LOW PRESSURE

Chapter 2

It was the calm before the storm, otherwise known as dinner at Maxey’s.

Sister restaurants in New York and Boston had already established its reputation, so almost as soon as Maxey’s Atlanta opened fifteen months ago in the tony Buckhead area, it became a choice spot for the well-heeled and beautiful – and wannabes – to see and be seen.

Co-owner Steven Maxey was seated at the brushed chrome bar, reviewing the chef’s specials for the evening and mentally gearing up for the onslaught that would begin as soon as the doors opened at five-thirty.  When his cell phone vibrated, he glanced at the caller ID and, with a sense of dread, answered.  “Hello, Mother.”

“I know you’re busy.”

“Never mind.  Is it Howard?”

“We’re in Houston.  We came down to see what our options are in terms of further treatment.” 

Their viable options were dwindling, but neither had the heart to say so out loud.  “Give him my best,” Steven said.

“I’ll be sure to.  He’s napping now.  Bellamy’s sitting with him.  I just stepped out to phone you.” 

He could tell that she had more to say although for several seconds a hollow silence was all that came through the line.  Then, “We flew down in a private plane.”

That statement, while seemingly innocuous, vibrated with a portentous note.  Steven waited.  

“Bellamy chartered it.  Guess who the pilot was.”

Steven’s gut clenched.  “Please tell me you’re not about to say -- ”

“Denton Carter.”

He placed his elbow on the bar, bent his head toward his hand, and rubbed his forehead with the pads of his fingers in an attempt to ward off the migraine this information would no doubt bring on.

“I tried to dissuade her,” Olivia continued.  “She was determined.”

“For crissake, why?”

“Something about getting closure, mending the past.  You know how your sister is.”

“Ever the mediator.”

“She wants everything to be. . .nice.”

“Was he?”

“Nice?  No.  No happier to see us than we were to see him.”

“Then why did he agree to fly you?”

“That old man who owns the airfield – ”

“He’s still alive?”

“He arranged it, apparently without telling Dent who’d booked the charter.  When he realized who we were, he was as unpleasant and arrogant as ever.  There’s no love lost on either side.”

“Did he know about Bellamy’s book?”

“According to her, no.  But he might have been pretending, or being obtuse.  Who knows?  We have to fly back with him when we’re finished here.”  Steven heard a sniff and realized just how upset his mother was.  “I never wanted to see that boy again.”

She continued to bemoan what an untenable situation it was.  Steven understood how she felt.  His emotions ran the gamut from dismay to alarm to anger, as they’d been doing since the day Low Pressurewas published.  His anxiety had worsened when Bellamy’s identity and the biographical nature of the book became public knowledge. 

William Stroud, his business partner, tapped him on the shoulder and signaled that it was time to open.  The receptionist had moved into place inside the door.   Wait staff were scattered throughout the dining room, putting finishing touches on the table settings.  The sommelier was standing by to answer questions about the extensive wine list.