He's not Heavy
Kristoph Gavin gave his brother a piercing look. He hooded his eyes and sipped his tea, “I liked it better before,” he said disdainfully.
He hardly seemed to notice the falling look of disappointment on Klavier’s face. The younger man reached up to his shoulder and toyed with the long, tapering curl that still crackled and smelled of hairspray. “You said you disliked the ponytail, bruder. You said it looked like a San Francisco hairdo.”
Glancing down at his shoulder, Kristoph flicked a piece of dogwood fluff off his impeccable blue suit. “I liked it better before,” he repeated, “your tagalong nature has hardly changed since you were a child.” With that, he gave Klavier a false, generous smile.
Klavier sighed, “Well, it tests well with fans, so I’ll probably be keeping it. Hopefully you don’t mind.”
Kristoph affected a shrug, “It hardly matters to me.”
That was almost more crushing than the negative reaction. Klavier shook his head and took a long drink of his now-cool coffee. He sighed, “Next week I have a case against a junior at the Grossberg firm.”
“I didn’t know they had any juniors there.” Kristoph said, his interest perking up immediately.
“Just the one, and he’s new.” Klavier said, leaning back against the wrought-iron chair. He looked out toward the park across the street from the café, “I don’t think the case should be any problem, I saw him at the investigation and he was knock-kneed with fear.” He smiled winningly, “He asked for my autograph.”
Kristoph’s smirk was genuine, “I see,” he said cryptically, staring off into the distance. “You’ll be using that to your advantage, I take it,” he said, refocusing on his brother.
Klavier laughed, “Can I help it if I’m famous? It’ll be my skill and the truth that wins the case, whether the new kid is intimidated or not.”
Kristoph’s smile faded, “Hm. Be careful how much you trust the truth.”
“What do you mean?”
With a shrug and a shake of his head, Kristoph’s smile returned, “It can be painful.” He stood halfway, retrieving his wallet from his pants, “I’ll cover yours, it’s almost time to open the office.” He put a few bills down on the table and smiled down at Klavier as he stood, “I’ll be seeing you.” He walked off around the corner, his office building was four blocks that way.
The young prosecutor sighed, nursing his coffee. He probably didn’t have to be in the office for another half-hour or so, but he had been putting off some paperwork that was begging to be done. He finished his coffee in one satisfying gulp, and got up.
Klavier got to the office early for once, the security guard giving him a mildly surprised look when greeting him. He took the elevator up, frowning irritably at the muzak. His fingers itched to counteract sappy renditions of “Cat’s in the Cradle” with a little bit of “Enter, Sandman,” when he got to his office, but he knew he had to finish that paperwork.
He sat down at the desk, putting on his reading glasses and making sure everything was in order with the papers. From the corner of his eye he noticed movement and jumped. He stared, suddenly, into the mirror-backed guitar display case opposite his desk. With the glasses on, from the mirror... His face was the same as his brother’s.
A wild and stupid thought ran through his mind, and before he could rein it in or control it, he had stood up and strode over to the mirror. He crossed his arms and tried for a Cheshire smile, “Klavier.” He said to himself in a low whisper, “I’m proud of you.”
His shoulders crumpled, and he took off his glasses with a rather irritated sigh. “Stupid.” He muttered to himself, and he sat back down in his desk to finally deal with his paperwork.