Chapter 7

9:45 p.m. Sunday

Regan called just like she promised she would. She could only talk for a few minutes but Andy was grateful that he could turn his mind to different things than his newfound father.

"So, I'm supposed to ask what color dress you're wearing on Friday," Andy said.

"I have a black one," Regan answered. She was surprised that Andy didn't want to discuss anything more consequential.

"So a lime-green tux with an orange cummerbund would do the trick for me then," he said. "Good, that was what I picked out."

"Please tell me you're joking," Regan said.

"Nope, that was the one I picked out," Andy said. "But my Mom said no way. Do you think I should get black, white or gray? I mean, do I have a choice?"

"You have a choice but I think black would look best," Regan said. "How about for yours? What color should I wear?"

It suddenly occurred to Andy that Regan wasn't likely to wear a dress more than once.

"Whatever you want," he said. "Mine is not extremely formal. I can get by with a suit and tie if that is how you want to play it."

"I think we dazzle them," Regan said. "I think I show up looking like a million bucks and make all the other girls jealous because they're slumming with their boyfriends and I've got you."

"A million bucks?" Andy asked with a laugh. "Isn't that slumming to you?"

"For me?" Regan replied with a haughtiness that took Andy a moment to understand wasn't real. "Not really. I usually spend only half that amount per event. Some of the others out here will spend two million and still look cheap."

She dissolved into giggles.

"Yes, Andy," she said when she stopped laughing. "There are some people who believe our dance is a red-carpet event and who will arrive in a custom-made designer dress and wearing jewelry that costs a lot of money. I won't be one of them. I might have insisted on doing that if I hadn't met you. Now it's much more important to me that I'm going with you and we're going to have fun than it is to try to impress people with how wealthy my family is."

"I would guess most of the people at C-B already know," Andy pointed out.

"Probably but I was talking about the others we might run into," she told him. "Last year, one of the girl's mothers arranged for her to take one of those disposal singing stars that crop up every year on that reality show. He came to campus, gave a free show in the afternoon and escorted the girl to the dance – where they both got blitzed on coke and wound up screwing in the hallway because neither was smart enough to find the keycard to their room. It took a lot of money from a lot of sources to keep that one quiet."

"Please tell me you're joking," Andy said. He could see some stoned celebrity grabbing Regan's butt and Andy knocking the jerk on his ass – and winding up in prison for it.

"About that? No," Regan answered softly, "I'm serious about that. But I don't think anyone is planning something so ridiculous this year. The school threatened to stop the dances and expel anyone caught misbehaving."

"Sounds like a toothless threat to me," Andy said. "Look, on another topic, Mom gave me a number where I should be able to reach Lord Whatshisname. What do you think I should do?"

Regan was silent for a moment and Andy thought maybe it was already 10 p.m. and the school had a cell phone jammer.

"That has to be your decision," she finally answered.

"I know I have to decide but I wondered what you thought of the idea," Andy countered.

"If you are asking if it makes any difference to me if you're an heir to something, no," Regan replied instantly. "It doesn't change one single thing about what I think of you – or what I feel when I think of you. If you're asking whether I would do it if I were in your place, I'm not sure. I know I don't need to say this but I will anyway. I don't think you want to do anything that might harm the relationship you have with your Mom. That has to be your biggest consideration, I think."

Andy knew she was right.

Camille went to work but she promised to turn in her notice. She decided Andy was right. Since he was bound and determined to go to San Jose State there was no reason for her to keep working two jobs. She had managed to set aside almost $100,000 in his educational fund that he wasn't going to touch. She knew him well enough to know that.

Andy waited until his mother left for work to go to bed. He tried to sleep for almost an hour before arising again. He looked at the slip of paper that he placed on his dresser. He debated the pros and cons of making the call. Would it change the relationship he had with his mother? No. There was no way Andy would let that happen.

Would it have any effect on anything? How would he feel if this man – his father – spurned him? His mother would probably travel across the ocean and kick the guy's ass.

Andy chuckled at the thought.

With a sigh, he checked his wallet to see how much money he had. He would have to drive down to the all-night convenience store for a calling card. He couldn't very well ask his mother to pay for an international call. He could just imagine how much it would cost to call England.

He didn't even know where in England he was calling. The title of Smithfield could apply to almost anywhere in England, Andy figured. He still hadn't made a decision when he returned to the apartment with a fresh $50 calling card in his wallet.

It was almost 3 a.m. when he finally picked up the phone. An encyclopedia told him that England would be seven hours ahead of him. That would make it 10 a.m. there. His mouth was dry when he heard a distinctive English voice answer.

"Smithfield Manor," the clipped voiced said. "May I help you?"

Andy took a deep breath and almost hung up. But he stilled his hand.

"Uh, yes," he stammered. "My name is Andy Drayton ... Andrew Drayton. May I speak to Mr. Evander Duffield, please?"

There was silence for a moment.

"May I inquire as to what this regards?" the male voice asked.

"Oh, of course," Andy told him. "I'm sorry. Please tell Mr. Duffield that I am the son of Camille Drayton. I believe he will speak to me if you tell him that."

"Please hold, Sir," the voice told him.

Andy counted the money coming off his calling card as he waited. There was no hold music on the line – just silence. A moment later, a new voice, still distinctively British, came on.

"This is Evan Duffield," the voice said. "Is this really Camille's son?"

"Yes, Sir," Andy replied.

"May I ask how you have this exchange?" the man asked.

"She had it on a slip of paper," Andy replied.

"Are you in Great Britain?" Evan asked.

"Oh, no sir," Andy told him. "I live in northern California."

There was another silence on the line.

"It's two o'clock in the morning there!" Evan said.

"Three," Andy corrected. "We have Daylight Savings Time."

"Oh, of course," the man on the other end of the line said. "We use it here, too. I can never remember the time difference. You would think I would know that. I hate to ask but, well, nothing has happened to Cami has it?"

"Oh, no, she's fine," Andy said.

"Would it be possible to speak to her?" Evan inquired. The person calling from California sounded like he was probably an adult but Evan knew that wasn't possible. He didn't want Camille to be surprised to see an international call on her phone bill.

"I'm sorry, she's working," Andy answered.

"In the middle of the night?" Evan asked incredulously.

"Yes, sir," Andy replied evenly. "In the middle of the night, during the day, sometimes of an evening."

Evan was silent. Camille Drayton was one of the brightest people he'd ever met. He couldn't imagine her working a job that required her to be there in the middle of the night.

"And you stay by yourself?" Evan asked.

Andy found himself laughing. He had stayed by himself since he was 14 years old. If Child Services ever got a file on him, Camille would be in a world of trouble.

"Well, I'll be 18 next month," Andy told him.

"Eighteen?" Evan asked. "Next month? In June?"

"Yes, Sir," Andy replied. He had hoped Evan Duffield would make the connection without having to have it spelled out. "June 18th."

Evan felt his mouth go dry.

"You mean... ," Evan began before going silent.

"Yes, Sir," Andy answered the unasked questions. "That's what she told me."

"I, uh, you said your name is Andrew?" Evan finally asked.

"Andrew Ryan Drayton," Andy said. "I was named for your father but I prefer Andy."

"And she never told me!" Evan said in amazement.

"I know," Andy said. "I asked her about that, too. She was worried that you might sue for custody."

"Custody?" Evan asked. "That's ... that's absurd. Andy, I'm sorry. I find this remarkably difficult to believe."

"My girlfriend did an image search for you today," Andy told him. "She said there is no doubt that my mother was telling the truth."

"Yes, of course," Even said. "This is just a lot of information for me to take in. I just don't understand. I would have returned. I asked her to marry me. Did she tell you that? I mean, I asked her and I didn't know about you."

"I know," Andy replied. "She told me. But, well, if you remember my mother you'll remember that she has a fierce pride. I believe she accepted that she made a mistake and then was too proud to rectify it. She kept your phone number and she spoke highly of you."

"I suppose that's something," Evan told him. The conversation was dwindling and Andy knew it.

"I'm not sure why I called," he said. "I guess, well, I guess I just believed that you should know about me."

"I should have known much earlier than today," Evan pointed out.

"Yes," Andy admitted. A noise kept him from continuing his reply. The apartment was in a lousy neighborhood but it had never been broken into. Still, Andy knew that home-invasion robberies had increased in recent months. "I'm sorry but could you hold on. I heard a noise and I need to investigate."

Andy didn't wait for a reply. He removed the phone from his ear and held it by his side. He reached into his closet for a baseball bat. It wouldn't be much of a weapon if the intruder had a gun but it was better than nothing. He saw his front door open and a figure enter.

"That's far enough," Andy said in his deepest voice.

A hand reached for the lamp beside the door and he saw his mother standing there.

"You must have been sleeping lightly," Camille said with a smile.

"I was on the phone," Andy answered.

"Andy!" his mother said with a frown. "You have school tomorrow. So does Regan. You can't sit and talk on the phone all night. You know better than that."

"I wasn't talking to Regan," Andy admitted. "I called England."

Camille sighed and nodded.

"Why are you home?" Andy wondered.

"They let me go," Camille told him. "I gave the night manager my notice. About an hour later, the owner showed up with my last check and sent me home. Maybe he thought I was going to steal the secret to making doughnuts and pass it along to his competitors."

"Sorry," Andy said. Camille shrugged.

"It's no big deal," she said. "The only reason I gave them two weeks was so they could find someone to replace me."

She glanced at the phone in Andy's hand.

"Sorry that I interrupted your call," she said. It was only then that Andy realized Evan Duffield was still on the phone. Or at least he assumed he was. "I'm going to shower and go back to bed."

She didn't wait for an answer but walked past Andy and disappeared down the hallway. Andy watched her go before returning the phone to his ear.

"I'm sorry about that," Andy said. "But you can't be too careful. Our neighborhood isn't the greatest."

"Did I hear Cami said she was fired from her job?" Evan asked urgently.

"She was planning to quit anyway," Andy told him.

"And she worked making doughnuts?" the voice on the line wondered. "Did I hear that correctly? Cami works making doughnuts in the middle of the night. I can't ... I can't believe that. She's brilliant."

"She is," Andy agreed. "But she works where she can find work."

"I suppose that she didn't finish college did she?" Evan asked.

"No," Andy said succinctly. "We lived with my grandparents until I was eight. We've been on our own since Grandpa died. Mom works days and some evenings as a receptionist for a wrecker company. She worked nights at a doughnut shop."

Chapter 8 »