Sorry this took so long. Life threw me a couple curve balls, which was then compounded by the fact that drafting this took more than a couple of tries. Nevertheless, here it be. I started wondering about RJ's exploits before meeting Lauren (because I have drafts of Alice's story simmering on the back burner, and RJ features in that one, as well), and threads of this plot started coming together. Given the types of characters herein, I am compelled to state explicitly that any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. I hope you enjoy it. Your comments/emails are always appreciated!
Caveat Emptor: This story is similar to others in my canon: slow build, romance over sex, and a will they/won't they arc. You have been warned!
My thanks to
Ripley
for gamely reading multiple drafts of this story, and for setting me on the right path (mistakes were made; enough said).
Prologue (The Long Ago Past, New York City)
Frederick Edevane heard the door to his study open. "You're early," he muttered, not looking up from his work.
"I'm actually bang on time," Gideon Wright corrected, "If you had a clock in here, you wouldn't have to keep guessing..."
Frederick waved his hand dismissively, "They're distracting. I don't think well with one in the room."
Gideon settled into the only other chair in the sparse room, "You know, most people would be surprised to see that your study resembles a seventeenth century classroom. Blank walls, one table, one bench... this chair..."
Frederick looked back down at his 'desk', a long table with multiple stacks of paper and books, neatly placed. He slid along the bench from one end to another in a practiced glide and came to a stop, "This works for me. If it ain't broke..."
"No, you mad genius, I wasn't talking about the utility of your ridiculously simple planks of wood," Gideon chuckled at his best friend, "I was saying that people probably assume you do your work in something akin to the size and grandeur of the Library of Congress."
Gideon sighed at Frederick's blank look, before explaining, "... because you and your family's made more money than pretty much anyone else on earth..."
The blank look morphed into a more uncomfortable one.
"... Sorry, bud, I call 'em like I see 'em..." Gideon shrugged.
The fortunes and influence of the Edevane family conglomerate were broad and deep. Frederick, for whom the 'genius' label was not far from the truth, further added to the family's wealth with his prodigious portfolio of patents and licenses. Gideon was Frederick's first (and only) college roommate; the two of them had hit it off immediately, and a lifelong friendship was forged. Gideon went on to carve a hard-earned path to success as the chair and senior litigator at Halprin Uxley & Beckett, one of the largest and most prestigious law firms in the world. The two men stayed loyally involved in each other's lives, and in close proximity as they each married and had children. They had daughters the same age - coincidentally born minutes apart - who grew up more like sisters than friends.
The two families lived within a five-block radius of each other on the Lower East Side of New York, each eschewing the more lavish residences of the City's Upper East Side. Granted, the Edevanes lived in a well-appointed - but anonymous-looking - four-story carriage house on Eldridge Street, so it was still a gem of a property. The Wrights lived in a three-bedroom apartment nearby on Broome Street.
Life spun along smoothly until Gideon suddenly found himself a widower and a single dad. His daughter Marlo was about to turn thirteen when their world flipped upside down. Gideon quit his job, took Marlo out of school, and the two of them went on a one-year sabbatical to travel the world, stopping in as many cities and waypoints as they could. The sabbatical served many purposes: It gave both of them some distance to process the loss of Marian Wright, and also provided them the necessary time and experience of being a two-person family versus a three-person family.
When father and daughter returned to the States, two things became clear: First, the Edevanes embraced them both as part of their family; second, Gideon had no interest in returning to the life of an in-demand corporate lawyer. Frederick Edevane wasted no time in poaching his best friend's legal experience and intellectual horsepower. Frederick had long ago ceded the running of the conglomerate to his wife Jacinta, herself a seasoned veteran of Wall Street; further, he realized he lacked the wherewithal to control, deploy, and monetize his growing repository of innovations. Gideon was the perfect General Counsel the Edevane Group had been waiting for.
Freed from corporate governance responsibilities, Frederick happily spent his days in his Spartan study, dreaming up new ideas. More often than not, Gideon and Jacinta had to coax Frederick out of his intellectual cocoon. His preference for keeping a low profile often hurt him in the world of content-overload: his silence was assumed to be pompous, his lack of outreach a sign of arrogance. A recent BNL article was the perfect case study.
"You know," Gideon continued, "If you'd just allow for a little more PR, people might actually see you for the deeply philanthropic nerd that you are, instead of the evil fat cat hoarding money in your mansion."
Frederick sighed, "That's not a narrative that PR would solve. Did you see the Business News Ledger article today about my lack of philanthropy? Now that's saying something - the BNL, the most pro-business, pro-capitalist paper - writing a biting critique about my charitable giving."
"They put in a nice picture though," Gideon noted with a healthy dollop of sarcasm.
Frederick snorted, "They superimposed a crown that says "King Edevane" on it. Like I'm some Marie Antoinette equivalent. They can think what they want - but we probably should do even more."
"I know the editor at the BNL, I can talk to him. Off the record. They don't know what they don't know, Frederick. You're an easy target: You hate publicity, all your philanthropy is strictly anonymous, and you don't ever set the record straight... you just come to me and say, 'we need to do more.'"
"There's always more to do," Frederick insisted, "... and... don't talk to the editor of the BNL..."
"Shocker," Gideon shrugged, "I promise I won't. No, no, no, don't go back to your work. We need to go through some college stuff for the kids. Please sign these things first... you've been sitting on these for weeks."
Gideon nodded sagely at Frederick's look of surprise, "Yep, it's here, old man, your eldest is off to college. And no complaining from you - at least Fiona's only going to be an hour's drive away. Marlo flies off to Los Angeles next week. I might just beg Halprin to take me back and let me work out of their LA office."
"You won't need to beg. You can bring me in as their biggest account," Frederick's logic often stomped over other people's attempt at humor. He signed the stack of college forms for Fiona: health care proxy, HIPAA waiver, and some other ones with his wife's signature already on them.
Gideon laughed, "I was just kidding. I'm not going back to tracking my life every six minutes. And I'll make liberal use of your jet to see Marlo. She's been moping around, I think it's only hitting her now that she's going to be on the other side of the country to the rest of us."
"Fiona will miss her; I was wondering why they two of them have been practically stuck together the past couple of days," Frederick shifted off the bench, "Come on, we should go to lunch, what time is it?"
Gideon looked at his watch, "Lunch time. We're only ten minutes late."
Frederick blanched, "Jacinta's going to kill me. Come on, let's go."
The two men made their way out of the study, through the library, and downstairs to the dining room. Frederick's eyebrows knitted with displeasure when he saw a crudely made crown sitting on his place setting at the dining room table. The crown was annoyingly similar to the one in the BNL article.
"Too soon?" giggled Fiona, "Marlo made me one, too!" She reached under her chair and placed a ridiculously ornate plastic crown on her head. Marlo managed to write "Princess Fiona" in permanent marker, substituting one of the fake jewels for an "o".
Frederick twirled the crown around his index finger, somewhat placated by his daughter's good humor, "They had a point, you know, we need to do more, do better."
"They don't know everything that you already do," Fiona retorted, "It wasn't a fair article."
Frederick shook his head, "It's not about being fair. Because you can never sit in a house like this and get an education like the one you're about to get and speak with any credibility about fairness."
The table fell silent.
"Not to pile on the guilt, my goodness," Jacinta tutted. She gave her husband a reproachful look, "Darling, maybe next time try for the approach of a hundred one-minute nuggets of wisdom versus a hundred-ton guilt trip in sixty seconds? Please tuck in, everyone, the food's getting cold."
"Don't worry Frederick," Marlo piped up, "I'm more than happy to call her 'Princess Fiona' from now on to keep her honest!"
