Author's Note: Something I came with all of a sudden. All I ask is that you read, review,and most of all, enjoy. Thank you.
Disclaimer: All Copyrighted characters are rented.
Chapter One
"Candy, are you listening to me?"
"Yes, Angela, I'm listening…"
"Then why do you keep looking over your shoulder?"
"Just because I keep looking over my shoulder, doesn't mean I'm not listening to you."
"Then what have we been talking about?"
Candy turned her head to her orange-haired friend and raised an eyebrow. "We were talking about Elmer Fudd."
"Elmer Gantry," corrected Angela blankly. "Would you stop looking at him?"
"I can't help it, he keeps staring at us."
"Only because you keep staring at him. I swear to God, every time we go in here, it's like the never-ending staring contest of death." Angela sighed as Candy continued to glance over to the window to the kitchen. Angela swiped at her shoulder and Candy finally gave up and turned back to her friend.
"I don't know why he keeps doing that," muttered Candy taking a sip of red wine. Angela poured herself a glass of water from the pitcher.
"He's a nice guy. He's come by to say hello before, and besides, he owns this place," assured Angela. "Everyone loves him."
"It's the way he says hello."
"Friendly?"
"Yeah… friendly…"
"You're paranoid. Candy this isn't like you, just forget it. You probably remind him of his daughter or something."
"Hmm…" Candy twisted her fork around her mash potatoes and looked at it thoughtfully. She didn't mean to be rude by staring, and she usually loved going into this restaurant, but every time, this man would smile and wink. And it wasn't perverted or come-hither like—it was just strange. And she couldn't help but think about it every time she came in here. She was starting to get a headache; her hair was in a tight bun which felt even tighter as her head continued to throb.
"Hey girls," a voice said from behind Angela. The Simmons siblings, Linda and Andrew, approached them and took a seat at their table. Linda was in a smart blue suit, the top two buttons undone on her powdered blue shirt. Andrew, the oldest, was wearing a long black coat. He hastily shoved his badge inside his pocket as he took a seat between Candy and his sister.
"Hey Candelyn," he said.
"Hi," she said smiling. He was the only person who called her by her full name, other than her parents. He somehow found attractiveness in her name, although she wasn't too fond of hearing it herself. She loved her name just fine, but being called Candelyn between friends seemed so formal.
"Oh hey Angela," he said, "I wanted to ask you, how do you think the movie 'Thistles' sound? Do you think it's worth it?"
Angela groaned. "Man, Andrew-"
"What?"
"I am NOT a film critic," she said fervently. "God, you guys turn me off movies so much by asking those questions."
"But your dad's a direc-"
"I don't think medical research has proved that career choices are heritable," snapped Angela. "Besides, he's YOUR uncle, too. Why don't you just ask him yourself?"
"Don't take that tone with me or I'll have you arrested for harassing a cop."
"Andrew, would you stop using your authority as an act of intimidation?" said Linda. "You're twenty-seven for God's sake, grow up." She removed her clip from her blonde hair and slipped it in her purse. "How is Uncle Mark anyway?"
"Successful, as usual," said Angela rolling her eyes. "The man drives me mad."
"Then why don't you move out?" asked Andrew.
"Because I feel sorry for the guy. He's still… you know." Angela tapped on the bottle of red wine which sort set Candy off her trance.
"Still drinking?" asked Linda. "Success sometimes has their costs…"
"Uncle Mark doesn't look like the type of person to drink," said Andrew. "He's so quiet and level-headed when I see him."
"You don't see him the way I see him," said Angela. "And when he's not on the bottle, he… I dunno, I started noting the differences when I was 13."
"Differences?" asked Andrew.
"You know, why he's so lonely and depressed. For a while I thought he was queer."
Linda laughed. "No." She shook her head. "Not Uncle Mark."
Angela cracked a smile, and shrugged. "Well I didn't know. But he's so helpless. If it weren't for the Davis', he'd dress as a drag. Why do you think I have such a passionate rage for men?" She gave Andrew a quick apologetic glance. "Sorry, Andrew."
"Used to it."
"How are your mom and dad?" asked Linda. Candy looked at her for a moment, lost in her own world. She wasn't paying much attention to their conversation. Most of the time, they would talk on hours end without noticing Candy. Candy didn't mind really, she understood how family was, especially when the Cohens' got together.
"They're fine."
"Are you doing okay?" asked Andrew.
It suddenly became quiet. She knew that he didn't mean to ask such a forward question, especially because of her illness. But, at twenty-one she gotten use to all that. She had gotten used to the awkward stares every time she entered a room; she had gotten used to the avoidances from people, teachers, and employers. She even began to ignore the unknown mystery of how her parents attracted the disease in the first place. Every time she asked, they would always respond, "I've always had AIDS." It didn't matter. They were all taken well cared of. Her mother was a nurse at a local clinic and her father was a car salesman. They were far from boring—always entertained anybody who was there. Her mother loved rock music, as of her father, who always made people laugh.
"I don't know how I became a cars salesman," he once said at a party, "but when I sold my fender to buy a car, I knew I had a talent for bargaining."
They were the perfect parents with a rocky edge. But they were so different from Candelyn. She hardly shared any of their interests, and they seldom shared hers. She was majoring in music: opera and ballet. Of course they supported her by going to all her school plays, community shows, but she knew they had no interest at heart. Her father freaked when he found out that he had to sit in a theatre through five acts.
"You know I love you, but five acts?" he had said. He was joking, but he couldn't believe it.
"Dad, you said the same thing at the last show. This time I'm lead. Don't worry, it'll all be over soon."
"Okay." He kissed her forehead. "So this thing is over…when?" he looked at his watch.
"When the fat lady sings," answered Candy smiling.
"Not fair—last time, there were like four fat ladies."
"Dad…"
"Candelyn?"
Candy looked up to see all six eyes staring back at her, with the usual worried expressions on their faces. She managed a smile and took a breath. "I'm fine."
They all shifted uneasily in their seats. Cohens. Such predictable creatures.
"Did you… uhh… take your AZT?" asked Angela trying to be as nonchalant as she possibly could.
"Yes, I did," replied Candy taking another sip of wine. "Is that all you ever do? Remind every New Yorker with AIDS to take their AZT?"
At the same time Angela raised her eyebrow at her and smiled, a new deeper voice entered into their discussion.
"Not every New Yorker," the voice said. Candy looked behind her and saw the same man she had been staring at towering over them. "Is everything alright? Would you folks like something to eat?" He gestured at Linda and Andrew who hadn't been served.
"You know what, that sounds wonderful," said Linda. "I'll take your special."
"Great, and you?" He looked at Andrew and grinned.
"Um… I'll have the same, thanks."
"I'll have those for you shortly. And by the way, Ms. Simmons, I enjoyed your column this week—Fashion Today: Très chic or grey and bleak?"
"Thank you so much," she said and he left with the same old smile on. She waited until he was out of sight and then turned her head back.
"Is it just me or does he seem a little strange?" Linda asked.
"Yeah!" agreed Candelyn.
"Here we go," said Angela.
"He's just like any other guy in this restaurant," said Andrew.
"Did you see the way he was looking at you?" asked Linda.
Andrew looked at his sister as an older brother would look at his sister. "So?"
"Didn't he seem like he was coming on to you?"
"Of course."
"What?"
"Look, it's a myth that old man Tom is queer, but only the wiser ones know that the myth is true. Others just think it's some rumor, but still keep a wary eye out. What's the big deal anyway? He's not molesting anyone."
"Just strange…" said Candelyn.
"How is it strange?" asked Angela, a bit offended.
"Oh no, I don't mean it that way. I mean… I don't know." She looked at her friend earnestly. "Please don't take it that way."
"I know," said Angela sighing. "But now I'm wondering if I can request that Angie's can have a Gay's Night or something."
"Happy hour," said Linda smirking, and pouring herself some wine.
"Gay Hour," responded Angela, smiling. Candelyn moved in her seat a bit, uncomfortable with the topic. She had to admit, she wasn't at all liberal about homosexuality or things of that sort. She didn't mind it, but it did make her feel troubled at times. She was raised with going to operas and musicals, reading books, being alone in her room so much, that she was sheltered by any other topic that was considered appalling to the norms of society. She was learning to cope with it though.
A few minutes later, Linda and Andrew were served and they continued to eat and have a light conversation. This time Candelyn was included and she was happy to talk with them about what she wanted to do in life, with her future. She loved looking at the future because she always loved dreaming of what she was able to do. One of the things she loved about her parents was instilling her with the hope to do anything she could, to be the best she could, with what she wanted. And when they were through with that, Andrew and Angela continued to bicker.
"Excited about your dad's new film?" he asked.
"Ugh," groaned Angela.
"What? I happen to be a fan of Uncle's Mark's work. It's so gory and abstract," said Andrew.
"What does that tell you?" asked Angela.
"He's suicidal?"
"Or so horny that it's painful."
"Angela!" said Linda.
"Seriously, if the man doesn't get laid pretty soon, I'm hiring a prostitute and I'll even pay big money for it."
"If you need recs, there's a corner a few streetlights away with some good-looking girls of Uncle Mark's type—" Andrew was interrupted with a slap on the shoulder from his sister.
"Andrew!" she said trying to hush the both of them.
"What? I have to know these things." He turned his head back to Angela. "I also know where the drug dealers hang out if you need the good stuff."
"Look," said Angela, sighing. She lowered her voice. "It's just… I've been searching through his things—"
"Porno films, is that what you saw?" he asked.
"No! Would you listen?" she said. Candy looked at her apprehensively, unsure whether she should listen or day dream again. But her best friend looked really serious about this; it was one of the first time she ever dropped her cynical expressions when talking about her dad. She watched her tentatively.
"I was changing his bed sheets—they were drenched in beer—and I found this journal that he keeps. It's back where it belongs, but…"
"Is he… suicidal? Is he keeping something from us?" asked Linda.
"No, he's not suicidal," said Angela frustrated, "but he's definitely keeping something from us. This journal—he hasn't written in it in years. He stopped writing in it as soon as he got his camera. But he kept mentioning a girl named April."
"Maybe an old girlfriend," suggested Andrew.
"I don't know. I can't make up a lot of his chicken scratch. Great director, horrible penmanship. I didn't get anything else. He came home as soon as I made out the name."
"Did you confront him about it?" asked Candy suddenly. She just said it out of the blue. She didn't think it was right to snoop through others' belongings.
"Of course not," she replied. "What am I suppose to say? 'Hey, dad, I found your private diary and I thought I should take a look at it. Now what does the next line say?' He would get so upset."
"Well maybe we can interrogate it," said Andrew.
Angela rolled her eyes. "Would you stop thinking like a cop!"
"No it's not a bad idea," said Linda. "I mean, we don't interrogate him full on, but I'm a journalist- I can scoop out a few things."
"Wait a minute," said Candy quickly. "Why should we invade someone else's privacy that way? Give him a break."
"Candy, I want to know why my father drinks so much. Then maybe he can get some help, and I can go on with my life. You understand, right?"
Candy sighed hopelessly. She did understand. For as long as she knew her, she had been the caretaker of her father. They loved each other endlessly, but she never got the chance to live her childhood or plan out her future because she was always in her father's shadow—there to support him with his career, there to catch him when he fell. Candy's parents tried to support him as well, but he became more distant with them, although they remained the greatest of friends. Something was missing, and Angela never could get that information out of him. Candy just wanted to help out, so she nodded.
They finished their afternoon meal and decided to go back to Angela's to talk with her father. Linda coached them from the front as Andrew drove. Angela and Candy lived in a nice apartment building, quite high-classed but affordable. They approached the building, entered the elevator and waited until the door opened to the sixth floor. Angela took her key out to unlock the door but found that it was slightly opened.
"Your parents must be here," said Angela to Candy. "He never leaves the door unlocked unless there's company." She pushed it open.
Candy jumped back as she saw a stranger in the room. A woman, curly, dark hair, long and scattered all over her face in a rage. She was screaming at Angela's dad, but she was upset, almost crying. Beer bottles were seen all over the table. Angela's father stood against the wall, his glasses askew on his face.
"Has the whole goddamn world changed, Mark?" yelled the woman. She took one of the beer bottles and broke it on the edge of the table. Quickly, Andrew jolted behind the woman and tied her hands behind her back. He forced her to let go of the bottle as he cuffed her. Angela ran to her father's side, giving him a bear hug. Candy looked at Linda frightened, befuddled.
"Maureen?" Candy looked to the hallway and saw her father with an utterly confused expression. "Andrew? What's going on?"
"She was going to attack him," said Andrew.
"Andrew. Let her go."
Candy's jaw almost dropped as she heard her father say those words. Why was he protecting her?