ACE:Las Vegas Bad Boys(92)
Geoffrey: Look, don’t get Mum’s hopes up. We both know you’ll flake out. Don’t put her through the disappointment.
I know our father is going to give it to Geoffrey. He’s the responsible son, the reliable son, the really fucking boring son.
Geoffrey: Don’t be an ass. Everyone knows you’re Mum and Dad’s favorite. But when you let Mum down, and don’t show, it screws with my life.
Me: Oh, I’m screwing plenty of things, but your life isn’t one of them.
I pocket my phone, every muscle in my body tensing from the exchange.
Why do I let Geoffrey get under my skin so easily? Why do I care so much that I might disappoint our mum? Again.
Maybe because, as much as I think Geoffrey is a complete prick, he also has that little, nagging thing everyone seems to want. Their parents’ bloody approval.
I’ve avoided that typical sentiment for years, but Dad’s voice today on the phone, the tinge of sadness he expressed over the idea of me not coming through for him, proving my worth somehow, made me want something I don’t think I’ve had for over a decade, possibly longer.
Not that me showing up at the family estate in Hertfordshire is going to somehow vouch for some personal awakening. Because I haven’t had one.
But Geoffrey just being handed the family business, as if he’s entitled to it, rubs me the wrong way.
The elevator door slides open and I walk into Ace’s foyer.
“What’s up, motherfucker?” Ace calls from the kitchen. I walk in and McQueen fist-bumps me, and Jack hands me a beer.
“What, no hot cocktail waitresses tonight?” I ask, taking the drink.
“Fuck that,” Ace says. “The den is all set up for us. Emmy thinks if another hot waitress works the game tonight one of you bastards might find a woman.”
“I don’t want any woman, not for a long time,” Jack says as we make our way into the dining room where Ace’s dealer Carla has set up the poker table. A waitress in fishnets is setting up the wet bar in the corner. But I’m not interested in her. She looks nothing like Claire ... which, fuck? Why am I even comparing them?
“What happened now with Ashley?” McQueen ask warily.
“After the wedding, she got pissy again about me not proposing yet. She kneed me in the fucking balls. It was bad.”
“And are you still together?” I ask.
Jack shrugs. “I don’t know what we are. But we’re meeting in L.A. for brunch in a few days. She says that’s what real couples do.”
“Fuck that,” I say, taking a swig of my IPA. “My parents say the same fucking thing. Apparently my brother and his girlfriend are royalty because they go to the country club on Saturdays for Bloody Marys and golf.”
“Meanwhile, we play hard, all night.” McQueen says, laughing, as Carla deals us a hand.
“Not Ace, not anymore,” Jack reminds us. “How was the honeymoon, bro?”
While we play several hands, Ace fills us in on Tahiti and I keep getting texts from my brother.
He won’t drop the whole thing about letting Mum know I’m not coming, and I’m sure his girlfriend Fiona is just feeding him the obnoxious texts.
“Dude, what the fuck is going on over there?” Ace asks, as I pull my phone out once more.
“It’s my brother.” I explain the phone call with my father earlier, how he’s willing to give his company to either Geoffrey or me. In a week.
“Holy fuck,” Jack says. “He’s just gonna give The King’s Diamond to one of you? Just like that?”
I sigh. “Shit, I guess. My parents are old school, but the good kind. You know how some people actually have their priorities in check? That’s my mum and dad. They don’t care about fame or fortune. They want to wear their old sweaters and go on walks with their dogs and grow old together.”
“Pretty fucking sweet,” McQueen laughs. “And you come from them?”
“Right?” I shake my head.
“Do you want to fight Geoffrey for it?” Ace asks. “Would you even want the company? If you could have it?”
“Dad would never give it to me. Although he says he wants me to show up and prove my worth, the truth is that I’ve got nothing on Geoffrey. He’s has Fiona, has been working for the business for five years. Meanwhile, I’ve been....”
“Fucking pussy and gambling your inheritance,” Ace says, laughing.
“Exactly. There’s no point in sugar-coating the truth. I’ve been playing hard for years. Can’t make that up in a week.”
“But would you want to?” Jack asks. “If you could?”
I look around the room at my friends. The fuckers who showed up, and stayed put. The guys who, for some reason, decided that even if I was a complete bag of shit they had my back. If I can’t be honest with them, I can’t be honest with anyone.