Gritting my teeth, I said, “It’s a family name.”
“Speaking of family…your father is Edward Vanderhaus…”
Hearing him mention that name made my skin crawl.
“I’m quite aware of that, yes. He’s my biological father, but he didn’t raise me.”
“I was on patrol once for a private event in the City that Vanderhaus booked. He’s kind of a dick. No offense.”
“None taken. And believe me, I’m quite aware of that.” I sighed. “What did he do?”
“It wasn’t so much what he did…just the way he spoke to people, you know? Just my observation.”
“Yup. I know exactly what you mean.”
“Gia was telling me everything—about your inheritance. You don’t have to go into it. Very interesting story, though, to say the least.”
I turned to her. “Did you talk about anything other than me today, Gia?”
She shrugged. “Sorry. But I tell my dad everything.”
“I can see that.” I offered a slight smile so she didn’t actually think I was mad at her. I could’ve cared less what her father knew. I had nothing to hide.
The waitress came by to refill my coffee and warmed Tony’s, too.
He gulped some of it down then said, “Sounds like you’ve done the best you can with all that you’ve been given, son—the good and the bad.”
“At heart, I’m still a blue-collar guy from Long Island. I saw how hard my mother struggled. I never expected things to be handed to me. I still work hard and don’t take anything for granted.”
“Well, this poor boy from Queens finds that admirable.”
Gia interrupted, “He’s fixing my car for me, too, Dad.”
“You know your way around cars?”
“Yeah. I used to work in an auto repair shop.”
Tony seemed impressed. “No kidding…”
“He also used to be a tattoo artist,” Gia said. “I asked him if he could ink me, but he refuses.”
“Sounds like he knows you can be a little impulsive. Good call, Rush.”
I almost wished Gia’s dad were more of a dick. It would give me another good reason to stay away from her. He’d raised her all on his own and seemed to have done a hell of a job. I hated to say it, but Tony was cool as shit, the kind of man I wished I had for a father.
He looked down at his watch. “Well, as much as I’d love to stay with you, sweetheart, work beckons.
I’ve got to get back to the precinct.”
Gia pouted. “Alright, Daddy. I’m glad we got to see each other.” She stood up and gave him a hug.
He held out his hand. “Rush…it was a pleasure. Stay out of trouble.” He gave me a look and for some reason that one seemed serious.
Stay out of trouble.
Translation: Stay out of Gia.
Rush had asked if I was in a hurry to return to the Hamptons. Since it was my night off, I told him there was no reason I had to get back by a certain time.
After we left Ellen’s, he said he wanted to get something to eat, which was odd because we’d just spent the last hour at a diner.
Apparently, it wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to eat at the restaurant but that he had his heart set on Gray’s Papaya hot dogs. We left Gray’s with a bag full of wieners.
Rush walked and ate at the same time. “Whenever I come to the City, I just have to have one,” he said, biting into the hotdog, which was loaded with chili and cheese.
“One? You ordered ten!”
“They’re not all for me,” Rush said with his mouth full.
“Who are they for?”
“Some friends. You’ll meet them in a bit.”
Hmm. I was going to meet his friends?
He held up his hotdog. “Wanna bite?”
“I’m full, thanks.”
The sun was coming down over the City. It was a gorgeous evening.
About fifteen minutes later, we stopped at an alleyway, and I immediately figured out who his friends were. Rush had taken the bag of hotdogs to a few homeless men who were gathered in the alley with their belongings stuffed into black trash bags.
“Hey, guys.”
One of them seemed to recognize him. “Hey, Rush, man. How’s it goin’?”
“What’s good?” Rush asked, handing the entire bag over to him.
“Nothing…you know…the usual.”
“Thought you might be hungry.”
“Starving. Thank you,” the man said. “Who’s your pretty friend?”
“This is Gia.”
I waved. “Hello.”
Rush then reached into his wallet and handed the guy a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Promise me, you won’t spend it on booze.”
“You got it. I promise.”
Rush pointed his two fingers to his eyes and then back at the man. “I’m watching you, Tommy. Take care of yourself, okay?”
As we walked away, I whispered, “That was really nice of you.”
He waited until we were no longer within earshot of the men to say, “A long time ago, I decided that a good way to wash away the negativity I feel toward my family’s greed is to counter it with something charitable. I told myself every time I come to the City for an obligatory business meeting, that I’d help someone in some way before I leave. Makes me feel good.”
“That’s really commendable.”
“Nah. I have the means. I don’t even feel a dent. It would only be commendable if it were a sacrifice.
Not like I’m giving anyone the shirt off my back.”
“I don’t agree. It’s the thought that counts, no matter how much money you have. You’re a good guy, Rush. And you would give anyone the shirt off your back if they needed it. I’ve only known you for a short time, but I have no doubt about that.”
His ears seemed to turn red. I was learning that Rush wasn’t comfortable taking compliments.
He stopped for a moment. “Anywhere you want to go before we head back?”
Starting to feel tired, I said, “I think I’d just like to go home. I have to write tonight.”
We started walking again when he asked, “How’s it coming anyway? The book?”
I sighed. “It’s not really…coming.”
His mouth twitched and he looked tense.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“You said coming. I lost my train of thought for a second.”
“Forgot I have to be careful with my words around you.” I winked.
“Seriously, though,” he said. “Why do you think you’re having so much trouble focusing?”
“I just can’t stop the self-doubt. I second-guess every word and erase what I wrote half of the time.
It’s awful.”
Rush scratched his chin. “Why don’t you try to write as if no one is going to read it? Just say fuck it…and stop overthinking it. I bet if you go back and read what you wrote afterward, you’ll find it’s not even that bad. Having something down on paper is better than nothing at all.”
I pondered his advice. “So, pretend that no one will ever see it…”
“Yeah. If you find yourself stopping to think too much…just keep going…push through it. Worry about it later. Write the first thing that comes to mind and trust your instinct. You’re probably a way worse judge of yourself than anyone.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “Anyway, who cares what people think? Write what you like…I bet it will turn out that’s what other people will like, too.”
Nodding, I considered his advice. “I’ll try to adopt that approach.” His words repeated it my mind and prompted me to say, “But that’s pretty ironic coming from you, don’t you think?”
“What part is ironic?”
“‘Who cares what people think?’ This from the guy who refuses to date an employee for fear of what everyone will think?”
He slowed his pace, looking a bit pissed at me for bringing this up. “It’s not about what people think, so much as the principle of the matter. As a business owner, you don’t date someone you employ. It’s unethical. It’s also ripe pickings for a lawsuit and that’s a headache I sure as hell don’t need.”
“But it’s okay for you to sleep in my bed?”
That comment seemed to anger him even more. “No, that’s not okay. That was a mistake.”