Rusty Nailed (19 page)

We moved toward the desk, and when he told the lady his name, I heard a gasp behind us in line.

“No fucking way. Simon Parker’s here? He came?”

Word quickly spread, and by the time I had his name tag affixed to the front of his jacket, everyone was buzzing. Walking inside, I suddenly could appreciate the feeling movie stars must have when they get out of a limo at a premiere.

Everyone was staring at us.

chapter twelve

We walked into the ballroom amid whispers and darting glances. The place was packed, young professionals decked out in their finest junior partner/corporate raider/banking magnate’s kid check-me-out clothes. And the guys were impressive too.

High schools were the same across the country. This one happened to be set down in one of the wealthiest towns in America, but there are still universal truths. Every single one of the Breakfast Club archetypes was represented here, and a few hybrids as well. And they all had their eyes on Simon.

Who was oddly relaxed. Once we hit the room, his shoulders went back, his stride lengthened, and he cruised. Along the walls were blown-up pictures from yearbooks: cheerleaders, football players, someone in a wig from a play, and someone in a wig streaking the soccer field. And there was Simon, up on the wall with a crown on his head and a hottie on his arm. Homecoming king.

“I just got it,” I said, looking up at him a little starry-eyed.

“You just got what?”

“You were the shit in high school!”

His eyes crinkled, and he blushed the tiniest bit.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned. I wondered if you’d show,” I heard
behind us, and as we turned, a strange look appeared on Simon’s face. Johnny Wall Street stood there, backed by the Billionaire Boys Club. All of them great looking. All of them bigger than life.

Simon looked at them all, narrowing down on the guy in the middle. “Henderson.”

“Parker.”

I watched the testosterone spark. If it had been a Western, tumbleweeds would have blown through. But since it was Wall Street . . .

Cue cocaine.

The tension only lasted as long as a chorus of Usher’s “Yeah” before—

“What the fuck, dude! I can’t believe you’re really here! Fucking A, man— Parker’s back in town!”

Wall Street backslapped a now-grinning Simon and pulled him into a giant, swarming man hug amid calls of, “Now, that’s what I’m
talking
about” and “So fucking stoked that you’re here, man” and “Dude, Tammy Watkins got new tits and they’re fucking huge, you gotta see ’em!”

I stood back and watched as he was swallowed whole by this group of guys. I’d never met them, never heard him mention any of them before, but they knew Simon in a way that I never could.

These guys were there when Simon was growing up, when his entire world was midterms and
Jackass
and getting some girl to take her sweater off. My money was on Tammy Watkins.

And into this privileged enclave of white-bread preppies came the death of Simon’s family. And Simon retreated, taking the first opportunity he had to remove himself entirely, moving as far across the country as one can for college, short of Hawaii. He went into a profession that took him all over the world, and chose to live in his adopted city of San Francisco. The only tie that he had to anyone in this world was Benjamin, for whom I was more grateful than ever.

But he’d come home, and
this
family was ready to make sure he knew he’d been missed.

Simon grinned big, shaking hands and high-fiving with his crew, and then he spotted me out of the corner of his eye. “Caroline, c’mere—you gotta meet these guys.”

The penis sea parted, and I walked to the center, where he stood. “This is Caroline,” he started, and I heard at least one wolf whistle. Glad I wore the boots. “And this is Trevor Henderson.” Wall Street stuck his hand out and I shook it, looking up into his handsome face. Warm brown eyes twinkled down at me, not letting go when I was also introduced to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

I’m not kidding. The apostles were all around us. Was it blasphemous that they were all hot? No matter, Trevor was still holding my hand.

“Seriously, dude, she’s smoking,” he said.

Simon removed my hand from his, laughing. “Cut it out, dick.” This guy was harmless. And had good taste.

“Come on, they’re serving dinner soon. You can sit at our table. You remember Megan Littlefield?” Trevor asked as the group moved together into the dining room.

“Um, maybe. Littlefield sounds familiar,” Simon puzzled as we walked.

“It’s Henderson now; she’s my wife.”

“You’re married? Wow,” Simon exclaimed, shaking his head.

“Yep, this past summer,” he said proudly, waggling his ring finger in Simon’s face.

“Wow,” he repeated, and looked at me.

I just laughed and crooked my arm through his. “Come on, Homecoming King.”

We grabbed a drink at the bar, said hello to a few more people, and sat down with his friends. And I say that broadly, because
everyone
here seemed to have been friends with him at one time or another. As I sipped my cocktail, I watched some of the girls begin to circle. Simon had obviously been a big swinging dick around here, and I wondered how many of them had taken a turn on that swing . . .

I met Trevor’s wife before they started serving dinner, and as Simon left me to go say hello to an old teacher, I chatted with her. Megan had gone to school with them, two years younger.

“Didn’t matter, though;
everyone
knew Simon. He was the guy every girl wanted.” She sighed, a dreamy look on her face. Then she caught herself, and looked guiltily at me. “Sorry, is that weird?”

“Nope, I totally get it.” I smiled, maybe smirking a little bit. He was shaking hands with an older gentleman, the teacher, I assumed. “So you just got married, huh? Congratulations.”

“Thanks! It was great. We had it here, even though we live in New York now. It was just easier with the families being here.”

“New York? State or city?”

“City. So both, right?” She laughed.

“And what do you do there?” I asked.

“I’m not working anymore. I worked until we got engaged, for the Food Network? I was a food stylist. Anyway, once we started planning the wedding, it was just too hard, commuting here to organize everything, so I quit. We got married at—”

I was seeing stars.

“Sorry, I can’t even pretend to have heard anything you said after Food Network. You
worked
there! And you
quit
there! Why, woman—why in God’s name?” I cried, my jaw hanging open so wide it was a good thing we were sitting down. Otherwise I’d trip.

She laughed and raised her eyebrows. “Let me guess.
Barefoot Contessa
?”

“
Yes!
” I screamed. Everyone stopped to look at us, and I turned red. Simon looked over from the bar, and I gave him the all clear.

I regrouped. “I mean, yes, I am a fan,” I said coolly.

“Me too. She’s super nice.”

“
You’ve met her?
”

This time Simon excused himself from who he was talking to and started toward me, Trevor and the apostles in tow.

I know it’s not logical; I know it’s not even physically possible—but
I swear on all that is holy, they walked in slow motion. Like in some kind of action movie. Simon took point, Trevor just off to his left, and the rest slightly behind, like geese in a V. Everyone stopped to watch. It was like the sexiest train wreck ever; no one could look away.

I’d say it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, but music from the early 2000s was on heavy rotation, and 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” gave the boys their own soundtrack. All I saw were the sapphires, and they were laser locked and speaking volumes. I was familiar with this Simon.

Strong Simon. Authoritative Simon. Big Swinging Dick Simon. And on this, I could confirm.

Wallbanger Simon.

He reached our table, sat down next to me with an amused look on his face, and slid his arm around my shoulder.

Oh. My. God. Simon Parker put his arm around me! Like, in front of everyone!

Wait, this wasn’t high school. This wasn’t even
my
high school. But that didn’t stop girls from throwing eye daggers at me from all corners of the room. I smirked a little, preening with my shoulder candy.

“You want to tell me why you’re over here screaming?” he whispered into my ear, and I melted. But before I melted totally, I got control.

“Your girl Megan here has met Ina Garten, in person!” I announced, looking fondly at her. “You’re my new best friend!”

“I bet I could get you a signed cookbook,” she offered.

“Trevor, your wife is the coolest person ever,” I gushed. “I’m buying you a drink—what’re you drinking?”

“Just club soda,” she said, casting a shy smile at Trevor, who beamed.

I looked between them, then arched my eyebrow at Megan, who nodded. “Congratulations! Wow, that’s great! You must not be far along, you’re so tiny!” I gushed.

“Wait, what’d I miss?” Simon asked.

“She’s only about eight weeks—we just found out.” Trevor grinned, taking her hand across the table.

“Wait, what’d I
miss
?”

“That’s so great,” I said. “And so soon after the wedding. What a year for you— What, Simon?” He was tapping me on the shoulder.

“I don’t get it. What’s eight weeks?” he asked, looking bewildered.

“She’s pregnant,” I said, rolling my eyes at Megan, who responded in kind.

Simon looked at Trevor in shock. “Dude?”

Trevor nodded. “Dude.”

Simon digested, then grinned wide. “Dude!”

Take a lesson, girls:
That’s
how you communicate with someone you haven’t seen in ten years.

•  •  •

D
inner was fantastic, his friends were fantastic, the entire evening was fantastic. Once dinner had been served, everyone mingled again and people were truly happy to see Simon. From what I could glean from tidbits here and there, most of his classmates knew he was a photographer, and some even knew how successful he was in his field. But hearing him tell his story, telling people what he’d been up to over the last ten years, was
really
fantastic.

And you should have seen his face when the apostles started whipping out their wallets to show him pictures of their kids! All of them, married; all of them, kids; all of them, settled into the good life. The good life that was preordained for apostles from Moneyville, USA. I had to bite down on my lip to keep from laughing when Luke copped to having triplets. Simon looked like he was going to pass out. I just made circles on his back with my hand and sent him back into the fray when another wave of old friends made their way by the table.

No one said a word about his family, and I’d been paying attention, ready to swoop in with my no-panties alternative. They were just all glad he’d finally popped back up on the radar, and to know he was doing well, that he was happy.

After dinner we walked around the room and I saw more yearbook pictures on the wall, including Senior Superlatives: Class Clown, Cutest Couple, that sort of thing. After what I’d seen tonight, I knew he was on here somewhere; it was just a question of where. Best Hair? Best Smile? Best Looking? I could see all three, but it turned out to be the one on the end: Most Likely to Succeed.

“Well, look at you. Everyone knew you were going places way back then,” I joked, pulling him in front of the picture and comparing what ten years did. In the picture he was tall and handsome, eyes bright and hopeful, an easy grin on his face. A little leaner than he was now, of course; just the tiniest hint of a laugh line here or there.

He looked at the picture and smiled ruefully. “I can’t believe they put those pictures up. How embarrassing.”

“No, it’s nice. I like seeing you back then.”

“It’s funny, seeing this now. You know why I got this one?”

“As opposed to Most Fuckable? Because you have my vote for that one.”

“Because I was going into business with my dad,” he answered, his eyes darkening a bit.

“I’m sorry, Simon,” I breathed as he pulled me closer by the hand that’d been on my back all night.

He was silent for a moment, looking at the picture. He took a deep breath. I wondered whether I should tell him about what I wasn’t wearing under my dress; there was a dark corner not too far away—

“No, it’s okay,” he said. “It’s actually been nice to think about these things again. Makes it seem not so far away.”

“Far away, my ass. Far away is Istanbul,” a female voice said
behind us. We turned and saw a petite girl with closely cropped jet-black hair, a nose ring, several eyebrow piercings, and the most piercing green eyes I’d ever seen. The tiny black dress, fishnet stockings, and Dr. Martens took your eyes to her body right away, and when you put it all together, the girl was a fucking knockout. With killer arm ink.

“Istanbul, where you
left
my ass,” she finished.

“Viv Franklin,” Simon breathed, his eyes lighting up.

Uh-oh.

“Left your ass? Like hell! My job was over, you knew I was leaving. You were just too involved with that tour guide to notice.”

“You never could hold your liquor.”

“Hold this.”

“Ha! In your dreams, Parker.” She grinned and launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in the biggest bear hug I’d ever seen. He swung her around and actually patted her on the ass. I wasn’t wearing underwear, but I could still kick some butt. Although to be fair, she looked tough.

Setting her down but keeping his arm snugly around her waist, he turned back to me. “Caroline, this is Viv Franklin. Viv, this is my girlfriend—”

“Girlfriend?
You?
”

“—Caroline Reynolds,” he finished, releasing her to tug me over.

“No shit—Parker’s got a girlfriend. What a night,” she cackled, smacking him on the shoulder and reaching for my hand. I shook it, not sure what else to do.

“Nice to meet you,” I offered, but those two were off and running.

“What are you doing now? Working for your old man?” he asked.