RED SOX: April 6th 2009!
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It dawned on Sage, as she moved the flower arrangement closer to the edge of the table; she really hadn't ever set a table before. As a child, there were people who did that in all of the Sebastian homes. Then as an angry young adult living alone in the loft, she didn't have company. She'd bring dates home but not for formal dining.
"Darling, there's no need to be so fussy, it's just us," Simone greeted from the doorway.
Sage turned in time to watch both Simone and Brook enter the loft. They appeared momentarily stunned by the furniture Sage had added to the space. It was probably better they be a little off guard. It would give her a slight advantage in what was bound to be a difficult afternoon. Sage sucked in a small breath to steel her resolve. The three of them were going to talk about the one subject they never discussed. And, when the conversation was finished they would all still be friends. In Fact, they would be much more than friends. They would be grandmother, mother, and daughter.
"I'm glad both of you could make it on short notice," Sage tried to sound cheery as she approached them. "I made chicken, penne, and broccoli and our salads are chilling in the crisper."
Simone placed her hand over her heart in mock surprise, "Sounds delightful and impressive."
"Is it safe?" Brook teased before bestowing a kiss on Sage's cheek.
Brook leaned in for a gentle embrace, wary of bumping Sage's injured arm. Sage was not going to allow kid glove treatment. She pulled Brook to her and gave a healthy hug.
"Poison control's number is on the fridge so we're safe enough," Sage reassured.
"You cooked so I'll serve," Simone announced and the look flashed at each girl warned there would be no squabbling.
"Excellent plan! I'll pour the beverages," Brook offered then raised a questioning eyebrow to Sage.
"There's wine, beer, water in the fridge. Shoot, I forgot about coffee and tea," Sage had a flush of embarrassment at her lack of skill for entertaining.
Simone laughed as she embraced Sage, "You live in a hotel that I own, I'm sure we can get room service."
The two guests went to the make shift kitchen area to retrieve the food items. Sage walked back to the table to make last minute primps to the silverware and napkins. The table didn't look half bad, if Sage said so herself.
"So, what's this get together about?" Brook asked as she poured the wine. "Is there somebody special you want us to meet?"
"You're not much for subtlety, Brook." Simone observed while passing out the salads.
Sage decided to jump right in, "Here sit, and lets talk." Sage waited a moment as her guests took their seats, "I love you both very much. I know I haven't been good about demonstrating my affections but it's true. And, I'm trying harder change for both of you, for the whole family. Growing up, I was such an ass…"
"Don't be silly," Brook jumped in to defend her. "Any part of what you did that wasn't typical teenage mood swings was because of a situation beyond your control."
Sage smiled a bit but it wasn't happy, "The situation beyond my control is exactly what I want to talk about."
"Why?" Simone questioned with a ching of a dropped folk in her salad.
Sage sighed seeing the instant anger in Simone's eyes and flash of pain ghost across Brook's face. "I want to know the truth about me. It is as simple as that."
"The truth," Simone hissed, "is I'm your mother and J. Granville is your father. No truth exists beyond what is written on your birth certificate."
Brook's chin quivered. She stared directly at Sage but could not utter a sound.
"I'm not trying to hurt you, Brook," Sage reassured with a soft voice and steady eye contact. "I'm not trying to hurt anybody. I just need to know who I am."
"You are my daughter…" Simone was working up a good head of steam when Sage interrupted.
"No Simone, as much as I wish I was your daughter, I'm not. We all know Brook is my mother and you are my grandmother. I can see why all of you conspired to keep it quiet and protect Brook. It's admirable. But, the time for shame is over. It's a different world today. Nobody cares about illegitimate children anymore. Besides, I'm an adult and deserve to be told the whole truth…"
"You want the whole truth?" Brook hushed and the conversation fell silent. "Be careful what you wish for, baby, you just might get it. My sweet baby girl," Brook grimaced, "it's an ugly story. You won't like it."
Sage reached over and took Brook's hand. She kissed the palm and was rewarded when Brook cupped her cheek to stare deeply into her eyes.
"I always knew someday we'd have to have this conversation," Brook breathed and a tear fell blazing a trail down her cheek.
"I know it's futile to beg but I'm begging," Simone's anger was quickly being replaced with resignation. "Please Sage, don't ask this of Brook."
"It's okay Mom. I'll be okay. Although, Sage might need a couple of appointments with my shrink…," Brook laughed but it was humorless. "I was raped, Sage."
The suddenness and depth of the short statement sucked the air out of Sage's lungs. Her mouth hung open as she tried to drag in a breath. The room momentarily spun before her.
"Mom and Dad use to host an amazing Christmas party each year. Everybody who was anybody was on the guest list. It was the height of the annual social register events. I particularly loved the preparations because Endi came to stay for the whole week before and a whole week after."
Sage thought for a moment. "You mean Endicott Wystan Sebastian, Dad's son in the mental hospital?"
"Yes. Endi use to come home for short visits. He was always so sweet to me. Treated me like an adult when everybody around me acted like I was a spoiled brat. Never once did I see the explosive anger disorder that kept him institutionalized." Brook closed her eyes briefly and shook her head, "Well, not until he attacked me."
Sage was feeling physically ill. What she had expected to be a confession of teenage sexual exploration was, instead, a tale of the violent violation of a woman she held dear. Her level of horror only increased when she processed the culmination of the assault; her life was the result of a brutal act of savagery inflicted by a brother on a sister.
"Oh God," Sage gasped.
"Darling," Simone asked dryly, "where do you keep the Jack Daniels?"
"Cabinet," Sage sputtered. "Over the sink."
Simone pushed herself up from her chair. Her usual grace had fled her with the emotional turmoil of the last few minutes. Still, she was able to quickly retrieve the bottle and poured a shot for the three of them.
"Slainte!" Simone was listless when she raised the toast and the girls responded in kind.
"Happy you asked?" Brook questioned with a hint of anger.
"No," Sage answered honestly. "But, I'm happy I know. It makes me that much more grateful to you, Brook. You didn't have to keep me. Most women wouldn't have."
Simone sighed, "Where were you when I was trying to convince her of that very same thing back in '85?"
Sage felt a lump form in her belly. It was the painful realization Simone, at some point, wanted the pregnancy terminated.
"Then why didn't you make sure she got an abortion?" Sage sounded accusatory.
Brook laughed as she offered by way of explanation, "You don't get your strong will from Endicott, my sweet. There was no way I was going to lose you. I had already lost so much. They couldn't take my baby from me too. I wouldn't let them."
"Another round, ladies?" Simone held up the bottle of amber pain killer.
"It's gonna take a lot more than booze to get beyond this," Sage stated flatly.
Simone poured another healthy dose in each glass as she replied, "Nonsense darling, we'll drown our sorrows today and tomorrow we begin fresh. I'm sure Brook's dear Dr. Goldman will be able to clear his morning schedule for us all to come in and have a good cry."
By the time J. Granville arrived, Greg had already retrieved a legless Brook. He was considering carrying her until Sage suggested a wheelchair from the lobby. The concierge was more than discreet in helping the couple to their waiting car.
"Well, at least you three didn't fight," J. Granville muttered at the sight before him.
The meal sat on the table untouched. However, a mini bar from room service appeared to have been raided and drained. Simone was draped across the dilapidated couch and snoring like a company of soldiers. Across the room, Sage sat with her back to the wall and forehead resting against the full length window. The old man shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled over to the young woman with tears streaming down her face.
"I'm…I'm sorry…I let Mom get drunk…and Brook…," Sage slurred on the words.
"I'll just bet," J. Granville took off his top coat and folded it over once before tossing it on the floor next to Sage, "it was your mother who got both of you wasted. That's the word for intoxicated now a days, isn't it?"
In an age defying move, J. Granville lowered himself down onto his jacket. Sage stared at him in mute amazement.
"What? I go to yoga three times a week just so I can do shit like this," he gave her a generous smile.
Sage nodded before turning back to look out the window being pelted by April rains. She didn't shrug off his arm when he wrapped it around her shoulders. And, she didn't even think about pulling away as he drew her to his own broad shoulder.
"Why?" Sage sobbed. "Why did it have to be so horrible? Why couldn't I be normal? Why can't any fucking thing about me be normal?"
"It's so horrible because it's the only way it could be you."
Sage pulled back a bit to face him. "What?"
"Sweetie, the only possible way for you to be you was that hideous attack. If the attack didn't happen or if Brook had chosen to take a different route then there'd be no Sage. I wouldn't have liked not having you." J. Granville shook his head, "And, I don't say that lightly. I saw how destroyed Brook was immediately after. It broke my heart a hundred times over. Still, I'm grateful you're with us." He gave Sage a gentle squeeze. "Brook withdrew completely after the attack. She'd only talk to your mother…err grandmother. Then we found out she was pregnant. Simone wanted desperately to protect Brook and was working on getting her to terminate the pregnancy." J. Granville sounded rueful, "As you might imagine, home was very tense. I tried to spend a lot of time at work. It seemed better. Simone blamed me for my evil son and Brook couldn't look at me without crying. She was three months along when she raced into my office one afternoon. Crying, hysterical, begging to keep her baby. It was the first time she talked to me since the rape."
"What did you tell her?" Sage snuggled in closer feeling very sleepy from all the alcohol and comforted by J. Granville's steady, richly deep voice.
"I told her she could do whatever she wanted and I would pay for everything. But, the one thing she wanted, the only thing she'd ask of me was to get Simone off her back. That, my little girl, was a very expensive task. Oh, Sage, we may have been wrong forging the birth certificates and claiming you as our own but we were trying to save both of you. We did what we thought was the best worst option in the worst, worst situation of our lives."
The old man sighed heavily. He was weary from the truth or perhaps the effort to shrug off the old lie. Sage didn't know which.
"What happens now?"
"Whatever you want. You're right, it is your life. If you want to amend your birth certificate, go to counseling, family therapy, trip to Europe, whatever you want, I'll support you hundred percent."
"Why?"
J. Granville smiled and tweaked Sage's nose, "You think it matters that Simone and I aren't your biological parents. But, you're wrong. I'm your Papa. You sneezed on me, threw up on me, and whacked me in the head with your toys. I'm the guy that put that stupid tricycle together…,"
"You didn't…you hired somebody…"
"Nope, I did it myself. Sixteen hours of sweat and a broken thumb but I did it myself. Sage, you were my last chance to be a hands on Father. I loved raising you. I missed so much with the others because of empire building. I almost lost out on the only real lasting empires a man can create; his children. Then the stupid teen years come along and ruin everything. Damn Hormones!" He grumbled. "We use to have fun. Don't you remember any of the fun times we had?"
"I do," Sage buried her face in his chest. "I remember. And, I do love you, Papa. I'm just so confused."
"I know, so am I, Kiddo, so am I."
July 2008
Tristan wandered out of her bathroom still tugging up her jeans. July in Boston was hot and sticky. Today was exceptionally so. Fresh from the shower, it was almost impossible to get the denim material up over her already sweating thighs even with two well functioning arms. She stood directly in front of a sputtering fan and bounced on the balls of her feet a few times to shake herself into her clothes.
A long absent and nearly forgotten tone sounded on her cell phone. Tristan let out an audible gasp. Her fingers stopped fidgeting with the top button of her pants and her hands flexed into fists. She forced herself into a kitchen chair and stared warily at the gadget on the table which now held so much menace for her.
The tune ceased on the tenth ring only to restart immediately. Within moments, her kitchen phone began to ring as well. Both devices were steady in their auditory assault on her. Her nerves became more jangled with each passing chime.
"You're not supposed to be fucking call me! There's a restraining order asshole!" She screamed when she finally answered the cell.
There was merciful silence for a heart beat.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Tristy, I've spoken to you about phone courtesy before. I don't like having to repeat my lessons," his voice was far too serene.
"Look, Mr. Arnold, oh wait, it's really Mr. Neal isn't it? You've been served the papers. You'll do time if you continue to bother me so do both of us a favor and forget my number. Okay, good…,"
Before she could hang the phone up, he interrupted, "And you, an investigative reporter? I should hardly think so. Do you really believe Arnold Neal could get the information I got about Sage? The security guard who didn't know she was living for months and months under the hotel. Ha, he didn't even know she was missing." He breathed deep, dragging out the minutes, enjoying his sudden control over the call. "No, Neal is no more than my Reinfield. He runs errands like delivering your cash to your door step, keeps the cell phone number in his name, and accepted the restraining orders without contest. Don't worry about him though, he was well paid."
A shiver raced down Tristan's back at the cold calculated truth, "What do you want? It's been months without any contact. What could you possibly want now?"
"To hurt you," he took a deep, savoring breath, "and to kill Sage."
"Why?" Tristan was terrified but kept doing the one thing she knew how to do well; digging for answers.
He laughed that shrill laugh she hated most. "Does why matter, really? I don't think so. It is enough I want that bitch cunt licker dead! Don't worry though, I won't kill you. I like watching you squirm too much. We are going to have years and years of good times together. I promise."
"I'm calling the police…,"
"The boy dies if you hang up before I let you," he cautioned with calm serenity.
Tristan stood and knocked her chair over backwards, "NO! NO! Leave him alone. Oh God, I promise you if you go anywhere near him I'll rip your nuts off and feed them to you cold!"
"Excellent Banter! Very colorful language and imagery too, your verbiage appears to be back in full vigor. But, let's be honest. You are in no position to make any threats never mind to try to carry out actual harm to my person. Just isn't gonna happen, girl friend."
Tristan could hear how pleased he was with himself. She tried to steady her breathing because she knew from experience what would come next; the rules.
"It is exactly 1:05 pm. Simone, Brook, and Sage have just finished a scrumptious lunch with some local Katie Couric type. They're going public with the dirty family incest secret. Oh boo fucking who, drama queens! They'll be in the Grand Ballroom at exactly 1:25 pm to begin the photo shoot. How fast do you think you can get to the Harbor Bostonian Hotel from Dorchester?
Fifteen minutes? Twenty minutes? Might even take forty minutes with lunch time traffic. Would you take 93 or Morrissey Boulevard? Once you get up to South Station, you're gonna hit construction delays…,"
"Why do I need to get to the Harbor Bostonian Hotel so fast, Mr. Arnold?" Tristan asked and grabbed her keys.
"Oh that. Yes, you'll want to get there by 1:36 at the latest. You really do, Tristan. Because, at exactly 1:37 pm the center chandelier will crash to the floor killing everybody underneath it! Remember to buckle up."
And, the line went dead.
Tristan ran out of her apartment. She didn’t stop to put shoes on before dashing down the three flights of stairs. Her thumb was working the phone's speed dial as she jumped from the second landing to mid stairs on the final flight down, barely keeping her footing. She was at the front door when a voice answered her frantically dialed call.
"The office of Gareth Revere Sebastian, Esquire, how can I help you?"
"Put him on," Tristan huffed for breath. "It's an emergency."
"Who is this?" The receptionist questioned.
"Tristan Ayer. Sage is in danger. Put Gareth on the phone," Tristan blabbered as she dumped herself into her car.
The engine fired on the first crank. She slammed on the gas and clipped the bumper of the car parked in front of her as she rocketed out of her parking spot. She left a trail of smoking tires and irate neighbors.
"Ms. Ayer," Gareth sounded infuriated.
"Listen, it's not Arnold Neal. It's somebody else. He wants Sage dead. He knows they're all at the hotel, dirty family incest interview, pictures, ballroom…,"
"Who, what are you talking about?"
"Don't know who," Tristan let out a small cry when she hit the curb at the Neponset on ramp. "Do know chandelier, grand ballroom, crashes down at 1:37, dead bodies underneath."
"I'm calling the police," Gareth didn’t sound like he believed her.
"You gotta listen to me, man. They're gonna die. Call her; tell her not to go…,"
"Ms. Ayer, you need help. If you contact any of my family again, then I'll have you arrested…,"
Tristan interrupted his warning, "Shut up and listen, you idiot! She's gonna get killed! Do something!"
Tristan tossed the phone away in order to grab the steering wheel with both hands. A tractor trailer pulled in front of her and she had to switch lanes fast or she'd ride right under his back end. A blaring horn let her know she cut somebody off.
The Andrew Square exit was approaching fast. She needed to decide to stay on the grossly inappropriately named expressway or come off and dodge local traffic. The short cut through the meat packing district might save her a few minutes.
"No way, I'll hit somebody on those side streets," she muttered as she passed the exit.
She drove like a lunatic but nobody seemed to notice. Such is the chronic state Boston afternoon traffic. Cars and trucks jockeying for better positions to edge up another foot closer to the thick cluster of skyscrapers looming over the harbor. Tristan was keeping a good pace bobbing and weaving through the clutch of cars until she took the South Station exit. As Mr. Neal had predicted, there was construction causing the traffic to stop.
Tristan didn't wait. She abandoned her car and ran. Mindless of her bare feet and honking horns and loud protests from the construction crew, Tristan raced up Atlantic Avenue. Much as she had done driving, Tristan bobbed and threaded her way through the lunch time chaos. Cars jammed on brakes at the last minute to avoid hitting her. Drivers screamed at her but she ran on.
When one car slammed to a stop blocking her forward momentum, she jumped on the hood and scrambled across the top.
"Crazy bitch!" The incensed owner shrieked in her wake.
The spinning doors of the elegant hotel were in full view when she risked a glance at the Customs House clock tower. While not a digital display, it was accurate enough to tell her she was almost out of time. The hands spread slightly off from fully vertical at 1:30.
Tristan body checked a doorman who tried to block her entrance. It was all adrenalin now. She didn't even think her heart was beating anymore. Patrons scattered as she tore across the lobby screaming.
"CALL 911…CALL 911…CALL 911…CALL 911…"
The hotel staff was in hot pursuit as she pounded down the main hall. They were close but she was almost to the ballroom's main door. Fainting left and then jacking to the right caught them off guard and they lost a step of momentum. Tristan was able to burst into the Grand Ballroom well out of reach of hotel security.
"MOVE…MOVE…MOVE…," she called weakly, completely breathless as she made a bee line for Simone who was standing directly below the elaborate chandelier.
The look of abject terror on Simone's usually stoic face would have been somewhat humorous at any other time. But, with a hundred pounds of bat out of Hell closing in on her, nobody was laughing. Tristan made a solid connection with Simone, driving her backward. They fell together in a tangle of clothes, jewelry, and curses. It took two or three extra rolls until Tristan was sure they were out of the crash zone.
"If you broke my hip," Simone gasped in pain.
"Sorry…sorry…," was all Tristan could get out before security pulled her free.
Brook raced to Simone's side. However, Sage was unable to move. Her focus was fixed on her former lover being dragged out of the ballroom. Trails of blood streaming from her torn feet were staining the pale hard wood floor. Tristan stared back at her mutely, heaving in deep breaths of air. Sage's cell phone rang breaking her eye contact.
"Hello? Gareth? You're never gonna believe…,"
Tristan struggled against her captors to yell; "Now he calls!"
* * *
"You have made my week. No, that doesn't give this moment justice. You, Tristan, have made my year!" Ines grinned from ear to ear while the patrolman chained Tristan's wrists to the booking bench. "I always knew you'd be back but I never guessed it would be with such an elaborate con! Was it going to be blackmail or just random vengeance against the rich or maybe revenge…no, no, wait, don't tell me yet. Let me go get a cup of coffee and hmm, maybe a muffin, then you and I can have a long talk about what you've done and how much time I'm gonna throw at you."
Tristan didn't answer. She kept her head down and shoulders slumped. Ines was not about to let the punk cheat her out of her gloating. She took two strides forward and grabbed a fistful of sweaty, yellow hair.
"Look at me when I'm talking to you, you little fucker!" Ines hissed into Tristan's flinching face. A small smile edged around the corners of the detective's mouth when she noticed Tristan's bloody nose and black eye. "Did that old lady smack you upside the head?"
Tristan swallowed hard and forced out an answer, "No, your boys took care of my beating."
"I wouldn't lie like that, Tristan. You won't like what happens to liars after lock up." Ines warned before letting go of Tristan's hair. The battered face quickly dipped out of view again. "Denton, get over here and shackle this prisoner's ankles to the floor. She's very, very dangerous. I'm gonna go get some coffee…down the street. Nice day for a long, leisurely walk, I think. You just wait right here for me Tristan. I'll get back as soon as I feel like it." Ines was almost out the door when she stopped and turned to the police officer at the booking desk. "Alice, remember this area is public access. If members of the press come in and want to take pictures they have an absolute right to snap away. Don't want to offend the first amendment, now do we, Tristan?"
Tristan ignored the laughter which followed. Some other officers continued to mock her as well but she kept her eyes down. Even if she was on public display there were still ways to hide. Tristan had learned that years ago. She tried to remember how to pull into herself like used to do when she was young and new to police stations and being a prisoner. An extra click of the ankle cuff made her flinch but she stayed still and silent.
"Not so funny now, is it Tristan?" Denton leaned over her reeking of garlic and onions. "I promise you, your night is going to busy in the cells. There are a lot of guys down there who are just dying to meet a celebrity gone bad. I’m gonna make some cash tonight for sure."
Tristan shivered at her helplessness. Denton laughed mistaking the action for bristling. But, her silence endured. He grew tired of waiting for a mouthy response and finally slapped her cheek lightly before walking away.
The one thing she didn't want to do was cry. As much as her body hurt, Tristan did not want to give in to the sweet comfort of tears. Frustration ate at her threatening to break her will but she tried to hold it back with thoughts of worse traps she'd been caught in. A tear crested once she realized she had never been this locked down before; physically and figuratively.
"So, what's your story?" A familiar voice resonated next to her on the bench. "What did you allegedly do?"
"You're safe," Tristan whispered in relief.
Sage gave a grin when Tristan raised her eyes to look at her. With infinite care, Sage wiped a stray tear from Tristan's cheek. She couldn't stop herself from leaning in and kissing the woman.
"HEY! No touching." Alice admonished them from her seat at the booking desk.
Sage lifted her hands in surrender as she shifted back an inch or two. Tristan gave a whimpering protest at her withdrawal.
"I don't care if they shoot me, kiss me again," Tristan begged.
Sage shook her head, "I care if they shoot you. After all, I might get caught in the crossfire."
It occurred to Tristan then that the visit might not be a friendly one. Tristan worried Sage may have come only to taunt her. She hung her head again and tried to prepare herself for whatever abuse she'd earned.
"I swear I wasn't trying to hurt anybody…,"
Sage cleared her throat to interrupt, "Right, crashing chandelier at 1:30…"
"…1:37…"
"Right, 1:37 pm. By the way, the chandelier is fine. It's not going to fall today or any day in your lifetime."
Tristan looked up in shock. "He said, he swore…"
"Right, Gareth told me about your whole crazy phone call and the alleged Mr. Arnold's threats. Gareth thinks you've gone over the edge, by the way. The police think you're running a scam. But, I don't know. None of the scenarios they come up with make much sense to me." Sage shrugged, "I mean I took care of your big ticket money issue. So that can't be motive. If you hate me then you did a great job of hiding it while we were screwing. And, if this is some kind of vendetta against the wealth then there are so many families more deserving of your attention. A clan in Hyannis springs to mind."
"It's none of those things, Sage. I promise you…,"
"I believe you."
Tristan was stopped cold by the statement. She tried to work her mouth around to say something but nothing more meaningful would come than, "thank you."
"I do believe you but not on trust, Tristan, sorry. I believe you because less than a dozen people knew what the interview was about. All of those people are my immediate family members.
Only somebody in my family can be your source. Even the reporter and her station thought we were giving a tour of newly completed restorations."
Tristan chewed her lip in deep thought, "Have you told anybody else about your insider theory?"
"Dad and Mr. Matthews were already thinking the same thing. Everybody else appears to be too shocked to look beyond you; the kook who tackled our mother."
"How is she?" Tristan grimaced as she asked.
"She's tougher than she looks. Nothing broken. Can't say the same thing about you if she sees you anytime soon," Sage gave a little chuckle but sobered quickly noting Tristan's frown. "Okay, this is the plan. Mr. Matthews is working on the DA to drop any charges and get you released to my custody. Then you are coming with me."
Tristan nodded obediently and asked, "Where?"
Sage gave a big smirk, "Nobody gets to know that except me, Dad, and Mr. Matthews. We've got to catch this shithead, Tristan, before he gets somebody killed."