I was fifteen when my dad dumped my mother for the twenty-something gold digger that was his secretary. Not that she remained his secretary after that. No, she had a new job then...spending his money. Divorce is hard enough, but the nastiness of my parents' rose to new levels. My mother was determined to get half of everything dad owned since she had supported him through college and law school. But dad was expert at hiding his money.
In the end, Mom and I both got screwed. She had no job skills to speak of...she knew how to throw parties for dad's clients and shop. She was able eventually to turn her party skills into a small business but she hated it. She hated dad. I think she hated me because I was his son. She hated life. She became a bitter old woman that drank too much. Until she had a car accident that ended her life and unfortunately others too.
Me? I decided screw them both. I was young, athletic and got decent grades. I could have probably gotten a scholarship to play baseball. But instead I decided I wanted to join the Army. I could see new places and save money, get funding for college too. That was the plan. Until I discovered how much I loved it. The discipline, the comradry. I was made for military life. Instead I decided to train for Special Forces, do online college stuff and eventually become an officer.
Of course, I had long since lost touch with dad. So when others rushed home to their families, I traveled. It was on one of those travels that it happened. I had decided on New York this time. I had not been there since I was a little child. Mom and dad had taken me on a family vacation, back before things went to shit. I wanted to do all that touristy crap again...the Empire State Building, Statue of Liberty, Cooney Island and the World Trade Center site.
Even staying in hostels, it was going to be more expensive than I usually liked. One thing about going from private schools, designer clothes and all the electronics you want to living in a dingy two bedroom apartment with your drunken ass mother is that it changes how you see money. For me, I craved stability. I lived on base, I almost never ate out, I drove a decent but used truck. Basically, I saved every damned penny that I could. The only exception was my traveling and even then I went as cheap as I could. But not this time.
One extravagance that I was going to allow myself was this nice Italian restaurant that my parents' had taken me to on that trip. It was still around and still just as popular and expensive. I had managed to book a table online a couple of months before my trip. I don't know I think after a decade in the Army and with my twenty-ninth birthday just around the corner I just needed to get my head straight. Hell, my best friend had just gotten married too. Almost everyone I knew was married in fact. While I avoided relationships like the proverbial plague. But it was time to grow up...and that was what this trip was about...putting old ghosts to rest.
So the big night arrives. I did not spend much money on the designer clothes that my mom had dressed me in as a kid; waste of money, right? So I decided to wear my uniform. I got to the restaurant about twenty minutes early so my table was not ready yet. They told me to take a seat at the bar. I walked over, looking around the place.
I don't know what I had expected but it was nothing like it had been almost twenty years ago. Of course, with a place this popular they would re-decorate periodically to stay stylish. But gone too was the old owner that I remembered with his thick Italian accent as he manned the front. In his place was a young and stylish maître de. Nothing was the same, but then again it never was.
I consider leaving but I figure I have to eat somewhere and this is better than a crappy hotdog from a street vendor or fast food. So I walk over to the bar and took a seat. I ordered a beer but when I try to pay the bartender refused my money telling me that the lady at the end of the bar bought it for me. When I looked up to salute, perhaps check her out for some action later, my mouth dropped open. There at the end of the bar sat dear old 'wicked' stepmom.
I stood up and walked over there. My intention was to throw the god damned thing right in her face. Her heavily made up, deeply lined and not so youthful and pretty anymore face. With every step I took I felt her eyes undressing me. It was revolting. But the words out of her deep ruby red lying mouth shocked me, "Would you care to join me? I always did have a thing for handsome soldiers."
I frowned. Was it possible that she did not even recognize me? I mean she had only seen me once: a fifteen year old kid at their wedding. Oh, one of dear old dad's divorce tactics was questioning my paternity and refusing to keep visitation, not that I held that against him. But this certainly presented interesting possibilities.
