"It better be soon. The city pool is always too crowded, and the gym has all the best times already booked." Sam tries to get closer to the window to look out, but stops a few steps away.
"It'll get fixed. Just remember to be back in time for the meeting this afternoon. And to dress appropriately."
"What? You think I wouldn't. I wouldn't dream of it."
"Well, you did wear those torn jeans the last time," I am forced to remind him.
"I said I was sorry. It was only that one time." Sam turns and heads to the door. "I better get going to get at least a little practice in this morning."
"And don't forget to put on a shirt before you leave." I hate having to say it, but he needs to wear one.
"Yeah, whatever, Old Man," he retorts as he heads back to his room.
"Thirty-one isn't old," I reply as I close the door after him so I can finish getting ready.
It isn't old at all, really. At least I'm not twice his age. Now, that would be old.
I start with the belt, black leather with a silver buckle. Don't forget a single loop. Next, the shoes. Two-tone Oxfords, black and navy. Probably won't be seen, but will still make an impression. I put on my wristwatch, white gold, analog. No digital, smart-watch here. I need to look traditional, classic, even when I might not be. This is followed by the jacket from the dressing rack so it wouldn't get wrinkles. Yes, a dressing rack. Hopefully, it won't be too warm for it, but the air-conditioning could be on, so I best look prepared. A white pocket square will light blue trim already in place.
I grab my wallet and put it into the left inside pocket. Switch it to the right. I grab my iPhone from the charger, latest model of course, and put it on the left instead. Feels more balanced that way. Then, one final spritz of cologne, to highlight what I already put on after my shower. Slightly different scent than my aftershave, but same company. I like it when a combine scents like that. Makes me seem more interesting.
Last, I grab my tote with my laptop and notes, and other supplies. I'm hoping to get some extra work done on the ride, or if I have some free time. I wish I could have found one with blue trim instead of red, but the tote was on such a great discount that I had to get it. Still, I think briefcases look more professional. Too bad that totes like these have become the standard.
I enter the hall for the long walk down to the kitchen. This house is just too damn big. If I were in sneakers, I might make it there in a minute, or so. Dress shoes, even by taking the shortest route? Almost double that. I check on Sam as I pass his room on the way to the upper landing and stairs, but Sam has already left. I hope he is wearing a shirt.
The upper landing is almost big enough to be a room by itself. It even has a small couch along the front wall, just below the window. I take the sharp left to take the upper stairs. They are fairly long and steep, but slightly narrow. I don't see how anyone got some of the bigger pieces of furniture up here. I grab onto the handrail, not bannister as that's what holds the rail up, and slowly descend to the lower landing. It is almost as large as the other one, but no couch, only some display cabinets. I decide to take the door to the back staircase. When I first got here, Sam's mother had hid the stairs, as Sam had a habit of using them as a shortcut. She thought having family use the "servant's stairs" was low-class and blocked them off. They didn't even have any live-in servants at the time. We still don't. Sam and I prefer efficiency over decorum.
There's a short descent to a landing with only a chair and a small table with a black-and-white photograph of my sister over it. My Dad took it her senior year of high school. It was the only family photo that he hadn't placed in his room when he was sick. I guess everyone had forgotten about it once the stairs were blocked. It was what started me to figure out the secrets Sam was keeping from me. I wish I had met her.
I reach the rear hall, right in front of the exercise room, once a "servant's quarter." Dad used the other as a bedroom while he was dealing with cancer. I walk on by.
"Hey, I've been waiting on you. I'm leaving now. Be back by this afternoon. Bye." Sam waves at me from the mudroom as he races to leave. He's wearing a shirt, but it is a little short and tight on him. I can't tell if it's from before his last growth spurt, or a new one that he is outgrowing. It's distressed, but I can't remember if it came that way. He better not be growing again.
"Lock the door on your way out," I shout at him. I don't know if he hears me. By the time I get there, he has already left. I think I see someone darting in front of him. Short blond hair, save for a lone rattail down the back. Chas. I wonder if he came to meet Sam, or if he spent the night, again. It is rather easy to sneak someone in, if you know how. This house is just too damn big.
I walk through the pantry into the kitchen. Dirty dishes on the dinette table. Sam rarely cleans up after himself. I check on the oatmeal I started earlier, barely touched. Oh, to have the metabolism of an eighteen-year-old again and be able to eat anything for breakfast. Still, I don't see how professional bodybuilders and athletes eat this stuff day after day. Just so it is palatable, I have to mix in a quarter scoop of strawberry-flavored protein powder and an almost full scoop of banana-flavor, and drizzle of honey on top. Although I keep pushing him, Sam rarely touches any of my supplements. He's going to start falling behind his peers if his doesn't start trying to improve himself. At least that means I get to keep the banana flavor all to myself. It's hard to find, even in NYC, and I hate ordering online.
I wash it all down with some coffeed-down water, as I don't want the extra caffeine today. I put all of the dishes in the fridge, as the dishwasher has broken down again. Leak in the main line, for the second time this year. I wash them by hand tonight.
I leave the kitchen to stop off in the pantry. I bend down to grab a blueberry meal-replacement bar hidden behind some canned vegetables, one of the good ones, and stick it in my tote. When you live with someone as tall as my brother, you have to hide things low and not high. I check the back door, locked, and the laundry room, not enough yet, on my way back out to the hall and the connector to the front of the house.
The connector has the downstairs bathroom, a full one as the original owners couldn't have the servants use the same facilities as the family after all. At least it can come in handy. The wall outside the bathroom used to have a disturbing collage of children in a nightmarish garden, one of my father's side-projects. I replaced it with a painting he did of my mom's Baretta, from when they first met. It's much more appropriate. Forty-two seconds, a few shakes, a flush, and I'm ready to wash my hands. I give my hair one last look and run my fingers through it to tussle it just enough. I really need my hair cut. I turn the lights off, but I leave the seat up, because I can. Why lower it until I need to?
I exit the connector by the lower stairs. While the upper flight is kind of narrow, these are too wide, well over seven feet. Even Sam has trouble reaching the handrails at times. I avoid them whenever I can. I rush over to the door, almost forgetting to eXamine mY Zipper. I forgot once, and Sam had to point it out just before some guest came over. I set the security system up, synching it with my phone as I go through the door and lock it behind my.
My ride is pulling up to the stoop, and a young, African American woman steps out. Cheri, one of the service's best drivers.
"Here I thought I was going to be early, but you always surprise me. Are we ready to go?"
"Yes, Cheri," I say as I walk over and get into the back seat, "Take us downtown."
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