These guys were there when Simon was growing up, when his entire world was midterms and Jackass and getting some girl to take her sweater off. My money was on Tammy Watkins.
And into this privileged enclave of white-bread preppies came the death of Simon’s family. And Simon retreated, taking the first opportunity he had to remove himself entirely, moving as far across the country as one can for college, short of Hawaii. He went into a profession that took him all over the world, and chose to live in his adopted city of San Francisco. The only tie that he had to anyone in this world was Benjamin, for whom I was more grateful than ever.
But he’d come home, and this family was ready to make sure he knew he’d been missed.
Simon grinned big, shaking hands and high-fiving with his crew, and then he spotted me out of the corner of his eye. “Caroline, c’mere—you gotta meet these guys.”
The penis sea parted, and I walked to the center, where he stood. “This is Caroline,” he started, and I heard at least one wolf whistle. Glad I wore the boots. “And this is Trevor Henderson.” Wall Street stuck his hand out and I shook it, looking up into his handsome face. Warm brown eyes twinkled down at me, not letting go when I was also introduced to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.
I’m not kidding. The apostles were all around us. Was it blasphemous that they were all hot? No matter, Trevor was still holding my hand.
“Seriously, dude, she’s smoking,” he said.
Simon removed my hand from his, laughing. “Cut it out, dick.” This guy was harmless. And had good taste.
“Come on, they’re serving dinner soon. You can sit at our table. You remember Megan Littlefield?” Trevor asked as the group moved together into the dining room.
“Um, maybe. Littlefield sounds familiar,” Simon puzzled as we walked.
“It’s Henderson now; she’s my wife.”
“You’re married? Wow,” Simon exclaimed, shaking his head.
“Yep, this past summer,” he said proudly, waggling his ring finger in Simon’s face.
“Wow,” he repeated, and looked at me.
I just laughed and crooked my arm through his. “Come on, Homecoming King.”
We grabbed a drink at the bar, said hello to a few more people, and sat down with his friends. And I say that broadly, because everyone here seemed to have been friends with him at one time or another. As I sipped my cocktail, I watched some of the girls begin to circle. Simon had obviously been a big swinging dick around here, and I wondered how many of them had taken a turn on that swing . . .
I met Trevor’s wife before they started serving dinner, and as Simon left me to go say hello to an old teacher, I chatted with her. Megan had gone to school with them, two years younger.
“Didn’t matter, though; everyone knew Simon. He was the guy every girl wanted.” She sighed, a dreamy look on her face. Then she caught herself, and looked guiltily at me. “Sorry, is that weird?”
“Nope, I totally get it.” I smiled, maybe smirking a little bit. He was shaking hands with an older gentleman, the teacher, I assumed. “So you just got married, huh? Congratulations.”
“Thanks! It was great. We had it here, even though we live in New York now. It was just easier with the families being here.”
“New York? State or city?”
“City. So both, right?” She laughed.
“And what do you do there?” I asked.
“I’m not working anymore. I worked until we got engaged, for the Food Network? I was a food stylist. Anyway, once we started planning the wedding, it was just too hard, commuting here to organize everything, so I quit. We got married at—”
I was seeing stars.
“Sorry, I can’t even pretend to have heard anything you said after Food Network. You worked there! And you quit there! Why, woman—why in God’s name?” I cried, my jaw hanging open so wide it was a good thing we were sitting down. Otherwise I’d trip.
She laughed and raised her eyebrows. “Let me guess. Barefoot Contessa?”
“Yes!” I screamed. Everyone stopped to look at us, and I turned red. Simon looked over from the bar, and I gave him the all clear.
I regrouped. “I mean, yes, I am a fan,” I said coolly.
“Me too. She’s super nice.”
“You’ve met her?”
This time Simon excused himself from who he was talking to and started toward me, Trevor and the apostles in tow.
I know it’s not logical; I know it’s not even physically possible—but I swear on all that is holy, they walked in slow motion. Like in some kind of action movie. Simon took point, Trevor just off to his left, and the rest slightly behind, like geese in a V. Everyone stopped to watch. It was like the sexiest train wreck ever; no one could look away.
I’d say it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, but music from the early 2000s was on heavy rotation, and 50 Cent’s “In Da Club” gave the boys their own soundtrack. All I saw were the sapphires, and they were laser locked and speaking volumes. I was familiar with this Simon.
Strong Simon. Authoritative Simon. Big Swinging Dick Simon. And on this, I could confirm.