Hide-and-Seek

Meanwhile, it was time to get on with my day and do something productive for a change.

As I reached for my phone, apart from usual let’s-get-a-drink messages from my buddies, I saw there was a message from Jared.

Finally!

He wanted to meet for a drink. Let’s make it casual, it said. Did that mean that I had gotten what I wanted? I couldn’t really tell what he thought about my prospects after we reminisced about his mom and Charlie.

“My people will be in touch with you,” he’d said, when the interview had finished.

Yes, I remembered that he used “my people” and I’d thought it had not sounded good. So why was he sending me a message himself? Whatever it was, it was better than no news. I sent a few messages back canceling some appointments, which also were going to include alcohol consumption. Let’s get a drink with the son of our former cook who was a hundred times richer than me. Drinking was something I wasn’t too bad at. However, I needed something more to take the edge off. It was an important meeting, and I did not want to cock it up.

Just as I was about to get into the shower, my phone rang. The screen showed Natasha.

“Hey, gorgeous,” I said. “How are things?”

Natasha Cunningham and I had been having a relationship for a year, which one could describe as “occasional friends with benefits.” She was one of the most beautiful women I’d evet met, a real head turner when we’d been out together. Natasha knew how to dress to stop other men breathing. She had made a wise decision not to look like a clone of all those celebrities who were famous for being famous. She went for Linda Evangelista type of chic, kept her beautiful hair short and looked gorgeous in everything. She liked glamor and being at the center of attention, which suited me because I kind of liked those things myself – they were good for my business projects. Natasha was a pragmatic lady, maybe a bit too pragmatic for her age. She was twenty-five. Started as a hostess in a fancy restaurant when she was twenty year old, Natasha developed a slew of extremely useful connections with people who kGOlnew people with titles and money. She quit being a hostess, read Dostoyevsky and Dickens to educate herself, became a socialite supported by some generous gentlemen and moved on to more ambitious projects.

Natasha had heard about the Montagues and the beautiful estate with a single heir who had been available for the taking and had arranged to bump into me at some event “by accident” and we had some more “bumping” a bit later in my apartment. Our almost-twenty-year age difference didn’t bother her much. She had a goal of getting an old and titled last name with lots of money. She had neither of those things yet, but she was incredibly determined and had kept me as one of the possible candidates to fulfill her dream. What I liked about her was that she had never lied to me about it and hadn’t minded my little adventures “on the side”.

“I’m well, Sasha,” she said. She liked to use a Russian diminutive for Alexander. She thought it sounded sophisticated when we had been out but didn’t speak one word of Russian. “So, I called Christopher to see if he was still on for tonight and found out that you aren’t going with us. I thought you’d make more time for your friends and me in your extremely busy schedule.”

I detected sarcasm in extremely busy schedule but decided to let it pass. I had not been known for being terribly over occupied. Besides, it was somewhat unusual for me not to participate in a drinking outing with my university mate Christopher Deven who apparently was on Natasha’s speed dial these days. It sort of made sense because he was also one the “aristos,” which had made him a person of interest for Natasha. As far as I knew, she hadn’t made any moves towards his estate yet. Natasha had just enjoyed being seen surrounded by people who had coats of arms over their entrances. Be that as it may, I made a mental note about Christopher being mentioned but let it pass as well. “Right, I have a business appointment,” I said, looking for my robe.

“I hope she’s worth it,” she said laughing. Natasha wasn’t a jealous type, but she liked to joke about it.

“Nothing compares to you, dear,” I tried to sing the line from a famous song.

“Sasha, you’re a terrible singer. When can I see you?”

“I’ll give you a call tomorrow.” I found my robe and was ready to go to take that shower.

“Okay.” She ran off. Natasha never wasted her time.

Chapter 3

Jared met me at the entrance to his office building in the early evening. I was on time and ready for any type of conversation thanks to a magic substance called Ching, which conveniently was in a tiny brown glass jar, snugged in my blazer’s inner pocket. I had picked it up from a reliable friend with pharmaceutical background on the way and had taken a bit of it to be extra ready.

“Thanks for coming, Alex,” he said shaking my hand.

“My pleasure,” I said.

He had a similar casually expensive look. It seemed that he didn’t want to be bothered with anything that had buttons on and was sporting a dark blue linen T-shirt with no print on and a pair of black jeans with black deerskin sneakers. I’d say the whole ensemble was purchased in a Zegna boutique. A bit too humble for a man like Jared, but who was I to judge?

Since it was an informal situation, I’d decided to keep it simple and to look like I was on my way to some sport event. I chose a doeskin wool two-button blazer from Ralph Lauren; you can’t go wrong with classic. Besides, it could get a bit chilly in the evening. A stretch checked shirt from Corneliani was tucked into a pair of cotton tailored trousers from Brunello Cucinelli. I also felt comfortable in my Carlos penny loafers by Santoni and was on time thanks to my dad’s discontinued blue dial AP Royal Oak. I had kind of tricked him into lending that horology masterpiece to me for a business meeting a few years ago. “It would go well with my shoes, don’t you think?” I believed my line was. I forgot to give it back to him after the meeting and he never asked about it either. Back then, we could forget about things like that.

“Let’s get a pint and sit down by that window,” Jared said, pointing to the farthest corner of the pub.

The place was not too far from Jared’s office, but I was a bit surprised that he chose this old unpretentious, like his wardrobe, place. People with new money often like to show they have it, but I imagine Jared wasn’t one of those people. Perhaps he owned the place. He probably bought it secretly to show other people how humble he was or something. I bet there would be some fancy kind of craft beer with a fruity flavor and healthy snacks.

We grabbed our beers and sat down at an old table.

“Cheers,” Jared said and drank a good half of his glass. “That’s more like it!” he said and put his glass down.

I took a sip. The beer was good. Nothing pretentious, but a good old lager. I had some more and decided to let him talk.

“Listen Alex,” Jared said after wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I just wanted to have a chat with you away from the office. So, there’ll be no shop talk tonight.”

Great! I came here for nothing.

“We’ll do all that next week,” he continued.

Now, that sounds better. Let’s chat away.

“Let’s finish these and order another round, shall we?” he said and, without waiting for my approval, he gave a sign to the bartender for more beer. “Bottoms up?”

Now, that is the game I play well. We drained our glasses.

“I come here all the time. Hugh, the bartender, knows me well and doesn’t mind bringing drinks over when I ask him,” Jared said.

He definitely owns the place.

“Okay,” I said.

“They say it’s one of the best pubs in town,” Jared said, looking around.

“Never been here.”

“You’re probably wondering why we’re meeting here.”

“That crossed my mind. Yes.”

“Well, perhaps, you don’t know this, but I spent quite a bit of time overseas. Your family was good to my mom, and she was able to save some money so we could go to our relatives in the States.”

I didn’t remember any of that. Why would I? Jared was not in my circle of friends. He was not on the same level as me socially either. In fact, I didn’t think I had ever talked to him much when we were kids.

Hugh, a middle-aged man with tattooed hands and a goatee, brought our drinks and put them on the table. Jared just nodded to thank him.

“I didn’t really want to go across the pond because I enjoyed my time here. The little cottage behind the main house my mother and I shared and the time playing with the local boys and …”

“Charlie,” I ended the sentence for him.

“And Charlie. Right.” Jared smiled and lifted his second glass. “Here’s to your little brother.”

Jared took a hearty sip from his glass. I followed suit.

“There was just something about that boy,” Jared said. “He was so kind and …what’s the word I’m looking for here?”

“Gregarious.” I made my guess and meant it about my little brother.