Overlooked(2)(26)
While still standing, I ask her, “Would you like a tour of the house?” Everybody always wants a tour.
“I’m good. I don’t need a tour of some shrine to the one percent,” she says, staring straight at me. Here we go, the topic I wanted to avoid.
Sitting, I say, “The world wants to give me a billion dollars and you think I should turn around and say thanks but no thanks?”
“Oh, the world just handed you the money?”
“I didn’t rape anyone for it, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Not directly, anyway.”
“Whereas you paint for the masses. I suppose after you finish at Kelso’s, you’ll be heading down to your local housing project to hand out your work for free.”
Her eyes narrow, and I can’t help feeling under attack by shooting daggers.
She cocks her head and says, “How much did you give to charity last year?”
“Lots.”
“Lots by your standards or mine?”
“I’ll show you,” I say, standing, “If you can stomach walking through my house to get there.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come with me and you’ll see.”
Skye takes my offered hand and I lead her through my house and into the home office I dedicate to my charity. The walls are lined with photos of people the charity has helped, along with all the awards it’s won.
I’m not sure why I’m showing her this room. The only other people who have seen it are my sisters. When I first told her to come with me, I wanted to show her up, to stop her anti-rich bullshit. But by the time we’re halfway down the hall, I realize it’s not that. I want her to like me, to approve of me. And know me.
“Don’t tell me, it’s your own charity,” she says, looking at me sideways. Figures she wouldn’t approve of a rich person’s charitable foundation.
“Of course. I want to be sure the maximum amount of money is reaching the people I want to help.”
While I stand still and watch, she examines the photos on the wall nearest her, walking along the wall after she’s satisfied with each one. When she comes to an award, she reads out the certificate.
“The Heywood Foundation. It doesn’t say who all these people are.” She pauses. “Cancer?”
“Orphans,” I say, smirking.
“Ah, orphans. Of course. Everyone wants to help the orphans.”
“Actually, you’re wrong. Everybody feels for an orphan, but there’s a shocking lack of actual help. My foundation helps by providing counseling, income support, scholarships, funding to keep siblings together, apprenticeships, vacation camps. You name it, we provide it. I give the charity half of my profits, and that will increase once Kelso goes.”
“How noble.” It’s impossible not to notice the sarcasm in her voice.
“Don’t you want to know why orphans? Why not all the other good causes in the world?”
“Okay, I’ll bite,” she says returning to me and grabbing my hand.
I take her to the far wall, to a photo of my two sisters and me standing in front of a huge group of people of all ages.
My breathing is shallow. I’ve shared my story a thousand times at events for my charity, but I’ve never spoken about this to a person in private before.
“This is a photo of all the orphans I’ve helped.”
Skye squints her eyes as she examines it.
“Isn’t that your sister?” she asks, pointing to Julie.
“Yeah, she’s the first orphan I ever helped.”
Skye’s eyes widen. She swallows as she moves all her attention from the photo to me.
My eyebrows arch and I shrug. “My parents were killed in a car accident when I was sixteen. There weren’t any relatives to take us in, so I quit school to support my two younger sisters.” Though her face falls as I talk, I carry on.
“When I left school, I got a job as a hotel bellhop. I did every job at the hotel, from valet parker to bookkeeping. It ended up being an amazing apprenticeship. By the time I turned twenty-one, I had so much experience, I was ready to open my own hotel. But I didn’t have any money. That’s when I met Kelso.”
She shudders when I say his name. So do most people who’ve met him.
“He proposed building the hotel for a cut of the profits. Sounded great to me, it was the only way I’d ever be able to have my own hotel. It was a massive success, so Kelso kept on building them and I kept on running them. Until I got fed up with the asshole.”
“That’s why you’re splitting?”
“Yeah. I should’ve done it years ago.”
Skye pushes her body close to mine, wraps her arms around me and nuzzles her face against my T-shirt. I smooth her hair back and kiss the top of her head.