Empty Nests (7 page)

James was about to pull a runner when a hand touched his arm. He spun around, more than half expecting to get thrown out, except Gabe was standing there, smiling.

“Hi. I was starting to worry you’d changed your mind.”

“Yeah, sorry. I drove past the entrance about five times, then had to convince the guy at the gate I was on the guest list. I guess they don’t get a lot of ’95 Volvos through the front door.”

“Probably not.” Gabe put a quick kiss on his cheek, barely touching it, in a way that made James think of old Italian movies. “But I’m glad you made it.” James didn’t respond, as he was trying frantically to process the most intimate encounter he’d had in far too many years. A waiter passed with champagne before the silence could become uncomfortable. Gabe grabbed two glasses. “Champagne?”

“No, thank you,” James stuttered. “I’ve never really liked it.”

Gabe handed a glass over anyway. “It’s a Veuve Clicquot. Give it a try.”

James took a sip. It was light and sweet without being sugary and went down without an instant headache. “Okay.” James took another sip. “It’s apparently cheap pink champagne I’ve never liked.”

Gabe was still smiling when a woman wrapped in a deep pink dress, with artificially dark curls and a regal bearing, sauntered over. James couldn’t guess her age. He only noted that her face looked younger than her hands.

“Gabriel, you’re neglecting the party.”

James didn’t particularly like the way the woman rolled Gabe’s name around her mouth while leaning forward, showing off cleavage that also looked younger than her hands.

Gabe smiled and slid one arm around James’s shoulders. “Marie, I’d like you to meet James Maron. James, Marie Callahan of the San Francisco Callahans.”

Marie’s smile became brittle as she held out her hand. He was pretty sure he’d be getting a hard squint if the woman in front of him was capable of squinting, but so far he hadn’t seen her eyebrows move once.

“A pleasure, I’m sure.” She gave James another look over. “And what business are you in?”

“Academia. UC Berkeley.”

“Oh, how delightful.” She turned away, the social minimum of polite conversation apparently over. “Gabriel, I’m going to see if Jonathan has arrived yet.”

“You do that.”

She gave the two of them what was almost a hard look before slinking off.

“Did you invite me just so you could do that to that woman?”

“No, I invited you because I wanted the pleasure of your company. But that was a huge bonus. She’s been on the hunt since her husband dropped dead three years ago. Officially heart attack, unofficially suicide after looking at the family’s taxes. Pure hateful rumor says she offed him.”

“Definitely someone to avoid, then.” James looked across the rest of the garden party, suddenly wondering if someone was about to drop dead under mysterious circumstances.

“Have you eaten?” Gabe asked.

“Not really.”

“Let’s find some hors d’oeuvres, then, while I smile at people who hate me. I’ll be able to get us out of here in less than an hour.”

James wondered if he’d stepped into a mystery novel and should risk eating the food.

Gabe stopped a waiter with a tray of canapés that looked like miniature works of modern art. He handed one that looked like a red-and-white striped brick to James. He took a bite and found it was a mini cucumber and tomato sandwich with sugar-sweet tomatoes and a bite of black pepper. A second exquisite bite finished it off.

“So,” James asked quietly. “Who here hates you, and why? Just so I know when to duck.”

Gabe laughed. It was a warm, open sound that wrapped itself around James in a pleasant fashion. “Look around. What do you notice?”

James scanned the four dozen or so people.

“Lots of Botox and hair plugs?”

“There is that.” Gabe laughed again. “I’m the only Mexican in this place that isn’t mowing lawns or washing dishes, and I’m almost certainly the only one who’s a native-born citizen. The young money are neocons or dripping with White Liberal Guilt, and the old money just sees me as some grotesque upstart who doesn’t know his station. However, I’m also the only person here who isn’t hearing the words ‘austerity measures’ or ‘investment reallocation’ from their financial advisor. And for that alone, I am an object of hate. Half of them are going broke but they’re desperately trying to keep up appearances, and part of keeping up appearances is giving money to charitable organizations.”

James looked at the small sea of diamond jewelry and expensive watches. “I sometimes give spare change to the kids that busk outside the BART station.”

Gabe smiled at him. “And I can guarantee you do it with far more grace and integrity than this lot.”

James felt himself blush and dipped his head, unsure what to say. He didn’t exactly go through his days getting a lot of compliments, and grace and integrity certainly weren’t on the list.

Gabe leaned close, lips nearly brushing his ear. “You’re cute when you blush,” he whispered.

“You’re not helping.”

“I know.”

An older gentleman approached them, and there was a second round of introductions and light conversation, which turned into another and another as people stopped to talk with Gabe. James shook hands politely each time, trying to ignore looks that ranged from dismissive to confused, and one from a young woman that was openly hostile. In between he tried to pick nibbles off trays as they went by and not make embarrassing noises over how good everything was. For as hard as he’d worked at being a good parent, cooking was not a skill he’d ever mastered.

There was the
tink
ing sound of a fork against crystal. “Excuse me, everyone.” The gathering turned toward a young man standing on the lower steps of a gazebo. “If I could have your attention for just a moment? I want to thank all of you for coming out today in support of the Mimir Foundation for Conflict-Zone Education. And I’d like to thank our host and founder, Gabriel Juarez, for throwing this little gathering.” James swallowed a canapé whole and tried not to choke on it. “Gabe, if you’d like to come up here for a moment, say a few words.”

Gabe traded places with the young man, and James gulped the last mouthful of champagne in his glass, trying to wash down the canapé.

“Thank you, Rob. Good afternoon, everyone.” Gabe smiled. “I know many of you here call me the Accountant of the Damned, among other things, but I do believe in putting all that money in good places, which is why I founded the Mimir Foundation for Conflict Zone Education. It has been shown time and time again, across the world, over centuries, that one of the best ways of bringing long-term stability to a region is through education, but that can be easier said than done. Forget dodging gangs and bullets to get to school; try dodging RPGs. This is why the Mimir Foundation has made it its mission to build safe, secure, and integrated schools in some of the most dangerous corners of the globe. A child who receives a good education, along with at least one filling meal a day, is far less likely to fall into cycles of violence and extremism, which is something we can all appreciate. It will take time, but within a few generations we may be able to get on a plane without the overly friendly government pat-down.” That got a polite chuckle from the crowd. “And I’d like to add that it doesn’t cost much to do a lot of good. Today’s champagne bill could feed hundreds of children for months. So ask yourself what the safety of future generations is worth, and if that new set of clubs you’ve been eyeing is really going to help your game, then dig deep into your pockets and do something to help bring a little peace and prosperity to the world. And remember, it’s all tax deductible.”

There was some polite applause, and Gabe slid back into the crowd, making a little light conversation and patting shoulders as he went. He finally got back to James.

“You didn’t tell me this was
your
charity.” James kept his voice low.

“Didn’t I?” Gabe had an innocent look on his face that James didn’t buy for one second.

“No. No, I think I would have remembered that.”

“Would you have come if I had told you?”

James couldn’t honestly say yes. The party was well out of his comfort zone. Being the host’s date was not something he had planned for and, in truth, had not been the most comfortable experience of his life. Though the food was good.

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, then I’m glad I didn’t. Let me shake a few more hands, then I can mumble something about an international call, and we can get out of here.”

“You’d ditch your own charity event?” James was wondering if he’d completely misjudged Gabe’s character.

“I’ve done what I need to do already. They’ll cough up more money if I’m not here making them angry with my existence, and the guy who introduced me could have gotten fifty bucks off Ebenezer Scrooge. He’s a charity savant. I poached him off the Boy Scouts.”

“Why do I think there’s a dirty joke in there somewhere?”

“Because there probably is. Give me fifteen minutes, and we can find some real food that isn’t served on a stick.”

T
HE
BROWNED
cheese on top of his French onion soup gave a satisfying little crunch as Gabe broke through it. As soon as James had accepted his invitation, Gabe made reservations at a little place up the road from the country club. It was small and semiexclusive, but it was into the whole regional, seasonal, don’t-fiddle-with-it-if-it-already-tastes-good ethos. He did have a brief panicky thought while entering the restaurant that James might be a vegetarian. He hadn’t really taken note of what James had been eating off the trays, but James ordered the warm chicken salad.

Gabe pretended not to notice it was the cheapest item on the menu. James looked up into the antique redwood rafters of the converted barn. “This used to be part of a winery.” Gabe was desperate to avoid any awkward silences. James already seemed off after finding out it was Gabe’s charity. “Some idiot tried to put in vineyards here a hundred years ago, but he put in the wrong kinds of grapes. The vines rotted from the fog.”

“I take it you come here often?”

“Every few months, usually when I’m trying to hide from social functions with people I don’t like.”

“Do you do that a lot? Hide?”

Gabe tried not to react like he was being judged, that instead James was feeling him out. “It goes in phases. There are months when I can’t afford to have a free second to myself. I’m on conference calls at 2:00 a.m. and have to schedule afternoon naps so I don’t pass out. After months like that, I become a bit antisocial for a while.”

“I guess there’s something to be said for my job. If no one notices you, then you don’t have to deal with people.”

“I noticed you.”

James focused on his soup, trying to force away a smile. “You did.”

“So how about you, James Maron? Aside from acoustic music and keeping geniuses from looking like idiots, who are you? What’s your life?”

“I….” James looked up into the rafters again. “I’m a parent. Dylan is pretty much my life. Making sure he grows up into the best man he can be. Strong, healthy, happy, educated. Yeah.”

“That’s amazingly admirable.” James gave a dismissive snort, and Gabe felt himself misstep again. “I’m serious. There are a lot of parents in far easier circumstances who don’t put as much thought into the whole thing.”

James stirred his soup. “Honestly, there wasn’t much of a choice as far as I was concerned.”

“How…? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry.” The question had been nagging him almost since that first cup of coffee with James. “I’m familiar with the whole single teen mother situation, but how do you end up a single teenaged father?”

James took a sip of his water. “I sued.”

“You…. You sued?”

“I got caught kissing Benjamin Steven at the start of freshman year, which meant my life went right to hell. Or so I thought. A week later I got to go to my first high school party. Met a girl called Cindy Loo—I’m not making that up, her parents were weird. She was drunk, so was I, she swore she was on the pill. She didn’t mention she’d only been on it for two days, not that I would have known any better.”

“I see where that’s going.”

“Pretty standard. She told me she was having an abortion, and I was okay with that. Then she told me she wasn’t, and I was… I was okay with that too. She said she had talked to her parents and they were going to raise the baby, and… she said I could be around if I wanted. And I was.” James took a deep breath. “My folks were always big on personal responsibility, so I got books, and I went to appointments with her, and talked with her parents. Then when Cindy was about seven months in, I found out through a friend of a friend, who heard her talking with someone in the bathroom, that her parents had organized an out-of-state adoption. I wasn’t even going to be told when she went into labor. So I did what any self-respecting, expectant, teenaged Californian father does.”

“You sued.”

“I sued. I found the sleaziest ambulance chaser of a lawyer willing to work pro bono. He got a cease and desist on the adoption, a prenatal restraining order so Cindy’s parents couldn’t be at the birth due to a risk of noncustodial kidnapping and child trafficking, and once everything shook out, Dylan came home with me. Never mind the fact that I wasn’t old enough to drive and both my parents worked full-time and then some. The judge granted custody, but until I was eighteen, I had child services crawling all over me every three months.”

“Really?” That surprised Gabe, but it shouldn’t have. “When my sisters had their kids, child services never darkened our door.”

James shrugged. “The squeaky wheel gets noticed. And I squeaked. And after everything, I wasn’t going to risk losing him to some strangers.”

Gabe’s steak and James’s chicken salad arrived before he could come up with a reply to express how impressed he was without sounding sarcastic or trite.

“What happens when he goes to college?”

James twisted the napkin around in his hands before letting out a long sigh. “That’s what he keeps asking, and the answer is, I have no idea. Get a hobby, maybe? Besides, we haven’t reached the finish line yet. He’s not eighteen until June. That’s still plenty of time for him to develop a drug problem, eating disorder, pyromaniac tendencies….”