Maggie, Book 2, Chapter 2 (Patreon)

Maggie led Max and Cole down to meet her father. They went out through the antiseptic kitchen, onto the gravel and walked the curve of the drive to a low flat-roof garage that was separate from the house.

Max walked with nervous tension and Cole sauntered next to him with his hands in his pockets, gaze cast out over the bay, watching the sailboats out there, his messy blonde hair whipping around.

Father was home from golf, stepping out of his black SL roadster. He brought another man home with him. A stocky fine-boned man with a big belly and a red booze-blasted nose. They were both dressed for sport, in polos and slacks, the man with the belly had a Callaway cap pulled low over his thick-lens glasses.

“Hi, Father,” she said as they stepped from the gravel to the squeaky polished cement of his immaculate garage.

“Margaret,” he said loudly into his open car as he pulled out his windbreaker from the backseat. He turned then and she went to him and he took one of her hands and kissed her cheek.

“Max,” he said, holding his jacket in one hand and shaking Max’s hand. “How’s school?” he asked. Martin and Carol kept very close eye on her grades and they’d like to get the same sort of Intelligence on her future husband.

“Great, Martin,” he said, knowing the routine. He said, “4.0.”

Her father didn’t respond. He wasn’t impressed, Max was doing what he was supposed to.

Maggie said, “Father, this is Cole. I told you about him. He’s our best man.”

Her father looked him over and shook his hand while Cole nodded, shook firmly, and said, “Sir.”

While Max was polite and acquiescent, properly dressed and groomed, Cole had a roguish charm. He wore the right clothes but they were unkempt. Untucked black polo, wrinkled khakis, scuffed Sperrys. His hair was wild and his beard was coarse. But he was fit and athletic, he had his summer tan, and fierce dazzling eyes. He was the man her father was at twenty-one. Martin was expressionless but she knew him, could tell he liked Cole and that pleased her.

“Oh,” he said then, as an afterthought, “This is Hartley Westlake. Winter-Oxbow.” The way he said it making her think it was an investment bank.

“Hey,” he said and he shook all their hands, his voice a phlegmy crackle like there was something wrong with him.

Father took Hartley aside a moment and they talked quietly. Her father towered over him. Martin looked impressive even now in his mid-fifties. Six-two and thick salt-and-pepper hair. He commanded a room. Commanded this garage. She turned to Max and Cole, not sure what to do now.

Martin led Hartley up the drive, still engaged in whatever discussion of high-finance they were having and he said over his shoulder, “Max, would you put my clubs away, then you and Cole please meet me up in my office.”

* * *

Cole investigated Martin's liquor cabinet while they waited. It made Max nervous, feeling like he’d be in trouble if Cole Got caught. Cole squeaked crystal lids off crystal decanters and sniffed their amber contents.

“Cole, come on,” Max said.

Cole said, “It's all right, I'm not drinking it... There's no bottles,” he said, looking over the black wooden shelves. “I can't tell what they are but they've got to be some elite-level whiskeys, right?”

“Yeah, probably,” Max said, twisting in one of the chairs that sat in front of Martin's desk in his office. A room as austere as the rest of the house. The view brought the room alive, a windy day out there and sailboats sliced across the bay.

“Cole, seriously,” Max hissed as he tilted a decanter to his lips.

“Wish I had a hip flask,” he said. Then, “Hey, did you see that Porsche?”

“In his garage?”

“Yeah, like a 550 Spyder.”

“I know. He has more cars in storage in Newport. That's just the one he’s driving right now.”

“I fucking love Martin's style, Max,” he laughed, another decanter to his lips. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, said, “I wonder how expensive this is?”

The sound of footsteps on stone carried from the hall and Cole put the crystal down and took a spot in a chair next to Max, bringing him great relief.

Martin came into the room talking on his phone. He spoke in Dutch, and Cole and Max looked at each other. Cole nudged his foot and smiled, mouthed, Relax.

They sat in silence and waited, Max’s feet jumping in triple time. When Martin was done he placed his phone down carefully.

“Max,” he said, getting right to business. “School is well?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he said. “I approved the marriage. But you are young. You're both very young. I don't want the planning of the wedding to interfere with Margaret's work, yes?”

“I know, sir.”

“So,” he said, leaning further forward. “I know young men like to have fun. Joke. Yes? Tomorrow,” he said, “I want one-hundred-percent. We've got a lot to do, I want you in bed early, we accomplish what we need. Because, on Monday, it's back to school. I don't want Margaret thinking about this. The planning of the wedding? ...Carol will do that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bed early, yes? One beer,” he laughed. Eased, said, “Maybe two,” lightening them up. Even Cole laughed.

Then, serious as stone, he leaned in again, said, “Max. The wedding is ten months. You graduate in seven. You will be my Margaret's husband. Your plan?”

Max bristled. Felt challenged. This was normal for Martin but he felt belittled in front of Cole. He could sense the discomfort. But he had proud news so he was undaunted. “Martin, I, uh, I'm going to Wall Street.”

Martin didn't beam. It was the kind of news he wanted to hear but pragmatic as he was he needed more than stated intentions. “I start the day after our honeymoon at Kohl-Kravitz.”

Martin sat up straight, looked at the ceiling, thinking.

Max said, “Paid internship. But they'll arrange for my accredita—”

“KK is,” he mimicked sleeping like a little boy. “After your honeymoon I want you at Oxbow.”

“But, Martin, I've made my int—”

“It's done,” he said, with a dismissive wave of four fingers. “It’s for the best. I will send you Hartley's contact.”

In his periphery Max could see Cole’s eyebrows raise. He felt shame, felt his own face go red.

“Now, you,” he said directly to Cole, swiveling to face him. “You know my daughter?”

“Maggie...Margaret is my very good friend, sir. I'm friends with Max, but Maggie...Margaret is very important to me. I’m there for both of them.”

“Good,” he smiled. “You’ll shave the day of the wedding?”

“Of course, sir,” Cole smiled.

“What do you do?”

“Government and policy, sir. Beltway bound.”

“Law school?”

“Harvard, next fall.”

“Sport?”

“Lacrosse. Midfielder.”

It made Martin smile. He clapped his big hands together and then leaned forward again. Although he was well-groomed and elegant, there was a noticeable masculinity to him. He was lean but big, heavy-boned with large hands and joints. “And, Cole, what do I need to tell you about the Bachelor Party?”

“Nothing, sir,” Cole said.

He held Cole’s eyes a while, then eased back in his chair, said, “Good. That's all. Go,” he waved them away, acting like he was annoyed. “Dinner is in two hours. Carol invited two of Margaret’s best friends. Tell her. I've got work to do,” he said as he took his phone up again and started dialing.

* * *

“What?” Maggie exclaimed.

Ken said, “Susie Kim and Lee Wu.”

“Oh, come on, she has no clue...” Maggie groaned, putting her face in her hands as she sunk into an upholstered chair in the conservatory.

“It's the first nice thing she's done. She didn't let you see your friends when you were in high school...she's loosening up...”

“She has no idea who my friends are...or were. Or...even what Lee might...you know... Be to me...”

Ken’s face went shocked, “Oh no, really? Oh, Maggie. Want me to tell her?”

She laughed. “Oh, can you imagine?”

“I'll tell her, Mom, you invited a guy Maggie had sex with to have dinner with her and her fiancé.”

“She’d build a time machine to go back and stop him.”

“Yeah. She'll think Lee was the reason you ended up in Art.”

“Hey!”

“I'm kidding...Maggie...” he said as he put his arms around her shoulders.

They were in a concrete hall designed specifically for acoustics by two engineers from Boston. It had fabric panels screwed to the wall, angled with precision to the two Louis XIV chairs that she and Ken were sitting in. Ahead of them were a gleaming black grand piano and, resting in a stand, a polished cello. The two of them had spent thousands of hours in this room practicing. Sometimes she thought she would go crazy. It all seemed so long ago even though it was just a few years. She’d been so scared then. Still carried some of it, so did Ken, but it was nice to sit here in this cold scary room and not feel desperate. She felt like she had survived something.

“It's good to see you,” Ken said with sudden thoughtfulness.

She said, “You okay?”

“Mm,” he shrugged. “Tired.”

They both heard Max and Cole before they saw them. Coming down the stairs from the second floor, trying to be quiet, trying to stifle laughter but the act of preventing it making it burst out louder. They were whispering to each other.

They passed the square archway to the conservatory without seeing her and her brother, and Ken called out, “There's no laughing in here, guys.”

The two of them came into the conservatory and they swallowed their smiles, worried that he might be serious. He didn't let them off the hook.

Maggie said, “He's kidding. What's so funny?”

Cole said, “We just got...” he looked around, worried, then got close and whispered, “We got put on the straight and narrow.”

“I hope you guys weren't here to have fun,” Ken said.

Cole said to Ken, “Hey, I hope you don’t think we’re making fun of your dad...”

Ken waved it off, said, “No way, I know...what did he tell you? ...Don’t mess around tomorrow because he’s got a lot to do? ...He hates nonsense.”

“Yeah,” Max said. “Pretty much, exactly.”

“And more,” Cole said, but he didn’t elaborate.

Ken said, “Mom invited Maggie’s old boy-toy.”

“Ken,” she said, slapping his arm.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, rubbing where she’d hit him, his face conveying his realization maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

Max tried to keep a brave face, but all that humor he came in with fell away. He said, “Who?”

Maggie slumped forward, elbows on her knees, she said, “Nobody. Lee.”

“The one who played bass?”

“Yeah,” she said.