Twenty-Nine
Brand had stood outside the large double doors of the Presidential Suite for a full thirty seconds before knocking. He had told himself he was trying to calm down and think clearly about what he was going to say, but really he knew the truth was he was a little nervous. His anger had taken him storming out of the bar, past Jas, into the elevator and up to the second floor. He saw the room as soon as he stepped past the sliding doors, and he strode down the corridor towards the Presidential Suite, identified by a seal and plaque commemorating the overnight stay of Jimmy Carter in 1978. It wasn't the first time he'd seen the room, either. His parents had stayed in the suite the year before while visiting Brand at school, and Brand had spent one Sunday afternoon drinking scotch and soda and watching movies while his mom got a facial and his dad worked on his laptop in the bedroom.
He was nervous because the anger that had brought him up to the doors of the Presidential Suite had fizzled out, and what remained was a deep anxiety in the pit of his stomach that what he was about to do was at best a bad idea, and at worst probably illegal. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Then he waited ten seconds, half wanting to turn around and run away, back to school, forgetting all about Tibby and Etienne Girard.
And then he knocked again.
The door opened just as he was knocking on it, and he saw a middle-aged man, not much taller than himself, standing relaxed in an open-collared shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, and he wasn't wearing any shoes. There was no sign of Tibby.
"May I 'elp you?" The man asked politely.
"Are you Girard?" Brand asked, looking the man in the eyes.
"Oui, yes. I am Etienne Girard." Girard answered.
"Where's Tibby?"
"I'm sorry, who are you?" Etienne shifted his weight slightly. He might not have been much taller than Brand, but he was probably fifty pounds heavier, and Brand noted this carefully.
"Is Tibby in there?" Brand raised his voice slightly.
"Monsieur, what do you-" Brand pushed past Etienne Girard and stepped into the suite.
"Tibby! Tibby?" He called, looking around. The suite was how he remembered it. On the coffee table, a bottle of wine stood open with two glasses beside it. From the open doorway of the bedroom, Brand heard a voice.
"Brand? Is that you?" Tibby's voice. Brand scowled at Etienne Girard, who stood, confused and a little bewildered, beside the sofa. He didn't move.
"Tibby?"
"In the bedroom, Brand." She sounded surprised. Brand pushed through the doorway and stopped. On the bed, leaning back against the plush pillows, dressed in a man's shirt which opened onto her cleavage, lay the girl he was in love with. She smiled, cocked her head slightly and looked at him for a moment. Finally she spoke. "Umm, what's going on?"
Brand ran his hand through his curls. Under different circumstances, he could have stood and stared at the scene for hours. His dream girl, half undressed, on the bed in a luxurious hotel room. But he was aware of Etienne Girard coming up behind him.
"I, uhh, thought we were meeting for a drink."
"We are. I'm not done yet, though." Tibby sat up.
"What are you doing up here, then? With him? On the bed?"
"Brand-" Tibby started to get up from the bed, but her movement made Brand step backwards sharply. He bumped into Etienne, who was standing behind him.
"Because, Tibby, I thought you were just having lunch with him." Brand looked at Girard.
"We did have lunch, Brand. Then we came up here to-"
"I think I can see what you came up here to do." Brand interrupted Tibby. Etienne stepped forward and put a hand out towards Brand.
"Monsieur-" He began.
"Don't touch me you sick bastard." Brand yelled at Etienne. Tibby walked over and stood in front of him.
"Brand, you're mistaken. This isn't what it looks like." Brand was still staring at Etienne Girard.
"She's just a kid, man. You're old enough to be her father. You should be ashamed of yourself. I don't know how they do it in France, but in America we have rules."
"Brand, stop it." Tibby put her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off.
"I can't believe you're defending him. He took advantage of you, Tibby."
"He didn't do anything!" Tibby shouted. Girard looked even more confused than ever. He shook his head and stared at the two teenagers arguing in his hotel bedroom. He looked at Tibby, so cute and fragile in his white shirt. He looked at Brand, red-faced and bristling with rage.
"Enfants, I think it is time for you to go."