A Season in Gemini, Intro (10 page)

“
I know where it is.”

“
Well, aren’t you full of surprises? Eight o’clock. I’ll send a car.”

“
Send a car if you want, but I’ll be drivin’ my own.”

“
If you prefer.”

He saw a flash of disappointment on Garland’s face when he told her he had something to do that night, but she covered it up quickly.

“
Sure. I need some time to figure out what I’m wearing to the, um, party at your club.”

“
Not my club, babe.”

“
Okay. At your dad’s club then. So. Any hints? What do women wear to these things?”

When he got an image of what women wore to club parties, he could have kicked his own ass for having ever suggested taking Garland. He was busy thinking of new ways to call himself an idiot, when he realized Garland was talking.

“
Hello? What should I wear?”

“
We’ll be on the bike. So wear those jeans that I like so much.”

“
The tight ones.”

“
Yeah. Those.”

“
And?”

“
And what?”

“
Is it a topless party or do you want me to wear something in addition to jeans?”

He stared at her dumbly, thinking she didn’t know how close she was when she suggested that it might be a topless party. Jesus, he was a dumb son-of-a-bitch.

“
How about that pink thing?”

She looked confused. “The rose-colored halter top?”

“
Yeah. That’s the one. But wear a jacket over it for ridin’.”

“
I know the drill. You look jumpy, Brant. What’s wrong?”

“
What? Nothin’. Come on. Let’s get you home.”

Brant arrived at Headliners at five past eight. He hoped he’d be making David St. Germaine wait for him.

“
Lookin’ for David St. Germaine.”

The maitre d’ looked him up and down. “Mr. Fornight?”

“
Yes.”

“
I’m afraid you’ll need a jacket. I believe we have something you can borrow.”

The man disappeared behind a door that was disguised as raised-grain paneling, but returned in under a minute with a black coat that fit Brant like it had been made for him. It was the first time in his life that Brant had experienced having another man hold a coat for him, and he couldn’t say he particularly appreciated the experience. Nonetheless, he tried to be gracious and said, “Good eye,” in acknowledgment of fitting him perfectly with nothing more than a look.

Magically one of the staff, who was wearing a white coat rather than black appeared at reception. “Mr. Fornight is Mr. St. Germaine’s guest. He’s already seated at 17.”

“
Right this way,” said white coat.

Brant followed the waiter into the club. It had a regal ambience of money, success, and power. The walls of the outer rooms displayed framed historical events. Remington statues appeared here and there with such casual disregard that their presence assured members they had “arrived”.

St. Germaine sat in a corner by a window that overlooked the Capitol, which was entirely lit at night. The view was stunning. He gestured toward the chair opposite him.

The waiter said, “Would you care for menus now or may I get you something from the bar?”

“
Please bring my guest a drink. What will you have?”

Brant looked at the waiter and, for some reason, remembered the waiter from the Ragin’ Cajun who was missing a tooth that, no doubt, had been tobacco-stained like the others.

“
Whiskey. Neat.”

The waiter nodded once and left.

“
Not a cocktail man, hmmm?”

“
Not here for small talk. For the second time today, you’re forcin’ me to ask what you want.”

“
So you don’t like wasting time.”

“
I like wastin’ time. I just don’t like you.”

“
Fair enough. I’ll get to the point. I’ve asked you to meet me so that I can explain Garland.

“
She lives life at a level you can’t begin to imagine. You see this club? It’s the best your town has to offer. No doubt it’s the site of routine political deals that affect millions of lives. Maybe yours. Money changes hands here. Power changes hands here. And yet, to Garland, there’s nothing remarkable about having a drink in an exclusive place like this. If she were here, she’d probably be thinking this club is commonplace, nothing special.”

Brant looked down at the thick white linen tablecloth and the china with emerald band and gold border.

“
That doesn’t sound like the Garland I know. She loves new experiences, even those that really are commonplace.”

St. Germaine laughed out loud. “That’s just it. Don’t you get it?
This
is her norm. What you’re showing her is
your
norm. It’s all new to her, but that newness will wear off fast and she’ll be longing for the luxury and security of her real life.

“
She lives in a three story penthouse worth forty-two million dollars. She wears four-thousand-dollar dresses once and gives them to charity.” He sat back to assess the effect his words were having.

Brant kept his features perfectly non-committal, although the picture Garland’s father painted caused his stomach to burn like it was full of acid. When Brant said nothing, he continued.

“
The private jet that brought her here, the one she’ll be leaving on in three weeks, belongs to me. I paid twenty-five million for it and don’t get me started on how much it costs to maintain it or fly it around, not to mention the crews’ salaries.

“
What I’m trying to tell you is that this is Garland’s center point. When she skis, it’s on snow in the Alps. Not behind a cheap boat on Lake Travis. How long do you think it would take for her to get tired of long necks and tacos?”

St. Germaine seemed to be studying Brant’s reactions. That was why Brant was intent on not giving him any.

“
I’m sure the idea of someone like you is exciting to her. You’re a novelty, but fascination with novelties wears off very fast. Don’t you agree, Mr. Fornight?”

Brant didn’t falter or look away. “It’s not important whether I agree or not, David. The only thing that matters is whether or not Garland agrees. Her future isn’t up to me. And it sure as fuck shouldn’t be up to you.”

St. Germaine sat back with narrowed eyes. “I’m hoping we can arrive at an understanding like gentlemen. I’d hate to have to pull out any more stops.”

“
You’ve already taken my job and Garland’s transportation. What’s next?”

“
Remember when I said that all kinds of deals are made in places like this? Well, it might amaze you at how easy it would be for your father to be pulled over for a simple traffic violation, like say, a broken tail light. If he, a convicted felon, happened to be found in possession of a firearm, I understand that the sentence in Texas could be, what? Two to ten?”

Brant’s blood was boiling like the juices in his stomach, but his eyes were ice cold and steady. “I haven’t asked Garland to stay here with me. But I will. And I hope like hell she understands that it’d be a shame for a girl as special as she is to have to live in the gutter with you and your kind.”

He stood, took off the jacket, dropped it on the chair, and walked out.

The next night, Brant picked Garland up at eight o’clock. She’d been listening for the distinctive rumble of the Harley and came running out the door like he was back from a war. Her exuberance was just one of the things he loved about her.

At that time of year the sun wouldn’t set for another hour. So Brant got the full visual experience of Garland in her rose-colored halter top with a hem that floated around her hips like magic. The thing left her shoulders bare and shiny from the healthy tan she kept by swimming every day. He loved running kisses over the smooth skin of those shoulders, but was regretting telling her to wear that, as he imagined fighting guys off of her. His eyes touched on the slight hint of cleavage and ran over her hair, which was pulled into a braid that highlighted the white-blonde highlights she’d gotten from the combination of sun and pool. But what made him instantly hard was the extra flush in her cheeks that said she was sincerely glad to see him.

“
I look okay?”

Brant snorted. “Fishin’ for compliments?”

“
How else am I going to get any?”

He turned over his shoulder. “No. You don’t look okay. You look like a dream.”

“
A good one.”

He laughed about the fact that she was pushing for clarification. “Listen. About tonight. Sometimes the parties get a little wild.”

“
No arrests. No photos.”

“
I think we can manage that. But stay with me. Don’t go wandering off.”

“
Why?”

“
Well, ah, sometimes local girls come to the parties because they want to find out what it’s like to be with, you know, somebody rough around the edges. If you’re not with me, you could be mistaken for one of them. I’m not sayin’ you’d be in danger, but assumptions might be made.”

“
I get the picture. Glued to your side. Will you hold my hand if I need to go to the little girls’ room?”

“
No. But I will stand outside the door.”

“
You’re serious.”

“
Yes ma’am.”

When they pulled past the gates and parked the bike, Garland took off her jean jacket.

“
You can leave that here. It’ll be safe,” Brant said.

She nodded then pulled the elastic that was holding her braid away and finger combed her hair out. It had been wet when she braided it and the air had dried it on the way over. The result was a fall resplendent with shiny waves that made her look like a goddess.

“
You’re staring,” she said.

“
We’re leaving. No one can see you looking like this.”

“
No sir. I’m not leaving until I see what you do when you’re not with me.”

She started walking toward the music coming from the other side of the building, which made Brant have to jog to catch up.

He grabbed her and brought her to a stop. “Garland. I’m seriously not kiddin’ around when I say I need you to stay
with
me.”

“
I wasn’t going far.”

He pulled her into his side and they walked around the corner of the building. A group of the guys were standing around an open fire pit, with a pig on a spit that was rigged to constantly turn like a huge rotisserie.

They were talking quietly, holding beers. Every one of them wore a sleeveless leather vest with the same artwork on the back. In the center was a depiction of a Corinthian temple with Hydra’s heads emerging from the columns, snarling at the viewer. Above the artwork was an arc of text that said Sons of Sanctuary. Below was an inverted arc that said Texas.

The evening was eye-opening for both Brant and Garland. He introduced her with pride, but noticed that some of the guys raised their brows at him as if to say, “What the fuck you doin’ with a woman like that?”

Brant introduced her to his father, his mother, and his older sister, who was married to somebody named Doobie. As the night became dark and the drink flowed freely, the mood of the party changed from a family picnic vibe to something else altogether. At one point Brant watched Garland taking everything in and tried to imagine his life through her eyes. That’s when he knew she wasn’t going to stay.