Esme and the Money Grab: (A Very Dark Romantic Comedy) Page 9

  “I’m done with the shopping… the boots, the coat, more than enough for them. Anyway, I rented the cutest little pretend apartment on the beach, just a short walk from here. I would love to live on the beach like that.”

  “Well, you know you could do that now.” Cassandra shook her head and smiled to her friend.

  “You’re a bad influence on me,” Faye placed the napkin on the table, “Three blocks up from the beach isn’t so bad. I’ve always liked living here. Although… I really don’t like renting... I’ll definitely buy a house, something small, nothing too expensive, probably far from the beach. It’s so expensive to buy here.”

  “Faye,” She placed her hand over friend’s hand, “You’re thinking as if you don’t have any options, as if you’re still scrambling around for scraps to save for your future. You have options now. You can do whatever you like.”

  “I do have options,” Faye took her hand out from under her friend’s hand and patted her on the shoulder, “And I have thought about them. But first I have to pick up the check… Six weeks, right after the New Year, and I’m going to take you shopping…”

  “Mom,” Anja swung open the door with the point of her shimmery boot, piles of plates balanced in her hands, “Ines and I are going to clean up because we’re thankful for you.”

  “Barneys it is, and a day of beauty,” Cassandra whispered to her friend and turned to Anja, “Here, let me help you with that.”

  Chapter Six

  “We’ll meet you at the coffee house around the corner,” Serge whispered in Faye’s ear, “This shouldn’t take more than half an hour. Oh, and good work Faye, the suit looks very nice on you, very attractive.”

  “Thank you,” Faye purred with relief that her silly romantic feelings for him had faded, “Do you really think this will work?”

  Serge had instructed Faye and Laura to wear matching outfits and their hair loosely around their faces. The resemblance between the two women wasn’t strong and Faye was a decade older than Laura, but their height and general look of fit California blondes was more than enough to get the job done.

  “You’ve already filled out the paperwork, the picture is just a song and dance for public relations. They won’t be double-checking your ID from the register’s office to the photo room. Worst-case scenario, we feign confusion at you having wandered off and call you in. Keep your cell phone on. Go now Faye.” Serge walked purposefully away from Faye, Laura by his side.

  Faye stared after them for a moment, a little nervous about their deception but overall trusting in Serge’s outlandish plan of having the big check picture taken of Laura instead of her. She knew his confidence and easy charm would smooth over any troubles should they be found out. The idea of her newfound fortune worried her far more.

  …

  “Black coffee please,” Faye said as she reached the front of the line at the coffeehouse, “No… A cappuccino,” She laughed to herself, coffeehouses had always seemed the biggest waste of money to her. Spending five dollars for something you could make at home was not something she was capable of doing, but now she was rich, even if it was only a temporary condition to her. “And a croissant, no I would like…” She gazed into the glass display of muffins, scones and assorted pastries and ordered one of each as a mad laugh escaped her.

  She paid, leaving a generous tip of more than her actual order and walked outside to a communal picnic bench-style table. The bench was empty other than a young man who sat playing on his phone. She sat away from him and took a sip of her expensive caffeinated beverage.

  “Traffic tickets, you know?” The young man said.

  “Hmmm?” Faye looked up from her cup and into the eyes of the boyish man and sighed deeply as if she had been punched. His hair was a golden red, tousled, framing his angular face, accentuating his masculine bone structure, the square set of his jaw. His green eyes bore into her and she felt faint.

  “They booted my car,” He smiled and Faye put down her coffee cup and looked away. She considered whether or not to consult a psychologist for the heightened moods she had been experiencing for the previous two months. “Hollywood, the street signs, who can read them? I don’t even know why I paid the tickets. The car’s in impound and won’t even start.”

  “Oh…” Faye wished he would stop talking to her, “Maybe you should find a parking lot, pay a monthly fee. I’m sure it would be cheaper than the parking tickets.” She wondered why she had responded to him, encouraging conversation. The boyish man appeared to be only a few years older than her daughters.

  “I don’t have money for that,” He laughed again. The sweet trill of the high notes sent shivers of happiness through her.

  “You found the money to pay the tickets.” She gave up on wishing him away. Laura and Serge would be coming for her soon. She would never see him again, why not have a moment of fun. “Plan better,” she shrugged and a smile larger than his filled her face.

  “Yeah, that’s easy to say when you can afford half the bakery,” He gestured towards Faye’s tray filled high with every imaginable pastry. “You going to eat all those? Carb loading, I didn’t know L.A women did that. You’re too tiny to eat all of them. Your stomach will explode. Here, I’ll help you out.” He scooted down the bench close to Faye, his hip against hers and took a croissant from the tower of baked goods.

  “You’re a cheeky one,” She thought of scooting away from him, not too far, the electricity running through her was pleasing, but far enough that their bodies weren’t touching. She decided against it.

  “There’s no way you can eat all of them,” He ravenously tore off the edge of the croissant with his teeth.

  “I was going to take a bite of each…”

  “That’s wasteful,” he said through a mouthful of food.

  “I’m planning on having a very wasteful day.”

  “Wasteful, huh?” He laughed, “Well then lady… You take your bites, and I’ll take the leftovers back home with me. I live in a shithole-converted garage… No refrigerator, bad plumbing, no heat in the winter. Your leftovers will last me a couple of days.”

  “You can’t live on pastries. That’s not a balanced diet,” She turned to him and their eyes met again. A mistake. She felt the breath leave her body as he jerked backwards, a surprised expression on his face. She was sure whatever silliness she was feeling, he felt too. She looked down at her hands and wished Laura and Serge would come get her already. “Why don’t you move?”

  “I’m broke,” he replied.

  “You’re young, all young people are broke,” she shrugged, “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m not that young. I do as little as possible.”

  “But what is it you do, when you do as little possible?” She tilted her head up but avoided looking directly at him. She didn’t want to risk another rush of the crushing joy.

  “You ask a lot of questions, but I’ll answer them because I’m taking these muffins home with me. Mostly film production, a set runner, get the coffee. If I’m broke, like I was this morning, I’ll answer a Craigslist ad, deliver a package. Big money in that, got my tickets taken care of…”

  “Have you considered what’s in the packages?” Faye scooted away, not much at all but she did successfully make her displeasure with his choices known, “Drugs, what else could it be? You could go to jail for that, and you shouldn’t be telling strangers. I could be a police officer on lunch break.” She pointed down the road towards the municipal building they had both just come from.

  “I don’t ask what’s in the packages… And I don’t take drugs, well not too many. Club drugs when I’m out… And you’re not a cop. I get people and you’re not a narc.” He shoved the croissant in his mouth.

  Faye watched him chew with gusto. There was something so familiar to her about him. Adam had the same reckless quality when she had first met him but he had been ambitious. He had been driven, wanting to make money, grab all he could, and he did. Holding on to money was Adam’s probl
em.

  “You’re cheeky and amoral,” she laughed gently.

  “If it’s not me, they’ll hire someone else. The drugs are going to get where they’re going. They always have, and they always will. I don’t do it that much anyway. Only when I’m stuck like this.” He took a scone from the high pile.

  “Aren’t you worried about getting arrested?”

  “Me?” He laughed, his body rocked against Faye’s. She resisted the urge to curl up onto him, “I’m a white boy. I look like an angel. Cop’s aren’t going to stop me.”

  “You do look like an angel,” Their eyes met and for the briefest of moments Faye was sure the boyish man was going to kiss her.

  “Faye,” Laura’s voice boomed through the outdoor seating area of the coffeehouse, pulling Faye out of the dream-like moment, “There you are…”

  “Just having some coffee,” Faye held her cup up to Laura as if she needed to provide proof.

  “You could easily buy the coffeehouse,” She held a check out to Faye, “You’re a very rich woman, Ms. Petrov.” Faye took the check from her and felt the heat of the boyish man look over her shoulder.

  “Lottery? I thought you were taking care of parking tickets like me…”

  “Maybe you don’t “get” people as well as you think.” Faye stood up and didn’t look back at the boyish man.

  “Serge is going to meet us as the bank…” Laura said to Faye as they walked away.

  “Hey rich lady,” He called out, laughing, “Be my benefactor. I’m starving out here.”

  “A benefactor suggests that you as the benefactee, have a goal, usually artistic. Do you have a goal? What is it you want to be?” She turned to him, a smile stuck on her face.

  “Lady, I’ll be whatever you want me to be.” He tilted his head and stared deeply in her eyes. She wished he would stop doing that. Her insides turned to jelly.

  “I don’t know what you mean by that… But I think I can help you.” She dug into her handbag and pulled out a set of keys and the checkbook for her new identity. She tore the check, leaving only the address of her imposter apartment on the beach.

  “A one bedroom apartment overlooking the beach in Venice. It’s fully furnished, so no need to bring your, I’m sure highly questionable, furniture with you. It’s quite nice, refrigerator, a heater that works, air conditioning, secured parking for your car that won’t start. There’s ten months left on the lease, more than enough to pursue your “art”.” She dropped the keys and scrap of paper on the table and turned back to Laura.

  “Are you serious?” He asked.

  “Yes, I am.” Faye glanced back at him, “Don’t make a mess of it. Don’t make me regret this. No loud parties, blaring music and no club drugs. I’ll call the building manager and let him know my nephew will be staying there. My nephew would be you.” She felt a shiver of shock, lying was coming far to easily for her.

  “Lady,” He looked down at the deposit slip, “Faye, I was just kidding but if you’re serious—

  “I am serious about you not destroying the apartment.”

  “I’ll be good… Don’t you want to know my name?”

  “Not really. This will be our last communication.”

  “It’s Nick, Nick Andrews, and thank you.” His eyes met hers again, and she forcefully shook her head away.

  “All the heartbreakers are always named Nick.” Faye said as she walked away with Laura.

  “What did you just do?” Laura asked.

  “I’ve allowed myself the privilege of making one frivolous mistake with the money. I assumed the mistake would be me buying a couture dress better suited to an evening at the Met than my quiet life of dinner parties with friends but this is fun too.”

  “I’m sure it is… That kid was gorgeous… Be careful, money does things…”

  “Believe me, I’m aware of all the dangers. I’ve been binge watching lottery horror stories… But thank you for the reminder.”

  “You have planned well… You’ll be good,” She patted Faye’s arm, “We have to rush. Serge has a meeting later in the day and we want to take you to a celebratory lunch first. The Ivy, so good… I love it there.”

  “I haven’t eaten there in years. Thank you.”

  Faye was relieved that Laura’s mention of Serge’s name didn’t send the familiar butterflies to her heart. Happily relieved. For the briefest of moments, she fiercely craved Adam’s company. But not the present-day Adam, the Adam she met as a girl. The powerful feeling overwhelmed her, and she felt faint again. A psychologist was definitely in order, she thought to herself.

  Nick, the boyish man, left her thoughts completely.

  An excerpt from Trashed by Paloma Meir

  Finished with breakfast, I told my mother I was going for a bike ride. It was not a lie. I did ride my bike four blocks down the road to Serge’s house.

  I did not plan on burning any part of his house down but Q had given me a good idea. I would wait for him to come outside. I could pretend I was just walking by, on my way to down to Sunset to get something to eat.

  He would see my newfound sparkling mental health, be impressed that I hadn’t bombarded with crazy, angry messages and we would be in love again, happy forever or until we went off to separate colleges.

  Or maybe I would go to school in Boston too. I had hoped to go to Stanford as my parents had but I was sure Harvard would be just fine too. My mind spun fantasies of our life together on the East Coast as I stood in the middle of the street staring up at his house like a lost dog.

  The heat pounding down on me, making me perspire, woke me up to the fact of the ridiculousness of my position. He could look out his bedroom window and see me. Mentally healthy people didn’t do what I was doing.

  I did the only sensible thing. I hid my bike behind the overgrown bushes of the house I stood in front of. It didn’t look to me as if anyone were home. Even if they were, our street was overrun with kids leaving their bikes and sporting equipment around. I was a little older than the most of the kids that did that but passable.

  Bike taken care of, but I didn’t know what to do with my presence, so again I did the only sensible thing. I climbed up the tree in their front yard. That would be harder to explain if the occupants of the house noticed me but I had faith that I could come up with a plausible story.

  An added benefit of being in the tree? I could partially see into Serge’s room. The day was hot, his window and shades were open. I could only see the back of him sitting in his chair at the desk but sometimes he would lean back, put his hands behind his head and run his fingers through the front of his hair in a way that I always loved.

  I spent three uncomfortable hours in the tree that day. I did consider for a moment that what I was doing was stalking, a possibly dangerous and illegal act but I didn’t really care.

  I had always been a bit of a skulker, spying on people, eavesdropping on conversations, so this new activity, hiding in a tree for hours on end seemed a logical, almost natural continuation of my previous activities.

  It was boring. He didn’t leave his room and he didn’t get out of his chair. His mother and sister came in a few times. His mother to bring him food, pat him on the head. I could see she doted on him, that he was the favorite based on the one time all three of them were in the room together.

  His sister was annoying to him, coming in waving her arms around. I wished I could have heard what she was saying, such an animated girl. At some point in their talks she would make him laugh and it would travel across the road to my ears. The sound made the cramped position I sat in on the tree branch worthwhile.

  This went on for three days, I was about to give up, not because of how very wrong what I was doing was but because I didn’t see him ever coming out of the house.

  Cursed by what I saw or lucky, I don’t know but this is what happened.

  “No, Carolina,” I heard Serge’s voice from their front door, “I’ll take her home. No, no, no.”

  I looked down toward
s the front of his home. I was angry with myself for playing a word game on my phone and missing Serge leave his room.

  But he was coming outside. My plan had worked. I wanted to sing a song from the treetop, descend slowly like an angel onto the road.

  “Come on, Zelda, I have to get back to my work.” He said to the girls inside the house as I brushed the leaves out of my hair and tree dust off of my t-shirt and shorts.

  I could see them walk three feet out the front door together but then the branches of the tree obscured my vision. I counted to thirty slowly and climbed down, to see them a half a block down the road.

  I landed on my feet without much noise. I stared after them not knowing how to follow them without being caught. I decided to walk in the street, keep the same distance. I lived on the canyon too. It wouldn’t be unheard of for me to be walking down to Sunset. It was a part of my original plan anyway.

  Zelda was not part of my plan but I was curious about her. I had never seen her before. Serge had never described her beyond saying she was a very pretty girl but that was when I had thought her and Carolina were small children.

  I could hear them talking but couldn’t make out the words. I slightly closed the distance between us as silently as possible, by running on my tiptoes. Absolutely silly but it worked.

  As I drew closer to them, I could see that they were holding hands and my heart stopped for a moment. I calmed myself by remembering that he thought of himself as her older brother, a very protective older brother and he infantilized her. I accepted the handholding.

  What I couldn’t accept, and at this point I could only see her from behind, was her perfection. She was a hair taller than him, willowy, and when she walked you could see the peach-like shapes of her tiny backside. Her hair was white, like soap, shiny, healthy, halfway down her elegant back.