42. Penn
Chapter 42
Penn
Hugo and I have agreed to meet for dinner after the play rehearsal. He sent me the address for a sports bar called Hen Pecked, which is a damn clever name.
An agro-tourism conference in Denver called Hugo away for a week, and he's been busy at the mill. This is the first time I've seen him since I told Daisy the truth.
He's already here, sitting up at the long bar, a draft beer sweating on a coaster in front of him.
"What's good, buddy?" I say, smacking Hugo lightly on the back. I pull out a leather topped stool and settle in beside him. "Cool place. Great ambiance."
It's a chill place with TVs everywhere, the walls decorated with signed framed jerseys of various sports teams, and pennants on the wall. The bar top is reclaimed wood, bearing scratches and grooves and covered by epoxy.
Hugo eyes me suspiciously. "Why do you sound jovial?"
I point at my chest. "Me?"
His eyes narrow further. "Yes. You."
I thank the bartender with a lift of my chin when he delivers a bowl of honey mustard pretzels, and the same beer Hugo's drinking. "Hugo, my friend, I am on the other side of my lie. I think that deserves some jovialness." I frown at the word that is most definitely not a word. "Joviality? I don't know. Words aren't my thing. The point is, I get to be around Daisy as myself." The relief has grown exponentially since the moment I told her. I feel like one of those classic movies where a woman sings on a prairie, never losing the smile plastered to her face.
Except for the teeny tiny little fact Daisy is marrying Duke. While I'm sublimely happy Daisy knows the truth, there's a katana swiping at my heart no matter how relieved I am.
Hugo side-eyes me as he drinks. "Well," he says, setting his beer down. "You're still alive, so that's saying something. Daisy didn't kill you when you came clean."
I hold my hands out in front of me like I know, right?
Hugo laughs. "She called me a dirty liar."
"You are."
Hugo mimes stabbing me with what I assume is a sword. "You're such a dick, Penn."
"Little too much affection in that tone of voice for me to take you seriously, buddy."
"Hugo!" A man's voice carries across the place.
I swivel on my seat, watching three men approach.
"Hugo, you better tell me right fucking now that this is a mirage."
"No can-do. How was I supposed to get you to join guy's night?"
"With Duke The Twat?" I say, doing my best not to stare down Daisy's fiancé.
"I thought he was Duke the Wet Paper Towel?" Hugo says under his breath, standing up to greet the men.
"Guys," Hugo says, shaking hands. "Elijah, Chris, this is my friend, Peter."
"Nice to see you again, Peter," Duke interrupts.
I ignore him, focusing on Elijah and Chris. "My name is actually Penn. Hugo here"—I clap him on the back—"calls me Peter sometimes. Inside joke."
Duke stares me down. Hugo does his best not to gape.
Now that Daisy knows my true identity, there's no reason everybody else shouldn't know also.
"Why don't you guys grab that big booth in the back corner?" Duke says, gesturing out into the place. "Penn and I will bring over a round."
Hugo glances reluctantly between me and Duke, but doesn't put up a fight. He grabs our half-empty beers, leaves our bowl of pretzels, and leads Elijah and Chris to the big booth.
Duke steps up to the bar, and I step up beside him. "If you wanted to get me alone so you could apologize, let me tell you in advance, I accept."
"Shut the fuck up," Duke hisses. "I don't know what the fuck it is you think you're doing, going by your real name, but it doesn't go any further than right here." He points a finger at the floor of Hen Pecked. "You are not back, Penn. You have not returned with the intention to stay. Quit telling people the truth when you know you're moving on anyway. It's bad enough you told Daisy, don't go making it worse by telling the rest of the town."
I get the bartender's attention and order another round. "I have to tell you, it feels pretty good coming clean. I don't think lying is for me."
"I'm sure there are some lies you're planning on keeping." Duke's in control of himself now, his voice smooth and practiced. "Can't lay all your shit bare."
He props his forearms on the bar top, not looking at me. Millions of dollars, and the fucker looks like he could grace a magazine cover for women to drool over, but he's so threatened by me he's trying to dictate what I do. The lies I tell, the truths I uncover.
"You know, Duke, it's looking like I might. And that scares you, right?" He is ramrod straight, nothing moving, save for a tic in a muscle near his jaw. "The question is, why?"
He says nothing.
"Why, oh why?" I wax poetic, ready to break into iambic pentameter. Did pissing off Duke just become my favorite pastime? Possibly.
"You could let her out of your agreement," I murmur, discreet.
He flinches. Finally, a break in that stone cold veneer. "That's right, bud. She told me."
He bends his head, turning it my way so I can see his lips when he says under his breath, "You're the dalliance."
"I can honestly say, that's something I've never been called."
"Your fucking one-liners are obnoxious."
"That's a matter of opinion."
"She talked to me recently, wanting to know how we were going to address"—he gives an uncomfortable cough—"our personal needs. I told her we could have a dalliance ," his eyes meet mine pointedly, like now are you understanding? .
I already knew what he meant, but the explanation of it blows my mind. Is this what mega-wealthy people do? Make marriage a means to an end? And consider sex a dalliance, a task completed?
"Gives new meaning to get in, get off, get out ."
I wait for him to take the bait, to give me more shit for my one-liner, but he ignores it. "I'm guessing Daisy has chosen you?"
Is this smooth faced fucker actually asking me this question? I swipe a hand down my face. I can't decide if this conversation is real, or if it's the worst dream I've ever had. But here's what I know for damn sure: I won't be talking about Daisy in this way. Anything Daisy and I do in the future, or have already done, is not up for discussion with anybody else.
I'm about to tell him just that, but he opens his mouth and says, "It might be hard for you to believe, but I genuinely care about Daisy. If it were only about me, or Daisy, I would back out. But this isn't just about us."
The bartender sets down two of our five beers. I grab one and chug half. "Mrs. St. James."
He nods.
"I don't know her nearly as well as you, but something tells me she wouldn't want her daughter marrying somebody she doesn't love."
Duke takes the other beer, drinking deeply like me. "She most definitely would not. But who's going to be the one to tell her? You? You're going to drive onto the St. James farm in that big, loud truck? Dog trotting by your side? You're gonna tell them that even though you've been passing yourself off as Peter Bravo, you're really Penn Bellamy and now you're all grown up and here for their daughter?"
"Fuck you," I say under my breath, but his words hit where he intends them. He's not wrong, and he knows it. Who am I to show up at the St. James house and tell them I'm back? What is it I bring to the table?
The bartender delivers the remaining three beers, and Duke offers his credit card to keep the tab open. When the bartender turns away, Duke says, "You should have stayed Peter."
I tap the bottom of my glass against the bottom of his. "You should do a better job hiding how much I intimidate you."
I spend the next ninety minutes getting to know Elijah and Chris. Duke retreats into himself, becoming a sullen motherfucker, and when he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, he returns with two shots of whiskey, both of which he takes.
"Is this your fault?" Hugo asks quietly when Elijah and Chris are in conversation about the financial markets. His gaze slices over to Duke, who sits between Elijah and Chris in the booth, in the middle of their conversation, but not taking part in it.
"You mean the petulant millionaire pouting in the corner?"
"Yep." Hugo stands, motioning me up with a lift of his chin. "We're grabbing refills," he announces to the table.
When our backs are turned, I say, "If anything, I'm the one who should be sad-eyeing my beer. He said some mean shit to me while we were getting drinks."
"You threaten him."
"I did not threaten him."
"No," Hugo shakes his head. "You threaten him. Your presence." He orders another round, but I decline. When the bartender leaves to fill the order, he turns to me and says, "Imagine you're Duke. You're about to marry Daisy, it's a big deal wedding. The whole town is excited about it. The St. James and the Hamptons have a long history, one that will finally be shared. And now here you come, a guy who Duke remembers his fiancée loving. He remembers the way you and Daisy ran around together. We all do. So here he is, watching and waiting for Daisy to change her mind about him. How do you think he feels?"
Like he doesn't actually love Daisy, and she needs to have one night with me to get me out of her system.
I can't say any of that of course, because that's a Great Big Secret, to go along with my own.
So I say, "I'm guessing Duke feels like he'd prefer if I left town and never came back."
"Something like that." The bartender sets down the next round, and I help Hugo carry it. "For the record," Hugo says, "I don't want you to leave. If I could write down my perfect outcome, it would be that you and Daisy and Duke could find a way to coexist."
I chew on that for a moment, then say, "What if Daisy loves me, Hugo? What happens then?"
Hugo's worried gaze slides over to me as we walk around tables that are now full. "Then I'd say you better act fast. Their wedding is fast-approaching."
We get to the table, and Hugo slides a beer in front of Duke. "I was drinking whiskey," Duke says irritably, a slight slur thickening his words.
"They were out," Hugo lies smoothly.
Duke drinks his beer in silence, then announces it's time to leave. Hugo, Elijah, and Chris have just joined a pool game, so Hugo points at me and says with a wicked gleam in his eye, "Penn, you're on Duke duty."
I flip him the bird as he walks away laughing.
"Let's go, asshole," I say to Duke, watching him stand up unsteadily from the booth.
We get outside, the quiet and cool night air a welcome reprieve from the sounds of sports games, and the intermingling smells of cologne, aftershave, and beer.
Duke steps toward the parking lot, swaying.
"Order an Uber," I bite out. I have almost no tolerance for this person right now.
Duke picks the closest car to lean on. "Want to know what I've been thinking about?"
I make a face. "Changing the part in your hair from the left to the right?"
He gives me a blank look.
"I don't fucking know, and I don't fucking care. Order a ride home." I'm two seconds away from leaving him in this parking lot, but then I realize I can't. Or, that I shouldn't. Because Duke is connected to Daisy. And if Duke does something stupid, and hurts himself or somebody else, it will reflect on her. Unleashing the town gossip will make life harder for Daisy.
"Nope," Duke says, pushing off from the car. He scans the parking lot, his face lighting up in recognition when he spots his huge, ultra-luxury SUV. He bumbles that way, and I follow. I'm not going to let him drive, but he can at least wait there for a ride home.
When he reaches the vehicle, he opens up the back left passenger and climbs inside. Door wide open, he gives me a contemptuous look and says, "I was thinking about how instead of going to the St. James farm and telling Daisy's family your intentions, you could do one even better."
He waits for me to say something and when I don't, he continues. "You could tell the whole town you love Daisy and you're going to win her from me. The sad boy who hurt the town princess in a car accident has returned to steal her heart from the man whose ancestors founded the town. The man who subsidizes the library program. Who founded an outreach program for low-income kids to receive bikes at Christmas. The man who?—"
My fist lands squarely on his cheek. He topples over, yelling unintelligibly one time, and then he's quiet.
I walk around the backside of the car, open up the other passenger door, and check for a pulse. Not because I'm worried there isn't one, but because I feel like it's the right thing to do. And, just like I thought, he's passed out cold.
I close the car door, return to the other side and make sure his feet are tucked in, then close that door too.
He'll wake up with a headache, and a sore jaw courtesy of yours truly, but he'll be fine.
I don't need someone else telling me I'm not good enough for Daisy. That I never was in the first place.
I know that already.