Читать книгу The Days of Summer - Jill Barnett, Jill Barnett - Страница 12
ОглавлениеNewport Beach, California
The soil was rich in this Golden State, dark as the oil pumped up from its depths. Bareroot roses planted in the ground bloomed in a matter of weeks, and every spring the lantana tripled in breadth, filling the narrow property lines between homes where every square foot was valued in tens of thousands. Roots from the pepper trees unearthed backyard fences, and eucalyptus grew high into the blue skies, like fabled beanstalks, shooting up so swiftly the bark cracked away and fell dusty to the ground. If you knelt down and dug your hands into the dirt, you could smell its fecundity, and when you stood up you might look—or even be—a little taller.
Billboards sold everyone on growth, and the coastal hills swelled with tracks of housing because people hungered for a false sense of peace from the Pacific views. Newport was not the small resort enclave it had once been, with new restaurants now perched on the waterfront, housed in everything from canneries and beam-and-glass buildings to a grounded riverboat. Luxury homes stood on most lots, which had been subdivided into smaller shapes that couldn’t be measured in anything as archaic as an acre. At the entrances to entire neighborhoods, white crossbars blocked the roads and were raised and lowered by a uniformed security guard in a hut, a kind of cinematic image that brought to mind border crossings and cold wars. But the guard wasn’t there to keep people out; he was there to keep prestige in.
The Banning boys grew into young men here, tall and athletic, golden like everything in California. Thirteen years had changed who they were, now brothers separated by a demand to be something they weren’t. They wanted to win. They had everything, except their grandfather’s approval.
As soon as the opportunity arose, Victor Banning had bought the homes on either side of him, torn them down and renovated the Lido house until it spanned five lots, encompassing the whole point. The place had three docks, boasted a full basketball court and seven garages.
Today, Banning Oil Company was BanCo, involved in everything from petroleum by-products, fuel, and manufacturing to the development of reclaimed oil land. Annually listed as a Fortune 500 company, it was the kind of proving ground hungry young executives clamored to join.
Hunger wasn’t what had sent Jud Banning to work for his grandfather the previous May, when he’d graduated from Stanford Business School in the top five percent with a master’s in corporate finance along with degrees in business and marketing. Expectation sent him there, Victor’s idea of natural order.
Every summer since the start of high school both Jud and his brother had worked for the company in some capacity—mostly peon. But a career working for his grandfather wasn’t the golden opportunity Jud’s grad school buddies imagined. For as much as the house and business had changed, Victor hadn’t. He was still difficult and demanding. Nepotism didn’t feel like favoritism when Victor Banning was the one doling it out.
It was early spring now, a time of year when the morning marine layer seldom hung over the coast, so the sun glinted off the water and reflected from the glass of waterfront homes across the isle; it soaked through a wall of windows on the water side of the Banning home. The dining room grew warm, sunlight spreading like melted butter over the room and over Jud Banning, who was sound asleep at the dining table.
He sat up, suddenly awake. And just as on the last three mornings, the housekeeper stood over him holding a carafe of coffee. He glanced around the room, a thread of panic in his voice. “What time is it?”
“Early.” Time was either early or late in Maria’s eyes. Days, weeks, and months were noted only if they held religious significance—Ash Wednesday, Lent, the Assumption of Mary. You could ask her when the steaks would be done and she’d tell you how to butcher the cow. She had come to work from Mexico as cook, housekeeper, and nanny two days after Jud and Cale arrived, and thirteen years later she was still the only woman in an all-male household. She set the coffee and a mug down with a meaningful thud. “You fall asleep here every night, Jud. Papers everywhere.”
“I know. I know.”
“Mr. Victor is coming home today. You want him to see you like this?”
“He won’t. The board meeting is today.”
“Beds are for sleeping. Desks are for working. Tables are for eating.”
“I’ve never eaten a table,” he said, deadpan. She merely looked at him, so he changed the subject. “I won’t be here next week. I’m going to the island with Cale tomorrow.”
“That boy.” She shook her head and headed for the kitchen. “He never comes home.”
“He’s busy with school.”
“He’s busy with the girls,” Maria said and disappeared around the corner.
Jud could hear the sound of Barbara Walters’s voice on the Today show coming from the kitchen TV, a sign he wasn’t late. Under the charts and graphs, notes, and P&Ls piled on the table he found his watch; it read seven fifteen. He slipped it on and ran both hands through his shaggy hair. He didn’t cut it, just to annoy Victor. Unlike Cale, Jud kept his revolts on a more subtle scale.
Around him were weeks’ worth of paperwork, but stacked on a nearby chair were glossy black presentation folders with his proposal ready for board approval. Today was the first Friday of the month, and the board meeting would begin as always at precisely 10 A. M. From the moment he’d been able to negotiate with another supplier, he knew this was a winner of a deal. It would cut the proposed cost for new oil tankers by over two million dollars, a figure he expected would bowl them over.
So an hour later, he came down the stairs whistling as he tied the knot in his new tie, then shrugged into his suit coat and stopped by a mirror for a quick look. Tugging down on his cuffs, he said, “Old man, have I got a deal for you.”
A few minutes later Maria met him at the door. “Take Mr. Victor’s newspapers with you.” She dumped them on the box of folders he carried and opened the front door for him. “It’s Good Friday. You go to church.”
“Sure thing.” He hadn’t been in a church since his college roommate got married.
The static, machine-gun racket of an air compressor came from the garages, where there was room for seven cars, plus a full maintenance bay and workshop. Harlan had his head under the hood of Victor’s silver Bentley. Three sports cars were parked in the small bays on the left side. A ’59 Porsche 1600D roadster, a ’63 Corvette convertible, and a Jaguar XKE. All of them belonged to Cale. All of them were bright red. But his brother never drove any single one of them with the regularity of a favorite. No matter how many expensive red sports cars Cale bought, none would ever be a replacement for their dad’s MG.
The MG was parked in the fourth bay, gleaming like California sunshine because Harlan was a man who truly loved cars. Every Banning automobile ran to its capacity as a finely tuned machine, engine smooth, body always washed, and the chrome and tires polished.
Jud opened the driver’s door, dropped the folders on the floor, and threw his briefcase on the passenger seat. He opened the trunk and tossed the newspapers inside—the Los Angeles Times, the Examiner, the New York Times, the Wall Street Journal, the Register, the Daily Pilot, and the San Diego Tribune. He didn’t understand his grandfather. If you’d read one paper, hell, you’d read ’em all.
Harlan lifted his head out from underneath the Bentley hood and grabbed a rag from the back pocket of his gray work coveralls. He spotted Jud, frowned, and glanced at an old Banning Oil Company clock on the back wall, then switched off the noisy compressor. “You’re leaving early. Your grandfather’s plane isn’t coming in until nine thirty.”
“I need to be there early.”
But Harlan’s expression said what every Banning employee knew. No one did any board business before Victor arrived. Harlan stuffed the rag in his pocket and went back to work.
Jud let the engine warm up and backed out, waited for the electronic gates, tapping the steering wheel impatiently before he honked the horn twice and sped away.
The Santa Ana headquarters for BanCo occupied the top seven floors of the Grove Building, a glass, metal, and concrete structure that took its vanilla name from the old orange groves that had been plowed under to clear the building site. From Fifth and Main, towering glass buildings bled from one mirrored image into another, looking nothing like farmland. Sound carried up from the nearby freeways, the constant hum of cars along Interstate 5, and the air had an energized buzz, a swarming sound of human activity that hung above busy streets at lunchtime and after five.
On the fifteenth floor, no traffic noise came into the boardroom as Victor Banning sat in front of his unopened proposal folder and listened to Jud talk.
“I know Banning has never dealt with Marvetti Industries,” Jud said. “But I’ve met with them and found their tankers to be top of the line.”
Victor heard the word “Marvetti” and stood up. “This meeting is over.” A pointed pause of absolute silence existed for a nanosecond, then the board members dropped their folders and fled the room like rats from a sinking ship.
Jud stared at him, red-faced. “What the hell was that all about?”
“We’ll talk in my office.” Victor headed for his private office.
Silently, Jud followed him inside and shut the doors. “Okay. What’s going on?”
Victor took his time. He sat down at his desk, a large, impressive piece of rectangular furniture that put space between him and everyone else. “You tell me.”
“Tell you what? You cut the meeting off in the middle of my presentation.”
“To stop you before you made a complete fool of yourself.”
Immediately Jud’s hackles went up, his body language stiff and all too readable. Sometimes Victor forgot how young he was. By the time Victor was twenty-five, he’d learned to be ruthless, how to protect his ass and his business. He had a wife and child at home and he worked eighteen-hour days with single-minded purpose.
“I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself. Do you think I don’t know how to make a presentation?” Jud drove a hand through his goddamned long hair. “Shit …”
“You’re standing knee-deep in shit right now with this Marvetti deal.”
“Marvetti’s company has the rigs ready for purchase. We don’t have to wait for Fisk to reinforce their tankers. We don’t have to order the tractors separately. With Marvetti, it’s all one deal and the tanker reinforcements have already been done. All at a cost that’s a third less.”
Victor just looked at him. He hadn’t done the right research.
“This deal—my deal—will save the company two million dollars.” Jud held up two fingers. “Two million dollars.”
“I can’t believe my own flesh and blood could be so fucking stupid. Just what did they teach you in six years of college?”
“Enough to figure out how to cut a deal with one of the biggest suppliers in the world.”
Victor laughed at him.
“We’ve never dealt with Marvetti before.” Jud tapped his chest. “I got us in. Me.”
“You actually think I can’t make a deal with anyone I want?”
His grandson had no quick comeback. The kid wasn’t stupid, just green. Jud’s voice was quiet when he said, “I checked the company records. There’s no record of any deal with Marvetti.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Because we didn’t have an in.”
“Who told you that?”
“Joe Syverson said there was a rumor that Marvetti hated you.”
“I wouldn’t do business with him when I was small potatoes, and I sure as hell won’t do it now. You should have asked me, not Syverson.”
“The last time I asked you a question, you said you weren’t going to wet-nurse me through my job. You told me to learn to think for myself.”
“‘Think’ is the definitive word, Jud.”
“Go to hell.”
“For Christ’s sake, stop glaring at me and calm down. Tell me how this deal of yours came about.”
“I ran into Richard Denton at the club a few months back.” Jud began to pace in front of Victor’s desk. “He asked me to have drinks with his foursome. Marvetti’s sales manager was one of the group.”
“So they came after you.”
“No.” Jud spun around and faced him. “That’s not what happened. I had to work my butt off for this deal. I did everything but kiss his ass.”
The kid never saw it coming, Victor thought. “Was Fitzpatrick there?”
“Yes.”
Victor looked up at Jud. “So you think men like Denton and Fitzpatrick are going to welcome you into their inner business circle just like”—Victor snapped his fingers—“that? Why would they do that? Because you went to Stanford? Because they like your looks? Because you drive a hot little MG, wear cashmere sweaters, and can shoot three under par on the back nine? Or do you think it just might be because you’re my grandson?” Victor leaned forward, his palms flat on the desktop. “You’re a snot-nosed kid just out of college.”
Jud’s head snapped back as if Victor had punched him.
“You’re twenty-five years old and you have a helluva lot to learn.” Victor took a long deep breath and sat back in his chair. “First rule of business: Examine the offer. Don’t look first at what kind of deal they’re giving you. Look at what’s in it for them.”
“I know what’s in it for them. A multimillion-dollar deal with BanCo. That’s what I can give them,” Jud said, wounded pride in his voice.
Victor understood pride in all its forms. “You’re exactly right.”
Jud looked confused. He ran on ego instead of instinct, something he had yet to develop.
“If a smart businessman wants something and can’t get it, he looks to his opponent’s weakest spot.” Victor paused, then said, “In my case, you’re it.”
Jud spoke through a tight jaw. “Just what do you want from me?”
“I want you to do your job. When you start a deal, you make damn sure you know everything there is to know about who you’re dealing with. Especially their motives. You find out their shoe size, their kids’ names, their goddamn blood type. Know how much they paid the Internal Revenue Service last year. Know every fucking thing there is to know before you ever negotiate anything.”
“What’s wrong with Marvetti? Why won’t you deal with them?”
“I’m not going to do your job. You need to use your head, dammit. I want you to understand that—”
“You want me to be perfect!”
“No. I don’t believe in miracles.” Victor would have bet Jud wanted to hit him right then. He took a deep breath. “What I want is for you to learn to work the same way I do. I want you to think like I do.”
“Why in the hell would I want to be like you?”
Victor stood up. “You cocky young fool. You have no idea of the mistakes ahead of you.”
“Yes I do. I’m looking at my biggest mistake, old man. I thought I could be part of this company. You’re the one who’s mistaken if you think I ever want to be anything like you!”
“Then you’re stupid, and I’ve never thought that of you, Jud. You wanted to learn this business. Then watch me and goddamn learn it!”
“I didn’t ask to be raked over the coals every time I turn around! I can’t do anything right around you!” Jud leaned on the desk.
They were almost nose to nose. Victor straightened, then spoke in a calmer tone. “Your only problem is that you’re young. And you don’t like to admit you’re wrong.”
“With you I’m always wrong.”
“You’re not always wrong. You just think you know everything.”
“Then I guess I am just like you.”
In the utter silence that followed, Victor asked himself how many mistakes it would take to crack through this kid’s hard head. He thought Jud was like Rudy in that and he looked at the angry young man standing before him and felt as if he’d been thrown back in time. Rudy would have run the company into the ground, but Jud was whip-smart, took chances, and he was the stronger of the boys. Unlike Cale—who was screwing his way through Loyola—a woman would never get between Jud and the business. Jud didn’t think with his fly.
“You think I’m tough on you? Well, I am.” Victor sat again, leaning back in his chair and never taking his eyes off Jud. “I built this business by being tough and I’ll be damned if I’m going to lose it because you’re too hardheaded to listen and learn.”
“So what am I supposed to tell Marvetti? My grandfather said no deal. I can hear the buzz now. ‘Jud Banning is a real pussy. A puppet. He does exactly what his grandfather tells him.’ Great … just great.”
“You want me to give you all the answers and I’m not going to. I didn’t have anyone to tell me what to do. Solve this yourself. Show the world the kind of a man you are.”
“So in this hard-edged, tough business world of yours, you become a man by welshing on a deal? How in the hell will anyone ever take me seriously?”
Victor leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and merely looked at him. He refused to lead Jud through life by the nose.
“Damn you, Victor. This is my deal. I have to lose my respect and integrity because you don’t like Marvetti?”
“You lost your integrity when you let his flunkies lure you into a business deal with him. Find out for yourself why. Then you come and tell me how good your deal is.”
Anger, humiliation, and something almost elemental were in Jud’s taut features. “I want the chance to make my own mark on this company, to do things my way.”
“Your way is wrong.” Victor didn’t move. Jud was pigheaded but Victor knew he wouldn’t cross that final line—the one that would send his butt out of the company. The silence between them was tense, and silence between people said more than words ever could. “Go on.” Victor waved a hand and looked away. “Get out of here.” He picked up a folder on his desk, but when Jud was almost out the door he called his name. “Don’t come back until you’re ready to do things the right way.”
Jud jerked open the door. “You mean your way.”
“Yes. I mean my way.”
Loyola University Marymount College, Del Rey Hills, California
There were no doctors in the Banning family. Cale wasn’t trying to follow in some relative’s hallowed footsteps. He defied Victor’s rule of natural order, but not for the sake of defiance. When Cale was young and someone asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, his answer was always the same. While his friends vacillated between a cowboy one week and a fireman the next, he saved the life of everything from earthworms to a neighbor’s half-drowned cat. Whenever a seagull flew into the almost invisible glass windows of the Lido house, Cale would put the senseless gull in a box with a beach towel warm from the dryer, and an hour later the bird would have flown away.
Those nights he would sleep without moving. He would crawl out of his bed the next morning, the sheets still tucked in, and later Maria would swear he’d slept on the floor or in Jud’s room. The truth was, he never tried to sleep in Jud’s room after that first month. Their boyhood closeness was just that, part of boyhood. Jud was his brother, but like those unsuspecting seagulls, Cale had slammed headfirst into a glass wall Victor built between them enough times to not fly there anymore.
By the time Cale started high school, he sought his comfort from the opposite sex. At college those first few years, partying was preferable to catching some Z’s, and he had a new freedom living away from home. Everyone slept in dorms, which was where he headed that afternoon as he left the student post office with an envelope from the University of Washington.
A cool afternoon breeze swept in from the Pacific, pushing the smog farther inland and away from the campus perched on a bluff above the western fringes of the LA basin. Students sat on benches and lounged across lawns surrounded with the clean smell of mown grass and beds of rosebushes with flowers the size of an open hand. As on most days, older priests and nuns played boccie at one end of the green, a spot called the Sunken Garden, and some students tossed around a Frisbee at the other end. A banner painted with a bulldog behind bars and the cry Pound the Zags! hung between two huge magnolia trees in the middle of the mall, because tonight—the last night before spring break—was the night when Loyola challenged Gonzaga for the number one position in their division.
Cale’s mind wasn’t on the big game when he left Saint Robert’s Hall and headed straight for the senior apartments, a three-story stucco-and-wood building that could have easily melted into any block of apartments in any part of LA. Four seniors shared each two-bedroom unit, but the place was empty when he tossed his books on an orange Formica table, grabbed a cold Coors, and headed for his room, which smelled like old socks, wet towels, and pizza. He sat down on the bed, staring down at the white envelope for a long time before he opened it and unfolded the letter.
March 24, 1970
Dear Mr. Banning:
We regret to inform you that you do not meet our requirements for admission into the University of Washington School of Medicine.
Blah … blah … blah … He crushed the letter into a ball and rested his head on his fists. Every letter was the same. The rejections from the first-tier schools had come rapid-fire fast—Harvard, Stanford, Johns Hopkins. The rest came week after week, like some unending boxing match he was destined to lose.
The door flew open with a bang and his roommate and teammate shuffled in singing the team fight song off-key, “Willie and the tall boys are dancing, on the home court tonight.”
William Dorsey was the grandson of a big band leader whose musical talent was not passed on to subsequent generations, but whose showmanship was. Will loved a cheering crowd, whether it was on the basketball court or in the dorm back in their freshman year when he was the only guy who could chug a six-pack of Colt 45 malt liquor in under three minutes and not throw up. He was a basketball star. Six foot six, a loose walker, all rubber arms and legs, and on the court he was magic in motion. His jump shot was tops; he could score more points in two minutes than any other player in the division; and it was no surprise when he was unanimously voted captain of the Lions. Scouts had been around him at almost every game.
Will kicked the door closed and stopped to blow a ritual kiss at a color eight-by-ten photo of Jeannine Byer, a knockout blonde, a Mount Saint Mary’s nursing student. He gave Cale a quick glance, then stopped. “Who died?”
“Me.” Cale held up the crumpled letter.
“Another one? Which school?”
“U Dub.”
“Ah, hell, man. You didn’t wanna go there anyway. It rains all the time.” Will dropped his books on the floor, picked up a metal wastebasket, and balanced it on his head. “Here.” He pointed to the basket. “That letter belongs in here. Those sorry bastards. One throw. Come on, man. Go for it!”
Cale pitched the letter into the air; it arced across the room and dropped inside the basket with a soft ping.
Will lifted Cale’s Coors can to his mouth like a mike. He blew into it, making a hollow sound. Mimicking a famous American sportscaster, he said, “We have an-nuther goal scored by Cale Banning tonight. He is well on his way to breaking all … ex-zisting records for med school rejection! But there’s hope! This erudite fuckup of Loyola has not exhausted all his options. Canada? Mexico? The third world countries? Or if all else fails, Mis-ter Cale Banning can apply to Uncle-Sam-Wants-U, where he will swiftly be transferred to the renowned University of Da Nang!”
“Funny.” Cale threw a wet towel at him. “University of Da Nang, my ass.”
“Hell, if I were sending men into the jungle, I wouldn’t want dropouts leading the way.” Will swept a couple of eight-track tapes off the bed, fell back flat on the mattress, and crossed his big feet. He was wearing squeaky huarache sandals he’d bought for a buck on a weekend trip down to Tijuana over Thanksgiving break. “When I was dreaming of the draft, I was thinking NBA, not U. S. Army.” He folded his hands behind his head and lay staring up at the ceiling before he raised his head off the pillow and looked at Cale. “Your MCATs aren’t doing it?”
“Med schools are packed. No one wants to go to Da Nang.”
“Too many body counts on the news. Was that the last of your applications?”
“No. I haven’t heard from San Diego, Texas, and University of Southern California.”
“What are you going to do if they all say nada?”
Head down, Cale rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know.”
“I can’t believe you gave away your Grade Point Average for a forty-inch bust. Did you go to any classes last year?”
“Some.”
There was a long pause before Will asked, “Was she worth it?”
Cale laughed bitterly. “No.”
“Have you talked to your grandfather yet?”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. I’m looking forward to that conversation.”
Will picked up a basketball and began to toss it from hand to hand. “Victor Banning. The great and powerful Oz. I only met him once. Kept wishing I had a crucifix to hold in front of my face.”
“One of his better qualities.”
“He has to be able to help you. With his connections?” Will quit tossing the basketball and faced Cale. “What would happen if you had a heart-to-heart talk with him?”
“He doesn’t have a heart.”
“Talk to him.”
“I’ve spent years trying to talk to my grandfather. No one talks to Victor. He talks to them. Every time I go home, I hear about how I’m throwing my future away. It’s one of the many reasons I don’t go home.” Cale looked down, then shook his head. “God, Will. How could I screw up so bad?”
The only sound in the room was the basketball bouncing off the ceiling, then nothing but a long silent pause. Will held the basketball at chest level, looking at him. “Bad-ly,” he said, and threw the ball at Cale.
Instinctively, Cale caught it, then laughed. “Kiss my ass, you literate jock.”
Will grabbed the ringing phone. “Timothy Leary’s House of Hash. You smoke ’em, we coke ’em.” His gaze shifted to Cale. “Yeah, he’s here … somewhere. Let me see if I can find him. Oh, I think I see his foot. There! Yes! In the corner! He’s buried under … Wait! Wait, I need a skip-loader here.” He paused for drama, then shook his head. “Uh-oh. Too bad. Looks like he’s a goner. Make a note for his epitaph, will you? ‘Here lies Cale Banning, who, on April 3, 1970, suffocated to death under the largest pile of med school rejections in the history of the modern world.’” Will held out the phone and whispered, “It’s Jud. Lucky Mr. Four-F.”
“Hey, there, big brother.”
“Hey, you.” Jud’s bass voice sounded exactly like their dad’s. Cale always had to take that one extra second to remember who was on the other end.
“Will Dorsey is a nutcase,” Jud said.
“Yeah.” Cale looked at Will. “I know. You ought to try living with him. It’s like being trapped inside a Ferlinghetti poem.”
Will flipped him off and jogged into the bathroom. A couple of seconds later, Cale heard the shower running, then the tinny notes of a transistor radio playing a Jimi Hendrix song. “What’s going on?” Cale asked Jud.
“I’m on a pay phone at the steamer dock, waiting to board the boat. I’m going to the island a day early.”
Damn … He’d forgotten this was the weekend they’d planned to meet at the Catalina place. “I can’t leave yet, Jud. There’s a play-off game tonight.”
“I know. I just wanted to let you know I’m going over early. I’ve got to get out of here today.”
“What’s wrong?”
“What isn’t wrong.” Jud sounded disgusted.
“Victor.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get me started. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.”
They hung up. He hadn’t seen Jud in months. Cale used school as an excuse to avoid going home; it had become a comfortable habit. He used sports, studying, anything to weasel out of going to Newport. Nothing waited for him at home but Victor’s expectations. He grabbed his game gear from under the bed, slung the athletic bag over a shoulder, and hammered on the bathroom door, then opened it. Steam hit him in the face. “How long are you going to be in here?”
“Till I’m clean.”
Cale turned down the radio.
“What’s going on with Mr. Perfect?” Will asked.
“Jud’s not perfect.”
“He’s a helluva lot closer than anyone I know.”
Cale glanced in the mirror at his foggy reflection. Smeared and far from perfect. Maybe his grandfather wasn’t the only person he was avoiding. Jud had been accepted to his first choice—Stanford—for both undergraduate and graduate studies. He wouldn’t have any idea what a rejection letter looked like. Cale’s most insurmountable problems were a piece of cake for Jud, who skated through life on silver skates, never slipping, never falling. Never failing. Jud first took off for college when Cale was still in high school, and he knew he would never forget that summer, because Victor gave Jud their dad’s MG.
By August it was just Victor and him, which meant they lived in a house of silence until a long weekend or school vacation when Jud came home. Life was pretty much a set formula. Jud set the bar; Cale usually failed to meet it. From the very day they drove up to their grandfather’s home in that long black limo, his life had been very different from his older brother’s, and he had the feeling that was exactly the way Victor wanted it.
Cale zipped his shaving kit closed. “I’m going to meet my brother tomorrow at the Catalina place. Since it looks like you’re gonna stay in that shower till graduation, I’m heading over to the gym. I’ll shower there.” He closed the door, but stopped in the middle of the room. The torn envelope sat on his bed. Talk to Victor, Will had said. Cale could just hear his grandfather now. You young fool. You let a girl snatch away your dreams. Your only job was to go to college and study, not skip classes and screw some sweet young thing. Victor had an uncanny ability to zero in on an open, bleeding wound and stick a knife squarely into it.
Cale threw the envelope in the trash. No way he would go to Newport now. Will had been right on when he’d called Victor the great and powerful Oz. He was. But for Cale, no place was home.
