Second Chances (9 page)

Chad lowered his gaze and sifted through the stack of phone messages still clasped in his hand as Tim squirmed in front him like a kid who had to pee. He smirked. Let him twist in the wind for a bit, he deserved it. Sure Chadwick Brown IV enjoyed a life of privilege and entitlement but no one could accuse him of being a slacker, least of all Tim Smith.

‘Buddy’ wasn’t a word he’d use synonymously with Tim. They weren’t close in the traditional sense, Tim never let anyone get too close, and he wasn’t a trusted confidante like Ben, but at one time, he’d been a savior when he needed saving the most. A debt he’d never be able to repay.

On a Sunday morning during their senior year, he and Tim were alone in the apartment; Ben was on a road trip to New York City. Desperately seeking coffee, he’d stumbled to the kitchen where Tim was already on the job of making brew. Wordlessly he handed Chad a steaming mug, turning back to pour one for himself. Without Ben’s unifying presence, they were silent but civil.

When Chad’s cell phone rang, Tim headed to his room only too happy to escape the chatter of Chad’s weekly conversations with his mom. Every Sunday she called him and every Sunday Tim tried to ignore the envy churning inside him. Chad had it all, money, power, and a mother who loved him.

“You’re lying!” Chad’s scream curdled down the hall to his room. “Why are you saying this? You’re lying!” Tip toeing to the kitchen, Tim felt like an eavesdropper. He’d heard Chad angry before, usually with his dad, but this was different, almost like a primal wailing. He rounded the corner and almost tripped over Chad, sitting hunched on the floor his head and torso folded over his knees. He was crying.

Squatting next to him Tim put a hand on Chad’s shoulder. “Hey, what’s going on?” Chad’s heart was pounding beneath his hand and his own seized with dread. “Chad buddy, what’s up? Talk to me.”

Chad’s face was barely recognizable ravaged by the tears streaming down it. He struggled to speak. “My mom,” his voice broke. “My mom is dead, car crash. How can that be?” He had to be dreaming. In a minute he’d wake up and everything would be normal again. He watched Tim pick up the phone he’d dropped moments before.

“Ok, I understand. I’ll take care of him Mr. Brown and I’m very sorry for your loss sir.” He shut the phone and looked somberly at Chad. This wasn’t a nightmare, it was real.

Coming to terms with his new reality took a long time, and a lot of therapy. Through it all, Tim was there; listening when he needed to talk, comforting when no one else knew what to say, and giving him space when he was suffocated by concerned friends. For those first few months after his mother’s death, Tim was his anchor and Chad felt closer to him than anyone, even Abby. Always daddy’s little girl, his twin sister seemed to be doing fine.

In time, things returned to somewhat normal. Chad mastered keeping his grief to himself by focusing on his studies, and enjoying the dwindling days of freedom before his life sentence at Brown Books began. Once he’d try to share his deepest fear with Tim, what if he wasn’t good enough, what if he couldn’t do it? But Tim had moved on too, taking his understanding and compassion with him.

“You know a lot of people would kill to be in your shoes, to have a dad who gives half a shit as much as yours.” Chad was stunned. What happened to the guy with the sixth sense for knowing what to say, what to do to get him through his despair? Something shifted and instantly they were back to their old arm’s length relationship.

“So what’s up?” Chad asked. He leaned comfortably back in his chair and looked at Tim wincing as he tried to sip the still-scalding coffee.

“I’m looking for an opportunity,” Tim replied, staring longingly at Chad’s steaming cup. Just as well he hadn’t been offered anything to drink. He was nervous enough without any additional caffeine jitters. “I’m ready to take another step on the career path, maybe even change direction altogether. Ben thought I should speak with you about it,” he added.

Thanks Ben
. “Is that so?” Chad asked brushing his annoyance aside.

“And I think Ben’s right. You and I do have something to talk about.”

“You mean a job? Here at Brown?”

“I mean a career. A career that gives me everything I want by helping you get what you need. I have what it takes Chad,” he said eagerly leaning forward in his chair, “the knowledge, the experience and frankly the balls to do what it takes to keep Brown Books at the top of the publishing pyramid. I assume that’s what you want or rather isn’t that what you have to do?”

Chad closed his eyes and opened them again. For an instant, it sounded like Chadwick III was talking to him. His father never missed an opportunity to remind him of his responsibilities to the company, to the family. He didn’t need Tim prodding him too.

Tim watched Chad closely fairly certain his words had found their mark; despite Chad’s best efforts to liberate himself duty to family would always come first. Burdened by birthright and the expectations that went along with it, and handicapped by insecurities, Chad was an afflicted man, he knew it and Tim knew it.

“When did you become an authority on publishing?” Chad asked. “Last I knew you were in advertising.”

“I am. But I’ve become something of an expert thanks to one of my clients Dewes Publishing. Ever heard of them?” he teased. Chad frowned but motioned for him to continue. “For the past two years I’ve been the senior executive on that account.”

“Their advertising’s pretty good,” Chad conceded.

“Good? It’s outstanding! My campaigns have won awards, they’ve transformed authors into rock stars, they’ve turned dusty classics into must-have titles. Most important,” he paused dramatically, “they’ve made new releases fly better than a witch on a broomstick.”

“Ok, I got it,” Chad calmed. “Obviously you’ve got some idea of what you’re doing but there’s a lot more to this business than just advertising you know.”

“That’s true, but to create really effective advertising like mine you have to know everything about your product, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Since I took charge of the Dewes account I’ve made a point of learning the ins and outs of their business, what they do, how they do it and why.” Tim paused. Did he sound too intense, too desperate? Forcing himself to relax he joked, “I’m so committed to serving my client 24/7 I’m even dating one of their editors.”

Chad smiled tightly as he listened to Tim’s pitch. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Tim was loyal to no one but himself, but he was beginning to understand why Ben had sent him here, he was sharp and he was shrewd. But could he depend on him?

“Sounds like you’ve got a real inside track at Dewes, why don’t you just go there?”

“One word,” said Tim. “Amelia. Right now she’s my girlfriend but if I worked at Dewes too it could get awkward.”

“For sure.” Chad nodded over tented fingers. Maybe he could repay an old debt after all and make it work to his benefit.

“Mr. Brown you have another meeting in five minutes,” Lauren interrupted through the intercom.

The two men looked at each other their veiled expressions revealing nothing of one’s growing excitement and the other’s growing interest. “Thank you Lauren,” Chad answered smoothly. “Would you please reschedule? Mr. Smith and I have some more business to discuss.”

“And how about some coffee?” Tim added relaxing for the first time since the conversation began.

Chad nodded, “And more coffee please, Lauren.” They were going to need it.

*   *   *

CHAPTER EIGHT

George folded the last of his shirts, neatly placing it on top of his open suitcase. He’d packed clothes for a week, all the time he could afford, hoping it was enough to find his son. He added a small toiletry bag filled with soap and shaving provisions and zippered the old canvas piece of luggage shut. Once inseparable, he hadn’t so much as looked at the case in years but they were reunited now for what could be the most important trip of his life.

He pulled the shades over the apartment windows checking that everything was in order, then picked up the suitcase and headed for the front door and the taxi waiting outside. As he slid into the backseat he did a quick inventory, passport, check, ticket, check, dossier with notes and findings from Dimitri’s investigation, check.

Dimitri had been very thorough and organized, giving George last minute instructions and trying to help as much as he could. “It’s not going to be easy but start your search with the Massachusetts Open Adoption Agency, if they can’t help you try the Department of Motor Vehicles and the hospital where the baby was born,” he’d directed. “One of them must have something that can help you find your son.”

So much to do and so little time, but if he found what he was looking for it’d all be worth it in the end.

*   *   *

George exited The Hotel Stratford, a modest little place recommended by the Airport Visitors Center and for now, his temporary home. Nestled among the tree-lined streets of the South End, it was clean, affordable, and centrally located, an easy walk to all the places he needed to go. First stop, the Massachusetts Open Adoption Agency.

The Agency was housed in a large brick building several decades old. The façade was ornate but tired looking, its white paint flaking and peeling in places. George double checked the address to make sure he had the right place.

Inside, he scanned the lobby directory faded and worn and made his way to the third floor. Suite 302 was bathed in fluorescent light that flooded the darkest corners of the small waiting room revealing several worn chairs and a few tables littered with dog-eared magazines. He looked around and spotted a registration desk with a sign instructing him to ‘Please Check in Here’. Hesitantly, he approached and waited for the large woman sitting behind the glass partition to notice him.

“May I help you?” she asked, adjusting a pair of tortoise shell glasses that had slipped to the end of her nose.

“I’m here to see Merrilee Swanson,” he replied slightly intimidated.

“Do you have an appointment?”

Cursing silently, he fumbled through his pockets for the paper with the Agency’s information on it. Stupid, stupid, it hadn’t even occurred to him to make an appointment. “No, I’m sorry, I didn’t know I needed one. But please,” he implored, “I have talk to Ms. Swanson, it’s important. I’ve come all the way from Greece to find my son and I need her help. Please.”

Unmoved, the receptionist shifted forward for a closer look at him. Emotions of steel were the number one requirement of this job which had brought her face-to-face with heart-wrenching sob stories every day for more than a decade. She’d seen and heard just about everything, every excuse, every lie, every desperate plea for help and to her trained eye, Mr. Handsome’s anxious despair was the real deal. She gestured for George to take one of the chairs that lined the wall.

“Have a seat. I’ll see if Merrilee’s available.” With a sigh of relief he plopped into one of the empty chairs to wait and focused on keeping his nerves at bay. Ms. Swanson just had to help him.

What seemed like an eternity later, the receptionist lumbered back down the hallway towards him. Reclaiming her chair she adjusted her glasses and motioned for George to come back to the glass partition.

“You’re a very lucky man Mr……” she paused waiting for him to fill in the blank.

“Levendakis. George Levendakis.”

“Mr. Levendakis.” She repeated. “Merrilee’s just finishing up some paperwork and then she’ll see you. You can take a seat until she’s free.”

He sat down again fidgeting impatiently. So much depended on the outcome of this meeting and the clock was ticking. If they didn’t have the information he needed he’d have to move on and quickly. Now that he was here, the idea of heading home without finding his son was unthinkable.

A door by the reception desk opened slowly and a female head poked around it. “Mr. Levendakis?” the woman asked.

“Yes.” George jumped to his feet.

Petite with a long blond braid accessorizing her shoulder like an epaulet, she emerged from behind the door neatly dressed in black pants and a blue blouse, a stack of folders tucked under her arm.

“I’m Merrilee.” She said extending her hand and invited George to follow her down the hallway, “My office is this door on the right. Let’s go in and have a seat.”

She waited until George was settled in another drab office chair before taking her own seat behind the desk. She smiled. “What can I do for you Mr. Levendakis? I don’t usually see people without an appointment but Sharon mentioned you’re here from Greece and that’s rather unusual for this office.”

“I’m here to find my son.” Nervous he decided to get right to the point.

“What makes you think he’s missing?”

“He’s not missing.” George replied. “I just don’t know where he is or who he is for that matter. I’m hoping you can help me find him.” He knew it sounded lame but continued anyway. “I have reason to believe he was born here in Boston in 1979. His mother and I were involved but we broke up before then and she never told me about the baby.”

Taking notes, Merrilee’s growing curiosity spawned a host of fresh questions. “How do you know she gave birth? Why do you think you’re the father? How do you think I can help you?”

He opened the paper in his hand deeply creased from repeated reading and refolding. “Because I’m listed on his birth certificate,” he said handing it to her.