Page 54 of The Roadie
“I think that went well,” Kira commented.
Brett tugged on his beard. “I’m not so sure about that. I think he was put off by my beard and my comment sure as hell didn’t help.”
Jimmy clapped a hand on Brett’s shoulder. “Lighten up. I think you won him over with that suit. I never got a greeting that warm.”
Warm was the exact opposite of how Brett would categorize the greeting he received. Rude seemed a better word to describe it. “He called you son,” Brett pointed out.
“Yeah.Now. He called me Mr. Wilder for years, long after me and Audra were dating. For a while, I wasn’t sure he even knew my first name.”
Kira took Brett’s hand. “Jimmy’s not wrong. That was a very warm reception from my father to someone he just met. Let’s have dinner so he can fall in love with you.”
Brett straightened his shoulders and steeled himself for the next round with Mr. Abelman as he followed Kira into the formal dining room. It resembled something you’d see in the movies, where the table was so long that one person had to get up and walk to the other end in order to pass the salt shaker. Brett counted the chairs. Sixteen. There were 16 chairs and eight people. Mr. Abelman and his wife sat at opposite heads of the table, and everyone else took seats in the middle, leaving a space between each for extra room.
“Sit next to me,” Kira said, patting the seat next to her when Brett was about to skip a chair like everyone else.
He sat next to her, unsure if it made him feel more comfortable or more awkward. Since Aunt Mary was the only other person sitting on their side of the table, the empty chair between her and them made it seem as if she didn’t want to intrude on their privacy.
Fine china, heavy silver, and crystal cut goblets were already on the table, so Brett had to move his place setting over to the seat in front of him, which felt rude. “I’m sorry,” he apologized to Mrs. Abelman. “I shouldn’t have changed my seat.”
“Nonsense.” She smiled warmly. “I think it’s very sweet that you want to sit next to one another. Isn’t that right, Ron?”
“Charming,” Mr. Abelman replied, without emotion.
So much for round two. Mr. Abelman was a hard man to read, and it kept Brett on edge.
Servants entered the dining room, dressed in formal black attire, and presented the first course. It was Vichyssoise soup, served at room temperature, which Brett wasn’t expecting. He tried to hide his surprise when he tasted the first spoonful, but Jimmy caught the look on his face and chuckled from across the table.
“I didn’t know it wasn’t hot the first time I had it, either,” Jimmy confessed. “I blew on it.”
Brett couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped him. Jimmy was a really cool dude and proved to be an ally when he needed one.
“What does your family do for a living, Mr. Navarro?” Ron Abelman asked.
Kira’s eyes shot to Brett for a brief second, then to her father. “I’m so sorry, Daddy. I should have told you. Brett’s parents were killed in a car accident a few years ago.”
Mr. Abelman looked horrified, much like his daughter. “My apologies. And condolences. That must have been dreadful for you, young man. Is it hard for you to talk about?”
“No, sir,” Brett answered, honestly. He had learned to deal with the loss of his parents by talking about them, especially with his brother, and it brought them closer together. “My mother was a teacher. She taught third grade. My father was an English professor at Pepperdine.”
Mr. Abelman nodded his approval. “Education is very important. Do you have siblings?”
“Yes, sir. I have a younger brother. He’s 19. I’ve been taking care of him since my parents died four years ago. We’re very close.”
Again, Mr. Abelman nodded. “It’s very important that siblings stick together, especially during times of crisis. Do you have other family?”
“No, sir. It’s just us.”
The servants returned, cleared away the first course and presented a beautifully prepared plate filled with chateaubriand, baby carrots and a swirl of mashed potatoes. Since no one was eating, Brett was unsure if everyone was waiting to say grace or for some other cue, so he sat with his hands in his lap. He looked to Mason, for some reason, and the kid flashed him a smile.
“You’re doing great,” Mason whispered across the table, but everyone heard, and a small rumble of laughter ensued.
Mr. Abelman picked up his knife and fork, which seemed to be the cue for everyone else to dig in. “So, young man. Tell me about your employment with Bulletproof. I understand you’re a roadie. Was that your chosen profession?”
Although it was said without reproach, Brett felt a bit of disapproval behind the man’s words. “Actually, I had a different career path in mind, but I fell in love with setting up the stage and assisting the band. It gives me great satisfaction to know that musicians trust me with their equipment. There’s a lot of responsibility in making sure the stage is set up correctly and efficiently, especially when three or four bands are on the lineup.”
“I agree. It’s an integral part of production. Tell me about your academics.”
Brett gave a brief rundown of his time at UCLA. He saw the impressed raised eyebrow at the mention of the well-respected university and its disappearance at Brett’s admission that he never got his degree. It was a sore subject for Brett, but he stood by his decision and said so.
