Letters From The Ledge (13 page)

He looked at her out of the corner of one eye. “You call this normal?”

“Ok, maybe a pothole. But if we think we might want to make this permanent someday, you’re going to have to hold on and keep driving. No road is perfect.” She turned to look at him and waited until he followed suit. “You need to relax about us. I’m
not
going anywhere."

He’d never felt so vulnerable. "You sure about that? Cause I really don’t want to relive that bridge incident any time soon.”

Her smile was soft and full of tenderness. "Yes, Nate. I’m sure. I love you, but you have to let go a little so I can love you on my own terms."

"You…you love me?"

She put her palm up to his cheek and held his face in one hand, staring into his eyes until he understood. “Yes. I love you."

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he blinked back surprise. "You-love-me."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, then nodded affirmatively.

He took her face in both hands and grinned widely, and then kissed her gently. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For all of this–for being so honest with me. I know you wouldn’t have said those things if you didn’t care about us."

"I want us to work Nate. I really do. I just need more time, ok? I think we both do."

"Okay."

They sat wrapped in each other and watched the stars come out one by one.

"Are Romeo and Juliet still around?"

"Yes, believe it or not. See there?"

Nate followed her finger as it pointed up and to the left.

"And right over there is where she’s sitting."

"You’ll have to show me again. How can you see that far?" Eventually he found it. There was a small light on in the room, which created a hazy silhouette against the window frame. "She’s getting brave with one leg hanging out the window like that."

She smiled up at him. "Maybe he’s a good influence on her."

"Maybe."

Paige snuggled deeper into his chest. "I hope they meet some day."

"Why do you say that?"

"I don’t know. They seem to need each other, they just don't know it yet."

__________

"You know, if you want to get better grades, you might want to try reading the book."

Sarah was sitting in the library with her biology book sitting out next to her but engrossed in a novel instead. She didn’t even look up. "This is for English."

"The Alchemist? Last time I looked that wasn’t on the AP reading list."

"How do you know, Mr. Smarty Pants?"

"I took AP English last year."

"And you remember every book on the suggested reading list?"

"Yup. I read them all."

Finally she put the book down in her lap and looked at him. “Even the ones that weren’t required?”

He nodded.

“A bookish stoner. Whodathunk?”

“I wish you wouldn’t keep calling me that. I’m not always stoned, you know.”

Sarah cocked her head and squinted, searching his eyes for signs of drugs or vanity or general arrogance. There was none. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Brendan pulled a chair out and spun it around, sitting on it backwards with his arms hooked over the back edge. "What do you think of it so far?"

"The novel?"

"Yes. The novel."

"Have you read this one too?"

He leaned forward slightly with an impish smile. "Maybe."

Sarah bit her lip. It was hard to think straight when he smiled at her. Something about him drew her forward, but she resisted. "I think it raises a lot of interesting questions about God."

He seemed to like that answer. "Interesting to you, or interesting to other people?"

"What do you mean?"

Brendan shrugged slightly. "I mean you seem to have things all worked out in that department, or you wouldn’t be the only person in bio to argue with Mr. Taylor about evolution. So, does it make you think about how you personally see God or do you just like that it raises questions in general?"

She stared at him. "You’re not what I thought you were."

His eyes were focused hard on hers. "People hardly ever are."

She swallowed. "Yeah-I’m starting to realize that."

Brendan looked down again. "So, are you going to answer the question?"

"Um–Both I guess. But mostly it makes me think about God in general, and the idea that each person has their own destiny. It makes me wonder what it would be like to follow my own dreams."

He raised his eyebrows, obviously satisfied with her answer, but said nothing. She didn’t quite get him. One minute he was sullen, stoned and mad at the world. The next he was quizzing her on the merits of literary fiction and tutoring her in AP Biology. How in the world did his mind work in so many different directions? "So, what did you think about it?"

Brendan stared at her for a long time, and she stared right back. It was like the showdown at the OK Corral but without the dust and the guns.

Finally he answered. "I thought it read a little like Bono meets Siddhartha. I also think it makes a person wonder about their dreams."

She smiled. "The nighttime ones or the ‘what I want to be when I grow up’ ones?"

"Yes."

"Interesting."

He eyed her bookmark. "It looks like you’re not quite halfway. I don’t want to ruin the end for you, so we should probably wait until you’re finished to discuss it.”

Sarah nodded. "I think I’d like that."

“I have a feeling you’re going to
love
Fatima."

“Ooh! She sounds exotic.” Sarah started fanning the pages, looking for her, but Brendan put his hand out to stop her.

“You’ll meet her soon enough. Part of the beauty lies in the chase, not just the capture.”

There was a heat there that she hadn’t expected. Her hand stung with it until it flushed through her whole body. Even her lips felt parched and she licked them absently, trying to add moisture. She looked down at his hand, still touching hers, and pulled the book away.

“Ok. I’m willing to wait. For her, I mean.” The conversation was going from bad to worse and she wished he would just leave so she could kick herself in peace.

His smile warmed and she could tell by the way he was looking at her that he knew what she was feeling, but he wasn’t mocking her. He seemed–flattered.

Brendan looked away and the bell saved them. "Well–I guess I’ll see you around."

"Yeah. See ya." She went back to reading but secretly watched him walk away. Something about the way he carried himself drew her attention, as if little boy and man were fighting for space in the same body. She found herself thinking about him a lot more than she should be. He was an enigma, for sure, but because of that he was also unpredictable, and therefore dangerous. Unfortunately, dangerous was terribly exciting. Sarah decided to skip lunch and met up with Fatima instead.

__________

"What is that smell?" Frank came through the doorway of Brendan’s room as if he were hunting down a Tupperware of molded dairy products.

"Dirty socks. And sewage. I’ve had the slider open."

"Hmm. So, how’s the college thing going?"

"The college thing?"

His father slapped him on his back. "U Penn's got Wharton, but Cornell's got a great program as well. You just let me know which one you’ve decided on and I’ll make sure it happens."

He’d taken every AP class the school offered and aced the SATs. Aside from a few shaky months right after Tess’s death where his GPA took a bit of a dive, he was more than prepared for college. "Am I suddenly incapable of getting into one of those schools on my own?"

"Of course not!” He was using that patronizing tone that made the bones of Brendan’s jaw scraped against one another in earnest. “It’s just that they’re very competitive these days and I want to make sure you have every advantage!"

"What if I wanted to study photography?"

Frank looked down at the stack of photographs next to the computer. "As a minor? How would that help you?"

"No, I mean take courses in photography and digital media–learn more about graphic design."

"In addition to your business degree?" Frank was still trying to clarify.

"Instead of."

"You’re joking, right?"

"No. I’m not."

"Brendan, be serious. We’ve had this planned for a long time. You’re going to study business. That’s the only way this works.” He drew the sentences out slowly, as if they’d somehow solidify in the process. “You go to school at U Penn or Cornell and I make sure you get set up with a nice, comfortable living. If you want to take pictures, you do it on your own time, not mine."

Brendan sat brooding. The scars began to ache.

Frank looked down at him with disdain. "Of course, you’ll have to grow up a bit first–lose the piercings and cut your hair and get a pair of decent shoes and all. But hey, that’s what college is for, right? You’ll join a fraternity, do a bunch of stupid pranks, but eventually it’ll be time to get serious. Don’t misunderstand me Brendan. I won’t pay Ivy League money for a sissy profession."

"Maybe I don’t have to go to The University of Pennsylvania. I could study digital media and production at NYU or Columbia."

"The University of Pennsylvania is my alma mater."

"So?"

"So it’s the best. NYU and Columbia are
city schools
." He said it as if the words themselves were bitter.

"Columbia is Ivy League! That's still not good enough?" Brendan thought he might suffocate. His throat started to close at the thought of wearing a suit and sitting in an office. He wanted to be out wandering the plains of Africa, eating locusts and trying to catch a Cheetah on film at a full speed run, but his only hope was to comply–or at least, appear to. "You know what dad? You’re probably right."

"I am?"

"Absolutely. Let’s plan for Wharton in the fall. But how about a deal?"

His father leaned forward. "I’m listening."

"After graduation, how would you feel about me doing a little touring for the summer?"

"Touring?"

"Kind of like a graduation present. I want to get out of New York and see the world a bit; you want me to follow the plan. I’ll take the summer to travel with my camera, get the burr off my back, and come back in the fall ready to dive into college life."

Frank took a minute to consider the request. "Your mother tells me your grades are up."

"Yes sir, they are. Not to mention I’m taking four AP classes."

He gave Brendan the once over then looked around the room. "Where are all the posters?"

"Excuse me?"

"The posters–you know, beautiful women sprawled across the hoods of sports cars."

"I’m not gay, dad."

"I didn’t say anything about that."

"Are you kidding me? I see in your eyes. I see it in the way you look at me–the way you judge my clothes and my hair and my lip piercings. Just because I don’t have a woman parked in every country from here to Switzerland doesn’t mean I’m gay."

Frank looked around to make sure Ginny wasn’t in hearing distance. "Keep your voice down."

"You think she doesn’t know? That makes you either crazy or stupid."

“You watch your mouth!”

Brendan looked away. Frank just stared at the floor for a minute.

"How long until graduation?"

"Just under seven weeks."

"It’ll take six to get your passport."

"Is that a yes?"

"I’ll think about it."

Frank left the room and Brendan didn’t even shut the door. He just pulled out a joint and lit the thing, blowing smoke rings out the door and into the hallway. After he settled down he pulled the blade from the drawer and made the shadows dance on the ceiling. A clean cut was a beautiful thing…

“You believe a man can change his destiny?”

“I think a man does what he can, until his destiny is revealed.”

- The Last Samurai

“Mr. Banks?”

Nate looked up from the computer screen. "Yes Christina? What is it?"

"There’s a young man here to see you."

"A young man?"

"Yes, he’s…"

"What is it Christina?"

The young girl scrunched up her face, trying to form the words. "I think he might be on something."

Nate looked through the glass to the outer office and saw Brendan standing by the desk with his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Initiative. This is good. Show him in."

"In here? To your office?"

"Yes Christina–to my office. It’s all right. We know each other."

Christina left with a considerable amount of bewilderment, and led the boy back to Nate’s door.

"Brendan! It’s nice to see you again. Won’t you come in?"

He kept his head down and took a seat across from Nate.

“What can I do for you Brendan?”

“What makes you think I want you to
do
something for me?”

Nate folded his hands under his on the desktop. “Well, I’m not sitting in
your
office, am I?”

Brendan continued to look at his pants. “You gave me your card. Said I could come by some time. I figured I’d take you up on it, that’s all.”

“Unannounced?”

Brendan looked around the room as he spoke. “So you’re the king then? Holding court?”

Nate drew a deep breath in through his nose and stared hard at Brendan. "Look, if you’re going to work for me you need to learn to look me in the eye–stoned, sober, whatever it is, you got that? And no, I’m not the king. But there is such a thing as professional courtesy, and you’re going to need to start using some."

Nate sat back and waited. When Brendan finally looked up, his glassy eyes portrayed a generous mix of anger and desperation. "Work for you?"

"Possibly. I guess that depends."

"On what?"

"On if you’re ready or not."

Brendan stared back, brazen and determined.

Nate challenged him with his eyes. "I believe I set some ground rules."

"I had a tough day."

"I don’t really care. Why aren’t you in school?"

"What are you, my father?" He started laughing hysterically then, doubled over and slapped his thigh.

Nate sat quietly, just watching the show. After a while Brendan’s laughter turned to snickering and then he quieted down completely and sat brooding in the chair. "What happened, Brendan?"

"What makes you think something happened?"

Nate tapped his fingertips together. "Oh, I don’t know. You’re a pretty smart guy, and I think I made myself relatively clear the other night. There are only two things that would make you walk into my office stoned. One is stupidity."

Brendan didn't respond right away. He merely stared through eyes that betrayed both fear and rebellion. “And the other?”

Nate softened his tone and spoke gently. "Look, I know you want this. Deep down this stuff is what makes you come alive–art, computers, graphic design – I don’t think it’s your forever, but it’s definitely your right now, so for you to show up here stoned is either telling me "up yours Nate" or something else is wrong. If you wanted to blow me off, I doubt you'd have made the trip all the way down here to do it in person."

“What does that even mean– ‘it’s not my forever but it’s definitely my right now’– what are you, some kind of psychic? You see my future, do you?”

“Maybe.”

Brendan scoffed. “You’re full of shit.”

“Maybe.”

"What if I don’t want to talk about it?"

Playing hardball wasn’t Nate’s favorite pastime, but Brendan seemed to require it. "Then I’ll have to thank you for coming but you really are high if you think I’m going to introduce a stoned, spoiled brat around my office and ask some of my best people to let you watch them work. I pride myself on hiring the best and brightest talent around. You could really learn a lot from them, but I don’t put up with bullshit and I won’t make them put up with it either. I respect them too much to treat them that way. So you can come back when your head is clear and you’re ready to work."

"You keep using that word–work. What makes you think I’m looking for a job?"

"Aren’t you?"

Brendan smirked. "I don’t need to work."

"Need is a relative term."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you may not need the money–at least, not at the moment, but what I have to offer is a hell of a lot more attractive than that, and I think you know that.” Nate leaned back in his chair. “But that doesn’t keep it from scaring the crap out of you.”

“What could you possibly offer me that I don’t already have? You’ve seen my house. You’ve met my parents. I have everything.” Brendan’s voice dripped with disdain.

“And all the bread and water you can eat.”

"I have a plan, you know.”

“I’m sure you have a lot of plans, Brendan, but until you make some hard decisions, they’re all going to stay in your head.”

At that Brendan turned away. “My father and I have a deal.”

“So I’ve heard. Wharton, is it?”

“Yeah well, I’m heading to Europe to do a little traveling this summer after graduation. I may not make it back for the start of fall semester.”

Nate let that piece of information roll around the desk between them until it wobbled to a stop. The room was silent. It was Nate’s move and he wanted nothing more than to mash the kid’s head against the door until he straightened up, but something in him remembered what it was like to feel that desperate. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

“Yeah. Right.”

"Do you drink coffee?"

Brendan looked back at him. "What?"

"You know, Starbucks? Dunkin’ Donuts? The diner down the street? It's a simple question. Do you drink coffee?"

"Yeah, why?"

"What do you say we get out of here?"

Brendan narrowed his eyes. "For what?"

"Unless you’d prefer a security escort out of the building."

"What? Are you serious?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I am." Nate smiled. "It’s up to you Brendan. The ball is in your court."

"Look, I just came here because you said to. I thought I could take a look around, see what you do. But if you don’t want-"

Nate leaned quickly across his desk. "Look, let’s cut the shit Brendan. You know as well as I do why you’re here. I can offer you the opportunity to explore something I think you really want, but I’m not going to play games with you."

"How do you know what I want?"

Nate ignored the question. "If you want this, you play by my rules. You come here sober or not at all."

Brendan swallowed, then took a moment to digest the information. "How do you even know?"

"That you’re high?"

"Yeah."

"Don’t be stupid, Brendan. I’m not that much older than you."

"How old are you anyway?"

"You already asked me that."

"When?"

"The night we met at your house. You told me you were turning eighteen and I told you I was twenty-five."

"How did you get all this at twenty-five?" Brendan swept his arm around the office.

"By choosing.”

“You mean selling out.”

“I didn’t sell out. I found a better way.”

“Yeah well, with my father there’s only one way–his.”

“Sooner or later you have to become your own man, Brendan. You can’t keep running toward your future by way of the past."

“You don’t know anything about my past.”

“I know more than you think I do.”

Brendan stood up and looked over at a bookshelf that held a few ancient volumes of poetry. There, sitting on top of a small stack of books was a twenty-dollar bill folded into the shape of an airplane with a very specific tail design. “Where did you get that?”

“It’s a collection of Chaucer. Do you read Chaucer?”

“Not the books–the twenty. Where did you get it?”

“Ingenious, isn’t it? I found it–on the street a few weeks ago.”

Brendan swallowed hard. “Why not just spend it?”

“I figured if someone went to enough trouble to fold it and shape it like that, I should appreciate it for what it is now, not what it used to be.”

Brendan just stood there blinking at him.

Nate stood up and extended his hand to the young man. "Thanks for coming in. Maybe we can talk again some time."

Brendan reached out tentatively at first but used a firm grasp to shake Nate’s hand.

"At least you shake like a man."

"Fuck you! You don’t know shit."

"That’s where you’re wrong, Brendan. I know a lot of shit."

Brendan turned and walked away, moving purposefully past Christina and punched the wall before he went out. Nate sat back in his big leather chair and spun toward the view, palms together, fingers splayed with his thumbs hooked under his chin. "Damn it!"

__________

“What’s wrong?”

Nate was picking at his food, pushing it around the plate but not eating any.

Paige tried again. “You’ve been brooding all through dinner. Now what’s up?”

He pushed back from the table and threw his napkin on top of the food. Immediately the maître de was at his side.

“Mr. Banks. Is there anything wrong with the food? Can I get you something else, perhaps?”

“No, thank you. It’s just me. I’m not very hungry tonight. You can take it away.”

With a slight bow the man removed Nate’s plate and gestured to another young man, who brought a new napkin and filled the water glasses.

Paige put her own fork down. “That was Beef Wellington you just threw away.”

“I know. I’m sorry. The starving kids in Africa can beat me later.”

“What? You’re not even making sense. This isn’t like you. Will you please tell me what’s wrong?”

“Brendan came to my office today.”

“Who?”

“Brendan Evans. Frank’s kid.”

“Oh. Really? Why?”

“Remember I told you about the night I met him? I gave him my card, told him if he wanted to shadow some of our graphic design folks he should come by the office some time.”

“Ok. And?”

“He was stoned. The kid’s got balls, I’ll give him that.”

“Why would he do that? Did he think you wouldn’t notice? I mean, you of all people.”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t know as much about me as I do about him.”

“Did you tell him you saw him on the ledge that night?”

“No, of course not. He’d think I was going to use that information against him somehow–hold it over him.”

“Well then, if you don’t mind me asking, what
are
you going to do with it? With him I mean? What’s this really about Nate?”

Nate rubbed his temples. “I don’t know what it is, but I can’t get him out of my head. It’s like when I look at him, I see what he really could be, you know? And I want to help him see it too. I don’t
need
him for my company, I just want to give him a chance at a better life.”

“Ok, but let me play devil’s advocate here for a minute. I don’t like Frank Evans any better than you do, but what makes you think you can give him a better life than Frank can? That’s dangerous territory you’re treading. You’re not his father Nate.”

“You think I don’t know that? I don’t want to be his father Paige. It’s just this weird sense I get sometimes. I can’t explain it very well, but I just know that somehow I’m supposed to be a part of his life.”

“But he has to agree.”

“Yeah. He does. And right now, the next move is up to him.”