Loaded, p.27
Loaded, page 27
“I think we can do a little edgier,” I say.
“Adding the guitar, drums, and bass will go a long way,” Adam says. “Remember that.”
“Do you know how to write their parts?” Frances asks. “Some pianists are. . .not the best at integrating other sounds.”
“I’m good at guitar,” Octavia says. “Played for more than ten years.”
That’s a surprise. “And I often wish I could add some drums and percussion,” I say. “I think we can do it.”
“Fine.” Stu leans closer. “I’ll talk to publicity and marketing, but I think we can work this angle.” He frowns, staring rather rudely. “Is that considered a disability?”
I’m ready to start swinging again, but Octavia looks remarkably unruffled. “The Social Security Blue Book lists significant burn injuries as an impairment, but I’m not eligible for benefits because the location of my burns does not preclude me from manual labor, for the most part, at least with reasonable accommodations.”
“Wait, what does that mean?” Frances asks.
“I have severe photosensitivity,” Octavia says, “for example, but sunblock and a hat could mitigate the impact.”
“Can you film a music video outside?”
“Of course,” Octavia says, “but depending on the length and sun intensity, I might need special makeup or regular reapplication of sunblock.”
Stu nods. “We can work with that.”
“I’d rather we not try to cover up her face,” I say. “It’s uniquely beautiful, and we do not want to change that.”
Octavia winces, but she doesn’t look angry. I realize what I’m seeing—she’s bracing herself for them to change their minds.
“I think we just have the one last stipulation,” Frances says. “There’s one investor who wants to meet you two and see you himself.”
Octavia’s lips compress.
“He was possibly the most excited about your song, but he would like to introduce himself. He’s put up quite a bit of capital through the Private Equity firm that’s sharing the costs with the studio, and we thought one small meeting wasn’t too much to ask.”
Octavia squares her shoulders.
I nod. “Sure. Is he here now?”
The three of them stand, and so does Adam. “We’ll invite him in.”
“Oh, wait,” Jake says. “Costuming had that question.”
“Costuming?” I frown. “Isn’t that a little premature?”
“They wanted you to give them some input on some jewelry. One of our sponsors is a pretty well-known jeweler, and we’ll be pushing their stuff in the music video and the movie.”
“Your job is so weird,” I say.
“Your job too, now.” Jake drops a box in front of me. “Both of you need to pick your favorite ring from the box. Once you have, I can take it to them and let them know.”
“Rings?” Octavia flips the lid up.
Eight diamond rings that look like engagement rings are lying flat on black velvet inside the heavy box.
“Geez. These look really expensive,” I say. “Who’s the jeweler?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Jake says. “We’re not paid to care about that stuff.”
I lean forward to look closer.
“This one for sure.” Octavia picks the wide yellow gold band, made of a delicate filigree that almost looks like lace. The large oval diamond is almost nestled against it. The combination of flat gold, hammered finishes, and the delicate shape makes it look like something they might have worn in the early nineteen hundreds, at least, to me.
It suits her.
She has a classic, elegant beauty that reminds me of Katherine Hepburn or Elizabeth Taylor—if either of them was burned, I guess. Even her curls fall in soft waves, like the women back then.
I glance at the rings that are left.
One is a simple platinum band with a massive diamond. Tacky.
The next is probably the most boring ring I’ve ever seen. One big round stone, framed on either side by two smaller circles. Snooze.
Then there’s a very sharp-looking one with a marquis diamond and slice-looking diamonds framing it on either side. Next to those are small squares. I feel like I could scratch myself seven ways from Sunday while wearing it. The dagger diamonds. That’s what I’d call that one.
There’s a very nice blue-center-stone ring with white cushion-cut diamonds on either side. It looks like something my new sister-in-law Elizabeth would choose.
But the last ring, the one kind of shoved over on the end, is by far the strangest. I pick it up. It has a massive champagne-colored diamond in the center, and it’s a large emerald shape. The prongs holding the golden stone are yellow gold, but next to it, pressed seamlessly against it on either side are two more diamonds cut in triangles, with the point dripping down on either side toward the finger. They’re both flawless to the naked eye.
“I like this one,” I say. “It’s stunning in its own, unique way.”
“Are you picking it because of the song?” Jake asks. “Or because you like it?”
“I think I like it because it fits the song—a song I wrote. A song I love. A song that speaks to who I am.” I shrug. “Does it matter? Won’t that make the marketing easier?”
“Actually,” Easton says, strolling through the door at the back of the room. “That diamond has a name. It’s called the Verona diamond.”
“The—what?”
“It’s rare, a flawless champagne diamond, and it’s brilliant—reflecting double the light that most diamonds would reflect. The second I saw it, I thought of you.”
I blink. “What are you doing here?”
“Me?” Easton bites his lip. “You haven’t guessed?”
“You’re the investor,” Octavia says.
He shrugs. “They didn’t need me, in fact. Jake brought me in just in case the other investors wanted to back out.”
“Because of my face,” Octavia says.
“No,” Jake says. “Because of their own idiocy.”
She sighs.
“But they didn’t,” Easton says. “I had to badger them into cutting me in on the deal. Peachtree complained and harangued, but finally, they took some of my money so I could be a part of things.”
“And so you could. . .” Jake snaps his mouth shut.
“So I could propose to the woman of my dreams,” Easton says. “I know we’ve barely known each other for more than two months.”
“Well, I knew you for a year and change before that,” I say.
“But next week is Thanksgiving, and our first date was in September,” Easton says. “Some people would say this is crazy.”
“Not me,” Octavia whispers. “I think it’s beautiful.”
It’s nice to know that she approves, at least, and clearly Jake does.
“What did she say?” a small muffled voice asks. “I can’t hear. Turn the screen.”
“What was that?” I ask.
“Dude, I said you had to be quiet,” Jake says. “You guys never keep your promises.” But when he swivels his phone around, Mom and Dad, Emerson and Elizabeth, Ardath, and even Killian are all on a zoom. They wave.
When I squint, I realize Grandma and Grandpa Fansee are also there, and so is Barbara. They’re absurd.
“What did she say?” Seren asks again. “Can you guys speak up?”
“Did you send out an invite to your whole email list?” I ask. “Did everyone know?”
“I told you California was a bad idea,” Elizabeth says. “You should have just done it here.”
“Can you all shut up long enough for me to ask her properly?” Easton drops down on one knee. “You’re already holding the ring, but I knew the moment we met that you were just as unique—no, more unique than that Verona diamond. It’s perfect for you, just like you’re perfect for me. Please, please, say you’ll marry me. Because the other rings, they’ll take back as returns, but that one, well. It cost a bundle, and I’m stuck with it even if you say no.”
“Is that really true?” I glance at Jake’s phone.
Elizabeth’s shaking her head.
“A marriage founded on lies isn’t a good one.” I frown.
“Fine,” Easton says. “But clearly you like that one best, so just put it on.”
“No.” I step toward him and pull him to his feet. “I like you the best.” I smile. “The ring’s just frosting on an already amazing cake.”
“Except the frosting’s the best part,” Killian says. “The cake’s just an excuse to eat it.”
“Hush,” Seren says. “I can barely hear as it is.”
“Oh, she’s going to say yes,” Octavia says. “Just kiss her already.”
“How embarrassing would it be if I said no?”
But Easton’s sliding the ring on my finger, and everyone’s cheering, and when he’s done, I look up at him and nod. “Yes, alright. I’ll marry you, Easton Moorland. But only because this ring is one of a kind.”
He kisses me then, and like everything else in our lives, it’s pretty darn special. Even with all the jeers, hoots, and hollers from my ridiculous family.
Actually, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
A moment later, when waiters come in with trays covered in strawberries and cream, I can’t help laughing. I suppose this is my life now—joy and laughter.
“Please tell me these are the twenty-dollar variety,” I whisper.
“Even if they aren’t,” Easton hisses. “You don’t have to worry anymore.” His smile is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
26
Jake
The first key to the success of any good con is choosing your mark wisely. I hadn’t been enrolled for very long when I spotted Beatrice. She was kind, she was open, and she was almost unbearably naive.
She was also alone and desperate for a friend.
As the new kid in school, it was pathetically easy to convince her that I too had no friends, and that I too really wanted one. Dad said we were in a hurry, so I didn’t waste a lot of time. I started with the small signs right away.
A minor but persistent cough.
Fatigue, which as a side benefit got me out of pointless running in gym class. A little bit of wheezing.
But the clincher was that Bea wanted me to join choir with her. Of course, the second I tried to sing, my symptoms worsened. It only took me a week to get her entirely vested. And that’s when I confessed that I was sick—no, I was dying.
“You need to see another doctor,” Bea says, her eyes utterly sincere. “Get a second opinion. Your dad should take you right away.”
“No.” I shake my head and step back, lifting my chin. Strong men are always a little defiant. “I won’t waste his money like that.”
“But Jake, you have to—”
“No.” I shake my head this time. “Just drop it, Bea.”
“You know what’s wrong.” She stares at me, her sorrow very real. I’ve done my job perfectly.
I shrug and try to walk off, knowing she’ll stop me.
“Jake. Just tell me.”
“Look, I always had asthma, but with my dad’s job. . . His crew smoked. They all did. And with my asthma.” I sigh. “The only thing that can save me is a lung transplant, and it’s too expensive.”
“How much?”
It was enough for the day of the big reveal. I had planted the seed. I cut the conversation off and run home on cue. But when I get home that night, I feel almost sick about it.
“What’s wrong?” my dad asks.
“Nothing.”
“Something,” he insists. He can always read my moods. “You can’t lie to your one person.”
One of the first things Dad taught me was that all con men had one person, one person they really loved. One person they cared about. That one person was their true north. It was the one person they could never betray, never con.
He’s my person.
And I’m his.
It’s always been Dad and me against the world, and one day, I’ll be as good as he is at tricking stupid people out of money they don’t need. For now, I’m learning. “It’s just that the girl at school—”
“Bea, right?”
I nod.
“What about her?’
I don’t want to say it. “I mean, I’m not sure she really has money.”
“You said her parents own that fancy hotel.”
I shrug. “But they’re not really her parents, and anyway, I’m not sure if she can get them to help.”
“Not really her parents?” he asks. “What does that mean?”
“They’re like, her foster parents, or something.”
Dad smiles. “Foster parents? They’re suckers for sure, then.”
But my unease didn’t go away. Every day I spend, Bea cares more. She becomes more and more vested, and by the third week, she’s already told her parents, over my objections. Her stepmom or foster mom or whatever actually comes to talk to me at lunch.
“You must be Jake.” When she smiles, I can’t help staring. It’s dopey, but she’s just so pretty. I haven’t really met anyone quite that pretty before. Ever.
I nod.
“Well, I’m Seren Colburn—er. Fansee.”
“Fancy?” I ask. “That’s a weird name.” Then I cough a little for good measure.
“Oh, you sweet thing. I’m so sorry about that cough. Bea tells me it won’t go away.”
I shrug. “It’s fine.”
She doesn’t argue, but she starts sending little snacks for me with Bea’s lunch. I made an impression. Everything’s right on track when Dad’s con and mine cross.
If we had realized, we might have avoided the worst. Unfortunately, we didn’t figure out the connection until it was too late. What threw us off was the stupid tiny town crap. We had no way of knowing that Bea’s stupid dad knew the real estate guy Dad was working.
Or that the real estate guy had a few good friends he trusted implicitly who helped him. The whole thing was a mess, and Dad got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, or that’s what he said.
I’m there on the day Dad’s taken away. He’s in cuffs when they shove him into a car. I would have been freaking out, but he’s just chatting with some uniformed officer.
They call a social worker to deal with me, and Bea’s crying. I’m not sure whether she’s more angry with me or mad at herself. That’s pretty common, I think, when saps realize they’ve been conned. This is a little different because our plan failed. But the idea’s the same.
The worst thing I could imagine was being stuck here to deal with the people I’d almost duped, but that’s exactly how it goes down. Only, when I knew they’d be coming to yell at me, they don’t.
Bea throws her arms around me, tears running down her face. “Does that mean you’re not really sick?” She’s beaming. “Because that’s amazing news.”
Any sane person would have yelled at me. Any normal person would have given me a pounding. But Bea, the idiot, she’s happy.
“My dad’s going to jail, dummy.” I shove her. “Leave me alone.”
“But you’re not sick, right?” The way she looks up at me from the dirt, it brings that feeling back, the uncomfortable, twisty one I had the first time I was bragging about how well I’d set things up. She looks like she’s more worried about my well-being than about how I tricked her.
I roll my eyes and walk away.
Before anyone can come running after me, Bea’s foster mom crouches down on the ground and holds out her hands to stop me. “Hold on just a moment, Jake.”
“What?” My dad’s right behind her, glaring at the officer who’s asking him things.
And there’s nothing I can do about it.
My one person’s about to go away for a long time.
It’s all my fault. Dad wouldn’t ever have screwed up like this—I messed it up.
“Your father may be unable to care for you for quite some time.” She’s amazing at stating the obvious.
“Yeah.”
“Bea thinks the world of you.”
Because she’s a moron.
“She begged us to invite you to join our family.”
I don’t laugh, no matter how much I want to. “To join your family?” Dad taught me, whenever I’m having trouble with something a mark says that’s so painfully stupid that I’m going to react badly, that I should just repeat it back to them.
It works.
“Exactly. It’s just Dave, me, Emerson, and Bea. I think you’ll like our house, even though it’s small. It’s comfortable, and no one smokes.” She winks at me.
Does she get that it was a lie? I don’t have asthma, and I don’t need new lungs because of Dad’s crew smoking. I’m totally lost about why she would even ask me to come live with them, and it’s even stranger that Bea and her crazy mom aren’t mad at me.
“Please say yes.” Bea has brushed herself off and is standing behind her mom now, peering over her shoulder. “Please.” She smiles, and it hurts. It makes my heart hurt really badly.
“It’s real nice of you to offer,” I say, “but—”
“Son.” Dad’s voice is curt when he lifts his hands and waves me over. It’s painful to watch, because they’re cuffed, but the officer next to him nods.
“Five minutes or less.” His voice is gruff, but he moves a few dozen feet away.
“I’m not sure when you’ll see me again,” Dad says. “But you know the basics—the important stuff.”
I nod, trying my best not to cry.
“We knew this was always a risk, and now it’s happened, but don’t worry. You got luckier than I thought possible.”
Dad’s not mad at me. He’s not yelling that I ruined our lives with my stupid mistake. “Okay.”
“That family over there.” Dad whistles. “They’re a special kind of stupid.”
I frown. I know Dad’s right, but for some reason, it still bothers me.
“Now you listen up. I don’t have much time.” Dad drops his voice. “There’s a bird called a brown-head cowbird, you hear?”
I nod.
“That bird is smart. It figured out that laying eggs and sitting on them and then feeding the babies is a lot of work. It wants there to be more cowbirds, but it doesn’t want to do the work, right? Because it’s a smart bird.”
