My Best Man by Andy Schell (unputdownable books .txt) 📗

As we approach downtown, my mother narrates the city by explaining the “Keeper of the Plains” sculpture at the foot of the river, the sculpture we’re unable to see from the highway. She points out the huge, low, circular roof of the Century 21 Civic Center. “That’s where they have beauty pageants and ice shows and traveling art exhibits,” my mother says. “And in the Fourth National Bank Building, there’s a Calder sculpture,” she adds, trying to impress. Amity nods and replies at all the right moments.

My family home borders the country club golf course and is a tasteful eight-thousand-square-foot ranch-style house with a wood shingle roof. It sits upon several acres of wooded lawns, and the entire property is encircled with a white wooden fence that is repainted every year. The entry to the property is gated, and my mother reaches up to her visor and clicks the remote control that triggers the gate. “Amity’s here!” she sings to the gate as it swings open.

We drive past a grove of pin oaks and roll up to the house and unload. Entering the house, my mother leads us through the oak floored foyer, over the white carpet, and out to the west wing, while Amity immediately compliments her on her lovely homestead. My mother’s decorating tastes have never changed with trends and fashion she has always been a lover of fine American antic and she’s traveled the country most of her life in search of finest Early American pieces. You can practically hear the stampede and frontier women giving birth as you walk past kerosene lamps, wooden rocking chairs, old school desks, the collection of horse bridles hanging on the wall, and flour and sugar storage bins now filled with spicy potpourri. A varied collection of grandfather wall clocks ticks away the silence in each room, including the room given to Amity and me. It’s different from where I slept with my ex-boyfriend. Matthew and I only visited when my father was away, and we were assigned a room with two twin beds. My mother made no secret that she was only mildly comfortable having my boyfriend

and me in the house, and that no sex was to occur. The rules are changed. Amity and I get our own bed. Queen size. My mother makes it clear that Amity is the queen, not I. No, now I am the king. I can practically hear my mother proclaim, “Long live the royal couple!”

In the late afternoon, after I’ve walked Amity around the house and grounds, and we’re sitting in the living room, playing get-to know-you, the front door swings open unexpectedly.

Winston.

He’s standing in the foyer wearing a double-breasted suit and a condescending smile, the only kind he owns. I had no idea he was coming, and I want to kill my mother the moment I see him. I know she’s arranged this and conveniently not told me. There’s no question he’s here in order to attend the unveiling of his baby brother’s girlfriend. “I finally made it,” he says, as if we’ve all been waiting for him. “Sorry I’m late. I told the airline I understand that coach passengers get what they pay for, but when someone flies first class, they should be guaranteed to arrive on time.” He dumps his Bill Blass blazer on the old wooden school bench in the foyer. He’s stunning, as always. Just over six feet tall. Brown wavy hair, hazel eyes, and tan as a lifeguard. “Hello, Mother,” he sings, kissing her on the cheek. He nods to Donald. “Ronald.” Then he turns, ignores me, and sighs, “And you must be Enmity.”

Amity cocks her head, smiles, and offers her hand. “And you must be Winston.”

He shakes her hand while looking her up and down. “Nice shoes.” Then he finally looks at me. “Hello, baby brother. How’s

,

trtcks?”

Winston always hits the first serve. “I met a really hot BMW salesman,” I say, smashing the ball back over the net.

“Don’t start!” our mother snaps. “Donald, pour Winston a

“What do you want,” Donald growls.

“What are you drinking, Enmity?” Winston asks. “Champagne.”

“What a charming little accent. I’ll have the same. Sham-pine. He enters the living room and sits in the chair Donald had occupied, “So, that’ sright, Jerry,” he says, looking at me. “I hear you bought a

BMW.”

“I mean it, Winston,” Mother cautions.

“I just asked him about the car, not how he clinched the bi deal.”

“It’s nice,” I say. “I’m beginning to realize that I like ” things.”

He looks accusingly at Amity. “No doubt you’ve inspired this:. change in Gary’s tastes.” ‘

“Oh, I think it’s Harry who inspires me,” she glows, feet crossed at the ankles, champagne glass held by the stem.

My mother is enraptured with Amity, Winston appears to want to slap her, and Donald looks as if he wants to fuck her.

“We make each other laugh,” I state. “Do you and you’re dating this month do that?”

“It’s Patty,” Winston hisses. “You’ve met her.”

“Have I? They all seem the same,” I tell him.

“You and Gravity will have to fly standby to Chicago and with us.”

Mother scolds him. “Her name is Amity, Winston.”

“That’s what I said.”

“We’d love to,” Amity states. “I’d really like to meet Patty.”

Something’s going on between the two of them, Winston and Amity, and it’s not the routine competition between Winston anyone over who has the best clothing, hairstyle, and good

And it’s not just the fact that this is the girl who could potentially decrease his inheritance by millions. No, even though Winston is

being his usual awful self, I detect a slight crack in the armor. Is Amity on to him? Does she suspect what I’ve always suspected?

Since it’s nearly evening, Donald dons an apron and prepares Cornish game hens for cooking on the grill. We all sit on the patio by the pool and continue to drink. Mom and Donald scotch, Amity and Winston champagne, and I beer. Mom is chipper, animated,