“Hello, Evelyn,” I say, my words colored with the affection I nonetheless feel for this woman, who has unfailingly treated me well through the years. Perhaps there’s also an element of pity and compassion inherent in my feelings, something akin to what one feels for an especially abused pet.
Evelyn steps forward to hug the outer edges of my shoulders ever so lightly with her manicured fingertips while blowing a kiss just wide of my cheek. “It’s so nice to see you, Tony.”
“Evelyn’s been a little concerned with all the troubles you’ve gotten yourself into,” Prescott gloats with a smug grin. The bastard’s undoubtedly enjoying every unkind word about that me he’s able to lap up. Is it any wonder so many people quietly use his middle initials when referring to him? Or to describe him? Motherfucker, indeed. And to think that I’d once been one of the brainwashed business types who bought into the iconography about men like this. Hell, I’d even aspired to emulate them. Being up close and personal with Prescott Rice disabused me of the notion that there was anything to admire in such men.
“Nice to see you, too, Evelyn,” I say as she settles into the chair next to mine.
Prescott bullies his daughter aside so he can sit next to his granddaughter and confront me face-to-face across the table. It also places him in the center of the group, the position he always aspires to and feels entitled to. While he grills Brittany about her life, I study him and wonder what stew of aberrant pathologies produced such a creature. He’s got every material thing anyone could ever possibly need, and enough spare change hanging around to purchase it all over again two or three or even four times. Yet he still works, still loves to see his name in print, still loves—perhaps more than all the other perks and privileges combined—to strike fear into the hearts of people of lesser station. He retired from the firm three years ago to do the bidding of it and its brethren in the halls and backrooms of Congress. I’ve often thought he enjoys this bullying best of all. As formidable as Michelle can be, this man is my most dangerous adversary today.
“We’d best order,” Michelle says, picking up her menu to underscore the point.
My eyes land on the prime-rib-sandwich listing as soon as my menu falls open, prompting me to close it in almost the same motion.
Daddy Rice turns to me after we place our orders. “Let’s get down to business.” He shoots a sideways glance at his wife. “Take Brittany and go powder your noses or something for a few minutes. I’ll send Michelle to fetch you when it’s time to come back.”
I shake my head slowly. “I know what game you’re playing, Prescott. I’m not playing along.”
Brittany surprises everyone by cutting in with an emphatic, “I’m staying for this.”
Michelle spins to Evelyn while her father nears detonation. As if Brittany hadn’t uttered a word, she says, “There are some nice shops on King Street, Mother. Why don’t you take Brittany and pick out a nice outfit or two?”
Evelyn’s somewhat confused countenance brightens immediately. She reaches for Brittany’s hand. “Doesn’t that sound marvelous, sweetheart?”
Brittany yanks her hand back, then glares in turn at her grandfather and her mother. “You two want to play hardball? I saw the legal papers you sent to Dad.”
I’m as stunned as everyone else is by this pronouncement.
“I also heard what you said to Dad when I was on my way to the bathroom,” she hisses at her mother. “‘What is she doing here?’”
The color drains from Michelle’s face.
Brittany turns fully to her. “You left us, Mom, and now you start whining about wanting me back. Why? I was a latchkey kid in Brussels last year.”
Michelle’s initial shock is morphing into an angry scowl.
Brittany doesn’t let up. “Dad’s been my rock, my actual full-time parent. How dare you pretend that you care about me more than he does. How dare you suggest that he’s an unfit parent! You want to go to court on this?”
For one of the few times in my life, I witness Michelle struck mute.
Brittany then turns on Prescott Rice and berates him in a tone I’ll bet he hasn’t heard in decades. “I will speak to the judge if this goes to court, Grandpa. I’ll tell them who my real parent is.”
He flashes her a scornful look. “You’re just a child who doesn’t understand these things. Nor do you realize the risk you take by defying us, young lady.”
“Is that a threat?” Brittany shoots back.
“Of course not, honey,” Michelle cuts in. The stony glare Daddy Rice has fixed on his granddaughter says otherwise.
“The hell it isn’t!” Brittany explodes with a quick sideways glance at her mother. Then she meets her grandfather’s smoldering eyes. “I know bullying when I see it.”
Daddy Rice turns a baleful look on Michelle. “Get a grip on your daughter! I will not be spoken to this way.”
Michelle grabs Brittany’s arm. “That’s enough out of you!”
Brittany throws off her mother’s hand. “What’s the statute of limitations for assault, Mom?”
Michelle’s eyes go wide. “What?”
“The frying-pan incident?”
Michelle replies with an uncomfortable laugh and waves a hand dismissively. “My goodness, Brittany. You know that was an accident.”
“I’m not an idiot, Mother,” Brittany retorts in a tone that makes mother sound like an epithet. “I was there. I saw what happened. That wasn’t an accident.”
“Of course, it was. The frying pan was a little greasy. It slipped.”
Brittany does an eye roll. “Riiight. Come on, Mom. Why don’t you just admit that you had one of your temper tantrums and attacked Dad?”
Prescott Rice has heard enough. “Stop, goddamn it!” he shouts while pounding a fist on the table.
I’m surprised none of the bouncing tableware topples to the floor. Michelle and especially Evelyn are mortified when
