“You should talk. Brought you Gino’s—don’t get up.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he said as he used what looked like a vast amount of his strength to haul himself up. “How’s Peg? She ask about me?”
“Always does.” I set the bags on the table and moved to the cabinets for a plate. “Said you should come by on your walk.”
“Heh.” He shuffled over, leaning on his cane. “I don’t brave two flights for the fresh air, that’s for damn sure.” He pulled out a chair and lowered himself into it. “What’d you do last night? Looks like you got two black eyes and liver disease.”
I set his lunch in front of him, and he licked his lips as he unwrapped the sandwich. “Went out with a buddy of mine, one of those Bright Young Things parties.”
One of his brows rose. “Those kids Warren is all bent about?”
“The very same.” The sink full of dishes called, and I answered, flipping on the water. “I’m writing a piece about them. Nobody will really talk about what goes on or how any of it works, so I’ve been sent in to infiltrate.”
“Some code of ethics you’ve got,” he snarked with his mouth full.
“Don’t act like you never went undercover.”
“Different.”
“Is not. And anyway, it’s not an exposé. Just an opinion piece.”
“So you’re not covering Warren’s part in the whole thing? He’s out to light those kids up.”
“Not officially, no. It’s just about the parties and the culture. But I won’t lie and say I’m not itching to find out what his beef is and, if I can figure it out, who Cecelia Beaton is.”
“Got any leads?”
A smile tugged at my lips. “One, and she’s something else.”
“So much for objective journalism.”
“Hey—there’s a reason I’m a literary journalist and not a reporter.”
“Authority issues or truth issues?”
I shot him a look. “I tell the truth as I see it instead of a cold regurgitation of facts. How I obtain that truth is at my discretion, which is the sum total of my code of ethics. Why, you callin’ me a liar?”
“You tell this little bit of something else what you were there for?”
My brows furrowed.
“Didn’t think so.” He took a spectacular bite of his sandwich.
“I’m leaving, Pop. It’s just a fling. An interesting diversion and an inside look at the group as a whole. One that’s not Ash—getting him to help with anything is like trying to put pajamas on an octopus.”
“So lemme get this straight,” he said when he swallowed. “It’s all right to lie, but only if lying gets you the information you want?”
“You act like I don’t do this all the time. All I do is lie about my last name and my job. Jesus, nobody ever gave Hunter S. Thompson shit for it.”
He gave me a look.
“Okay, fine, he caught some shit over it, but he was a genius, and everybody knows it.”
“You might do this all the time, son, but not usually when a girl’s involved. I’m just sayin’, it changes the game, and pretending it doesn’t will only get you in trouble.”
“I got it under control—don’t worry.”
“The line you ride between being honest and lying for the sake of your work makes you a contradiction in boots. I just want you to admit it.”
My brows stitched together. “It’s a necessary evil in pursuit of visionary truth. That is the truth that trumps everything.”
“All right, all right.” He raised his palms in surrender. “Don’t shoot.”
“I’m just going to a few parties so I can give the public some sort of insight into what the group is like, and then it’ll be done.”
“Buncha rich kids with no jobs.”
“You’d think, but there’s maybe more to it.”
“Out all night on a Thursday? Working people don’t party like that.”
“The young ones do. It was a real spectacle though—whoever’s running it has a disgusting amount of disposable income.”
“Rich kids with no jobs,” he said again before taking another bite.
I stood a plate in the drying rack. “We’ll see. If I can convince Ash, I’m going to another party next week.”
“So who’s this something else? Think she’ll come to the next party in the buff?”
A single laugh shot out of me. “Dirty old fucker.”
“I know it defies your sense of space and time to believe I was once as young and vital as you, but that doesn’t make it any less true.”
I set the last glass in the rack and turned to face him, leaning against the counter as I dried my hands. “Stella Spencer.”
He swallowed hard. “Dean Spencer’s kid with that model? She’s got more money than God, if the rumors are true.”
“I’m sure they are.”
“Kiss her?”
“Yup,” I answered as my smile tilted.
“Anything else?”
“I don’t kiss and tell.”
“You just told me you kissed, dipshit.”
I shrugged. “Fine, I don’t fuck and tell.”
He rolled his eyes so hard, I think he saw Jesus. “Youths.”
“I know, we’re the worst.” I pushed off the counter. “Want me to put your clothes away?”
“Do I look like an invalid?”
“You really want me to answer that?”
“Wiseass. I can do it myself.”
“Fine, but I’m taking them into your room at least. Last thing I need is you bustin’ your hip.”
Ten years ago, he’d have punched me in the arm as I passed, but as it stood, he just glared at me, maintaining eye contact as he took another bite of his sandwich.
The apartment hadn’t changed since I’d moved in twenty years ago—same old couch, same old curtains, same old everything. In fact, I didn’t think it’d changed since his wife died in the ’80s of ovarian cancer. They’d never had any kids, and Billy never remarried.
He was part of the DCFS crew that had picked me up when I was eight. I didn’t know how long my parents had been gone at the time—off on a bender, I figured. It was summer, so there wasn’t any school, no way for me to measure time, but Billy said they figured it had been at least three weeks. I’d been living on cereal and ramen noodles, wondering when they’d be back. Wondering if they’d ever come back.
They hadn’t.
I didn’t know what it was that had inspired Billy to take me home. But who knew where I would have ended up if I’d been put in the system. Certainly not where I was now, with an Ivy League degree and a highly competitive job in journalism.
Once I unloaded the stacks of clothes onto his bed—which I would absolutely catch shit for—I headed back out.
“Need anything before I go?”
“Nah. Thanks for Gino’s. Sure hit the spot.”
“Anytime, Billy.” I clapped him on the shoulder as I passed. “Tell Peg I said hi.”