned the pages. "
This
is your rehab? This is your methadone?"

"I’ve never done heroin."

"It’s just an expression."

"Listen, this works for me. It’s how I started escaping a long time ago, before the drugs, and it still works for me."

Nate eyed him suspiciously. "I don’t doubt the possibility, but the probability of long term success? You’re just replacing one addiction with another. That’s not dealing with the roots of the issues Bren."

Brendan’s jaw tightened as he slid to the edge of his chair. "I can’t deal with the roots until I have a way out! I have to get out of there and right now I only have two options–three if you count jumping." He got up and started to pace around Nate’s office. "One, I disappear in Europe. Two, I become part of the pavement, and three, I become part of your team.”

“Who’s to say if you go to Europe you won’t end up in Amsterdam actually doing heroin?”

“There is that chance.” Brendan admitted. “Especially if I don’t have anything to come home to.”

The weight of it rested firmly on Nate and he took a minute to consider the implications. It was no small task, given the complications with Paige’s situation. "What’s your father going to say when he finds out you’re spitting in the face of Wharton?"

"If I can make enough money to live on my own, I won’t have to care, will I? There are plenty of people running around this world who have a crappy relationship with their parents. I’ll just join the club. It’s got a growing membership, I hear."

Nate considered that. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why not go to U Penn for graphics and design, Computer Science–something!"

"He already told me he’s not paying Ivy League money for a sissy profession."

"A what?!"

"What you do. It’s a sissy profession. His words, not mine."

Nate sat fuming.

Brendan laughed. "I almost forgot. Here–I brought you something." He pulled a neon green tennis ball out of his messenger bag and set it on Nate’s desk.

"Apple for the teacher?"

Brendan stuck his arm out and made a tight fist, then tapped the inside of his elbow a few times. "Methadone."

Nate looked down at the veins popping out of his forearm and nodded. "Touché."

"Look, Nate, the bottom line is, I’d rather work full time and take night classes at NYU than have to put up with his bullshit for the next four years. I
will
get my degree, but it’ll be on my terms, no matter how long it takes me. Maybe I can find an internship that will help pay for part of my classes? I don’t know yet, but graduation is less than two weeks away and my ticket to London leaves right after that. What I need to know is if there’s something worth coming back for."

"So Europe is still part of the plan?"

"To travel and take pictures, yes. Might be the last chance I get to travel on someone else’s dime.” Brendan broke into a grin. “I’ve sold two of my pictures to small, relatively insignificant magazines, but it’s a start. I’m going to be backpacking and hiking and riding trains most of the way to save money. Besides, I want to photograph places that are off the beaten path." He pulled a business card out of his pocket that had his name and a web address on it.

"Nice logo."

"Thanks. I designed it myself."

"Photography, huh?"

"I set up a website to market my photographs, and while I’m in Europe I plan on stockpiling a few thousand pictures on an external hard drive. Once I’ve played with them I’ll try to market them. Or, you and I could negotiate for copyright so maybe we could incorporate some of them into design templates." He smiled. "You never know."

"Backpacking with a laptop and an external hard drive. Not your usual combination."

"True, but I think it’ll work. Electricity is relatively free and Europe has an awful lot of free Wi-Fi."

"Sounds like you’ve done your research. So it’s a trip designed to get you working?"

"It’s a trip that’s designed to put some distance between me and this lifestyle.” Brendan added. “Staying away from the bigger cities can only help."

Nate put his hands up. "Hey, I get it, and I applaud your efforts. Perspective is everything. What about your girl?"

"On hold."

"Your call or hers?"

"Hers. Mostly."

"Mind if I ask why?"

Brendan leaned back in the chair and looked out the window. He began by clearing his throat. "I used to have a friend, Tessa. More than a friend, really, but we never declared anything." He shifted again in his chair. "Hell, it may not have even worked between us, but now I’ll never know, because–"

Brendan looked up at Nate. The words wouldn’t come out.

"She jumped?"

Brendan’s eyebrows went up.

Nate looked down at the desk. "Lucky guess."

Brendan was silent.

"So you’re not quite over her, and it’s hard to tell whether or not you’re trading a loss for a gain?"

Brendan swallowed. "Yeah."

“This other girl–what’s her name?”

“Sarah.”

“And Sarah–she knows all about Tessa?”

He nodded. “Yeah. She knows. Not everything, but enough.”

“And she’s the one putting the brakes on?”

“Yes. No–I don’t know. I mean, if she hadn’t, I probably would have anyway. It’s not fair to her, you know?”

Nate could see the struggle in the way Brendan held his whole body in tension. "You’re a good man, Brendan."

Brendan was shaking his head, trying to will back the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "And how do you figure that?"

"A lesser man would just use the new girl to massage his pain away. You have too much respect for Sarah to do that. My guess is, you really do care about her, you’re just scared."

Brendan’s eyes shot over toward Nate, but he didn’t deny it.

"We all get scared. And if you ask me, it’s ok to spend some time figuring yourself out before you ask her to ride the roller coaster with you. You’re doing the right thing." The boy nodded. "And your photography and the poems–is that all about her? The one who’s gone?"

“Mostly.”

"I underestimated you Brendan, and I’m sorry."

"What?"

Nate leaned his arms on the desk and folded his hands in front of them. "You’ve seen and lived with an awful lot of pain for an eighteen year old, but it seems like you’ve done the best you could to cope with things–trying to bring beauty from the ashes, so to speak. That’s why your photos are so powerful. They have passion behind them. They carry your message."

"You can see all that in a photograph?"

"I can see all that in your eyes."

Brendan sat blinking back tears.

"Testing always comes before promotion, Brendan. Everything in you has been tested, and you’re just starting to come through the fire."

"A promotion? Already? You shouldn’t have." Brendan shook his head, trying to make a joke, but his voice broke in the middle of it.

"Laugh if you want. You know it’s the truth, I’m just choosing to say it out loud. The promotion is your freedom–the ability to make your own way so you can start going after the things you really want out of life. It’s time to come out from under your parents’ expectations. These are the things a man faces, not a boy, and it’s time for you to step up."

The mocking smile was gone. Brendan’s face was sober and afraid. "Does that mean you’ll give me a job?"

"I gave you the conditions, and I can see that you’re trying. If you come back in August and you still want it, then I’m prepared to honor my offer."

Brendan was quiet for a long time.

Nate came around the desk to shake his hand and held on longer than necessary. He looked Brendan in the eye. "You can do this. You can fly solo."

It was slightly unorthodox, given the situation, but he just couldn’t help it. He pulled Brendan into an embrace and patted him on the back. The boy was stiff, but he didn’t pull away until Nate did. By then he was fighting for composure.

Nate looked him in the eye, smiling, trying to tell him even more with his eyes than he had with his words. "Good luck on your trip. Europe is amazing! See it all – or at least, as much of it as you can!”

“I will.”

"Wait!" Nate reached for his wallet. He pulled out a business card, and scribbled his cell number on the back. "The work number on the card you have forwards right to my cell, but here’s the number if you just want to call me direct. I…wouldn’t mind the occasional update."

"Thanks. I’ll try." Brendan took the card and walked out.

__________

Monday mornings were always a bear, but never so draining as when Nate had to start with a meeting like this one. He arrived at the Park Avenue address at twenty after eight, enough time to shoot the breeze with the doorman
and
the desk clerk
and
the elevator attendant before ringing the bell at the top.

Wilson met him at the door with a grin that was immediate. The elderly man had been with the family longer than Nate had been alive, and had seen to much of Nate’s education and upbringing. The old man was slightly bent with age, but still towered over Nate’s six foot frame. He was quickly pulled into a hug.

“Nathan, my boy! So good to see you!”

Nate’s hug was generous in return. “You too Wilson. How’ve you been?”

“Can’t complain.” Wilson looked around him and into the hallway. “I see you’ve chosen to deny an old man the privilege of enjoying a little extra beauty. Where is she?”

“Working, I’m afraid, as we all must to make our living.”

Wilson eyed him knowingly. “You’re a good man, Nathan. I’m so proud of you.” He glanced at his watch and patted Nate on the back. “You’d better get in there. Daria’s waffles wait for no man.”

“Don’t I know it!”

Nate stepped fully into the foyer and the sights and smells of his past assaulted him with little regard for his absence. He took a deep breath to steel himself and Wilson’s hand appeared again on his shoulder, infusing a strength he required but didn’t know he needed. He looked over at the man who’d been more of a father to him than his own flesh and watched Wilson’s eyes soften and gleam.

No further words were spoken, but realization struck in their place. He’d made it all this time and distance, not entirely of his own accord, but at least in part because of an angel, sent in the form of a gentle giant. Nate smiled weakly at Wilson, whose eyes once again took on the professional demeanor of a man’s man. It was time to go in.

The dining room was graciously appointed with an abundance of crystal and gold and silver pieces, all polished and nearly blinding in their obvious overpowering presence. The home of a jeweler who had spent his life traveling far and near to acquire the best of the precious was likewise surrounded. Rare antiques and artifacts had found their way into the cabinets and breakfronts, rounding out the opulence and giving the entire room the air of a palace, whose king and queen were seated at opposite ends of the table. The place that was set for Nate was at the center of one side, ironically equidistant from either of them.

He walked toward them with more confidence than he felt. “Good morning!”

His father set down his copy of The Journal and stood to greet his son, holding out a hand that was firmly shaken in return. “Nathan.”