Page 72 of Good Days Bad Days
I guess I can live off breadcrumbs for now.
“I’ll stay away,” I say to his back as he leafs through a stack of papers inside a collection of manila folders. “From Mom. I’ll give her some space.”
He thanks me and says over his shoulder, “I’m sure she’ll be eager to see you again soon enough.”
Irritated but resolved to hold my tongue, I roll my eyes at the back of his head, stand, retrieve my sweatshirt and the picture on the bed, and put my phone in my pocket.
“I’d better go change and check on Olivia. I’ll be here bright and early tomorrow for phase two.” I stop at the foot of the bed when he says his goodbyes as though we hadn’t just had an argument. He’s cooled off from the protective anger I walked into, and I’m sure my ban won’t last very long. His forgiving nature is something I definitely didn’t inherit.
I consider asking him to join us for dinner, but a force field of resentment stops me, and I walk out of the room instead. And as I exit the house, slamming the old door closed hard enough to shake the support beams, I remember why I’m not passive like my dad. There’s something dangerous about being too forgiving. I’ll follow his rules, I’ll play nice, I’ll let him love me in his flawed, distant way, but why should I let him into my life when he keeps me out of his? No. Tonight he can eat alone.
Chapter 28
Greg
May 8, 1971
Midwest Broadcasters Association Awards
The Venetian Club
Rockford, Illinois
Don Hollinger has his arm wrapped around Betty’s waist as if he owns her. Betty is all smiles and laughter, but I can’t help but think of what she looked like the morning I woke up next to her in the front seat of my car, no makeup, heartbroken, real. And it was all because of one man—one singular villain who rejected and punished her as soon as he found out one of her many secrets. My nails dig into my palm, my knuckles aching.
“That was unexpected,” Mark says, his statement accurate in more ways than one. He joins me in watching Betty and her new fiancé. “He’s a lucky SOB,” Mark continues when I don’t answer. I chug the rest of my drink in one gulp, glaring now.
“He’s a son of a bitch, that’s for sure.” I slam my glass on the table as the profanity explodes out of me full volume. Hollinger seems to notice, and Betty definitely does. Mark’s eyes bulge and he looks shocked but also a touch entertained.
“Whoa, buddy.” He pats my back and urges me away. “Let’s get you some water. I think someone’s been having a little too much fun.”
“I don’t need water,” I grumble, still moving toward the couple, easily freeing myself from Mark’s grip. I sound like an insolent child, but I’m finding a blistering satisfaction in speaking freely.
“Fresh air, then? Coffee? Wait—” He looks around. “Where’s Martha?”
“She left,” I say, hyperfocused on my target.
“She left?” he repeats, stunned, catching me again and forcing a fresh glass of water into my hand. “Why?”
As I continue to watch Betty and Don, Mark seems to understand.
“Hey. Let’s go to the Oasis. We could skip this whole dog and pony show and grab a burger instead.” He’s being a good friend, I know it. He’s paying me back for all the times I’ve dragged him out of a bar after he’s hit on some guy’s girl or gotten in a row about Bears versus Packers or said the wrong thing to the wrong guy about Vietnam. But this is different. I’m not blowing off steam or looking for an adrenaline rush—I loathe Don Hollinger, and Don Hollinger is our boss.
“I’m not going anywhere till I’ve had a word with that guy.” I lower my voice or at least attempt to. “He’s all holier than thou, but he should be arrested for what he’s done to her.”
Mark stands in my way, talking low and urgently.
“Don’t do this, man. I know you’ve got a soft spot for her, but it’s not gonna happen.”
I grind my teeth.
“Don’t you think I know that? I’m not the kind of guy to end up with a girl like that, but that doesn’t mean she should end up with that asshole. There’s stuff you don’t know ...”
“Listen. Let’s go get drunk somewhere else and you can tell me all about it. Oh, shit,” Mark growls as Hollinger skirts around the perimeter of the table, headed in our direction. I sniff, loosen my tie, and prepare myself for the confrontation I’ve been planning in my mindsince I walked through broken glass in the parking lot of the Playboy Club-Hotel.
He seems steady, like he’s sober even though he’s been drinking steadily throughout the night. Maybe the high of winning and having an up-and-coming star on his arm, wearing his ring, eager to take his name, counteracts the alcohol.
“Big night, eh? You fellas sticking around or heading out?” If Hollinger heard any of our conversation, he doesn’t let on. I tower over him, though he’s got enough muscles to snap me in two if he wanted to. There’s no aggression in his question. No wonder Betty keeps falling for his “nice guy” act, especially when diamond rings and fancy cars are involved.
