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"I don't think you're hearing me," I said angrily to the twelve men sitting around the table in front of me. "You've got to improve all your time tables by three weeks and I don't want to hear a word about overruns." I'd officially been running things for over six months now, but I knew the project managers running each of our sites didn't respect me. They saw me as some punk twenty-four-year-old kid who was only running things because his father's name was on the company. That was hard to argue, since they were essentially correct. Before he was forced to throw himself headfirst into the business, Tony knew virtually nothing about construction, but with his father's stroke Tony had little choice but to learn quickly.
"We're hearing you," one of the men, who like most of them, was around his father's age and had worked his way up the ladder the hard way. "But we're just trying to say it might not get done. You don't understand some of the problems we can encounter. Like if the spring continues to be so wet it's going to push everything back."
"I do understand, but I also understand that if interest rates nose up again it could change the whole dynamic of the marketplace and we want to have deals in place before that happens. George tells me even a quarter percent could have huge consequences." George was George Markarian, CFO of Di Angelo Construction. "Come on, guys, work with me here. I know you're all professionals and I trust your advice, but I need you to trust me a little too. We need to keep this all running until my father can come back and take control again." Yeah, I know bringing my father up was cheap, but it always got them to fall into line.
It's not like bringing my father up was easy for me. The truth was that baring a miracle, Paul DiAngelo would never be running his company or anything else again. Eight months ago he'd suffered a massive stroke at our beach house and was now in a coma in a rehab center. His brain activity was nil and doctors told us there was just no coming back from what he'd suffered. Still, I knew my mom had hope and I did too, if for no other reason than just to assuage my guilt.
Only two people know the details surrounding my father's stroke and my sister Gwen and I are the only two that will ever know the truth. Of course he was stressed, running a multi-million dollar company, but what could fell a strong, healthy fifty-one-year-old man like that? It could have been the shock of seeing his son, who he'd been at odds with for years, fucking his little princess in the hot tub. Not one of my prouder moments, but honestly we weren't hurting anyone. We loved each other and we were taking proper precautions against pregnancy. If our affair stayed secret it wouldn't have hurt anyone. But our father caught us and keeled over and had been in that hospital bed ever since. The irony is that because of that very turn of events my father got what he'd always wanted, his son running his business.
After the meeting, I went over the mounds of paperwork and contracts on my desk until well past sunset; before finally turning out the light and heading home. I worked so many late nights that the cleaning woman and I were on a first name basis. I knew Mom would be at home alone and I felt bad that I couldn't be there for her more, but the only way I could learn the business was to put in the time.
Katherine DiAngelo was a strong woman and I knew she was coping as best as she could. My father wasn't dead, but even so my mother was alone for the first time in her adult life. After months of friends' urging she was getting back to her old routine, but she still relied heavily on me to be the man in her life. Of course I didn't mind; I loved my mother deeply and would have done anything she asked, even take my father's place at his company, but the guilt motivated me too.
When I parked the Range Rover on the circular driveway in front of the house I could see the light on in the foyer, but the rest of the house was dark. The maid would have gone home for the night and Mom was alone in the house. I called out her name as I walked in, but received no response and figured she must have been upstairs in her room. Our house is very large, one of those mansions the nouveau riche build, so it's easy to imagine she couldn't hear me. I dropped my bag at the bottom of the steps and headed into the kitchen to crack a beer. I was halfway through it when Mom appeared.
"Mind if I join you?" She asked.
"Of course not. Let me open one for you." I fetched a second beer from the fridge and poured it into a frosty mug from the fridge. For myself, drinking from the bottle was just fine.
"Is it that obvious?"
"I just recognize the look. Your father had the same expression when he came home from work late, which was almost every night. It's amazing how much you look like him, but yet you couldn't be more different."
I felt like saying thank you, but I didn't want to upset her. The fact that I wasn't more like the old man had been the main source of friction between us. "I'm sorry I don't get out of the office earlier."
"Tony, you don't owe me an apology. I am a grown woman and I can look after myself. Besides, like I said, your father was usually home later than this anyway."
Yes, Mom was a grown woman, although it was uncomfortable to think of her that way. Unfortunately, sometimes I thought of her more as a woman than as my mother, which was not a good thing. Although she was approaching fifty, she looked a good ten years younger and there was no mistaking that she'd been a beauty queen in her youth. With a little salon help, Mom's hair was the same soft honey blonde it had always been; and even with the stress of the last months her beautiful face was still unlined, except for some laugh lines that only made her more comely. She's an active woman, so her body is still curvy in all the right places. If anything, having two children only served to make her more womanly. I know it's odd to think of your mother in these terms, but ever since I'd heard some friends commenting on how hot she was when I was a teen I hadn't been able to ignore it. I'll never forget them commenting on her breasts, which are admittedly beautiful, and her round ass. But just because I noticed didn't mean it ever went beyond that. I'm ashamed of the times I masturbated and images of her would pop into my head.
"I know you're a grown woman, Mom, but you can't blame me for wanting to look after you. I feel like it's my place now."
"It's very sweet that you want to take care of me," Mom said, setting her mug down and pulling me into a tight hug. God, could she hug. Mom was in her bedclothes, which on a warm spring night meant a silk pajama shirt and little matching shorts. Of course I'd noticed the way her breasts swayed under the top and the thin silk did nothing to hide her thick nipples; and now all that was pressed right against me. I made sure to turn so she wouldn't feel anything if my little friend decided not to cooperate. Still, it felt good to hug Mom back.
"I'm starving. Is there anything good?" I asked.
"I kept a plate for you from dinner. I want you to sit down while I heat it up for you."
Sitting at the table while Mom heated dinner up for me felt nice and it made me think about how nice it would be to have a wife of my own someday. I know it's a clichÃ©, but a woman just like Mom would be great. While she went about pulling my dinner together I asked Mom how her day went.
"I went to the club and worked on my tennis game, but I've become quite dreadful, I'm afraid. I'm not good enough to take months off from the game and just pick it up again. I'm thinking of taking some time with the pro to get back up to snuff. There's a doubles tournament coming up in a few weeks and I don't want to let Missy Carrington down if we play together."
"That's a great idea." I always found it funny that these grown women went by names like Missy and Muffy and Buffy. Even my mother was known as Kitty among her friends.
"Do you think your sister will come home for spring break?" Mom asked sadly.
"I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised if she was headed somewhere tropic."
"I would love to see her again."
"I'll try to call her again, but I can't promise anything." Gwen hadn't been home since she'd left for college weeks after our father's stroke. I know guilt is what kept her away. She couldn't stand seeing Dad in that bed feeling partially responsible for putting him there. I told her she couldn't blame herself, but she just wouldn't listen. I also know that she can't face me. She didn't return my emails and was always conveniently out when I called. I desperately wanted to talk to her about what happened, but if she wasn't ready to deal with it yet I had to respect that.
Mom set a plate down in front of me and brought a fresh beer. There was her delicious homemade meatloaf and a giant mound of mashed potatoes and I attacked that plate like I hadn't eaten for a week. Mom was smiling and I knew she liked that I was home again where she could take care of me. Before I returned last summer, I'd been gone for five years, serving my country in the Marine Corps. Most recently I'd been in Iraq, trying to bring peace and democracy to the Middle East. I saw a lot of things over there that made me doubt our mission, but I'd never had a reason to doubt the bravery and dedication of the people I served with over there. Being in Iraq was one of the worst times in my life, but knowing those men and women was one of the best. My father's disapproval had been the thing that kept me away for so long. It's funny how someone who was so strong and independent didn't want me to be my own man.
"Tony, you're so tense. You feel like steel," Mom said, placing her hands on my broad shoulders. "You really should take a massage at the club, or at least soak in the hot tub for a while." As I finished up eating, Mom began to rub my shoulders, digging into the muscles with surprising strength. I closed my eyes and rested my head back against her chest as she rubbed me. I took a deep breath and let it out and Mom told me, "That's it sweetie, just let it all go. You can't carry that kind of tension around, it's not healthy." She was doing an excellent job of relieving that tension. As a relaxed I settled down, pressed my head harder against her chest and I could feel Mom breathing. In the back of my neck I felt one of her puffy nipples, very hard, poking in the back of my neck. Oh boy, that was the last thing I needed. For just a second I almost forgot she was my mother and I knew I should make her stop, but I wasn't about to try and stand up. Instead I just sat there and thought about baseball and the Pledge of Allegiance.
The massage was great, but by the time Mom was done I think I was tenser than I'd been before. She told me she was going up to bed and I told her I would straighten up the kitchen. After putting the dishes in the dishwasher I grabbed another beer and took it up to my room.
It was weird, being back in my old bedroom after being out on my own for so long. My mother hadn't touched it in all those years and the room still looked like how I'd left it; down to the sports trophies on the shelves and the poster of Pam Anderson on the wall. Actually, I'd been meaning to take the poster down. I felt a little grown up for that sort of thing. I stripped off my clothes and instead of taking the cold shower I needed I laid on the bed stroking myself. I hadn't been with a woman since that night with my sister and I was hornier than hell. I'm not a guy who does well with long stretches of no sex. Sometimes Mom wore a particular outfit or I would see her a certain way, but mostly over the past few months I hadn't reacted to Mom the way I had tonight. I'd actually believed I'd finally worked that crush out of my system. But doesn't every boy have a crush on his mother? As I lay there touching myself I did not think of my mother, though. I would not do that again. I wasn't some horny teenager with no self-control. I did, however think of my sister, Gwen. Is it sick that I think that is better?
Over the next couple weeks I left a dozen messages for Gwen at school, but she never returned any of them. Even if she didn't want to see me, she should have at least come home for a few days for Mom. I was tempted to drive up to New England and drag her back here, but I knew that wouldn't be good for anyone. In the meantime I had more than enough work to keep me busy. It seemed like a new problem would crop up daily at some site or another and although the project managers were in charge there were some decisions only I could make. Dad had kept a tight rein on things and his managers weren't used to having to make some decisions for themselves. Some days I wished I hadn't let Mom convince me to step in.
I was totally preoccupied when I stopped for a cup of coffee. I'd just come from Braddock Wire Works, which was one of the most ambitious projects the company had ever attempted and things weren't going great. George told me that we were ten percent over budget and I had to find out what was going on, but the project was so huge that it was hard for me to keep anything straight. Braddock Corners was an old industrial space we were converting to high tech office space and if everything went well it was going to catapult DiAngelo Construction to a whole new level. But right then that was feeling like a very big "if."
"Hey, soldier boy," I heard from behind as I ordered. I turned around and there was Diana Lansdale. She looked sexy as ever, peering out at me from behind the latest shades. "I thought I saw you come in here."
"Diana, it's great to see you," I said as she literally jumped into my arms and gave me a kiss. "What are you doing home?"
"I was totally bored with school so I decided to take off for a few days. There was all this drama with a boy and I thought it might be best to get out of Dodge."
I paid for my coffee and we stepped out of the way while we caught up. I'd run into Diana when she was home on Christmas Break, but I hadn't spend any real time with her since last summer at the beach house. Diana was my sister's best friend and was the only other person in the world who knew what had been going on between us, although she didn't know that my father had found out and that it nearly killed him. In fact, Diana knew about Gwen's crush on me and had helped put us together, seducing me herself along the way.
"Why doesn't it surprise me that wherever you are there's drama involving a boy?" I asked, smiling.
"Hey, these things just happen around me. You can't blame me for it."
"But look at you. The rough and ready Marine has been replaced by Donald Trump." She ruffled my hair, which had grown out considerably from the flap top I'd come home from the service with. "I guess you've taken the business world by storm."
"I wouldn't agree with that. It's pretty tough. I don't think I like being a grown-up so much. I think I'd rather take on an Iraqi with a Kalishnakov than a wholesaler bent on pushing the price up."
"Whatever that means. I am sure you're knocking them dead. And you know looking the part is half the battle." She played with my tie and said, "You look really hot in a shirt and tie, Tony."
"Thanks," I replied, knowing I was blushing a little. "How long are you here for?"
"Only another day, but why don't we do dinner tomorrow night?"
"That sounds like a lot of fun. I'd like that."
"Then it's date." Diana stood on her tippy toes and kissed me. She saw the look on my face and added, "You know what I mean." She reached toward my pants and brazen as she was I couldn't believe she was going to grope me right there in the coffee shop. But instead of reaching for my rock she took my phone off my belt and typed in her number. "Those are my digits. Call me." I watched Diana's nice round ass in her low-rider jeans as she left and saw she'd gotten a tribal tattoo in the small of her back, which somehow didn't surprise me.
Although I'd taken the time to talk to Diana I was still early for lunch with Mom at the club. Lunch at the Lancaster Country Club was not my idea of a good time. The club was stuffy, elitist and stank of old money, the type of WASP-y enclave where appearance was everything. My father loved the place. While my mother fit right in, having grown up with the upper class, my father clawed his way inside with sweat and hard work and he took great pleasure in forcing these people to acknowledge him. I have no patience for social games and would have been much happier at a nice restaurant, but the club was a large part of my mother's social life and to make her happy I did my best to fit in when I had to go.
A young Hispanic kid in a smart red jacket took my car keys in front of the huge manor house that served as the club's primary hall. It looked like it had been plucked from the English countryside and dropped in one piece in the middle of the perfectly manicured land it lorded over. A gray haired concierge greeted me from behind a desk.
"Mr. DiAngelo, we will have your table ready on time as your mother requested. You may wait in the bar until she comes up if you like. I'm sorry, but there is a card game going on in the main sitting room."
"That's okay, Thompson. I think I'll go find my mother on the tennis courts."
"Of course, sir."
The tennis courts were a short walk through an English-style walled garden. They shared a clubhouse with the golf course and basketball courts, with showers and another bar. Around the back of the building were six courts and though it was the middle of a workday all but two were in use. From the patio in the rear of the clubhouse I was afforded a good view of the tennis courts and I found a seat.
Mom and the tennis pro were toward the back and it looked like they'd pretty much wrapped things up. He came around the net while Mom took a long pull on a bottle of water. They were conversing about something, but I was too far away to hear. But as they talked I did take note of body language and there was no doubt the pro was flirting with my mother. He was a large young man, with sandy hair and All-American good looks. His polo and white shorts were tight enough to suggest how much time he spent in the gym keeping himself in shape. I wasn't surprised that he was flirting with Mom. She's a beautiful woman and I'm sure a big part of his job is flattering all the idle housewives who come to him for tennis lessons, but I was surprised that Mom seemed to be responding in kind. It wasn't anything too obvious, just that she seemed to laugh too easily at whatever he said, or she touched his arm as they talked. I also noticed he kept touching her in the same way. And then he held Mom from behind while showing her how to improve her swing. How many times had he pulled that move? She was snug in his arms and his hand rested on her tummy, just below her breasts. Mom isn't very tall, just a few inches over five feet, and in some outfits she seemed like all breasts in the torso.
Was I jealous? What a crazy thought! Why would I be jealous of some handsome young guy flirting with my mother? She's a married woman and I can't imagine she would ever cheat on my father, even if he were virtually gone. I told myself that the attention was probably just the pick me up she needed. That still didn't explain why I was bothered by it.
When they were finished Mom spotted me and brought the pro over to meet me. "Martin, this is my son Tony."
"It's nice to meet you," I lied, shaking the hand, which had just been all over my mother.
"There's no way this is your son, Kitty. Maybe you're brother." Martin chuckled. Did women really fall for this act? He was about my age and handsome, so I suppose vain older women did. I just didn't see Mom in that category.