Hooking Trout - 8. Family Matters

Amanda's rules must be paying off.

She got her promotion and, I'm guessing, part of the reason is because of the night I sacrificed with the boys to keep her gay boss and his friends entertained. Whatever the case, she's been in a great mood since, which I find oddly infectious. I'm beginning to warm to this newfound, albeit fake togetherness. I just wish I could have this with another guy. As one-night-stands go, Andy from O'Riordan's was okay; eager, energetic, and a heap of fun—but I know I'd never be enough for him.

It's 8:15 Monday morning, and I'm already in work at the small engineering company as a computer-aided design draughtsman. People think it's a dying art in the wake of wave after wave of AI and new and improved computer systems, but the person operating them is still vital. There are two of us in the office, and although we're a close team, in a traditionally macho environment, I keep my private life very much to myself. I get into the office before anyone to clear emails and outstanding work before the day's serious stuff begins. I'm on my second machine espresso of the morning when she calls.

"Morning, dear," she says, brightly. It's taken some time, but that particular pet name is finally beginning to settle. When my stepmother and father used the same endearment on each other, the word was usually issued through gritted teeth and dripping with vitriol. "Thanks for the packed lunch."

"No problem."

"I'm dropping off some cleaning. You have anything you need taking?"

"No, all taken care of."

"Okay, then could you pick up my blue suit tomorrow after work? It's on your way."

It's not on my way. Tomorrow is my gym night, something she rarely remembers. But I'm trying to play nice at the moment.

"No problem."

Everything is fine, I keep telling myself, but the mantra keeps sticking in my throat. To lubricate said area, I take a mouthful of my morning drink.

"By the way, who's Garrison?"

I quickly swallow the mouthful of coffee and cough away from the phone before replying. After agreeing to Amanda moving in, after she met for coffee with June, Marisse, and Doug at the apartment, we mentioned the names of some close family members, may have even touched on having an evil cousin, but his name was not shared.

"Say again?"

"Garrison? He left a message on the machine while I was in the shower."

"Oh, Garrison. Him. Yes, he's the cousin I told you about? Total ass swipe?" I say, as dismissively as possible. "What the hell did he want?"

"He's inviting us to dinner tonight. Seven-thirty. The Rainbow Room."

Rainbow Room. Typical Garrison. He needs to pick somewhere he thinks is impressive. He'll also probably find a way to avoid picking up the tab.

"We can't. Your cousin's coming over."

Clara, she tells me, is her favorite cousin up from Brockton, who's working in town for a couple of days. I've had the full download. She met her husband, Steve, an out-of-work actor from Seattle, ten months ago while they were both working a charity event. They got married six months later, and she's just over seven months pregnant. A lot of numbers, but there's a story in there somewhere.

"But Trout, don't you see? This is perfect. We can bring them along and combine the whole tourist and family-meet thing. Kill two birds."

"We can?"

"Of course. Look, I know I should have checked in with you first, but Clara called me on my cell as I was listening to the message. Total coincidence. She's staying at the Plaza, so I said we'd pick her up around sixty-thirty. She loves the idea."

"She does?" On the plus side, I won't have to cook. Conversely, Garrison's bound to have an ulterior motive. If this is going to work, I'll need reinforcements. "Okay. Let me call June, make sure she's free."

"Oh," she says, her voice suddenly cooling. Although they've met, the two didn't bond. What didn't help was June's insistence on calling her Mandy, despite Amanda correcting her twice.

"You did say family meeting thing, didn't you?"

"Yes, dear, but she's not strictly family, is she?"

"Amanda, you need to understand something if this is going to work. June's as close as I'm ever going to get to a family—scratch that—she's probably closer. Look, I know this is your cousin, Amanda, but Garrison is a piece of work, and June has a special way of handling him if you know what I mean?" I have to choose my words carefully if I am going to win this one. "And, trust me, things will run a lot smoother all round if she's there running interference."

She's quiet at the end of the phone for a long moment.

"Does she have to bring Clarice along?" She spits the name with such Hannibal Lecter vehemence I have to chuckle away from the phone before correcting her.

"Marisse. And no, not if I tell her it's close family only."

"Okay then, you know best. Can you phone and confirm?" she says, conceding with a deep sigh.

As soon as she hangs up, I call June to tell her the story. She's quiet for a moment, a sure sign she's mulling over his motives.

"Of course I'll be there, but count Marisse out. We had a fight, and she's over at her folks tonight," she says, and I breathe a silent prayer of thanks. "But I'll have to rearrange a few things and meet you there. I hear Garrison's been on at grandma about offering to do the legal work for the transfer of Cedarwood. But if you ask me, the little creep is up to something. He'll probably want to grill Mandy as well, so we'd better be sure to keep them as far apart as possible. Let me give him a call and confirm."

"If it's a family thing, do you think I should call Helen?"

"Are you crazy? And scare Mandy off for good by introducing your stepmom? No, Trout, one crazy family member at a time. We can handle this. We've just got to outmaneuver that sneaky little sonofabitch."

"Okay. But one thing."

"Yes?"

"Can you please try your best to remember to call her Amanda tonight? For me?"

With a snort, the line goes dead.

Running a little late, I rush into the Oak Bar at the Plaza and spot Amanda straight away in her beige knee-length coat, chatting with a larger woman around the same age. She looks across at me and pulls a face, looking down and tapping a finger on her watch. Punctuality is one of her things, apparently. With a word to the woman, she excuses herself and hurries over to me. After a quick hug, she pecks me on the cheek, thrusts her bag into my chest, and says, "Thank goodness. Look after my purse will you? If I don't get to the powder room soon, I'm going to pee myself."

At the bar, Clara is not at all what I'd expected. She's taller and broader than Amanda, has a poorly chosen, tight-fitting business suit of black silk, with a black blouse which stretches and wrinkles in all the wrong places, accentuating the tell-tale bump bulging from her midriff. Apart from her black hair that drops severely like a midnight waterfall, dark purple eyeshade and heavy mascara lend her a positively Gothic appearance. The only concession to color is a silk scarf of gold and burnt orange draped around her shoulders. Bearing in mind her condition, I am more than a little horrified to see her sipping on a sizeable fountain-shaped glass of what looks like a frozen margarita. Maybe it's a mocktail.

"Hi there, I'm—" I hold out a hand.

"I know who you are," she says, her voice a deep, rumbling monotone. With an ice-cold hand, she shakes mine briefly, formally, and then lets go. "Amanda just told me. You're late."

An awkward silence follows. As I scan the room, Doug's words come back to me: be polite, flirt if you have to, but get her firmly on your side. After my recent successes, I am determined not to mess up this one.

"So what kind of work are you in? Amanda didn't say."

"Interior design," she says succinctly. "Hotels, mainly."

"Great," I say with enthusiasm. "And what sort of things—parts—of hotels do you design?"

She gives me a world-weary look that screams infant. "Lobbies, function rooms, bedrooms, bars, restaurants. All the kind of things a hotel usually has, if you've ever stayed in one."

"I see," I say, not about to give up. "That must be interesting work."

"It pays the bills," she says, with a barely discernible shrug.

"You do this place?" I ask, looking out across a forest of heads in the Oak Bar of the Plaza and praying for Amanda to hurry back.

"Of course not," she replies, with an exasperated snort. A couple of moments of awkward silence later, I decided to steer the conversation away from work.

"So—uh—how long before the happy arrival?" I ask, smiling.

"The what?" she says.

"You know," I pat my stomach and look down at hers. "When's the baby due?"

"I'm not pregnant," she says, with a narrowed glare of purest poison. She nods over my shoulder, and I turn to see a woman approaching us from the other side of the room, someone who is so familiar, she can only be Amanda's cousin. "She is."

"You must be Trout," says the breathless, beaming woman, to my molten red face. "Nice to finally meet you. I see you've already met Edwina, my boss."

"Who is going back to her room," says Edwina. Before I can offer up an apology, she thumps her glass onto the countertop and then turns to address Clara, not even giving me a second glance. "I'll see you tomorrow morning at breakfast. Seven sharp. Don't stay out late. We've got a busy day."

In silence, we watch Edwina disappear into the elevator. Once she is safely out of the way, I am about to launch into an apologetic explanation, but before I can begin, Clara explodes.

"That goddamn bitch is worse than my mother. She's so far up her own ass I'm surprised she can see where she's walking." Right then, she remembers I'm there and instantly apologizes. "Oh, heavens, I'm so sorry, Trout. But she's made my life a living hell on this trip. She'd normally bring her PA with her, who would sort out all her shit. If it wasn't for the fact I'll be on maternity leave soon, and I'm the best designer she has in the office, I'd resign right now. What on earth did you two find to talk about?"

By the time I've finished telling the story, Amanda has returned to witness her cousin bent over, one hand grasping the countertop to steady herself, the other holding her bloated stomach as though she's having contractions.

"Oh Mand!" she says, breathless. "You never told me he was so funny."

"What have you done?" she says, glaring at me then at her. "And where's Edwina?"

I am not about to let that dig go unchallenged.

"Thank you so much for not introducing her. I thought she was Clara."

"Don't be ridiculous. Edwina looks nothing like Clara—"

"No, no, leave him alone, Mand. He's made my year. Just wait until I tell them back at the office," she says, finally standing upright. "That miserable hag has been giving me such a hard time, dragging me all over the city, my feet are raw. I'm sure she's only doing it because I'm going to be on mat-leave soon. At one point, I thought she was going to invite herself along to dinner, but your man just put paid to that!"

"Come on," says Amanda, taking charge. "We should get going. It's gone seven.”

"Where's your husband? Steve?" I ask.

"Steve's not coming," says Amanda, before Clara can answer. "Shall I pick up the tab?"

"Done already," says Clara. "And I'm sorry, Trout. But my husband got a call from an old friend in the business. A stage director who lives here. They might have a part for him in a show. Rent, not sure you've heard of it? So he had to go, but might catch us later."

When we reach the Rainbow Room, late by fifteen minutes, the waiter shows me to our table while Amanda and Clara check their coats. My stepsister, June, is sitting on her own in a seat by the window, holding a breadstick threateningly and glaring out at the view. Absently, I notice the sparkling lights of the city at night but have no time to savor the view.

"Where is he?" I ask urgently as she spins around and visibly relaxes.

"Taking a call."

"Quick. Give me the download."

"Well, for starters, I've told him Wendy is your personal, stupid pet name for her—you know, the whole lame Peter Pan thing you told me. He rolled his eyes very dramatically, so I think he bought it. Told him her real name's Amanda—never Mandy—and she works as a sales director for a Brooklyn advertising agency. I think he was mildly impressed."

"Anything else?"

"He's been asking when the engagement party's going to be. He's fishing, Trout. And he's been to see Grandma three times in the past week. I think it's time to announce your engagement party. Time to unveil your monster, Mrs. Shelley."

"I feel sick."

"No time for that. Just make sure Amanda and her cousin sit at the end away from him. The husband, Steve, can sit next to me."

"Shit. Steve's not coming. We're five now. He couldn't make it."

"Well—just make sure they're not next to each other."

"Shh. Here comes Stinky."

Garrison has clearly come straight from work. He wears his black suit, white shirt, and black tie, the standard uniform of a funeral director or attorney. The brow above his steel-rimmed glasses crinkles slightly when he sees me with June, but he recovers quickly and strides over to the table.

"So. Where is this Mrs-Spencer-to-be-believed?"

"Checking her coat. With her cousin."

"So what do we have tonight? Let me guess. A couple of paid actors? Or have you bribed June's friends to play the part?"

"If you're going to keep this up all night," says June, "we'll leave now. And I'll let Grandma Beth know."

Garrison says nothing, taking the window seat opposite June. When I sit next to her, it feels as though we are about to commence a legal battle. Perhaps we are.

When the girls arrive, we all stand, and introductions are quickly made. Everyone is about to drop into the nearest seat when Garrison, who is still standing, pipes up.

"Look, I tell you what. June, why don't you let Clara sit by the window. According to what you told me, she's new in town and should get to enjoy the view. And Amanda, you should have my window seat so you can chat across the table to your sister. I'll just shuffle down one."

"Garrison, you are such a gentleman," says Amanda, scooting into the window seat next to him.

Before we know what's happened, Garrison has deftly outplayed us, rearranged the seating order on our table for five. Amanda and Clara are on opposite sides at the window, Garrison is next to Amanda with me sitting opposite and poor June is now left to take the spare seat at the top of the table. Almost as soon as everyone is repositioned and seated, Garrison leans his arm across the back of Amanda's chair and begins talking to her, freezing June out completely.

June and I look on helplessly, wondering what to do, but it's Clara who comes to the rescue. Perhaps Amanda has given her the download on my cousin.

"You know what?" she says, eyeing Garrison with something bordering on contempt. "I can't see anything from this direction. Mandy, come swap places with me."

"It's okay. I'm fine here," says Amanda, without turning, carrying on chatting to Garrison.

"Amanda," says Clara, more forcibly. "I wasn't asking your permission. You should be sitting next to your fiancé, for goodness' sake."

For a few seconds, there's an unspoken communication across the table. It's the first time I've witnessed the familial dynamics, but it's clear which of the two has the upper hand.

"Okay!" says Amanda, with a huff, slapping her napkin onto the table and standing. "Don't go into labor, Clara. I'm moving, okay?"

Garrison glares across at me, as though I had orchestrated this. I return his gaze and smile as pleasantly as I can. Unrelenting, while the rest of us dip into the menus, he continues his assault.

"How long have you known Trout?"

"Oh, we go way back. I know more about this man than all his friends and family put together," she says, before leaning her head on my shoulder and looking at June. "Why? You want to test me?"

"And when's the engagement party?"

"February," she says, with frightening certainty. "Which we'll probably hold ay home with a few close relatives. I'll keep you posted. And I've always wanted a June wedding, so that's when we're getting married. I know it's all been a bit low-key, but our family tends to like things that way, leave the surprises until the last minute. Besides, I've already got the ring, so the deal is sealed."

She wiggles her finger in the air.

"Very nice. Don't tell me Trout picked that out?" says Garrison, an eyebrow raised.

"Don't be ridiculous. When it comes to these things men have no idea. Isn't that right, Clara?"

"All Steve cared about was how much it cost. Men and their bank balances."

"Garrison," says Amanda. "Trout tells me you're a tax attorney. Do you know Garry Connolly? He's a partner from Spencer and Tork and an old friend of mine."

June and I exchange glances. Even though they're talking across the table, Amanda is doing a great job. I can see Garrison warming to her, giving her his card. Before long, the two are laughing and getting along like old friends. By the time dessert arrives, I look across at Clara, who is observing her cousin with amusement, but catches my eye, looks to the heavens, and then smiles.

By the end of the meal, I am almost enjoying Garrison's company for the first time ever. Between the two of us over coffee, we have been providing a rundown of our family history, Garrison including some facts I hadn't known about our grandfather's side of the family.

In the cab on the way home, as we turn into Park Avenue on the way back to the East Village, Amanda seems lost in thought.

"Some special relationship," she says.

"Huh?"

"You told me June had a special relationship with Garrison. She looked as if she wanted to throttle him. They barely said a word to each other all night."

"And that's not special?" I ask, and notice her grin.

"He's a piece of work, isn't he? Garrison?" she says, staring out of the window. "Like he was trying to catch me out all the time. He's not smart as he thinks he is, dear. You have nothing to worry about."

"My family members are not all pond-dwellers, honestly," I reply, and then add with genuine warmth. "Yours, on the other hand, are an absolute delight. Thank Clara for tonight. She was a star."

"You're welcome. Shame you didn't get to meet Steve. Now he'd have truly given Garrison a run for his money," she says, then turns and smiles. "You seeing your boys tomorrow night?"

"Yeah. Doug's place," I turn to her. "If that's okay?"

"Sure," she shrugs, smiling back out of the cab window. "And I talked to Clara about the idea of the prenup. We're both fine. In fact, she thinks it's a good idea."

"Really?"

"Really," she says, then turns to face me. "However, as soon as we get home, I want you down on one knee."

My heart sinks. But after tonight's performance, how can I possibly refuse?

"You want me to do the whole fake proposal thing?"

"Hell no," she says, still smiling as we wind around Union Square. "To get an earring I dropped under your sofa. God only knows what else is underneath there, but the sonofabitch has been bugging me for days."