The Adored (43 page)

Mark Wheelwright laughed a long natural laugh. A laugh Edward had not heard for a long time.

Later when Valerie and Edward and his grandson left, Mark Wheelwright went to the den, got his bottle of whiskey. He went to the kitchen, poured himself a glass, touched it against the bottle, and said, “Here’s to you old friend; we will be saying goodbye here.” He drank the glass down in one gulp and poured the rest of the bottle down the drain.

Chapter 59

They hadn’t spoken in the four days since they returned from San Juan and now Sebastian Ball had his secretary arrange a luncheon meeting with Edward Wheelwright at Ben Benson’s Steak House on W. 52nd St.

Sebastian arrived early, anxious over how to begin this discussion. After all, he figured, he had never been in this position before, having to apologize.

Edward Wheelwright came in the door at exactly 1 p.m. He looked at his lifelong friend and could see the dread in Sebastian’s face. Wheelwright thought to himself, he should be worried. Sleeping with my girl. Well, my former girl.

In the intervening time, Santa Alba had moved out of the apartment that Wheelwright and she shared without a word being exchanged between the two. She knew she had to leave; Wheelwright knew she would leave.

When Santa Alba told Silvana DeLuna that she had been sleeping with Sebastian, Silvana berated her friend.

“How could you do that to Edward? You are the one who told me how much you loved him.”

“I know, I did. But, Eddie stopped caring,” an exhausted Alba stated in that first phone call back to her friend, on the day after she returned from Puerto Rico. Alba was in a panic. She was in the apartment knowing she would not be here in a week, yet not knowing where she would be living after that week. Edward’s world had become her world. And now she had chosen Sebastian. Would Sebastian want her to move in with him, would they find a place together, and why hadn’t Sebastian called since they returned. Why hadn’t Edward called, even if to tell her to get out. Well, she thought to herself, at least Sebastian did text her that he needed to fix things with Eddie. But now, four days, no calls. “Will someone please call?”

Who called was Sebastian’s secretary to ask if Edward would be willing to have lunch at Ben Benson’s. Edward thought, why not at his club. “Oh, I get it,” he said to himself, “He thinks I’ll make a scene.”

“Yes, Gail, Benson’s is fine,” he told the secretary and began to think, “how should I deal with Sebastian?”

Ben Benson’s had always been a favorite of Sebastian, a lusty meat eater, and now he and Edward were face-to-face, sitting at a table toward the rear of the restaurant.

The owner came to the table, recognizing Sebastian, “Nice to see you again, Mr. Ball.”

“Hello, Ben. This is my good friend Edward Wheelwright.”

“A pleasure to meet you, sir. Can I get you gentlemen a beverage?”

“A bottle of San Pellegrino, yes, Eddie?”

“That would be fine.”

When Benson stepped away, Wheelwright spoke first.

“I thought it was you who told me,” Wheelwright said, “Character is what happens when no one is looking.”

“I’m sorry, Edward,” Ball said hurriedly, “I could not help myself.”

“Bullshit,” Wheelwright said, a bit too loud, as Ball cringed that others would overhear.

“Eddie, she threw herself at me. I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t know how you kept your hands off of her.”

“Sebastian, are you out of your mind? She wasn’t yours to take.”

“Edward, she had this outfit on, this red skirt, and a matching blouse tied around her waist and she was bulging out…”

“Stop. Listen to yourself,” Wheelwright said, now more pissed off, listening to his friend’s feeble excuse. “Like it was Santa’s fault you took her.”

“Eddie, you ask anyone there. It was absurd what she did. The entire dance floor was after her,” a still enthralled Ball was reporting. “She heated that place up to a fever pitch with her dancing. I had never seen anything like it. I know why she did what she did. She obviously wanted to taunt you for leaving her alone so much in San Juan.”

“That was the plan, Sebastian. She was to set things up and get out of the way. She wanted to see her friend Silvana and spend time with her. That was the way the whole thing was arranged.”

“Well, that certainly is not how she played it.”

And then the owner came by with their bottle of sparkling water, “I’ll leave you gentlemen to look over the menu, and my nephew, Jimmy, will be serving you today.”

“Thank you, Ben,” Sebastian spoke up.

Once the owner was out of earshot, Wheelwright spoke again. “I don’t care how she played it, I expected more from you Sebastian. Loyalty. Friendship. Remember those words you always repeat?”

“I do,” a humbled Ball said.

“Well, don’t they apply to you? Just the rest of us?”

“No they apply to me,” Ball said. And now pleadingly, “Eddie, honest to God, I was helpless. She could have had anything I had.”

“Could have had?”

“Well, I don’t know how you feel going forward. I mean where we are. The three of us.”

“What do you mean the three of us?”

“Edward, you’re not making this easy for me,” Ball sort of whined.

“Oh, Sebastian, I’m sorry. Is this difficult for you?” Wheelwright kept the pressure on.

“It’s damn difficult, and you know it. You don’t have to be enjoying this so much.”

“Stick with where you are. What do you mean by the three of us?” Wheelwright said.

“I mean, do you still want her?”

“Do I still want who? “ Edward Wheelwright said

“Damn it, Eddie, stop it.”

“Sebastian, you haven’t said her name once since we’ve been talking.”

“Santa, Santa Alba. Do you still want her?”

Relentless, Wheelwright said, “Why do you ask?”

“Because I want to know if you are in love with her.”

“What do you think?”

“I think not. But do you want her back?” Ball asked his friend.

“Why do you need to know this? Let me say it a different way, make it easier for you. Do you want her?”

“Yes, Edward. I do,” a chastened but grateful Ball said. Grateful to his friend for allowing him to get his feelings out.

“Then she’s yours,” Wheelwright said looking his friend in the eye.

“Yes, it’s alright with you?” an excited Ball asked.

“Sebastian, it’s not alright. It will never be alright. But, it is what it is, as they say these days.” Wheelwright said. “You took advantage of a flirting girl. Worse, you took advantage of our friendship.”

“How can I make it up to you,” Ball implored, unaware how stupid this sounded to Wheelwright.

“Sebastian, we are friends. We will always be friends, no matter what. There are times we will test that friendship, and this is one of them. Somehow we will get through this. I’m pissed off now, but I’ll get over it,” Wheelwright went on, “But don’t think you can ever make this up to me. You can’t. But it’s done, and I accept it.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” Ball said.

“I believe you, Sebastian. Now what are we having to eat?”

“Thank you, Eddie.”

“You’re welcome, Sebastian, now let’s eat.”

“One more thing,” Ball asked, “How do we go on with our group?”

“Just fine. Santa’s your girl now.”

“But what about the others, how do we explain it to Kish and Winston and the others?

“How do you explain it to them, Sebastian?”

“Eddie, you’ve got to help me out here.”

“Sebastian, it’s not that hard.”

“It is for me, Eddie. You’ve had these beautiful girls your whole life. I...”

“Stop, Sebastian. We broke up. That’s what you tell them. That’s what I’ll tell them. So it’s done.”

“But they know about San Juan, about me and her.”

“Sebastian, she is yours. You don’t need to explain to anyone.”

“We’re going to move into my apartment here.”

“That’s good; that will be a relief to her knowing where she’s going to live.”

“When we’re all together, how will you be with her?” Sebastian asked.

“You really want to get everything lined up.”

“Yes, I do. I don’t want awkward moments for you or her”

“Or yourself.”

“Or myself. Yes,” Ball relented. “I don’t want any of us to be uncomfortable.”

“Well, I have an idea that will help all of us. Why don’t we all have dinner in a couple of days before the wedding.”

“That’s a great idea,” Ball exclaimed, jumping on the words as they escaped Wheelwrights mouth.

“I’ll arrange it, you, Santa, Val, and me.”

“Val?”

“Valerie Samson, formerly Valerie McGuire.”

“You dog,” Sebastian smiled, for the first time.

“Things have a way of working out.”

“You two are back together?”

“Just about. A few things to work out, like her marriage and her son. But yes, we’re back together.”

“That’s great, Eddie. Santa will be happy for you.”

Wheelwright thought to himself, not too happy. He knew the passion he and Santa had for each other. He knew that Sebastian would not be able to satisfy the depths of Santa’s passions, but he did believe Sebastian could help her in other ways. A billionaire has ways to compensate for shortcomings. And they weren’t many, but Edward was aware of Sebastian’s almost goofiness around beautiful women. Sebastian, he could see, was just lustful enough to put everything at Santa’s disposal, and Santa was just, not too much, but just worldly enough to enjoy, and make work, what her billionaire had to offer.

“When I was at Penn,” Sebastian began, “I read Pablo Neruda, the Chilean poet. I found it amazing the fire he had in his soul for women. When he fell in love, the world changed for him. His passions overwhelmed him. He described women as goddesses who consumed him, who became him. They fused in heat. Their minds…”

“Sebastian, stop. Christ, you’re not with Santa, you’re with me. So you’ve discovered lust.”

“No, Eddie, it’s more than...”

“Stop. I know. But Sebastian, you don’t talk about this stuff. You do it; you feel it. That’s it.”

“I haven’t been there before,” a half-smiling Ball said to his friend.

“Enjoy it,” Wheelwright said, and he wanted to add, “while it lasts,” but he did not want to be cynical with Sebastian. He did know the feeling himself, and he was enjoying it once again with one Valerie McGuire.

Chapter 60

One of the first things your eyes notice when you enter the Colony Grille, after you notice the people in noisy conversation, is the pictures on the wall. It’s like stepping back in time, to the 1940s. Picture after picture of boys from Stamford who went off to war and came home. Solo pictures of privates smiling in their dress uniform after completing basic training, group pictures of sailors home on leave in uniform with their civilian friends, and in the end pictures of big parties, held right here, of dozens of soldiers after the war. There are hundreds of pictures on the wall behind the bar, which has twenty stools along its length and scores more above the booths across from the bar. In the next room, the dining room, with booths on both sides of the aisle, there are more pictures of these World War II soldiers and sailors.

It is a place where time stands still. There were no other wars here, only WWII. No pictures of men who served in Korea or Vietnam. No pictures of Stamford men who went off in America’s business in Grenada, Lebanon, Somalia, or Desert Storm. No pictures of those who fought in the war on terror in Iraq or Afghanistan. Just WWII.

The Colony is that kind of place. Hard-nosed, regular guys. Workers. Middle class men. Ball players—hundreds of ball players from the fields down the street at Cummings Park.

And the policemen of Stamford. The Colony was theirs. They served in the wars just as their fathers had. All of these men had uncles or older family friends in those WWII pictures. The police played on those softball teams. And they sought refuge here in each other’s company from the horrors they witnessed every day being cops.

Some sought more refuge than others; some needed more refuge than others. And when they stayed, night after night closing the place up, with nowhere to go, having lost their families in the personal war, it was their fellow officers who got them home.

John Walsh didn’t always need refuge. He was a large man, and when he came here as a young cop, a power hitter on the police Waterside team, he ate the pizza, enjoyed the beer and companionship, and went home.

But in his third year on the force something happened to change him. Everyone in his unit thought he did well to recover from the depression after accidentally shooting Curtis Strong Sr. in a West Side pool hall. A month after the shooting he was back in uniform. The following summer he had his best year on the police softball team, and when the team won the city championship, no man was happier, or so it seemed.