by Rose St. Andrews
Call me Tiffany. There came a time when I decided, having far too much money to even bother keeping track of, to get away from my usual routine. The fjords of Norway were boring, and I didn't feel like sushi, so Japan was out. As summer was just around the corner, it was Memorial Day weekend, I decided to visit Uncle Donald and Uncle James on Cape Cod. As an added bonus, my BFF Lisa also lived in the area; she owned a small place in Woods Hole. I always thought that funny - Hole!
Anyway, Don and James were actually my 'uncles', but I had long ago removed the quotes from around their designations. I couldn't remember a time when they weren't in my life, as opposed to mom and dad, who were usually off doing... well, whatever it was/is they do. Donald had been the Household Manager for our main home out in the Hamptons, and James was our Head Butler. However, those titles were as meaningless as calling them my 'uncles'. No, the two of them spent most of their time keeping me out of trouble. My earliest dimmest memory is of them - I think I was three or four at the time - chasing after me. I was buck naked, running through the great hall of our house, and they were trying to get me to put my clothes back on.
Oh, I had a nanny, I suppose I should say nannies, but she/they never lasted. I lost count after about number fourteen. No, it was Dandy Don and Quiet James who raised me. Everyone called Donald 'Dandy', even me - although at the time I didn't get the significance of the term. No, that 'coming out' took place when I was twelve, when Donald and James revealed to everyone their feelings for each other. As it turned out, about ninety percent of the staff already knew! Almost everyone was overjoyed, everyone except one particular person.
My dad.
And, as he was their employer, his word was what really mattered. He fired them that day, and I cried myself to sleep that night. Yet I did not let my dad stand in the way of me continuing a relationship with them. No way was I letting go of those old goats! Thank God for email, IM, and Skype. While not there in person, they still managed to help me get through high school. Unfortunately, college (colleges!) was/were another matter.
Now, staying with them in their nice little place right on the beach, I insisted on taking them out to eat for every meal, and every night Lisa and I hit the clubs. There was one place that covered both bases - The Pour House. It was a great little restaurant by day, and a hot club come the night. I loved their motto: The Pour House, Where the Spirits Flow.
One day, sitting down to lunch, nestled between 'my men', I just basked in the glee of their friendship. We made for quite the different family unit. Donald was tall, fit, and his chiseled features made his jaw look sharp enough to actually cut paper with. James matched him in height, but he was more, I don't know ... suave and debonair I think are the terms that best describe him. Both men were well into middle-age, but were fighting the aging process tooth and nail, and succeeding, at least in my opinion. Yet the two were also a study in contrast. Where Don was Mr. Laid-back and casual, James was always so prim and proper. Here we were having a casual lunch, and he was dressed to the nines. Donald had gorgeous auburn hair and blue eyes. I was convinced he used Grecian Formula to keep the gray hairs at bay, and James' short, tightly curled black hair had a light dusting of gray.
Looking about the room, I could see a few confused and even mean expressions among the patrons. After all, a twenty-something petite ebony-haired white girl with a (again, in my opinion) great rack sitting with an interracial middle-aged gay couple! Talk about a true study in contrasts. I also detected a degree of discord among my best buds.
"Uncle Don, Uncle James, what's up? I know you two, you've got something on your minds. Come on, out with it."
"Well..." they said together.
I rolled my eyes. God, were they like an old married couple or what? Don held out his hand to James, his way of saying 'You first'. Of course, we always used to kid them that he really meant 'Age before beauty'.
"Well, dearie, it really isn't for me to say, but..."
Of course that was his way of saying it was for him to say!
"Don't you think you should get some more appropriate outfits?"
Truth be told, my clothes tended to be on the well, short side. Tops that were several inches too short, they barely covered my ample assets, and shorts that met the criteria in name only. This day I was in my favorite tie-dye t-shirt and homemade cutoff jeans that I'd made truly short.
"Uncle James, come on, lots of girls wear stuff like this now."
James went with the old tut-tut and head shake. "The stupidity of others is no excuse for your lack of good judgment. Donny, your thoughts?"
"While I agree with your assessment, James, I have a greater concern for our little one. Financial. Sweetie, while we appreciate you treating us to all these meals, shouldn't you watch your spending?"
I truly rolled my eyes. "Sheesh, my clothes, my spending, what's next? When have I ever had to worry about money?"
"Never," James snapped. "Which is precisely why you should."
"Oh, you're just an old worry-wart. I don't care about money."
Both of them shook their heads and sighed.
"Ah yes," Don said, "the proclamation of the children of wealth. If you're not saying you don't care about money, you're whining about how much you hate it."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I shot back.
"Have you forgotten our lessons on finances?" he said.
I had. I chewed my lip. "Ahhh."
He sighed. "Of course. Tiffany, only people who have never had to work a day in their lives hate money. The rest of us, the ones who have to clip coupons, save pennies, and actually worry about paying the bills: we care. Once, just once I wish you could learn that."
Before I could open my mouth to slam him with one of my witty comebacks, the manager came up to the table, he did not look happy.
"Miss Wentworth, there appears to be an issue with your credit card."
"What?" we all said.
James and I glared at Don. "Don, is this your doing?" James said.
Donald shook his head violently. "I had nothing to do with it!"
"Oh yeah?" James replied. "Okay, try wishing for a million dollars, and let's see what happens."
Donald ignored his silly remark and turned toward me. "Sweetie, you sure you're not over your limit on that card?"
I shrugged. "I dunno, I never keep track of that shit. Dad always takes care of the bill." Sifting through my fanny pack, I got out my other cards and fanned them out before the manager. "Here, use one of these. Even I can't have exceeded the limit on all of them."
The manager's response was to take all of my cards. I hadn't noticed the scissors in his other hand, and all I could do was watch as he promptly snipped them up.
"Hey, what the fuck was that all about?!" I snapped, getting to my feet.
"Tiffany Amber Wentworth," James scolded, "you watch your mouth!"
"I apologize, Miss, but my instructions were to confiscate and destroy your cards," the manager replied.
I stood for a moment, just sort of miming being part of the conversation, and then my brain kicked back into action. I did what any trust fund baby would do. I got out the old Smart Phone and called dad.
Donald patted me on the back. "Sweetie, what are you doing?"
"Donnie Dear, take your foot off the clutch and engage your active brain cells. She must be calling dear old dad. I'll go settle the bill, you stay with her."
I was only dimly aware of their actions; I was dialing dad's private line, the one reserved for friends and family. As usual, his assistant answered. It seemed she'd been expecting my call. Dad 'dearest' wouldn't speak to me; he'd had it with my tomfoolery and troublemaking, and had cancelled all of my charge accounts. Not only that, I was banned from setting foot in any of our homes, condos and apartments.
"That fucking bastard! Who the hell does he think he is?!" I screamed. "Sheesh, who the hell stuck a bee up his butt that he should go thermal on me?"
Not waiting for anyone to give me an answer, I next turned my attention, and anger, at the manager. Five minutes later, after treating him to a profanity-laced diatribe, I stormed out of the place. Donald and James were right at my heels, scolding me about all manner of things. I only vaguely heard them. We walked along, and finally arrived back at their place. It always reminded me of the guest cottage of our main summer home, the one in Maine.
Or was it New Hampshire? Oh well, it didn't matter. The old goats had a nice two-story New England colonial. It had such a nice lived-in and well cared for look to it, and Uncle Don's flowerbeds were on either side of the stone steps that led up to the front door. The salt air tickled my nose, and the beach and Vineyard Sound were on the other side of the place.
Storming into the small foyer, I moved into the living room on our left, and threw myself down on the antique couch. I always loved coming to visit them, their place was so completely un-like our home. Theirs was warm and homey; ours was as cold and sterile as an art museum. And my dad, he could tell me to the penny, the value of every item there, but he couldn't appreciate a single artwork.
Donald sat next to me, offering some words of comfort, and James took a seat in the high-backed chair on the other side of the glass-top coffee table from us.
"Tiffany, you turn around and talk to us," James said.
"No! I'm busy," I grumbled.
Don snorted, which I did not appreciate.
"Busy? What on earth could you be busy with?"
"Plotting my revenge on that old bastard," I shot back. "Oh, I hate him so much."
James sighed. "Tiffany, don't you remember our lesson on hate?"
I ground my teeth and rolled my eyes. Yeah, I remembered it. I had been what, ten years-old? Some girl at school had won the election as class president, and I'd gone thermal. It was James who gave me my life lesson of the day. He'd said, "The Cherokee believe we each have two wolves inside us. One is evil. It is greed, lies, resentment, hate and anger. The other is peace, hope, love, joy, truth and kindness. The wolf that wins the battle for our soul is the one we feed." I so hated it when he forced me to get all introspective and stuff. Right now, I did not want to be reminded of some silly childhood lesson! So I remained mute.
"Tiff', James asked you a question. The polite thing to do is respond."
My response was to grunt. Now I heard them both sigh.
"Donald dearest, I think the time for talk is over. I think perhaps firm action is called for."
"You really think so? I mean, after all, she is a grown woman."
"Who's acting like a twelve year old! I suggest we treat her as one."
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