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“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Mark greets us as he enters the atelier. He shakes both of our hands. “Good to see you again, Dan. Is this the watch I've been hearing so much about?”
“It is,” my father says proudly, moving aside so Mark can get a better look at the piece. “I restored it to its original condition. It's a rare piece, a 1950s Rolex Datejust.”
Mark approaches the workbench and inspects the watch closely. “What a beauty,” he says, with admiration in his voice. “May I see it in action?”
My father hands him the watch, and Mark puts it on. He tilts his wrist back and forth, admiring the way the light catches the dial. He whistles low, taking it off carefully and handing it back to my father. “It certainly has been well taken care of. Something tells me I’m about to leave here with significantly lighter pockets, but I believe Dan mentioned lunch? Would you two like to discuss the sale over the meal?”
I can tell by the look on my father’s face that he's pleased. He's always been meticulous in his work, and it's gratifying to see it appreciated. “Yes, that will do. The table is being set as we speak. Would you like to follow me?”
I watch as my father wraps the watch in soft cloth and carefully places it in a small box before waving us after him. It’s once again a sunny, warm day, the shade from the pergola is a welcome sanctuary from the heat. I sit down at the table on the terrace with my dad and Mark, and we order drinks from one of the house servers. It’s tempting to start drinking already, with El hovering at the back of my mind, but I resist. This is a business matter, not time to mope, so I end up settling for sparkling lemon water. Fat white clouds pass in front of the sun and a light breeze is blowing in floral scents from the garden, which is full of vibrant colors, with lush green bushes and cheery flowers in every hue of the rainbow.
It’s the total antithesis of how terrible I’m feeling, but at this point in my life, I’m plenty familiar with faking happiness for appearance’s sake.
We start digging into the Mediterranean food that's been placed in front of us. There’s a plate of fresh, juicy tomatoes and mozzarella, drizzled with a balsamic reduction. Another plate holds a variety of cured meats, olives, and pickled vegetables. The food is light and flavorful, the perfect accompaniment to our discussion.
“So, let’s talk about the watch,” Mark says, taking a sip of his own sparkling water.
“Of course,” my dad replies. "It’s a vintage Rolex that I've restored to its original condition. It’s a beautiful piece, with a silver-tone stainless steel case and bracelet. The blue dial is simply stunning, with hour markers in silver-tone, and the classic Rolex logo sitting at the 12 o’clock position.”
“Wonderful.” Mark nods. “It's a rare beauty of a piece. I'm very interested in acquiring it.”
We continue our discussion over lunch, talking about the details of the watch and how my dad restored it. Mark is impressed with the work that’s gone into the restoration, and I can tell he’s genuinely interested in making a deal.
The art collector leans back in his seat, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. “So, how much are you thinking?”
“$70,000,” Pops says immediately. “Otherwise I plan on sending it to auction. It’s my usual way of doing things, but the auctions are becoming tedious for my liking, so I’m giving you a preview. So, what do you think, Mark?”
He pops an olive in his mouth and chews thoughtfully, and after he swallows he answers, “I can do $67,000.”
They continue to haggle, even though I know Dad is fine with Mark’s price. It must be a thrill getting the price up, though, because my father only agrees to the sale once Mark comes up with a few hundred dollars before the two men shake on it. Afterward, Dad escorts him back upstairs to give Mark his new prize, leaving me outside while the staff cleans up. I discreetly wave one of the maids over and have her bring me two fingers of scotch, on the rocks to combat the heat, and I’m just beginning to sip the smoky, dark liquid when my father returns to find me once more.
He looks down at the glass in my hand and frowns, but doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he tells me, “Let’s take a walk, son. I think we have some things to talk about.”
I consider arguing, but this is my father, one of my favorite people in the world, and I don’t want to deny him. Plus, the company sounds nice, even if I’m also craving absolute solitude. I stand and join him at his side, letting the older man lead our stroll across the grounds.
“I wanted to talk to you without your mother around,” he admits. “Because something tells me that there is a man to man conversation that we need to have, hm?”
“We don’t have to have any conversation” I counter, but he shakes his head.
“I think I know my own son well enough to see that you’ve got a lot on your mind. You’ve been quiet and melancholic––two words I wouldn’t usually equate with you. So, what’s going on?”
“It’s nothing, Dad. I–”
“Cut the crap,” he says, and I snap my mouth shut. “It’s Elise, isn’t it?”
I groan, closing my eyes. “Yes, fine. You guessed it. It’s not like she’s been the bane of my existence for months now.”
“Well, what is it about now?”
I plan on giving him the abbreviated version, but as soon as the seal is broken and I open my mouth, the words begin to flow out faster than I could have anticipated. I tell Dad everything––about Johan sleeping over, the envelope in the side table, the equestrian show tickets, and even the way she told Johan that she loved him a few years ago but has never been able to do the same for me. He listens intently, nodding along but letting me say my piece, until I run out of steam. It feels good to have it all out in the open, but I have no illusions. I know soon enough I’ll be full to bursting with these feelings all over again.
“So her exact reason for having Johan over was..?” Dad asks when I'm finished.
“Some bullshit excuse that she needed him to pressure her mom to make a phone call to the prosecutor and drop the charges.” Saying it out loud has me angry all over again. “I can’t believe she honestly thought I would believe that.”
“Maybe that was really the case?” Dad suggests, surprising me.
“No way. If that was the case she would have told me the truth instead of hiding it.”
