The Brat and the Brainiac (2 page)

“Nah. Too blatant. Besides, you look cute.”

“Thanks. It kills them at the club.”

In the morning, I’m a little hung over, but I head down to the kitchen anyway. Ignatius is there frying up some eggs and bacon for Uncle Tommy. They get along all right, but they never have a whole lot to say to each other, since Ignatius isn’t into sports and Uncle Tommy’s into women. Mostly when they do talk, it’s about me or something to do with the house. This time, it’s about the party.

“That’s what I like about you, man,” Uncle Tommy’s saying when I arrive. “You keep this house running like a top. If this party comes off the way I’m hoping, I’ll give you a raise.”

“Uncle Tommy.”

He laughs. “Just screwing around. I’ll give you a raise anyway. You deserve it.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Wright.”

“After all these years? Call me Tommy, like everybody else does.”

“Mr. Tommy.”

“Close enough. How are you this morning, Miranda?” he asks, turning his attention toward me.

“Fine. Can I have some bacon and eggs, too, Ignatius?”

“But of course. You’re too skinny anyhow.”

“Can’t help it,” I say, pouring myself a glass of juice. “I have the metabolism of a racehorse.”

“Yeah, you do,” says Uncle Tommy. “What do you have today?”

I stick out my bottom lip, thinking about my classes. “Algebra and Business Ethics.”

Uncle Tommy looks at me.

“You’re not enjoying Business at all, are you?”

“I told you. It’s boring. I wish I could drop out. I fucking hat
e
quadratic equations.”

“It won’t kill you to finish out the semester. And quit cussing.”

“Yes, Uncle Tommy,” I answer, but then I turn my attention back to Ignatius. “So, how’d things go with Kevin last night?”

“Excellent.”

“Is he still here?”

He throws a glance at Uncle Tommy, but nods his head.

“Invite him down for some breakfast,” I tell him.

We both look at Uncle Tommy, but he has his coffee cup to his lips, so he’s not objecting. Ignatius finishes up our plates and hands them to us, and then he slips out the back door to go get Kevin.

“Who’s Kevin, by the way?” Uncle Tommy asks.

“A guy Ignatius picked up. He’s really nice, though.”

We eat in silence until Ignatius gets back with Kevin. I pat the seat next to me and he sits. I introduce him to my uncle while Ignatius makes him something to eat. Uncle Tommy asks him a few questions about himself, but Kevin’s only half-mindful of them. He’s busy watching Ignatius flip his eggs and then slide them onto a plate.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” I ask Kevin. He nods, his eyes practically glued to Ignatius.

I glance at my watch.

“Well, I’ve got to get going. Nice seeing you again, Kevin. The rest of you...have a good day. See you tonight, Uncle Tommy.”

“See you, Brat.”

I grab my keys and backpack and head out the door to the pink car Uncle Tommy bought me for turning twenty-one, thinking how awesome it’ll be if things work out between Kevin and Ignatius. I know my poor housekeeper gets lonely a lot and needs a boyfriend, so I wish him the best.

My classes are boring, of course, but the time seems to go by pretty quickly. Out in the hallway after, I run into Dennis, who looks like he fell off a skateboard.

“Hi, Dennis.”

“Hey, babe. Busy right now? Want to go get some lunch?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“The Taco Shack has two-for-one right now.”

“Okay. Just let me stash my books in my car. I’m in Lot C.” We get rid of my books, and then I turn to him. “You didn’t get hurt, did you? When Uncle Tommy put you out?”

“Just scraped the heels of my hands. And my nose. Yeah. What’s that dude’s problem?”

“He feels you disrespected our home.”

“You know I would never do that.”

“I know.”

He turns to me and pulls me close.

“Want to go make out somewhere after this?”

“I can’t,” I say. “I have to go home and plan one of Uncle Tommy’s parties.”

We eat our tacos and Dennis walks me back to my car. Before he leaves, I give him a sweet little peck on the cheek, instead of the deep, slow kiss I’d normally give him, because the truth is, I feel funny making out with Dennis now, knowing Uncle Tommy’s arranging a husband for me, so I get in my car like a good girl and drive home.

I look at the address in my hand to make sure I’ve got the right place, but really, with all the cars parked here, it’s got to be Tommy Wright’s house. I give my keys up and tip the valet, and then I walk up to the house.

Tommy lives in a huge red brick house, three stories high. The front side of the house is trimmed with half-timbers and white stucco, and there are two chimneys on the roof. There’s a big sycamore tree to the right of house, and box hedges flanking a flagstone path up to the entrance. When I arrive, Tommy himself greets me at the door.

He’s a good-looking guy, tall with light brown hair and a permanent three days’ growth of beard. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a yellow polo shirt that really sets off his baby blue eyes.

“Hey, Jason,” he says, shaking my hand. “Glad you could make it.”

“Thanks for having me.”

“Come on in.”

I enter the bright foyer, with its polished marble floor and tasteful artwork on the walls. I follow him past a pair of twin ficuses with braided trunks into a living room packed with people. I glance around desperately, but thank God I recognize most of them.

The furniture’s modern, but they have a sort of Asian decor going for the party.

“Our illustrious hostess is over there, handing out canapes,” Tommy tells me, pointing her out. But I’m so wowed by the decor I hardly notice her.

“This is quite a set-up,” I say, looking around at all the silver they’re using.

“Yeah. Miranda’s mother—my sister—was a lavish hostess. Most of this stuff belonged to her, and she left it to Miranda. I guess being a good hostess just rubbed off on her.”

“Jeez. She could open a store.”

“You should see the butler’s pantry. It’s not even empty yet.”

I take another look around, glancing at the buffet table, which is backed by what looks like a forest of birches bearing fairy lights. There’s a stack of square white buffet plates on the table, each separated by a red silk napkin, and clusters of orchids in squat black containers. Finally, I look at the girl herself.

Dressed in a severe black dress with buttons all down the front, she’s wearing a minimal amount of make-up. Her skin looks fresh-scrubbed, and her dark hair’s hanging down to her waist in two shiny, elegant braids, one on either side of her head. If she wasn’t dressed so almost completely Goth-like, I’d say she was a real all-American, girl-next-door type.

My type, to be exact, and I’m attracted to her instantly, Goth or no. But she’s the kind of girl a guy like me can only dream about because, putting her appearance aside, it’d be useless for someone like me to start anything with a girl like her. Even if she did end up liking me, how could I ever keep her in the style she’s used to? I’m handsomely paid for what I do, but my salary’s a joke compared to what her uncle makes playing pro ball. When she finally looks around, Tommy beckons her to come over to us. She flashes us a million-dollar smile, her even, white teeth gleaming between two rose-red lips. When she does come over, he introduces me like I’m someone important.

“Miranda, this is Jason Weed. I told you about him.”

She’s even prettier up close, with her long, slim neck and her clean, white cuffs and collar. She shifts the tray of canapes to her left hand, shaking my hand with her right.

“Hello,” she says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jason. Onigiri?”

I take one of the rice balls, which are shaped like tiny panda bears, and pop it into my mouth. I chew it and find smoked salmon inside.

“Yum. This is good.”

“Thank you. If you’re hungry, feel free to help yourself to the buffet.”

“Thanks. I will in a minute.”

“Well, let’s get you a drink, huh?”

“Okay.”

She hands the silver tray to her uncle and slips her hand into the crook of my arm, leading me off toward an open arch.

“I hear you’re the assistant pitching coach,” she tells me.

“Yep.”

We pass under the arch into the dining room, where there’s a bar set up. She relinquishes her hold on me and turns to face me.

“Now, why haven’t I met you before?”

“Because they just brought me on board at the start of Spring Training.”

“Cool. You’ll have to tell me all about it. But first, what are you drinking?”

“A rum and soda. And you?”

“I usually drink a Tom Collins.”

“Why such an old-fashioned drink?”

With a wink she says, “I guess I’m just an old-fashioned girl.”

“I’m liking you already,” I tell her.

She smiles wide enough to show her dimples, and I think about the fact that Tommy Wright suddenly seems to know who I am and has invited me to this party, an unexpected and wholly unprecedented turn of events. But I don’t have time to think too much about that, because she hands me my drink. I sip it and it’s perfectly done.

“Did you used to be a bartender?” I ask.

“Only to Uncle Tommy.”

She starts mixing her own drink next, and I watch her. Her hands are graceful as the
y
work
,
and a vision of her rubbing them all up and down my body dances before my eyes. I feel myself grow hard at the thought of it.

She catches my eye, and I think she’s read my mind, because there’s knowing desire in her glance. I picture her in bed with me, and she’s giving off the kind of vibe that tells me she wouldn’t mind a roll in the hay. She leads me back out to the living room, though, and once there, I turn to her, leaning down and whispering in her ear.

“I’d love to sneak away with you.”

“Can’t,” she says, gesturing airily to indicate her duties as hostess. As she does so, her glance darts towards her uncle, and by the way he’s watching us, I know it’s a good thing we didn’t try to sneak away. Miranda’s not the only old-fashioned one in this house.

Shit. Maybe I’d better ask Tommy if he’ll even let me take her out in the first place.

“Be right back,” I say, and make my way through the crowd. Tommy’s standing there chatting with a guy from the team, but he notices me coming and looks alert. He shakes the other guy’s hand and sort of dismisses him, and I ask if I can speak to him.

He leads me off to another room and shuts the door behind me. It’s a nice room, the kind of room I’d like to have some day, with rich wood paneling like an Englishman’s study. He even has club fenders around the fireplace and an elaborate brass inkwell on the desk.

“You wanted to talk?” he says, and I turn my full attention toward him.

“Yeah. I was going to ask...can I...would it be possible to take your niece out on a date?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. He just comes closer and slings an arm around my shoulder.

“My niece is a very special girl,” he tells me.

“No doubt.”

His hand moves up to the back of my neck and he clutches it. Not hard, but still
,
there’s pressure there.

“I’ve raised her since she was seven. If anything bad were to happen to her, I think I’d have to wreak vengeance on the person responsible.”

He shakes me by the neck a couple of times, smiling and looking me in the eye to make sure I get it. I feel like a nervous teenager and all I can do is stand there and nod, hoping he won’t wrap his hands around my throat and choke me next.

“Understood,” I say quickly.

I steal a glance at his body, and take in just how strong and athletic he is, not to mention how much bigger. He finishes his drink and grins.

“So, I guess what I’m saying, Jason, is that she’s not just a notch in your belt. If you guys want to go out, fine, but I expect you to get to know each other before you start messing around. And if it turns out she’s not for you after a date or two, you’d better go find someone else.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Okay, then. Yes, you can take my niece out on a date. One date, and we’ll see how it goes after that.”

I don’t really like to be managed this way, but I shake on it anyway. He seems like a good, fair guy, and I like his niece a lot, so I’m ready to agree to anything reasonable.

“All right. You’re on.”

Once we come back out to the party, I go find Miranda and make the date with her. I wonder if she knows her uncle plans to be so involved in our relationship, and if she does know, whether she’ll even agree to this date with me.

“One thing,” she says, brushing my hand with her fingertips. “Please don’t take me out to sushi. I can’t stand the stuff.”

“Good,” I agree. “Neither can I.”