26 #Bastard

Teddi tucked the right side of her hair behind an ear and took a deep breath.  Clearly, she was more impaired than suspected if she was going to go face-to-face with him whilst looking like a rehab patient.  She’d already edged over the line of insanity by volunteering a peek into her dysfunctional family life.  Doing so when he could see her smudged mascara and blotchy complexion qualified her for a sanitarium.

 

Sedatives and alcohol could be blamed.  So could poor judgment, but she was really just too grateful for his call to let vanity ruin it.  So, she took a deep breath and faced the phone’s camera with resolve. 

 

Please let your face be as magically soothing as your touch.

 

On Jon’s end of the call, lamplight blinded him an instant before she came into focus with loosely tucked hair.  He wouldn’t call it a mess, just not schooled into a rigid style.  Lips that he’d always found to be tipped into the shape of polite congeniality weren’t bent either up or down, and the usual look of keen observation was missing from her eyes.  They were unfocused under sleepy eyelids.  Or maybe he just thought they were sleepy, given the demure ivory nightgown and headboard backdrop.

 

Whatever the case, the image before him was not representative of the cool and composed Dr. Montgomery.  It wasn’t even the sultry and seductive Gypsy.  The woman who’d commanded their every encounter was certainly not large and in charge tonight. 

 

Her air of defeat was what finally settled Jon’s restlessness.  It didn’t stand a chance under the overpowering urge to hug her tight with the assurance she was invincible.   

 

Since he wasn’t in a position to carry out that urge, he stuck with a simple, “Hi.”

 

Her mouth shifted into what was probably supposed to pass for a smile. “Hello.”

 

“Sorry you had a rough day.”

 

“Thank you.  So am I.”

 

 “Where are you?”

 

“Boston.  Where are you, other than in the dark?”

 

“On the terrace in Red Bank.” Jon hadn’t considered what her view would be and rose with the intention of fixing the problem.  “You probably can’t see shit, can you?  Let me go inside.”

 

“Don’t bother.  The phone is casting some light.  It’s fine.”

 

 He didn’t think it really was, but Jon dropped back into his chair, anyway.  “So… Boston, huh?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Visiting family, I guess?”

 

“Not voluntarily, but yes,” she intoned dryly, pinching the bridge of her nose.  “My father died on the Fourth.”

 

“Oh, shit, Cookie.”  Now he felt like a real asshole for all his thoughts about her getting laid.  “I… You have my condolences.”

 

“Thank you, but condolences aren’t necessary.  We weren’t close.”  The pinching fingers slid down to the tip of her nose and reached for her necklace.  The pendant was out of view, but Jon didn’t need to see it.  He knew. 

 

“But still…  It was your dad.  You’re there for the funeral, I guess?”

 

“Actually, no.  The funeral is tomorrow, but I won’t be attending.  I’m here for the will.”  Flat laughter paired with rolling eyes as she leaned to the side and returned with a simple black mug. “That makes me sound mercenary, which isn’t the case.  Maybe more coffee will help my ability to communicate.” 

 

It couldn’t hurt, because that little announcement reeked of greed. 

 

Jon waited as she took first one swallow, then another, before returning the cup to what he assumed was a bedside table.  Then she turned back to him with a focused determination to concentrate. 

 

“I have no idea why I am in the will,” she said deliberately.  “Seeing as I have no interest in anything he possessed, it was my intention to send flowers and a sympathy card to his children while avoiding the post-mortem brouhaha.  Randolph had other ideas.  He stipulated that the will cannot be executed unless I am present, so here I am.”

 

The buzzwords that Jon picked up from her explanation were “no idea why”, “his children”, and “Randolph”.  All of those supported what she said about not being close and took it to another level. 

 

“Randolph is your father?”

 

“Yes,” she confirmed with a nod.  “Revered former Massachusetts governor Randolph Peabody.  The man who founded an investment company when his political aspirations were cut short.  It turned out he had the Midas touch when it came to the stock market.” 

 

Jon recognized the name, but not so much from politics as that investment company.  Originally involved in only the traditional financial transactions such as stocks and bonds, it later expanded.  Peabody’s had become a premier representative for investors who wanted to band together in the purchase of a single entity – like sports teams. 

 

“I looked into using Peabody’s during that whole Buffalo Bills fiasco.”  

 

“Yes, I heard.”

 

He recalled it being a family operation.  The old man and a couple of kids.  Son and a daughter maybe?  Was Teddi that daughter? 

 

“Are you part of that?  Cause I gotta say, being an Instagram tutor doesn’t seem lucrative enough to pay your property taxes, much less pay for the house.”

 

“My house is another story entirely,” she chuffed while settling her shoulders against the headboard.  “But no.  I share the name but have nothing to do with Peabody’s.  You see, I’m the bastard child.”

 

He hoped that dim lighting camouflaged eyebrows that shot sky-high at the way she so casually labeled herself a bastard.  But she apparently saw just fine.

 

“Please forgive the theatrical delivery.  Coffee can only do so much,” Teddi apologized, focus sliding somewhere to the right.  “My childhood wasn’t as dire as my origins suggest.”

 

Jon hadn’t thought a damn thing about her childhood, but if he had, “dire” would never have crossed his mind.  The picture he would’ve conjured had two sternly loving parents with high expectations, a protective older brother, and a debutante ball. 

 

What about Esmerelda?

 

Okay, maybe that put a twist into the perfect upper-class life theory. 

 

“Dave mentioned your mom was a Gypsy.”

 

The ghost of amusement flitted over her face.  “That explains how you connected me to the gypsysoulle account.”

 

“He can’t keep a secret for shit.”

 

“I’ll have to remember that in the future.” She slid her eyes to him before letting them drift away again and picking up her necklace.  “Mama died when I was five.  Her final bequest was that I go live with Randolph.  She had the misguided notion that he would open his home and raise me along with his two legitimate children.  He rudely declined.”

 

Every time he thought he knew where this story was going, it went another direction.  Those “legitimate” kids must be the ones he remembered from Peabody’s. 

 

“But he left you something in the will?”

 

“I don’t know that for certain. There’s a very real possibility he just wants me to witness his children receive their inheritance.  To emphasize my exclusion one more time.”

 

Jon couldn’t fathom treating any relative that way, much less his own child.  If Peabody didn’t want anything to do with his daughter, okay.  Dick move, but okay.  Purposely seeking Teddi out for ridicule would make the guy a bona fide piece of shit.    

 

“How’d he know where to find you?  I guess you eventually had some kind of relationship?”

 

“You could say that,” she sighed, scooting down so that head shoulders were cradled in a downy white pillow.  “After he turned me away, his mother stepped in to do what she perceived as the honorable thing.  She adopted me.  His dirty little secret legally became his sister.”

 

Jon snorted.  Good for Grandma.  Served the fucker right.  “Bet that went over like a turd in a punch bowl.” 

 

Her cheek creased with fleeting humor at his Jerseyness.  “I don’t recall the specifics.  Only that the public was enamored by my widowed grandmother’s altruistic gesture.  As far as society was concerned, I was a fortunate orphan.  Only blood relatives knew the real story, because God forbid there be a scandal.”

 

“But come on…  The guy held a grudge against you for the rest of his life?  Seems a little excessive, since he’s the one who couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

 

“Mm.”  The laugh line disappeared.  “As I mentioned, his wife encouraged it.  And then there was Grandmother...”

 

"But she adopted you.  One big happy family, right?”

 

"Not quite.  When Grandmother was annoyed with Randolph – which was fairly often – she liked to use me as an object lesson about poor life choices.  He spent many years atoning for his sin, which included frequent reminders that the skeletons in his closet ruined any hope of a Presidency bid.  It made him bitter toward me even before I received an equal share of Grandmother’s estate.”

 

Rubbing a weary hand over one cheek, Jon shook his head with disbelief.  “In my family, we yell until we get over shit.  Your people are vindictive as hell.”

 

“Yes.  They are.”

 

“Was your grandmother at least nice to you?”   

 

“She was fine,” Teddi assured without conviction.  “I was held to a high standard, but in exchange she provided excellent schooling, proper socialization, an education in civic duty….  All the assorted flotsam that goes with being a blueblood.  I have no complaints.”

 

Jon was so used to a close family – sometimes too close – that he couldn’t quite get a grip on what her life must’ve been.  Was she one of those lonely child heiresses, like in the old movies?  Did she have some family that actually loved her, warts and all?  The cousin Tori?  Maybe her half-siblings.

 

“Do you get along with his other kids?  Is that why you didn’t tell them to go fuck themselves over the will?”

 

Her nose wrinkled.  “No love lost there, either, I’m afraid.  He fostered their contempt for me, with the blessing of their mother.  That woman hated me up until her dying day a couple of years ago.”

 

Thank God for her crazy friends at dinner, then.

 

That made it even harder to understand why she’d fly up there on a moment’s notice.  If she didn’t want what the old man had to offer or like his kids, why subject herself to the whole thing?

 

“Cookie, I’m having a hard time understanding why you’re there.  Or why he thinks you would come.  If it was me, I’d say fuck ‘em all.” 

 

Narrow shoulders sagged with the same weariness that flattened her eyes.  “I’m here because Grandmother would expect me to be, without question.  One has an obligation to family that cannot be shirked, regardless of how it makes one feel.”

 

Grandma wasn’t the knitting, baking and bingo kind of grandmother he’d had.  She almost sounded like a stone-cold bitch, but this explained a lot about Teddi’s prim and proper demeanor.

 

“We do what’s right and do it with a smile,” she went on to dutifully recite.  “Others believe us to be what they see us to be, so it is of the utmost importance to project excellence.  Grandmother instilled that lesson in me from the very beginning, and I learned well.  Maybe too well.  That’s why I don’t leave home.”

 

Yep.  Stone-cold bitch.

 

“Whaddaya mean you don’t leave home?” Jon demanded with barely stifled anger at the motherfucking Peabodys.  “I met you in Greenwich Village, and you’re in Boston now.”

 

She avoided looking into the camera when tiredly explaining, “The dinner where we met is an annual obligation that I force myself to endure.  This trip was… unavoidable.  Neither could be done without sedatives and alcohol.”

 

Jesus Christ.  If he ever needed proof of his theory about psychologists having deep psychological issues, there it was.

 

“That’s why you wanted to cook instead of going out for dinner?”

 

Guarded eyes found his as she delivered a quiet, “Yes.”

 

She was a hermit, allowing herself to be so crippled by anxiety that she hid herself in a cave.  It was a very nice cave, but still an isolated spot in the world he traveled extensively.

 

Jon wasn’t sure how he felt about that.  Hell, he wasn’t sure he should feel any way about it.  She was just somebody whose life intersected with his for a little while.

 

But how big of an intersection do you want that to be?  And how long is a little while?

 

Both very good questions, but ones he didn’t feel compelled to answer tonight.  Not when she was studying him with a mixture of weariness and wariness. 

 

“Call me when you get home.”  The gruff order was issued impulsively, without conscious thought.  “If I’m still in Jersey, I’ll come over.”

 

Relief sparked her eyes to life.  It was nice seeing something other than lethargy there, and Jon felt a little relief of his own. 

 

Impulse for the win.

 

“I’ll be in the same shape I am now, if not worse,” she cautioned.  “Depending on how the will reading goes.”

 

“S’ok.  Call me, anyway.” 

 

Her mouth shifted into the real, albeit understated, smile he’d been missing.  “Even if I wasn’t nursing a sedative hangover, I’m not sure I would know how to say this without sounding pious…”

 

“Just say it.  I’ll filter out the piousness.”

 

“Very well.”  That smile lifted enough to crinkle the corners of both eyes.  “Thank you for being more than appearances.  You have no idea how much it means to have proof of your… substance, I suppose.  To know that the media doesn’t just paint you as a good guy, but that you are one.”

 

He dismissed her praise with a grunt.  “I’m an asshole seventy percent of the time.  You’re just lucky I spent it on the kids today.”