Chapter Three
Weston
Mom and I sat in the kitchen of the fabulous apartment she’d shared with Dad, where we still lived for now.
Both of us were dazed by the turn of events regarding Dad’s will.
My father had given us a curve ball free throw—or whatever sports metaphor was appropriate for destroying a family’s life.
We were about to be homeless and penniless, and it was more than a surprise.
God help us, we’d stooped so low that we were cooking a frozen pizza Mom had picked up at a neighborhood bodega—not even a delivery. Renata, our cook, had been released the day we were given the news of my father’s complete abandonment of us.
Mom had given Renata a nice severance package from the household accounts that nearly emptied them. We now had some hard truths to face.
The buzzer on the oven—we were forced to search for the instruction book to learn how to set the temperature and the timer—blasted, scaring both of us because we’d never heard it before. I went to take out the pizza.
“Weston, honey, use a potholder. In that drawer.” She pointed to the drawer to the right side of the oven, so I opened it, grabbing a potholder and pulling out the pizza that appeared to be blackened on one side and still half frozen on the other.
“This doesn’t look right, Mom.”
She stood from the island and walked around the side to see the mess I was holding.
“Damn. Renata told me a month ago that she’d called a service company because the oven was acting up. I failed to ask for more information from her before I let her go, just assuming she’d already gotten it fixed. I should have paid more attention.”
If my father hadn’t been cremated, I’d dig his ass up and kill him again. This mess he’d left us in? We didn’t deserve it. Well, Mom didn’t deserve it. I probably did because I was a spoiled asshole for most of my life.
Mom tossed the pizza into the trash and turned to me with a big smile. “Let’s take walk down to Graziano’s. They sell by the slice. We weren’t going to eat that whole thing, anyway.”
“Sure. Let me get my shoes.” I glanced at the weather app on my phone to see it was threatening showers. “Get an umbrella, Mom.”
I hurried to my bedroom and grabbed some shoes that wouldn’t be ruined if it started to rain. When I returned to the foyer, Mom was wearing a rain poncho and boots. She handed me an umbrella, and we headed out.
Once we were on the sidewalk, Mom took my arm as we slowly walked down the street.
“I think we need to sell the apartment, West. I’ll check with Edmond about it.
I’m sure there were things in the will that he didn’t cover, but I’m sure we can sell the apartment and get an apartment somewhere else.
That way, we’d have money to get by on until we figure things out. ”
“No, Mom. That’s our home. No way did Dad mean for us to be homeless. Hell, he gave CJ and Claudia the beach house. There has to be something that Uncle Ed skipped over.”
Mom shook her head. “We don’t need all that room, West. We can downsize and probably not even notice.
Maybe we can move to Brooklyn or even the Bronx.
I had a fourth-floor walk-up in the Bronx when I moved from Burlington to work as a production assistant for Bite of the Big Apple, a news magazine about living in New York City.
Rents were high in Manhattan, and my salary wasn’t.
I worked for the show for a year before I got the job working at Aames Investments. ”
That was surprising. I never knew my mother worked in television. “Did you want to continue working on the show?”
Mom giggled. “No. I wasn’t great at it. I felt much more at home working as a secretary, which was what it was called before the title was upgraded to executive assistant. I started at the bottom at Aames, but I made more in the secretarial pool than I did as a PA.”
I’d known my mother for twenty-five years and never knew she’d done anything other than work for my father. God, was I that self-absorbed that I’d never bothered to ask?
“Anyway, we didn’t really explore the other boroughs when you were growing up, so we can look at this next phase of our lives as a new adventure.
I can even get a job. I was a pretty good executive assistant to your dad, and I learned a lot about the investment business.
Of course, that was all before you were born.
Dad was willing to teach me all sorts of things that could translate to any business, I think.
I bet I could get Daryl to give me a reference. ”
My heart was ripped out of my chest at her words. No way was my mother going back to work. My father, cutting us out like that? What a prick!
Though, if I was being honest with myself, he hadn’t cut us out. He’d just challenged me to do something I had no desire to do—run Aames Investments. I didn’t want to be a corporate drone. I wanted exciting adventures and new experiences, not working in an office on Fifth Avenue.
I exhaled. “I’ll get a job, Mom. I’ll take care of you.
Is the apartment paid for? I mean, if it is, we can stay there for now, can’t we?
We don’t have to sell it right away. We can cut back.
We don’t need cable TV or the internet. We can go down to the café on the first floor to use theirs, and after I get a job, I’ll make sure we’re fine. ”
Mom chimed in. “You know, we could move to Brooklyn or even across the river to New Jersey. Heck we can probably rent the apartment as an executive rental for a few weeks at a time. It would provide extra income.” That sounded like blasphemy to me.
Surely Claude Aames wouldn’t want that for the woman he loved and the kid he tolerated.
Mom and I arrived at Graziano’s, and we ordered two slices before taking a seat at a two-top outside because the place was jam-packed. Just when the server brought our slices and two glasses of Chianti, the sky opened up.
We were under an awning, but the rain was coming down hard. Mom looked at me and started to laugh hysterically. “The angels are weeping.”
I laughed. No truer words were ever spoken.
Later that night, I was scrolling through my phone to look for a job. I still hadn’t found anything I thought could redeem me in the eyes of the Board of Directors at Aames Investments. Hell, I had no idea what might appease them.
The Board consisted of Daryl, Claudia, CJ, Uncle Edmond, and Dad, though his seat was now vacant.
I needed to ask Uncle Edmond about it. As I did the count, I had three of the board members against me, one vacant seat, and Uncle Edmond.
The three people who hated me the most made up the majority, and I wouldn’t stand a fucking chance at winning over anyone.
My gut turned as the truth of my situation sunk in.
In order to get my mind on something much more pleasant, I doom-scrolled through social media.
I was surprised to find a video of a group of Buddhist monks walking for peace.
They started in Ft. Worth and were heading to Washington, DC.
They’d even adopted a dog along the way and took very good care of it.
The comments were mostly favorable of the monks and their desire to draw attention to peace around the world.
As they walked north, people in every town came out to support them with food and water, some offering them places to sleep when the weather was inclement.
It was refreshing to see that there were people in the world who still had hope and humanity inside them.
Was there any way people would support my stupid ass if I walked or ran or biked across the country for a charity? Would that be enough to gain the support of the Board of Directors of Aames Investments?
The next morning, I sent a text to Bridges Eaton. He’d offered to give me any assistance he could, and if he was being true to his word, I was going to take him up on it.
Hi, Bridges. I was wondering if you were available for lunch one day this week. I’d like to take you up on your offer to help me. I have the beginning of an idea. Thanks. Weston Aames
I hoped I would hear back from him sooner than later. An idea was marinading in my mind that I needed to bounce off someone other than Mom. She had enough weight on her shoulders.
Hello Weston. I’d be more than happy to meet with you. I’m glad you reached out. Give me a time and place, and I’m there. Bridges
When I woke to that message from Bridges, I was giddy. I hurriedly responded.
I can come to your studio if you tell me where it is. Tell me when you’re free. I don’t want to interrupt anything but maybe we can go eat somewhere nearby.
Bridges sent me another text with his address in Brooklyn. His studio was on the first floor of the building he owned, and he suggested that he’d order something for us instead of going out. I was shaking in my sneakers because I really fucking needed him for everything in my plan to work.
After researching charities and solidifying my mission in my mind, I started making notes. Where I’d start. Where I’d finish. What I could do along the way. There were a lot of details to figure out, but I had the ultimate expert to provide guidance if he was willing to live up to his word.
I rode my bike to Bridges’ place in Brooklyn, pushing the buzzer on the door. A pretty woman opened the door and gave me a less-than-impressed scan. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Weston Aames. I’m here for a meeting with Bridges Eaton.”
She stared at my bike and cracked a smile. “The Essex. It’s the only one of its kind. It was made for you?”
I didn’t realize the bike had a name. “I guess. I mean, Bridges made it for me when I graduated high school.”
The young woman smirked. “No doubt. Come in and bring the bike. Fuckers steal in this neighborhood. By the way, I’m Alexis. I work with Bridges.”
We shook hands as I dragged my bike into the building and followed her to a spot where there was a drawing of the exact bike I’d ridden to Brooklyn. “Leave it here. He’s back in the workshop.”
I pushed down the kickstand and followed her through a door where Bridges was busy working on a very cool frame. “Wow. That’s different.”
Bridges, the gorgeous hunk of man who I’d been crushing on for too long, turned to me with a shining smile.
He was wearing goggles as he sanded on a non-metal frame he’d mounted on a stand holding it on top of a metal table.
It was just the beginning of a bike, but it was going to be an incredible piece of machinery.
“Thanks. This is an Eaton Superior Hybrid for a client in Belgium who’s participating in Cycling in Flanders, which is a combination of road races and cross-country races.
It’s a new type of bike that can be light enough to achieve the speed of pavement but sturdy enough to sustain the hills and bumps of the cross-country trails. ”
I nodded. “That’s very interesting.”
“How are you, Weston? How’s your mother?
I haven’t had a chance to speak with her since the reading of Claude’s will, probably because I haven’t been called to do more than sign as a witness when Edmond turned over the deed to CJ and Claudia.
” Bridges was kind to ask about Mom, and I felt bad about his having to deal with my half brother and sister.
Probably in his capacity as executor of Dad’s estate.
“She’s making contingency plans. We’re going to look for a place to live and rent out the Manhattan apartment. I need to get a job, for sure, but I have an idea about the redemption thing Uncle Ed mentioned in that meeting you attended at his office.”
I took a seat by the tilted table where Bridges had a set of blueprints spread out. It was a bike that appeared to be special. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen before.
Bridges walked over to where I sat, putting his hand on my shoulder and sending a zing down my spine. “Is that why you’re here?”
I wanted to melt into him.
In my head, I put the words together about what I hoped he’d help me with. It was a big ask, and I hoped he’d entertain the idea.
“I was hoping you’d help me plan a bike trip for charity, unless it’s against your executorship. I don’t know anything about the legal obligations in that instance.”
Bridges smirked. “I’ve only done one thing so far, so let’s say your request doesn’t breach my fiduciary responsibility to the estate. I told Edmond I’m not taking the stipend. I didn’t want the money, and I don’t need it. So, tell me about your bike trip.”
I nodded, happy with his response. “I’m planning to leave from New York and end the ride in San Francisco the weekend of their Pride celebration.
I’ll make a substantial donation to the Rainbow Equality Alliance, an LGBTQ+ organization that further equality for those of us in the LGBTQIA community.
The give grants to other charities, one of which helps young people who are displaced from their homes due to their sexual or gender orientation.
It’s a big ask of you, but I don’t know how to do it on my own.
“You’ve done something similar before, haven’t you?” I crossed my fingers in my mind.
Bridges’ grin told me what I needed to know. He was intrigued. He might even be sixty percent interested, and that was a good sign.
The sexy man smirked. “I see someone has done his homework. I challenged the guys in my frat to do a charity ride from University Campus to Memphis for St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital. We raised several thousand dollars for the hospital.”
I nodded. “I read about that. You’ve also done a lot of other competition rides. You know how to take a biker for a distance ride. You know what’s needed to train for a road trip, and I want you to head up my team.”
Bridges smirked. “Your team? You have a team for this?”
I swallowed. “Not yet, but I hope you can help me put together a team. I need a team. I know that much for sure.”
I definitely needed a team.