Chapter Two
A/N: I forgot to mention this last week but updates will be once a week. Thanks to all reviewers! Love you guys!
This chapter always feels a little awkward. The story gets better after the first few, I swear! Please stay with me! (Pleads)
Matthew and Alfred continued to walk at a steady pace down the streets and around several corners. They crossed at lights – one with a crossing guard, until they reached an old narrow home off on a side street.
"So this is where you live, huh?" Alfred studied the structure with amazement. The area was a calm mix of urban and suburban.
"Yeah, it's nothing special." Matthew took a quick glance back at the brick building with a front patio.
"Well yeah," The American shrugged, "It's kind of small, I guess."
"You should probably head back," The Canadian ruffled the bag on his shoulder, "Your dad might be looking for you. Do you remember the way?"
"Yup," Alfred gave his new friend a thumbs-up, "But if I get lost I can always call Manfred."
"Who?" Matthew blinked.
"Oh…" the blond rubbed the back of his head, "He's just…our…chauffeur."
Mathieu was stunned. He had just been kidding when he brought it up but now he was starting to think Alfred really was part of the so-called 1% that Americans were protesting about. Reflecting hard on what the young man had said when they met he remember him saying something in regards to a technology company. Then it hit him like a ton of bricks. Jones…tech giant…
"Alfred…" Matthew's voice contained both his fear and excitement, "is your dad…David Jones?"
The man stood and stared for a moment before answering, "Yeah. That's his name, why?"
"Would he," Matthew continued, "happen to be the CEO and owner of the famous CompuTech Corporation?"
Alfred shrugged, "So what if he is? He only got the position because my grandfather decided to retire early."
The Canadian's mouth dropped right open, "You mean George Jones…is your grandfather?"
The American twisted his mouth a little, "How do you know so much about my family? Unless you're in to technology…I guess it makes sense then."
"Everyone knows about them!" Matt blurted out, attracting some small attention from the elderly couple walking on the other side of the road. Noticing his blunder he quieted his voice, "Everyone knows CompuTech is one of the largest and richest technology companies out there. You guys are billionaires!"
"Correction," Alfred butt in, "My father is a billionaire. I'm just a plain old millionaire."
Matthew glared, "What do you mean plain old? That's certainly a lot better than most of us."
The American, dressed in his favourite bomber jacket shrugged again, "Well if it's any consolation I earned most of the money on my own. Between helping dad with his company, buying stocks, and being a kick-ass poker player I've managed to create my own capital stash."
Matthew frowned, "Well good for you. Wish I was that lucky."
Alfred laughed, "No luck; just skill."
The Canadian wanted to respond but was disrupted by the ringing of a cellphone. Alfred picked up his iPhone and began talking with a man on the other end of the line. He held his index finger to Matthew signalling that when he was done they'd return to their conversation. It was no surprise to Matthew that the person on the other end was Alfred's father barking at him to return to the convention.
Sighing and shoving his bulky, rectangular phone back in his pocket he looked at the Canadian with a curl in his hair, "That was my dad. He's demanding I head back to the hotel. I'd still like to hang out some time though. I'll be here for a while and…well…you're really the only friend I've got here so…anyway, thanks for the walk…um…"
"Matthew." He couldn't fathom why he'd just given a near complete stranger his name but somehow he felt like doing it was harmless. After all, Alfred had been kind enough to give his name...why shouldn't Matthew?
"Right! Matthew!" Alfred shouted as he waved and ran off, "I'll see you later!"
After watching Alfred turn the corner Matthew opened his front door and shuffled inside. He closed it and leaned against the structure for a moment to reflect on everything that had just happened – primarily meeting the son of a billionaire. Before he could spout more than a few thoughts his father called from the kitchen.
"Mathieu? C'est tu?"
"Oui, papa" Matthew pushed away from the door and dropped his bag on the bottom stair. He headed into the kitchen to greet his dad.
Entering the kitchen Matthew was met with the smiling face of his father, Francis. The first of a series of questions started off with: How was practice? It was followed by: Did you make the team?
Matthew delighted his father with the news that he had, as expected, made the team. He told the Frenchman of all the praise the coach had given him and that "great things were expected of him".
"Someday you will be captain, you know." Francis grinned sipping a glass of white Welch's grape juice, "Because you're French."
Matthew sighed. That was what his father always said. Whenever the young Canadian did extraordinarily well his father was sure to remind him it was because he had French blood in him. He would be warned that had he had English blood he would only be half as good. Arthur usually took strong offense to this. It usually degraded into another fight.
The Canadian figured it'd be best to ignore the last part and focus on the first, "Some of the guys are saying I should be alternate captain this year."
Francis nodded, "I think so too. It will help you settle into your new role as captain next year."
Matthew frowned, "Nobody said I'd be captain next year, papa."
"Obviously," Francis tapped his cup on the table, "if they want you to be one of the alternate captains than they are grooming you to be captain."
Matthew leaned back in his wooden seat, "But it's just a rumour. There's no point in getting excited over it."
"Well, remember to tell Arthur when he gets home. I know he was expecting good news today from you." Francis pushed his chair back and stood to put his now empty cup into the sink, "Oh, and by the way…"
"Yeah?"
"Maybe you should consider getting into sports professionally. You still have that old hockey demo tape from high school right?"
"It'd have to be updated, papa. Besides, I'm not sure if professional sports are for me."
"Why not?" Francis pouted, "You're so good at it! You could easily get signed with one of those fancy professional hockey teams."
"I dunno…" Matthew quickly altered the conversation not wanting to drag this one out, "Are you teaching at the college tonight?"
"Hm?" The older man had been lost in thought, "oh, oui, I am."
"Lovely," the younger slouched into his chair, "That means Arthur is cooking."
Francis laughed lightly, "Yes. It does. Je suis desolé."
"That's alright," Matthew stretched his arms up, "But if you come home and I'm dead you'll know why."
)()()()()(
Matthew stood patiently in line as he waited to pay for the hockey tape and stick he was carrying in his arms. Since the hockey season was generally over most things were going on sale – it was a great time to buy and stock up for next year.
He had managed to survive not one, but two days of Arthur's cooking. Francis had been invited out to dinner two nights ago, the night after his cooking class, leaving Arthur to cook (or attempt to cook) another meal for the two at home. Luckily his father had brought home some leftovers and let the semi-starving (and slightly sick) Matthew have what was left. Since everyone was busy yesterday it was declared at "make your own dinner night". Francis made himself a chicken wrap, Matthew enjoyed some Kraft Dinner with ketchup and Arthur ate…something…Matthew wasn't quite sure what it was supposed to be.
After purchasing his tape and stick Matthew collected his Canadian Tire money from the cashier along with his change and exited the department store via the sliding doors. He was barely three metres away from the bus stop when someone from a distance started shouting his name.
"Matthew!"
Matthew looked around. He could see no one. Then he looked back and there he was…flailing his arms around with a couple of papers in hand. It was Alfred. It had been almost three days since Matthew last saw the young man.
"Matthew!" Alfred finally caught up with the Canadian and stopped to pant. He hunched, gasping at air before pulling himself back up. "Sorry…I've been trying to find you…but it's kind of hard when all you have is a photo and first name."
Matthew recalled giving Alfred his first name…but a photo?
"I went to go look you up in the phonebook when I realized…dude, he didn't give me his last name! So I had to go searching – and luckily I took this picture of you at practice, so I went back to the field but couldn't find anyone that could identify you so I –"
Matthew cut Alfred off, "What do you mean, picture?"
"Oh yeah!" The American pulled out his iPhone and showed Matthew a picture of himself hustling on the field at lacrosse practice, "I took it a couple of days ago. I mean, you just looked so cool. I couldn't help it."
The Canadian was slightly annoyed and embarrassed that a (more or less) stranger would take his picture.
Alfred continued on with his story, "It was friggin' goose chase! I finally managed to find someone who recognized you. They were like 'oh, that's Cartier's kid' and I was like 'great!' so I looked that name up but there were so many of them! So I called all the ones that said Cartier, M but none of them were you."
Matthew was in shock. It had been a long time since someone had referred to him as a "Cartier".
Alfred carried on, "So anyway, when I asked about the lacrosse team at the headquarters for the local newspaper they said they'd pull out an old article about the team winning last year and sure enough you were in it! But…it said Bonnefoy."
"Oh," Matthew said, sounding slightly dazed. He was still jolted by the resurfacing of his "other name".
"I was able to look into birth records and stuff – the people at city hall are really nice – and your birth certificate had two names, so I guess the lady who told me Cartier wasn't lying because it was on the paper and –"
"Wait a minute," Matthew jumped in, "Slow down…you saw my birth certificate?"
"Yeah."
"I don't…get it…why…" Matthew was unsure if he'd ever been this confused before. Who was this kid and why was he so obsessed with Matthew?
"Oh sorry. Like I said, you didn't give me your last name so I had to go looking for you." Alfred gave a nervous laugh, "Who's Cartier?"
Matthew was still trying to grapple with the situation. This American guy was digging into his past and for what? To hang out? Why didn't he just find someone else to spend the day with? Why spend days trying to hunt down Matthew?
Matthew's silence was selling his insecurity. Alfred could see it, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry or anything. I was just really curious. It was like a mystery. I guess I got a little too excited. Sorry…"
The Canadian, who'd been staring at the ground looked back up, "Why would they even let you see it?"
"See what?" Alfred responded before cluing in, "Oh, I dunno…I made something up. Can't even remember what I said."
Matthew slid down onto the small grassy patch that separated the sidewalk from the parking lot of the strip mall complex. Alfred frowned watching the swirling distance in the boy's eyes, "Matthew? Why do you have two last names?"
The Canadian looked up and opened his mouth, but his attention was caught by the coming bus before he could say anything. Springing up he raced over to the bus stop with Alfred close behind.
"Dude wait!"
"I can't!" Matthew hollered back, looking over his shoulder. "I gotta get home!"
Grabbing Matthew on the arm before he could get on the bus he asked, "Can you at least give me your number or something? I mean, you wouldn't want me going back to city hall or anything right?"
In truth Alfred already had Matthew's number. He had his street address, the name of his school, heck he even knew the licence plate on Matthew's father's car! But he wanted it straight from Matthew. Alfred had always been a go-getter and while he wasn't quite sure what was drawing him to the Canadian he did know there was something secretive about the young man and Alfred wanted to know his story. The American wasn't, however, a creepy stalker. That's was why he begged Matthew for contact – he needed permission to take that next step.
To his surprise Matthew responded positively, "Yeah, fine." The Canadian quickly scribbled his number down on a piece of paper he had in his pocket and gave it to Alfred. After the exchange the doors closed behind him and the bus swiftly catapulted down the street and away from Alfred.
Looking at the paper Alfred couldn't help but laugh a little. The words were slightly smudged, "Heh…he's left-handed."
)()()()()(
Matthew sat cross-legged on his bed listening to the music on his iPod playing through his headphones. In front of him was a book on lacrosse play strategies. He had picked it up off his shelf to use as a cover in case anyone walked in on him. In truth, Matthew was absorbed in thought. He couldn't comprehend why Alfred had gone out of his way to find him – and worse yet, how Alfred managed to find out about the Cartier name. The name and its association with him was no secret, not for relatives and old friends or acquaintances but he generally tended to hide it from those who were new to him. He wasn't ashamed of the name, he was actually rather proud, but it brought back horrible memories.
Looking up from his book Matthew was startled by the image of Arthur standing in the doorway. Taking off his headphones he asked as politely as possible, "Yes? Do you need something?"
"Sorry to bother you, Matthew," Arthur leaned against the wooden frame, "but there's someone on the phone for you."
The young man arched a brow. Was it him? Already?
Leaving his music and book behind Matthew travelled out the door of his room, swung a right, and jogged down the wooden stairs to the narrow hallway where the phone rested on a skinny circular, wooden table. "Hello?"
"Hey Matthew! Sorry to call you so soon!" Matthew was right, it was Alfred. Matthew had seen him only two hours ago and the American was already calling him. The blonde was beginning to regret giving the other his number.
"Look, I called because this whole Cartier thing is bothering me!" Matthew was livid. It was none of Alfred's business who "Cartier" was. Had Arthur not been in the living room near the hallway the Canadian might have used stronger words.
"I'm sorry Alfred, but I don't like to talk about that." Even saying something that simple would attract the attention of the Brit in the other room. Matthew decided he'd draw attention away completely to avoid having two people hassle him.
"Oh," A rather sad and disappointed voice responded, "It's just that I-"
Alfred voice was drowned out by Arthur's exclamation, "Is that a limousine out there! What on earth is it doing in front of our house?"
Matthew's heart sunk. No…just…no. Hoping to dispel his fear he asked through the receiver, "Alfred…are you outside my house?"
"Weeeeeelllllll…." The American was trying to find a way to put it without upsetting the already concerned Canadian.
"You are, aren't you?" Matthew put the receiver back on the hook and walked outside to see a stretched black limo in front of the house with Alfred standing in front holding a cellphone to his ear.
"…Oh…hi." Alfred smiled, still holding the phone.
End Notes:
Just some end notes…
~I chose George as Alfred's grandfather's name for a reason – it's a reference to George Washington.
~Yes, a lot of Canadians eat Kraft Dinner (or 'mac and cheese' as everyone else would call it) with ketchup. Come to think of it…we eat A LOT of things with ketchup. According to Heinz's website Canadians and Brits like their ketchup sweeter than Americans and continental Europeans. Hmmmm.
~Canadian Tire money DOES exist. Look it up. I kid you not. Canadian Tire is a chain store that sells…like…hardware stuff. You know, "handyman" stuff. But they also have small housing appliance type things too like…ceiling fans and humidifiers and vacuums. They also have outdoor patios and…stuff. They also have stuff for your car. Just lots of…stuff. I'm sure you can just google/yahoo it on your computer. Not hard.
~Cartier – probably the SECOND most infamous name in Quebec history (next to Dion. XD HAHAHA). Anyway, it's a reference to BOTH Jacques Cartier the man who founded and named our country and George-Étienne Cartier a founder of Canadian Confederation, 1867 (and "best friend" to first Prime Minister, John A. MacDonald).
