Chapter 4 : Walk of Shame
Wes’ POV
“Is it really a walk of shame if he’s dressed in Hermès from head to nearly toe?”
The only elder cousin I liked enough to be around was Manny. Manny was the last of the nineties kids and was already grown by the time I was learning my alphabet. Just shy of thirty, Manny had made a name for himself by being the first of the Mondegos to break out into a new musical genre that my great-grandmother—Gigi Indy— was largely against. Rock, and worse still, heavy metal.
He leaned back on his chair, fuzzy socks on the table as he kicked out a plated omelet to me. “Eat up, coz. Mrs. Lisette has gifted us the eggy supreme.”
“Feta and semi-dried tomato omelet with a side of turkey bacon and grapefruit, Westley.”
Lisette Augustin was a godsend. She was my nanny before I’d kept her on and elevated her to the status of a personal chef. Once I came into some more of my inheritance, I was going to foot the bill for her opening her own restaurant here in Brockport. The world needed to taste her cooking. Better than sex—well…almost.
Lisette ruffled my hair before tsking at Manny’s socks. “Manuel Mondego! Feet off the table! You know better than that!”
“Sorry!” Lisette was the only one who could make The God of the Ten String cower and act proper for once. Before she could even say anything, Manny gathered up his hair and pulled it back in a bun which left his bloodshot eyes on display. Nice. “Didn’t mean to Mrs. Lisette, you know how I forget.”
“Mmmhmm.” She plated another omelet, sliding it down the table until it rested at the opposite head where I sat. Fern wobbled in from his room on the first floor, hoodie pulled over his curls and aviators on his face. He was wearing two different Gucci slides. “Morning, Ferdinand.”
“Morn’n Mrs. L.” He deflated into his chair, nearly falling face-first in his omelet. He was three shades lighter than the rest of us, looking like he had only just crashed maybe an hour before. “Thanks.”
“Coffee, love?”
“Hey!” Manny tried to snag Ferdinand’s coffee but Lisette smacked his tattooed knuckles with her wooden spatula. “That’s not fair, Mrs. Lisette! Why does he get served before us!”
“Yeah.” Cameron put down his knife and fork, sliding his decimated plate forward. He hadn’t eaten his grapefruit. He was going to catch hell for that. “What’s the deal!? He came late!”
“Favoritism,” Manny accused mutinously. “She has a thing blonds.”
“I do not.” Another spatula smack. “Westley, would you like some coffee, honey?”
Growing up the way I did, you’d think I’d be able to handle all eyes on me, but you’d be wrong.
“Yes, please…” Ugh, I hated how young I sounded.
“Turncoat! OW! Why did you—”
“Elbows OFF the table, Manuel!” We all collectively drew our arms back and sat up straight. I’d never seen a woman so pleased to discipline kids that weren’t even hers. Did we detect a bit of a sadist now? “And I don’t have favorites! You are all my favorites!”
“It’s the depression,” I explained, tucking into my meal. Fuck, thank God for Lisette. The woman didn’t get enough credit. “Drives chicks crazy with the brooding.”
“God, I wish I could be that depressed,” Cameron said dryly, turning his nose up at his grapefruit. “If this is the life you get.”
“Just have to watch someone die, y’know.” There was silence to that, and now everyone was looking at me for a different reason. Sympathy. Pity. Whatever you wanted to fucking call it. I let my mug slam into the table. “Christ, it was a joke. Come on, lighten up!”
“Wes—” Manny stood up, planting palms on the table.
“I’m way more depressed than you!” he accused. I appreciated him getting the hint. Manny did have a lot of issues, what with his bandmates going in and out of rehab, and his fiancée cheating on him last spring. I knew he got it. “I got loads of dark brooding man energy! I’m like if Batman was real minus the whole dead parents' thing!”
“You are a nerd who lucked out on vampires making a comeback in pop culture!” Cameron flicked his uneaten grapefruit at our eldest cousin once Lisette walked back into the kitchen, the only one ever smart enough to avoid the spatula. Fern slumped forward in a way that made him look like a corpse if not for his wheezing laughter. “You like Lord of the Rings! You went as Jon Snow for the past six Halloweens and I still don’t know who the fuck that is! You play D&D for Christ’s sake!”
“Fuck you, fantasy is metal!”
“Neeeerrrddd,” Fern wheezed. “Loooosseerrr.”
“Fuck you both then!” Manny stole a croissant from the tray in the middle and bit into it with relish. “See if I help you kids get any pussy later! Die alone!”
“Your twenty-four,” I snorted. “Stop acting like your thirty already!”
“I have seen the world, little coz!” The big dumbass pointed at his own face. “These are the eyes of a well-seasoned traveler that has seen it all!”
“All except for the inside of a fucking shower.” Fern wrinkled his nose. “You smell like stale ball sweat.”
That got him.
“You’re one to fucking talk, gym rat! Besides, I just flew in like two hours ago on a red eye. Cut me some slack! I literally finished a show in Stockholm last night!”
It was easy to forget my problems as my cousins bickered. With Eva and…her.
“Psst, Wes.” I turned my head to see Cameron leaning over, his ever-present phone on a group chat with his fraternity. “You talked to Eva recently.”
Speak of the devil…
“We’ve chatted.” I hadn’t spoken to Eva in two weeks. “Why, what’s up?”
“Her girl Jillian H invited me and my boys to a Pi Delta Pi party and wanted to know if you would.” Cameron pursed his lips, raising his brows in a mockery of Jillian H’s needle-thin ones. “‘If you would be in attendance.’”
“Huh.” To be a dick or not be a dick? To play Eva’s games or not? Maybe it was time to try something new. I shrugged, dabbing my mouth with a napkin like Gigi taught us. “I’ll think about it.”
“Oh finally,” Manny said in a loose half-nelson courtesy of Ferdinand. “No offense, but she is such a bitch.”
I couldn’t fault him there.
“Duly…noted…”
“Hey! I said no offe—”
“Which one of you is Westley?”
Shit, I’d forgotten about Whatshername. Pinkie. I turned, surprised to see her still naked. She was leaning over the upstairs banister, white-heeled thigh-highs on. She's holding out my cell phone pinched between two fingers like it was contaminated. "So, which one of you is it?"
“I am.” I stood up, ignoring my cousins’ hoots and hollers, hoping Mrs. Lisette wouldn’t catch an eyeful for all our sakes. Funny how we’ve fucked three times but I still didn’t even know her name. “You want to stay for breakfast?”
“Can’t.” She blew a bubble, popping it as she tossed me my phone. “I have a modeling gig in two hours. But I’ll take coffee to go.”
“Yeah, we can get you that. Fern—”
“—already on it.” He gave her a cup, closing a plastic lid on it. “Black right?”
“At least someone remembered what I like.” Ouch. “You got that other thing I asked you about?”
“Sure do,” Fern handed her an 8-ball, the little baggy looking ridiculously small in his large hands. “M’lady.”
“Don’t get cute.” She smiled, walking down the steps to kiss me on the cheek. “And you won’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t.” I turned my attention back to my phone. Oh, shit, I didn’t realize that a call was on. Huh, a number I didn’t recognize. Ugh, probably fucking paparazzi. “Who is this anyway?”
“I don’t know. Jim? Billy? Something like that.” I hadn’t noticed a bag in her other hand as she slipped on her dress and moved to the front door. “No wait, fuck, Woosley?”
“Wilmot?” What the hell did Gigi Indy’s butler want with me? I didn’t even know he had my number. Cameron’s phone dinged, followed by Manny’s and Ferdinand’s. Lisette cursed in the kitchen, a bunch of pans clattering. Weird. I put the phone to my ear.
“Hello,” I said at the same time Cameron gasped, “Guys—”
“Turn on the TV! NOW!” Manny yelled as Fern fumbled with the remote to drop down the flat screen from the ceiling in the living room.
Lisette came out of the kitchen looking like a ghost. I’d never seen her so pale before. What the hell was going on? What did Tia Margot cause another scandal by airing out some senators’ dirty laundry? Should we really keep being surprised by the nonsense they pull in the government anymore?
“I’m so sorry,” Mrs. Lisette said, looking around the room. Okay, maybe it’s Tia Margot’s fault. Oh, maybe some royal person died? Or some celebrity? How old was Betty White? Wait—no, she died a while back. Shit, well who else was as old as my grandma that could make my cousins react like that?
I squinted at the TV but it hadn’t got a signal yet. Stupid DIRECTV. It never worked when you wanted it to. The company had a vendetta against us Mondegos personally.
“You don’t know that it’s true,” Cameron said. “People get shit wrong like every day. Remember when everyone thought that workout dude was dead, or like, being held hostage by his maid? People make stuff up all the time and it doesn’t mean anything. It might not be true.”
“It was TMZ who reported her death!” Who the fuck had died that now Manny was crying? Was it Ozzy? Bono? Alice Cooper? “As much as I hate those dudes, they’re never wrong. Never!”
“Shut up, both of you.” Fern looked like he was about to be sick. “Look no one knows anything. We’ll get the TV on and then see if it’s—wait! It’s coming on.”
“Young Master Westley.” Ah, finally, someone who wasn’t acting crazy. Wilmot always had some sense to him, the most level-headed of my great-grandmother’s staff. He’d been with the family since my father was a pre-teen. Odd, he sounded tired. “I’m afraid I have some terrible news—”
“—And I’m with Apollo Films Representative Chelsea Lincoln now at the 1217 Sunset Way here in Westbrooke, New York where EGOT award-winning actress and Golden Age Hollywood legend Indra "Indy" Lucielle Mondego has died at age 97 after a long battle with stage four breast cancer.”
"Oh shit, the old bag is dead..."