Free Fire & Water by Betsy Graziani Fasbinder

in there,” Jake continued. “One of old Ben’s distant cousins. Ooh, and I almost forgot.” He reached into the bag and extracted a cellophane bag filled with dog bone-shaped cookies. “They’re from this place on Union Street. They make healthy pet snacks.” Jake unwrapped the package and removed a bone, which Ben took delicately into his teeth and began munching.
    I wanted to smooth the rough edges of the exchange. “Thanks, Jake. Ben seems to love his treat.”
    “He’s a bit of a snack whore,” Mary K replied. “Don’t know that gourmet goodies can be fully appreciated by an animal that drinks from the toilet.”
    Jake pulled two bottles from the bag. “Wine and sparkling water,” he announced. “Thought we could share a drink together.”
    Mary K eyed the water and sent me a piercing glare that said, You told him, didn’t you . I averted my eyes. So much had gushed out of me since I’d met Jake, I couldn’t believe he’d recalled the details of Mary K’s health and had brought her something. My cheeks stung. Mary K blew a silver stream of smoke toward me and it could not have sliced me more if it had been a dagger.
    Jake filled our glasses. The room was static with awkward small talk. I felt like an ambassador introducing leaders of two warring nations. “So, you’re from New York,” Jake said.
    “Queens,” Mary K replied with a flat tone.
    “I grew up in Manhattan. I guess we were neighbors.”
    Mary K took a long drag off of her cigarette. “Queens isn’t Manhattan.”
    Jake’s smile faded, but returned a second later. “My father would agree. He’s a dyed-in-the-wool Manhattanite.”
    I straightened with pride. “Jake is an artist. He has a sculpture installed in Central Park, and another near the Met. I saw photos.”
    Mary K squinted, calculating. “Wait a minute. Are you Jacob Bloom ?” I started with her recognition. The layers to Jake’s fame were just beginning to unfold for me.
    “Guilty as charged,” Jake said. “But friends call me Jake.”
    “So your father is Aaron Bloom. Bloom Tower. Bloom Industries. Bloom Symphony Hall.”
    I felt the fast jerk of my neck as I turned to look at Jake. With all we’d talked about, his father’s notable identity had not been mentioned.
    “My father and I don’t exactly—”
    Mary K wore a snide look. “I never thought one of the Kowalski clan would be sharing a Perrier with Bloom Industries in her living room, that’s for sure.”
    “I’m not Bloom Industries,” Jake said, his voice tinged with the first note of anger I’d ever heard from him.
    Mary K read my face. “You didn’t know that your new, uh, friend has the single most recognized last name on the Eastern Seaboard? Largest private owner of land in all five boroughs, and God knows where else in the world. Wall Street king. Bloom holds up a little pinky and fifteen waiters piss all over themselves just trying to put a fresh olive in his martini.”
    Jake’s jaw clenched. “That would be my father. Not me.”
    Of course I recognized Aaron Bloom’s name. Nearly anyone in America would know who Aaron Bloom was. I just hadn’t put Jake’s last name together with the mogul’s as Mary K had.
    “That’s right. That would be the Big Bloom, isn’t that what they call him? You’re the Little Bloom, right? Oh, now wait a minute, what did I read in the papers back when I was in high school about the mogul and his only son? I was about sixteen. That would have made you, what, maybe twenty-two or so at the time?” Mary K tapped her forefinger on her cheek. Sarcastic words slithered from her lips. “I guess my mind is just too full of medical facts to recall the details. But wasn’t it some kind of assault? A gun was involved, wasn’t it?”
    “That’s right,” Jake said. His jaw twitched. When he looked at me his eyes had paled.
    “Yeah, I remember New York’s prince not being charged with anything despite the firing of a weapon. Winged the old man, didn’t