Senior Year Box Set

Kevin and Megan cracked me up with how they were rubbernecking to take everything in. If you hadn’t been to a big city, seeing one for the first time was an experience. Then we began to wind our way towards the water. Mom always said that real estate was all about location, location, location. If that was the case, Zander had made a great buy.

The condo was located on a street lined with old mansions on the water side and high-rises on the other. When we stopped, I noted there was a hotel across the street that looked to have a restaurant. It was past nine in the morning, and I could eat.

Paul had the keys and opened the condo. The place had a funky smell, like a mixture of damp and old people. I noted the door frames had black marks on them at the height a wheelchair would make. From the look of the décor, the place hadn’t been updated in fifty years, and some of the furniture might have been antiques when they were bought back then. I was sure Cindy could fix that, so I pushed through to the back door.

This was why Zander bought the place. The back opened onto a stone patio that overlooked a park-like area and had an unobstructed view of the Mediterranean Sea. My first thought was I had to grab my camera. I couldn’t wait, though. I pulled out my phone, snapped a picture, and posted it to my social media to let everyone know I’d arrived.

◊◊◊

The rest of the group hadn’t followed my lead on the flight, and all stayed awake, so they wanted to crash.

“I’m going across the street to grab something to eat,” I announced.

Paul looked defeated.

“I’m just going to the hotel across the street. I’ll hit the panic button if I need you,” I assured him.

“If it didn’t feel like the middle of the night, I’d go with you,” Paul said.

It was after two in the morning back home. We made a pact not to tell Fritz, and I left to go eat.

The restaurant was small and packed. I figured that at this time of day, it would be after the breakfast rush and before the lunch crowd showed up. When they told me it would be a fifteen-minute wait, I had all but decided to find somewhere else to eat.

“David! David!” I heard across the room.

I had to think for a minute because the guy calling my name looked familiar. Suddenly, it hit me: he was Lord something-or-other, the aristocrat I’d put on his butt when doing a photo shoot for Range Sports. When I didn’t immediately go to his table, he jumped up to come talk to me. He hurried over and shook my hand like we were old friends.

“Last time I saw you, you were an upstart model. Now I can say I knew you before you became famous.”

“I was about to leave. They say it’ll be a while before they can seat me,” I asserted, trying to extricate myself as cleanly as possible.

“Nonsense. I’m here with my mates because Oliver is getting married. He was gobsmacked when I said I knew you. It would be brill if you’d join us and let him do a little elbow-rubbing with an Academy Award winner.”

I felt like I’d been invited to a knife fight on the premise of it ‘being a laugh.’ If the whole place hadn’t stopped what they were doing to stare at us, I would have been rude and walked out. Instead, I let him lead me to the table.

Once we sat down, he introduced me to his friends: Oliver, the groom; Liam; and Henry. I decided to take control of the conversation so I didn’t get badgered about acting.

“How do you all know each other?”

“We were housemates in Manor House at Eton,” Oliver shared.

I remembered Tami talking about running into some Eton boys when she studied abroad in the UK. Eton is a private all-boys boarding school.

“Isn’t that where Prince Harry went to school?” I asked.

“Yes, fifteen members of the British royal family have attended Eton, including Prince William and Prince Harry,” Liam said.

“So, you have to be part of the British upper class to get in?” I asked.

“Actually, Liam was a King’s Scholar,” Lord Whatshisname said.

I gave them a confused look.

“He’s saying I’m poor,” Liam explained.

The way he said it sounded like being poor was something to be ashamed of, but that Liam had come to grips with it. I decided to change the subject.

“Why are you all eating so late?” I asked.

“We went to a club last night and are a little worse for wear this morning,” Henry said.

“They thought it would be funny to take me to some dodgy place,” Oliver complained. “Some arsehole thought we should do shots, and before you knew it, I was arse over tits drunk. This morning, I have thrown up more times than I can bear to count. And several of those times were through my nose, which until now I hadn’t even thought possible.”

“This bloody fool drunk-dialed his fiancée last night. Now, the girls in the wedding party are all coming here for the remainder of the weekend to keep an eye on us,” Henry shared.

We all chuckled when Oliver flipped his friend off. Lord Whatshisname suddenly brightened.

“You actually know one of the girls. My sister Beth is one of the bridesmaids.”

Then it came to me: Lord Whatshisname was really Lord Harry Smyth.