33
Offerings
[Hank]
On Monday, I find Midge staring at the computer screen. She was on her cell phone only moments ago, taking a call outside and pacing back and forth. Seeing her appear and then disappear through the view of the front glass door made me nervous. When she stepped back inside, she covered her face for a moment and then straightened, walking stiffly back to her desk. Her desk, I repeat because I like seeing her here, finding her close, and catching her smiling at me. As I near her, I hear an exaggerated sigh.
“What’s wrong, little lady?” I’ve startled her, and she spins, the chair creaking with the speed. She blinks up at me as if she’s trying to focus.
“Ever want something so much, only to discover later it isn’t what you thought it would be?”
Strangely, I do know the sensation. Kit had been that for me, but then another thought strikes. Does she mean me? I rub at my chest, pain radiating inside the cavity. Am I disappointing her? I’m not who I used to be, and although I’m confident in myself, I know being a musician seems more glamorous than a mechanic. Midge is all polished chrome while I’m chipped varnish. I’m scratched, dented, and rusty. Did she change her mind? With hesitation, I ask, “What happened?”
“Pendelton offered me the job.” Her shoulders hunch before she shrugs. My eyes widen with excitement. I’m so proud of her, and I’m ready to tell her as much when I note her body language suggests she doesn’t feel the same way.
“That’s terrific?” I hesitate, uncertain why she appears so blasé about the offer. This is what she wanted.
“It is great. I presented a darn good campaign and the possibility of growth in his dinosaur company. But now, I’m not so certain I want to work there. Not if this is how he treats me, or any other employee for that matter. He only saw me so he could drive his car. I don’t want to turn tricks every time I have an idea for the man. Not to mention, his son gives me the heebie-jeebies. I can’t start a job where I already feel I might be harassed as a means to get my way.”
I have to agree with her on this matter. I’d be on daily alert, prepping to punch Pendelton’s dickwad son if he neared her.
“But you deserve the job. You might have had to jump through a hoop to get his attention, but once you had it, you must have wowed him.”
“That’s the thing. I already played these games at Bigle, and it sucked.” Her shoulder shrugs again. “I’ll just have to find something else.”
“So what? You’re going to keep working here?” The question snaps sharper than I intend, but Midge is too smart to order parts and take calls from some of our asshole customers. She can do the job, no question, but should she? No. No way. “What about going out on your own? Starting your own company?”
She shrugs again, her expression one of defeat. “It takes a lot of money, and I’m not in a place for that right now.”
She told me about her ex-husband and how he wasn’t pleased to pick up the tab on his own kids’ tuition for their fancy high school. There’s nothing wrong with public schools, but I understand where her kids go offers more opportunity; besides, they are used to where they attend. No need to change things. Be a man, I say. Pay for your kids.
“Brut says I can stay here.” Her soulful eyes look up at me. “Is that not okay with you?”
My chest tightens at the thought she’s gone to Brut already. She must have talked to him before she declined Pendelton’s offer. It’s Brut’s business, and I don’t have a say one way or another. If he offered for her to stay, it’s fine. I can’t say no. I mean no—because I want more for her—but seeing her every day brings me selfish pleasure.
“Of course, it’s okay. I just want you to be happy, and this place isn’t it.”
“What’s wrong with this place?” She looks around, and I follow her gaze, taking note of the improvements she’s made to the outer space. It’s free of oil and grease, smells like vanilla, and looks relatively clean. Still, it’s a place that means I settled. I caved because I had nothing else once the band collapsed.
“Even I don’t want to be here, so how can I suggest you stay?”
Her head tilts. “Why don’t you want to be here? This is your father’s legacy to you and Brut. Besides, your brother is here, and you get along well enough. You can do your thing here.”
“Do my thing?” I scoff, my fingers twitching with the old feeling of holding drumsticks. “I’m far from doing my thing.”
“What else is there?” She pauses a beat. “Are you referring to your band?” She gives me a look, narrow-eyed and unreadable. “If a band is your thing, why didn’t you start a new one?”
Kit died, rests on the tip of my tongue, but that really isn’t the truth of it. We could have carried on, I suppose. Could have gotten a new female lead singer, but it would never have been the same. Kit was Kit Carrigan and Chrome Teardrops. We were just background noise, and I have not a ratty-tat-tat to show for that time in my life. I couldn’t move on because no one wanted me. I was a risk in my condition, a has-been in my prime because of my reputation.
“It’s not so simple.” She stares at me, waiting for additional explanation, but I don’t wish to share. I’m tired of rehashing Kit and calling up my failures. I look around the cleaned-up waiting room and rap my knuckles on the counter. “I need to get to work.”
+ + +
It’s late when I collapse on the couch opposite Brut’s desk. I’ve been staying after hours to work on my own baby. The Mustang has been neglected too much these past weeks.
Brut’s working on something with reader glasses on his nose.
“Getting old, man?” I tease.
“You wait. Your time is coming.” He continues looking between some report and the computer screen. I fiddle with the torn leather on the back of the couch, staring at my thick finger tugging at the loose piece.
“What’s on your mind?” I look over at my brother. He’s pulled his glasses down to the tip of his nose, and he peers at me over the frame.
“How do you know something’s on my mind?” Brut crosses his arms on the desk and stares at me.
“Because I know you, unfortunately.” He’s teasing. He’s also right. My big brother knows too much about me, and in some ways, I’ve taken advantage of him. I thought about what Midge said earlier. Brut took me in, welcomed me home after I fucked up, and he never blinked. He gave me a job, knowing I could do the work even if I was a bit rusty, and he never complained. He never griped although this wasn’t his dream any more than it was mine. This is your father’s legacy to you and Brut. We might not have wanted the place, but it’s offered financial stability, and if we wanted anything else, why didn’t we go for it?
“What did you want to be, Brut, when you were a kid?” He glares at me with uncertainty on his face, like if he admits his dream, I’ll laugh.
“Doesn’t really matter anymore. I am what I am.”
“And what are you, Brut? In the grand scheme of things, what are you?”
“You hitting the bottle again? These are kind of deep thoughts for a Monday evening.” He chuckles, knowing I’m not drinking. He scrubs at his forehead with his finger and thumb, like he’s holding in long-lost opportunities. I think of Lily briefly.
“You know I always wanted to bang my drums with a band, tour the world and shit. I got to do all that. I blew it, but I did it. But what about you?”
“First, you didn’t blow it. You guys were on top of the world while it lasted. Cancer is a shit thing, and Kit getting it so young was a heartache. But never say you were a failure, Hank. You had it all. Sometimes, losing is beyond your control.”
I watch my brother, his worldly comments sinking in slowly.
“But I blew all the money. I lost my home. I lost the girl—”
“You never had the girl. Not the way you should have had her,” he interjects before sighing, removing his glasses, and looking down at his desk. He knows what he’s talking about. Kit and I were reckless—a mistake I can’t make myself admit. Brut had a girl once, and she was into him the way you want a girl to be. Caring. Committed. Intimate. Only, he blew it.
“Anyway, I might have been famous, but I have nothing to show for it.”
“You have Grammys,” Brut scoffs.
“I don’t even know where they are.”
“What’s brought all this on?” Tipping back in his chair, Brut places a finger against his temple.
“Midge.” Brut stares, waiting for clarification. “She didn’t take the job with Pendelton, and I applaud her decision because he’s an asshat. But she deserved the job, Brut. It isn’t fair that she feels she failed, and it also isn’t fair I can’t help her. I want to help her. She needs money to go out on her own and start her own business, which I bet she can do. She has damn good ideas even if I don’t understand all of them. Look how she straightened out things here.”
Brut nods, rocking in his chair. “You should see the ad campaign she came up with. New logo. New tagline. It’s really gonna give the place some life and make it mine. Ours,” he corrects.
“Is it ours, man? I feel like it’s always been yours. I don’t deserve the second chance you gave me.” I look at my brother, really look at him. His hair might be snow white, but the scruff on his face is only salt-and-pepper. He typically keeps his face clean-shaven, though, so I’m surprised at the change in him. He isn’t as edgy as me, thinner, softer but still strong. In fact, I appear the older of the two of us from living life too much. When did Brut live?
“Don’t even go there. You’re my brother. When you have nowhere else to go, home is where you go. What’s really happening inside that big head?” I swipe over my skull with both hands at the mention of my large cranium.
“I’m just frustrated. I want to give Midge things, and I can’t.”
“Midge loves you. Returning that love might be all she needs.”
“I do love her,” I snap.
“I know.” Brut winks.
“But I want to help her do more. I so fucked up.” I sigh, and Brut lowers his head, pressing at his temple again. I know it isn’t all about money, but I want to show her I support her. From my side of the fence, she’s had a good life. I can’t say she’s had a pampered life, but I want to pamper her.
“You have the money.”
“What?” I balk, my elbows coming to my knees, hands clasping together. He just called this place ours. Is he thinking…? “I can’t ask you to put up money from this place, if that’s where you’re going.”
“Nope. You have your own money. You can do as you please with it.” We continue to eye one another, and I’m completely lost to his meaning. He leans forward, crossing his arms on his desk again. “When things were going down for you, I made you sign a Power of Attorney, signing everything over to me.”
“You what?” My eyes widen as I sit upright, and then I glare. “I don’t remember this.”
“I’m certain you wouldn’t.” We both take a moment to reflect on some of my low times. Blackouts. Unexplained bruises. Missing pieces in time.
“Why would you do that?”
“You were drowning in self-misery, and I couldn’t watch you piss away everything you worked for, so I had to do something to save you from yourself, at least in the aspect of your finances. I had you sign the papers, allowing me to take over.”
“How?”
“Got you drunk.” He laughs bitterly, and I grin weakly at the strong possibility.
“So much for sound body and mind,” I mock. “But I lost my house. Foreclosure. Bankruptcy.” Brut looks away as I speak.
“I sold it.” Brut shakes his head.
“Out from under me?”
“You were so far down, there wasn’t an under for you.” We glare at one another before Brut has the chagrin to look away. I’m too stunned to speak, caught between lies, manipulation, and gratitude.
“How could you keep this from me?” I snap.
“I figured I’d tell you when the time was right.”
“And when would that be…according to you?”
“Now.” His lips curl, but I don’t find the humor in knowing all my assets are still available to me, at least in some capacity. Thinking of those lost Grammys, I ask. “Where are my things?”
“In the attic of the garage.”
“And the money?” I swallow at the possibility I still have some.
“In an account, earning interest. Some is in small investment funds.”
I blink. My brother took care of me, but he lied to me. Anger settles into me swiftly.
“Is there anyone who hasn’t kept a secret from me? First, Kit with Lawson. Now, you with this.” I’m pissed.
“Midge. You said she told you she loves you. I believe she is honest about that,” Brut adds, softening his tone. I want to kick his ass for throwing her in my face, and then kick my own for not noticing Midge is the only truthful thing in my life. Honest. Raw. Everything. I don’t deserve her, but she deserves everything.
“Can I have access to the money?” I ask sheepishly as if it isn’t already mine. “How much do I have?”
“I’d say you have a few million.” I fall back on the couch. What the fuck?
“Then why am I living in a bedroom in your house and working here?” I bark, the insult hitting my brother like a punch to the gut.
“Whenever you’re ready, I guess you can go.” His voice lowers to a tone reminding me of our pop; only there is no venom behind his suggestion, only the sting of hurt.
“I don’t mean it like that.” I exhale. Brut doesn’t question me although I can see he wants to know just what I do mean. My chest aches at the lie, but somehow, my head recognizes he did this to save me from myself. Losing my house and thinking the money vanished, along with a few other things, cemented my decision to get clean. It was either that or be homeless; although my brother wouldn’t let me live on the streets. When you don’t know where to go, you go home. He welcomed me into his house when I left rehab, and I just stabbed him for it.
“A history teacher,” he says quietly.
“Pardon me?”
“I wanted to be a history teacher. I was good in the subject and thought I’d be okay as a teacher.” I stare at my brother, one second from laughing until I see he’s serious. He would have been good with kids. He’s great with his son. He’s intelligent. He has the patience of a saint—just look at him with me. He shouldn’t be here anymore than Midge. I’m a selfish bastard.
“Do you need money for this place? Want to go to back to college?”
Brut’s head pops up. “I’m too old to go to school.”
“You’re never too old for change. Just look at me.” I wave a hand before me. My appearance isn’t as tight as my big brother’s, but he knows what I mean.
“Nah, I’m good here, and we don’t need the money for this place.”
“So can I have some for Midge?”
“That’s up to you. It’s your money.” His expression looks puzzled as if he’s trying to read me as he presses back in his seat. “But you can’t fix things for her. I see you playing white knight again, and I don’t think money is what this woman needs most.”
“You just let me worry about my girl. This will solve everything for her.”
+ + +
She’s blinking up at me across her kitchen island. Her expression blank as her mouth hangs open.
“What?”
“I’d like to front the money for you to start your own marketing business.” Her head shakes, a smile curling her lips momentarily. She looks cute in her plaid pajama shorts and a red tank top. Once she accepts my offer, I’m gonna lay her out on this island and nibble her pert breasts, the nipples peaking under the thin material.
“I can’t.” Her lips flatten.
“Why not?” I snap. Staring back at her, I’m shocked at her abrupt answer.
“Because I don’t even know the first thing about running my own business. I wouldn’t know how much money I need, and I certainly can’t take money from you.”
“What’s wrong with my money?” I huff, gripping the counter, mirroring her position opposite me.
“Nothing, but it’s yours.” She waves outward from her body toward me.
“That’s the point. It’s mine, and I’m giving it to you.” Her entire body sags, her hands coming to rest on the counter again. We face off a second before she looks away.
“I can’t accept it. It’s sweet of you and super generous, but I can’t accept your gift.”
“Why not?” I practically whine this time, a petulant child not understanding.
“Just no, Hank.” She shivers, and I sense I’m glowering at her. My arms cross, biceps bulging with tension.
“Don’t be afraid of me,” I say, softening my tone and lowering my arms. I circle the island, reaching out to cup her jaw. I don’t like the momentary fear on her face.
Her eyes dash back and forth between mine. “I’m not frightened, but I can’t accept this.”
I search her face, wanting to comprehend. “This could help you. It can fix things.”
“What things?” she questions. “I’m not broken, and I’m not broke. Not yet, at least. I have applications out there, and I’ve investigated other avenues.”
Her fingers typically hold my wrists when I circle her face, but only her eyes reach mine.
“Like what? What things?”
Shrugging, she says, “I’ve reached out to other former clients I know from Bigle Marketing and a few on the list of who we wanted to impress. Some of them are willing to listen to me as an independent contractor.”
“That’s…that’s great, right?”
She shrugs again. “I think it’s a step forward.” Ugh, damn steps again.
“I still wish you’d just take the money. Look at it as a gift.”
“It’s very generous, but I don’t want to owe you.” Her voice softens although the words sting.
“You won’t owe me anything. I’m the one who already owes you,” I tease, stroking her cheeks.
“For what?” Her lips twist, and her brows furrow.
“For doing more with me.” I lower my head and take her lips. She’s so delicious, and within seconds, I’m crushing her against me, lapping up her lips and hoping to make her taste how I feel. I want to give her everything. What’s mine is hers.
“What’s more mean?” She pulls back a bit when the kiss slows.
“You said you wanted more a few weeks ago, and I want more with you.” She stares at me, eyes uncertain, and I realize I’m not explaining myself well. I repeat her sentiments. “More kisses, more than being okay. More of everything.”
“I more you, too.” She giggles. “But I’m not taking the money. It’s not like we’re married. We’re dating. It’s too much.”
I pull back at the comment, looking directly into her eyes. “If we were married, would you take the money?” It’s an honest question, but her answer surprises me.
“Hank, I’m not having this conversation with you.” Her tone grates over me as she tugs her face from my hands. Didn’t she say she wanted more? What the hell?
“Why not?”
“You aren’t going to marry me so you can give me the money. Money you didn’t know you still had. You should enjoy it yourself. Use it for Lawson. Or…or…go on a vacation or something.” She waves out a hand again, before slapping her thigh in frustration and the sting echoing in her kitchen.
“I don’t want to take a damn vacation,” I snip. I could marry her. I would do this in order for her to accept my gift. She stares at me, her head tilting as if she can read my thoughts.
“No.”
My mouth pops open. How does she do that? “You told me you would say yes if I asked.”
“I was drunk.” My head shakes, rattled as if she struck me. Her hands come for my biceps as I step back. “Fine. You’re right. I would say yes, but not like this, not because you only want to help me.” Her eyes search my face, distress in them like the pain in my rusty armor chest. Squeaking like the Tin Man, I realize I’m nobody’s knight. Never will be.