Teacher's Pet Complete Series (25 page)

“Your mother loves me,” Katelyn whispered in my ear. Everything with her was like a secret. I had been in this tux half an hour or so, but it just didn’t seem to hang right on me. When I had moved out to pursue my degree in education I had aggressively sworn off my lavish lifestyle, the clothes and most of the parties I attended every year. Everything my lavish life had entailed. I lived on normal food, led a normal life and struggled, just like any other student. I wanted to earn everything I had without help, the influence of the wealthy, my parents and their “favors.” I felt free of it all for several years.

We walked through the entrance hall and into the grand room. I was fussing with my tie to loosen its noose around my neck. I tied the thing so tight that I felt claustrophobic. I’d never been too keen on wearing ties.

The white party was held at my family’s Atherton home. It was private, hidden behind high walls and perfect for their influential guests.

I watched as people began filing in, filling out the guest book and chatting. Katelyn went to offer her help as she buzzed around attending to guests, helping to manage the situation with my mother.

I felt a tap on my shoulder. I was hesitant to turn around, thinking it was some bigwig politician or a power couple who remembered me from childhood.

“Well, if it isn’t my long-lost brother.”

Selene held out her arms to give me a hug, and we embraced with the warmth of close siblings. Her hair was lying on her shoulder in a long plait of strawberry blonde. She was slim but athletically built, just like our mother. “You like?” She twirled in place, showing off what she was wearing. “It’s Versace, of course. Got it yesterday for the event.” It was a white, mid-thigh, curve-hugging dress, with pleated, webbed sleeves—an attractive design. She wore white sparkling heels with the tips plated gold, and jewelry, also gold.

“I was beginning to think you didn’t love me anymore. Let me look at you.” She pushed me back to arm’s length. “My brother the handsome devil.” She pinched my chin. “When was the last time I saw you, like a year ago?”

“Something like that.” I felt a sharp pang of guilt in my stomach. “I’m a horrible brother. I know. You don’t have to tell me.”

“I was thinking more like it’s a miracle that you’re here. Mother must have pulled a hell of a guilt trip on you. What did she do, threaten to cut you off for good or take your firstborn and raise it herself?”

I laughed at that. “No, Selene. You know better than that. I haven’t touched Mom and Dad’s money in at least a decade. And as far as children are concerned… well, let’s just say she’d be left wanting.”

“I’m being facetious, big brother.” She chuckled. “I see you still have that massive stick stuck up your ass. You need to loosen up a bit. Be the brother I remember. I miss that cocky sucker.” She gave me another hug. “I see you came here with Katelyn. Um, what’s up with that?”

I gave her a sour look.

“Mom?”

“Yup.”

“It figures. I swear those two are like sisters in a weird born-apart-by-two-decades sort of way. I like Katelyn and all, but I’ve never understood it. She hangs around Mom more than I do. Are you going to be okay?”

I wasn’t so sure. “I’ll survive it. It’s only for one night. I can manage.”

“I hope so, for your sake. Because Katelyn is cool, but she’s coo-coo crazy. Seriously, though, I really missed you, so don’t stay away so long next time, okay? Party or no party, I worry about you sometimes.”

I felt a rush of warmth. “You have my word. No more vanishing acts.”

“Good, that’s what I want to hear.”

Selene wanted me to come join the party and hobnob like everyone else. I didn’t want to, but for her, I offered my arm.

“When in Rome.” She laid her head on my shoulder.

“When in Rome.” Except it felt more like Babylon.

As we stepped into the ballroom—it was large enough to hold about a hundred guests or so—I saw white lilacs in crystal vase centerpieces, every available surface covered in white lace cloth and tiny lights on the black-painted ceiling to mimic bright stars.

As people walked through, we had to stand on both sides of the entryway and shake hands with every invited guest, whether I knew them or not. Soon the announcer made the introductions for my mother as the host and then me as her eldest, quickly followed by Selene.

My mother gave a speech. I got up to the platform, said a few flattering words about my mother, then everyone took their seats to eat. There were indistinguishable mumblings of conversation in the room, clanging of porcelain dishes, forks to plates, glasses coming together in toasts and seats adjusting, squeaking across the floor. Everyone seemed to be having a great time. My mother’s party—as usual—was a success.

“So what do you think, son? Did your mother outdo herself?”

The waiters’ techniques were refined to perfection. One arm resting behind their backs at all times, with the other hand used to serve unless they were forced to use two. They carried silver serving platters, dressed in all-white tuxedos, being polite and extremely careful as they served. One spill on a guest would mean their heads on a platter and the Dragon Lady was known to have a collection on her mantel.

“Everything seems perfect, as usual.” I sipped on my wine so as to not want to choke on the bullshit words that I spoke. “Another job well done.” But I couldn’t care less if the party went great, and by the way, where the hell was my father?

“Thank you, dear.” She rubbed my hand affectionately. “I appreciate you saying that, truly.”

After we ate, my mother was called to the center of the dance floor—without my father, so I had to fill in. Katelyn had to wait her turn, it seemed. We had the first waltz of the night. As my mother and I spun around, I saw everyone’s eyes intently trained on us.

I didn’t miss this attention one bit. You see, the guests don’t just look at you; they whisper and judge you as well. That’s what influential people do: they smile in your face and tear you down behind your back. The thought of it made my shoulders tense.

My mother held these get-togethers to serve a dual purpose. Yes, she wanted her guests to always have a good time, but they were mainly for gathering personal dirt. She cozied up to these powerful people, fed them and served them drinks, got them nice and relaxed, so when it was time, she’d pump them dry for scandalous information.

Who was having sex with whom, who was cheating on their taxes, whose businesses and political standings were in jeopardy. To her, knowledge was the world’s most powerful weapon, and Caroline Foster held nuclear bombs—each one ready and waiting at her disposal.

As soon as the song ended, I bowed out and another man clasped my mother’s hand. I recognized him as the high-powered lawyer Grayson (Gray) Caesar, who headed the heralded firm Caesar and Krause in New York. I looked around for my dad out of instinct. I knew he usually ducked these social obligations, but I needed him to run interference.

Grayson was a slickster. One of those smooth, handsome older guys that women have thrown their panties at since he was a high school jock. He had jet-black hair sprinkled with salt, but his ends were more consistently white. Grayson was very sure of himself. He’d probably never failed at anything in his life, and that concerned me, considering he had his eyes on my mother and had for more years than I could count.

I stuck around dancing for a few more songs with Katelyn in my arms, watching Grayson and my mother. They were wrapped in each other’s arms, in each other’s ears, whispering and laughing like no one was there to witness.

“A little cozy, aren’t they?” Katelyn asked with a whisper. She only reflected what I thought in my head.
A little too cozy
was how I’d put it.

Grayson had his hands on my mother’s lower back, closer to her ass than not. I kissed Katelyn on the cheek and snuck out to find my father to let him know Gray was up to his old tricks again, something that had caused some heated confrontations in the past—my father getting the best of him two out of maybe three times.

I assumed he’d be somewhere in his office. My mother had said he’d been extra busy these days. He did tend to throw himself in his work. It was the reason why he’d managed to be so successful.

Sure enough, as I approached, I could hear my father’s angry voice bouncing off the walls. He seemed to be in a heated debate with someone, so I hesitated to knock and decided to hang back before I walked in and rudely interrupted. The more I listened in on the conversation, the more I was confused with what I heard. My father was talking business, no doubt about that. But then something he said threw me off.

“Son, you’re wasting your time.”

I narrowed my eyes, not sure if I understood. He couldn’t have been talking to me. Had he realized somehow that my ear was to the door? But how could that be? I straightened up from my hunch and decided I should just knock on the door and turn the knob.

There was someone sitting in my father's office. A man, roughly my age, but definitely younger. He had dark, wavy hair, and was wearing an expensive black suit, and everything about him spelled trouble. My father looked surprised to see me standing in the doorway. Odd looks passed between us three.

“Hello, Simon.” The man regarded me with a cold, sly grin, like mischief was buried beneath it six feet deep.

“Do I know you, my friend?” He did look oddly familiar, but I couldn’t place his face. It would nag me if I couldn’t figure it out. My father’s eyes passed between us with apprehension in them, and there was a tension in the room that seemed to be building.

“Son—”

“Oh, Dad, don’t torture the poor guy.” The man crossed his legs. He was enjoying this, whatever “this” was. “He looks like his brain is going to explode trying to figure who I am.” The man waited for my father to speak then sighed with impatience, stood up and extended his hand to me. The gesture seemed more condescending than friendly. “I’m Dane.” We shook hands. “It’s good we finally meet. I’ve wanted to tell you for years that I’m your brother…”

All the pain and anger came rushing back to me. Did I have a brother? Was Lynn right all along? The look on my father’s famously stoic face confirmed what I now knew to be truth. How could he? How could they—him and my mother… hell, how was this possible? Why hadn’t I known about this until now? I found my fist moving on its own accord toward the perfectly white teeth of this blood-related stranger, hoping to draw our shared bloodline from his mouth.

Dane smiled, slipped the punch and caught my fist in his palm. He either had some type of training or apparently I was slow. I wasn’t much of a fighter, but for him I was willing to become one.

My father slammed his fist on his prized oak desk. “Break this shit up! This is neither the time nor the place!” He stopped, took a breath and then started to speak again. “Look, I understand this comes as a shock to you, Simon, but you know how important this party is to your mother and we’re not going to ruin it for her. As soon as this is over, we will all sit down and discuss this situation like a family. Until then no violence of any kind, is that clear?”

I nodded to my father, but only because my feelings of wanting to commit sheer violence upon Dane were becoming too overwhelming to hold back. And all he kept doing was smiling. With his hands in his pockets, like I posed no threat, but we’d see… oh yes, we would see.

The Foster house was ridiculously large. It was a museum full of priceless oil paintings, ancient pieces of art—I wouldn't dare touch—and floors cleaned so well you could see your reflection in them. There were portraits of immediate family members hanging on the walls, including one of young Simon when he was just a little boy. He wore a navy-blue three-piece suit, with his hands in his lap, sitting on a wooden stool. He had such an innocent smile back then, like he could hardly do anything wrong.

The house had cathedral ceilings and rounded entryways, acreage in the back as well as the front and a circular driveway with a garden in the middle, featuring several breeds of flowers, including the California poppy. Simon keeping this all a secret was silly. What did he think, that I would judge him on his money rather than his merit? This family had too many secrets.

As I walked out of the bathroom, I heard a crash. Or maybe a bang would be a better description of the sound. It echoed down the hallway. So I rushed my way back to Cornelius’s office—which was hard to do in the heels—as the sound I heard seemed to be coming from there. The moment I approached, the door flung open, almost hitting me square in the face.

I flinched and moved to my right to avoid it. Simon was standing in the doorway looking stunned, wide-eyed and as angry as I’d ever seen him. Dane was standing there too. With that shit-eating grin he always had when he was up to no good and he loved it.

I was told Simon wouldn’t be here. I was told he would never show up to one of his mother’s parties and I could meet the rest of his family in peace. Even his father looked surprised Simon was standing at the door. He looked as if he was staring at a ghost. I gave Dane the most heinous look, cutting, soul-sucking and hateful, but he wasn’t paying attention to me one bit.

“I thought he wasn’t going to be here?” He was addressing Cornelius. “I was told—”

“You were told what?” I seethed through my teeth.

“That Simon wasn’t expected to be at the party.” Cornelius Foster spoke with a baritone register of somewhere near negative zero. It emerged from the depths of his huge barrel chest like the roar of a lion, even when he tried to speak softly. Instantly the boys’ shoulders straightened at attention, even Dane’s as he sat in his chair. It was interesting to see. How one man could command the respect of two stubborn men without exerting much effort. It was entertaining.

“In fact, my son never shows up to these sorts of things. I guess he gets his shyness from his father.” Cornelius grinned, although his eyes were squinted and alert. The grin moved to the side of his face. His eyes passed between Dane and Simon, and overlooked me like I wasn’t even there. I felt like a silent communication was going on between them, as the boys would rather stare at the floor then look into his eyes. Fathers are a curious thing.