Page 15 of Night Fever
Hendrick
I knewTaylor’s old man had money, but I didn’t realize it was likethis.
Land is value, and location is everything. That was solidified for me when I was in Afghanistan, but it’s something I always knew instinctively, being from New York but being workingclass.
My family had a decent size house growing up, and we never felt poor. My father derided those who lived on the other side of the river and said he never wanted to live in Manhattan for its lack of space. He said he didn’t want to raise his kids in house that didn’t have a backyard. He didn’t want to raise us in anapartment.
But this isn’t an apartment. This place is a house - a brownstone located on the Upper East Side of the island, with a homey, wide set of steps leading up to the front door on the narrow, tree-lined street with old spruces and perfect sidewalks - not a crack in sight - and family cars parked closely in two careful rows up and down the street. As I walk up the steps to the home, I look to left to see the sky streaked with orange and the trees on the edge of the park outlined against the sky in inky blacksilhouettes.
And I’m here for this young woman’s birthday party. Invited by her dad. And all I can do is pray to heaven above that I’ll be able to keep my damn hands off of her for the duration of the party, before I can do what I reallywant.
Taylor Macintosh. I can finally put a name to the face. The perfect, alabaster face framed in long brown hair, just the icing on the cake that is that perfect, small, curvy little body that I am aching to claimagain.
I get to the top step with a little spring under my shoes. I dressed up really nice for her tonight, trading in my dirty old jeans I’d normally wear to a birthday party with maybe a black polo shirt if I were feeling festive. But then, this isn’t a normal birthday party for some person I just met or even an old friend convening a bunch of other old friends at abar.
This is the party for the pretty, hot young thing that I haven’t been able to get out of my damn mind for the better part of the last twenty-some-oddhours.
Herbirthdayparty. The pretty young thing’s twenty-first birthday, and from the way she acted with me last night, I didn’t think I’d ever see heragain.
And now I’m faced with a pretty damn large predicament. If she weren’t my friend’s fresh-faced daughter, practically half my age, I’d have every intention of throwing her over my shoulder at the party, carrying her up to her old bedroom, and running my tongue over every inch of thosecurves.
But if she weren’t my friend’s daughter, I’d have probably never seen her again after lastnight.
We didn’t do a lot of dancing during today’s dance lesson. Fuck, we didn’t do much talking,either.
But that doesn’t mean I didn’t get to know her a little bitbetter.
I ring the doorbell when I get to the top step and look down at what I’m wearing - a plain black tie with black slacks and a white button-down. I’ve even combed my hair, and even though inspecting my greys in the mirror made me laugh a little, it also made me wonder if Taylor always goes for guys who are nearly twice herage.
After a few moments of thinking of her and imagining myself waiting for the bus in the dead of winter to try to get my body to behave correctly, her old man comes to the door andsmiles.
“Where is Taylor?” I ask, shaking hishand.
Fuck, it comes out as almost a damn growl. Her father puts his hand on my shoulder and I feel like a fucking dirty old creep when he doesit.
He’s always wanted to shelter his girl, and it makes me feel a little bit badly that I already know some things about her that I probablyshouldn’t.
Her father and I spent a lot of long nights staying up talking, and sometimes we got into some pretty heavyshit.
“Taylor hasn’t arrived yet,” he says in his normal formal manner, gesturing for me to come inside. “It’s somewhat of a surprise party. Her friend is on her way with her now. I’m so happy you couldcome.”
I nod quickly and look around theplace.
It’s a fuckingmansion.
We’re standing in a vestibule that’s roughly the size of my entire apartment. Dark cherry wood floors buffed and shined up nice, but with years of age and ghosts of footprints. A big, sturdy staircase off to the right leading up to a big landing, and straight ahead there’s a hallway leading to the big, bright kitchen. To the left is a family room, though I’ve been acquainted with enough people who live in homes just like this one to know that the room isn’t used for much of anything at all, and is mostly to fill up with big wooden bookcases and expensive furniture that no oneuses.
I look around, wondering why the hell Taylor ever decided to move out of thisplace.
“Surprise party?” I ask as Deacon guides me through the main floor of the home toward the back where the kitchen and, I discover, dining room are. Judging from what happened earlier today, I’d assume one surprise would be enough for oneday.
“Yes,” he says, taking a couple of beers out of the refrigerator, “we told her we’d be taking her out to dinner, but we wanted to do something a little different for her. Just a few of her friends and us. And I am quite certain she will be happy to see her new dance instructor, too. Now, let me introduce you toeveryone.”
We make our way into the backyard, where I’m introduced to Deacon’s wife. She is as lovely as he’s always described her, with the same long brown hair as her daughter’s. I meet a few of her friends from grade school. And the whole time, I keep glancing toward the glass doors leading back into the kitchen, hoping to see a glimpse of herface.
And wishing it was just me and hertonight.
The space is perfect, and would be the most incredible setting for a date with her - something I need to speak with her about as soon as possible. The night is warm and dewey, and the smell in the air makes me feel a strange optimism that I haven’t felt in a long while. The space is decorated with strings of lights overhead, and a long, wooden table with benches on either side, and big vases of whiteroses.
