Page 431 of The Parkers' Handsome Holiday
CHAPTER 10
CHADWICK
The Whiskey Lounge might have been one of the only establishments in New York that wasn’t decked out for Christmas. The Gentleman’s Lounge had existed below street level, nestled under the Sylvie Hotel, a one hundred and fifty year old building with eighty rooms that catered mostly to traveling business people. Back in its heyday, the Sylvie was a desired destination for travelers from abroad and a hot spot for locals looking for a night of dancing in the West Ballroom.
The lounge itself had been a speakeasy during prohibition, and a lot of the old infrastructure had been restored. It smelled like cigars and smoked wood, and the air felt thick in my lungs as I descended the stairs and flashed my membership card to the security guard, who waved me through.
I moved into the lounge.
The wine-red carpets and dark-stained timber walls absorbed the light in the room, which was dim at best. Up ahead, crowded around a round table in black leather chairs, were my father and several of his friends. They’d all been members at the lounge for decades—since before they were men with children of their own. My father used to talk to me when I was a boy about this place and how one day I’d have a membership of my own and a seat at their table.
I’d never quite fallen in love with the place the way the older generations had. It felt mildly oppressive, like you had to be a certain type of man to fit in here. I suspected the only reason people treated me like one of the guys here without any effort on my part was because of my last name.
People who were a someone were always welcomed with open arms in places like this. For some reason, that left a bad taste in my mouth. But my father loved it here, and it was tradition for him to meet with his friends every second Saturday afternoon to catch up, sip whiskey, smoke cigars, and shoot the shit.
I joined them once a month at my father’s insistence.
Armie Bishop saw me coming and waved hello through the cloud of cigar smoke hanging over the table.
I settled into the open seat beside my father, who patted me on the shoulder before calling to the bartender to fix another whiskey.
Armie, the son of the wealthy real estate mogul Humphrey Bishop, swirled his drink—an old fashioned—around in his crystal glass and smirked at me. “Naughty Santa graces us with his presence. Did you bring any gifts with you?”
“For you?” I chuckled and shook my head as I unbuttoned my suit jacket and made myself more comfortable. “I’m afraid not, Armie. You’ll have to settle for my company.”
Armie turned that smug smile of his around to the other men. In total, there were eight of us. Armie and his father, me and my father, and four other gray-haired, obscenely wealthy men who most likely had liver disease from all the whiskey they drank and bad lungs from the constant cigar puffing.
Speaking of cigars, Humphrey withdrew eight from the inside of his suit jacket and passed them around the table. A Zippo lighter moved around the circle after he lit his, and it had the Bishop family crest on it: two rams butting heads under a crown of thorns. I’d never bothered to ask the meaning, but they put the damn thing on almost everything they owned. They’d even removed the hood ornaments from their vehicles and replaced it with their crest.
Indulgent, if you asked me.
I puffed on my cigar and held the smoke in my mouth before letting it escape between my lips. Beside me, my father ran the cigar under his nose and inhaled, savoring the aroma of tobacco before finally lighting it.
The bartender brought me my whiskey.
“What’s the deal with this whole Santa nonsense anyway, Bamford?” one of the older men asked. His name was Lucien Laurent. He was French Canadian, born and raised in Montreal, where he started his ecommerce empire that eventually brought him and his business to the big apple. Rumor had it he had a beautiful daughter named Cherie or something like that. For a little while there he’d tried to get me to take his daughter out. When I declined due to the fact that I wasn’t interested in a relationship and was still enjoying my life as a single man, Armie had practically begged for the chance to take her out.
Lucien unceremoniously shot him down.
My father shifted in his chair. “It’s a marketing campaign, Lucien. You know how business works these days. People need to be stimulated. With short attention spans, we needed something fresh and exciting. My days of playing Old Saint Nick are over. It’s time for Chad to step up, in more ways than one. Gentlemen, I’m retiring at the end of this year.” He smiled at me with his cigar pinched between his lips. “You’re all looking at the new Bamford’s CEO.”
The men offered me congratulations.
Armie, on the other hand, laughed. “Who knew such a big promotion came with such a festive wardrobe?”
“Leave it alone, Armie,” Humphrey said out of the corner of his mouth.
Armie shut up right away and busied himself with his drink and his cigar.
Meanwhile, discussion diverted to everyone else’s business and success over the Christmas season. I tuned out most of the conversation and let my mind wander.
Surprisingly, my thoughts went to Tinsely and me escaping our responsibilities and making a break for it at the new store. I smiled as I recalled how her shoes had jingled as she ran.
“What’s funny, Chad?” Armie asked.
The guy could never leave me alone.
I shook my head. “Just thinking about a colleague who I’ve been spending more time with than usual.”
