Steal Me (Longshadows Book 1)

by Natalia Banks

  The host wrote unreasonable force on the white board.

  “He was showing off for that librarian,” the reporter said.

  The host repeated, “That librarian? Lorraine Phoenix is the most famous librarian in modern history. She could run for mayor of New York if she were a bit older, probably will someday … and I’ll bet she wins, too.”

  “She’s totally hot,” a younger reporter, a slim male said, sharing a high-five with the chubby Asian next to him.

  One of the female paparazzo said, “Then he hides behind her when that shooter struck. Some hero.”

  The host shook his head, black hair short and wavy. “No, that’s not fair. She threw herself in front of him, that’s not on him.”

  “That’s what some people think,” another reporter offered.

  “And then that Central Park shooting? I mean, c’mon, how many shootouts can these two wind up in before we start asking questions?”

  “Yeah,” another volunteered, “thank God this lawsuit’s bringing all this to light.”

  The host, an attorney, said, “All this to light? This has all been on our show over the past four years. Ease up on the medical pot before work, eh?” Everybody in the room chuckled.

  Lorraine and Griffin watched from their bedroom, laying in bed. Lorraine curled up against Griffin for warmth and for support, to give it and to get some in return, too.

  “Seriously, though,” the slender man said. “She was in on both those shootouts, too, and in Central Park she was carrying a handgun and was blasting away into a crowd. It’s amazing she didn’t hurt anybody.”

  “That guard was killed,” another reporter said.

  “Not by her hand,” the host cautioned them. “Watch those allegations, you guys.”

  “Well,” another said, “I’ve read on the internet that she was involved in clandestine deals to push her PEEK program through — ”

  “It’s PEEC,” the host said, correctly pronouncing it like peace. “Phoenix Enterprises Educational Centers, the PEEC program.”

  “Right, well, it wasn't very PEECful that day, it resulted in the shootout.”

  “Plausible deniability,” the host said, “that’s more like it. So what do we think? Is this Charles and Diana with muscle, or Bonnie and Clyde with money?”

  Lorraine and Griffin shared a worried sigh. “Our corporate partners aren’t going to like this.”

  “No potential juror will either. I don’t think we have a hope in hell of getting a fair trial now.”

  After a quiet dinner, Ashe and Kayla spent some time playing on the living room floor before bed. Ashe was her pet unicorn and Kayla a warrior princess of some sort, reigning over a peaceful kingdom just turbulent enough to provide her three-year-old imagination with enough fuel to keep her fantasies alive.

  Ashe was getting older, at fourteen he very nearly resembled a grown man, if quite a bit more spindly and smooth-faced. And for all his advancing maturity, a desire to find himself as a mature adult, he was never above the horse whinnies, rising up on his knees to pedal his arms like equine forelegs.

  Kayla was quite serious in her instructions, leading Ashe further into their imagined forest, forever on the hunt for one enchanted amulet or another.

  Lorraine and Griffin sat at the dining room table, sharing a quiet smile, his hand cupping hers. They glanced at one another, then back at their children, happiness swelling around them like a protective shield. The chaos of the outside world seemed locked out, their shelter impervious to its menace and venom.

  “He's such a good brother to her,” Lorraine said. “You’re such a good father to him, and to Kayla.”

  Griffin smiled. “No, Lorraine, it’s not me. Before you came into our lives, Ashe was … he was lost, I couldn't reach him. It took you to bring him out of his shell, and you couldn’t have done it without coming out of your own shell.”

  “Which I did, thanks to you.” She said with a deep appreciation and warmness.

  “An investment that’s paid off in spectacular fashion.” They shared a chuckle and a kiss, the kids playing in the other room, no need for guidance or protection. Ashe was learning how to provide that, just as he’d learned to accept it.

  It was the cycle of life, the passing along of lessons and wisdom from one generation to another. But Lorraine had never known with such certainty and clarity until that moment just how gratifying it was, how vital it was, to pass that wisdom along, to teach those lessons, while it was still possible, while the children were still young enough to absorb their effects.

  “You think she’ll be a storyteller, too?”

  Griffin said, “Look at her, already role-playing with the best of them.”

  Lorraine couldn’t help but smile. “He really is the best of them.”

  Griffin looked at Lorraine, his eyes locking on hers, their faces nearing for a loving kiss. “Among the best,” he said just before their lips met, gently pressing, tongues commingling in a moist, loving embrace.

  Lorraine walked around the long conference table, setting a manilla folder down in front of every member. The smells of their combined perfumes and colognes were overbearing, she could feel the beginning of a headache, but the looks on their faces more than made up for it. They shared high brows, stunned and silent little mouths, heads either jutting back in surprise or leaning forward in morbid curiosity. They looked at each other, a lot of glares falling to Treena, who could only hope her innocence was clear in her round eyes, small mouth dipping, a subtle shake of her head.

  “This is my proposal for a different approach to the budget problem,” Lorraine said with a little smile as she set a folder down in front of Casper Newkirk at the head of the table. He looked at her, one brow raised, the other pressing down over one of his beady eyes. “I thought instead of cutting faculty, losing all those skilled teachers, worthwhile people who work hard and need those incomes, we’d take a look at increasing our funding.”

  Casper said, “There is no more money, Mrs. Phoenix, at least not from the state government. And if you think the Fed will pony up, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “No, Casper, I know enough not to expect that.” She surmised.

  Treena said, “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all manage to pillow-talk our husbands into donating a huge bundle of cash? Are we going to have a rock concert, too? I kind of like Billy Joel, if your husband could put in a call or something.”

  Lorraine stared Treena down as the others chuckled or glanced around the table.

  Lorraine said, “My family’s not donating a penny, neither is our company.”

  Casper said, “There’s always something to be said for leading by example. And you did work wonders for the library system.”

  “I think this calls for something else,” Lorraine said as they began opening their files and glancing at the few pages included in each one.

  Chapter 7

  Lorraine tried to disguise the pride in her little half-smile, but she didn’t try too hard. The faces of the other office managers like herself looking up at her only added fuel to Lorraine's fire. “As you can all read for yourselves, what I suggest is a new tax, specifically on pro sports teams. And this tax goes directly to pay for the public schools.”

  Casper sighed and immediately closed his file. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I most certainly am not,” Lorraine said cheerfully, beginning a slow pace around the conference table. “The big leagues need high school sports, let them pay for it! The numbers are all there: North American pro ball brings in billions of dollars a year for their teams, billions. So let them all pay a small tax, say … two percent. That’s tens of millions of dollars a year, pouring right into our school system.”

  Casper shook his head. “You don’t understand, Mrs. Phoenix. Not every pro athlete makes that kind of big money — ”

  “It’s a percent, Casper. The more they make, the more they pay. And that goes for merchandise, food, parking, half-time shows; everybody pays the
same percentage across the board. Two percent won't break anybody, and it could completely turn around our public schools.”

  Silence swelled in the room, a bubble that would burst with terrible effect.

  Casper smiled. “It’s an intriguing idea, Mrs. Phoenix, truly. And we’re lucky to have such a … a creative thinker in the department. But unfortunately, we don’t have the capacity or authority to levy any new taxes on anyone. You do make a good point though, our civics classes are obviously lacking.”

  The others laughed, but Lorraine didn’t lose her cool.

  “You’re quite right, Casper, of course. But, if you’d actually bothered to read my proposal, you’d see that it’s a petition. If we can get every member of the staff or faculty of every school, just in New York, we’ll have enough signatures to bring the matter to the President of the United States. We might not have the authority, but the White House has all kinds of power, and they could push it through if they believed in it. And if there are enough signatures, they will believe in it.”

  “Open your eyes, Mrs. Phoenix,” Casper rebuked, the others keeping their heads down, peering up from under their brows. “You have no idea the powers you’re dealing with! This is pro sports, one of the most powerful lobbies in the nation. They’d never let any President pass such a tax, they’d use every arrow in their quiver to keep it from happening. It’s just not in the cards.”

  “No?” She asked.

  “No.” He said bluntly.

  “Then you’re refusing to sign?” Lorraine said, feeling the disappointment begin to bubble up inside her.

  “I am,” Casper said, eyes scanning the room, speaking to them as much as to Lorraine. “This department will not sanction such a thing. Now go back and cut ten percent of the staff and faculty as you were instructed to do, or take your leave of our department and leave us to our work.”

  Lorraine stood there, all eyes on her, especially those of the department head. Lorraine said only, “We’ll see,” before stepping out of the conference room, slamming the door behind her.

  Griffin’s mirth was easy to see, shaking his head as he strode around the living room, the huge room lit up by the natural sunlight and the endless blue sky. Griffin crossed to the wet bar and pulling a bottle of Champagne from one of three special mini-fridges.

  “Grif, isn't it a little early?”

  “Normally it would be,” Griffin said. “But frankly, we need a reason to celebrate. And if thinking about those goons … I wish I’d had the chance to meet ‘em so I could picture it, them glaring at you and you just, well, just being you, which I know drives them absolutely up a wall … if that isn’t reason to celebrate, among other things, I don’t know what is.”

  “What other things? Is there progress on the law suit?” Lorraine asked intently.

  “Some, but none on our end.” Griffin popped the cork, a wisp of cool condensation leaking up out of the opened bottle.

  “Doesn't sound like much reason to celebrate.” She sighed heavy as her shoulders lowered.

  Griffin chuckled, pulling two flutes from the cabinet, holding both by the stems in one hand and pouring expertly with the other. He held the Champagne bottle from the bottom, thumb wedged into the conical concavity at the bottom of the thick, green glass bottle.

  “My darling, we have every reason to celebrate.” He beamed.

  “Grif, things are getting bad, and you know that.” Lorraine said with a hint of defeat in her voice.

  “Precisely. That's why we have to celebrate, enjoy the little moments, the good times, while we can. Or else, what is it all for?”

  “For them,” Lorraine said, head nodding toward the kids in the other room, “for their futures.”

  Griffin clicked his glass to Lorraine’s. “Then let’s drink to them, and to their futures.”

  Lorraine sipped, but lowered her glass and looked at her husband, her beloved, as if in a new light. “What is it that makes you so … so frivolous?”

  “Frivolous? Really?”

  “Well no, um, not exactly, but … I mean, when we were having a real problem with the learning centers, all that with the computers going down, the company heading for a fall, and you wanted to fly off to Canada.” She pointed out.

  “That was the right move, Lorraine, for us and for the company. Sometimes too much proximity can be a dangerous thing.” Lorraine didn’t have to search her memory too hard for proof of that, as Griffin undoubtedly knew. “Look, bad times come and go, Lorraine, that’s just the nature of the world. You had that unfortunate experience with Tony Gardner, I lost Kayla, we were both shot and we’ve both shot others. Life is not going to be one good time after the next. Things do happen, Lorraine, I don’t have to tell you that.”

  “No, you’re right, I know it … too well.” She smiled. It seemed that Griffin always knew the right thing to say at the exact perfect time to soothe Lorraine’s nerves.

  He continued, “,But good things happen, too, even great things. And those are the things to focus on, to be grateful for, to celebrate.”

  Lorraine turned to see their kids frolicking in their living room, just a few yards away but actually in a world all their own. Lorraine looked at Griffin and felt something similar, like hers was a magical world where no real evil could reach them, where they’d live happily ever after.

  But Kayla was three years old, and Lorraine was old enough to know better.

  “Something else to celebrate,” Griffin said, “was the day I decided to buy that copy of The Denver Post, stumbling upon your open letter. I celebrate that day every morning of my life, Lorraine, and every night. It’s the first thing I think of when I wake and the last before I fall asleep.”

  Lorraine wanted to respond, but her heart and her throat were too full. Her eyes started to water. There was no room for a single word, hardly even a breath.

  Griffin went on, “Y’know, when I think of you when we met, that shy librarian, I knew there was something there. Actually, I knew it when I read that letter. But, when I saw you, I knew … I knew more than that. I fell in love with you, Lorraine, that instant. I knew all I needed to know about your character, your integrity, your intelligence and humanity, just from your letter alone. But, when I saw you, those eyes, that face, that smile … what can I say? I fell, that’s all there is to it.”

  Lorraine felt the blood rushing to her cheeks, casting her eyes down coyly from instinct alone. She was too close to Griffin to be coy, but too intimate to resist the teasing temptation. Her heart was filled with words of love, dedications and poetics, quotes from John Keats, Byron, all the romantics.

  A quote from a favorite play filled Lorraine’s memory, the Brian Hooker translation of the Edmund Rostand classic Cyrano de Bergerac. The great French swordsman/poet with the freakish face stood timelessly in the shadowy gloom of his beloved Roxanne’s balcony, disguised by darkness and freed to speak to her as he never had before:

  “Love hates that game of words! It is a crime to fence with life. I tell you, there comes one moment, once, and God help those who pass that moment by, when Beauty stands looking into the soul with grave, sweet eyes that sicken at pretty words.”

  So Lorraine simply raised her flute, tapped it lightly against Griffin’s to create a crystalline chime that rang through the room and right through both of their souls.

  The Phoenix’s study had become a hub of activity and dread. Once a sanctuary, a place that was neither work nor home, it was no longer either one. It began to feel to Lorraine more and more like a dungeon, a torture chamber, a maze from which there was no escape.

  Lorraine poured through the internet, looking for any clues that might lead to unwinding Tony’s story and then his entire law suit. With Phoenix Enterprises’ reputation getting worse and partners dropping out more and more, the time to end this case was fast drawing near. And it looked more and more like the only reasonable resolution was to settle, but that could mark the beginning of the end for their entire empire.

 
Griffin’s study was filled with high-resolution copies of Tony’s paintings, glued flat to thick foam matte boards and leaned up against the desk, the couch, the bookcases, surrounding the study.

  Lorraine found little of value in either the paintings themselves or on the web, just website after website of paintings, articles, a dizzying array of nothing. Lorraine leaned back in that study chair, overstuffed leather supporting her. Finally she leaned forward, pushed herself out of the chair and walked out to the kitchen for a hot cup of Earl Grey tea.

  Jeremy was playing with Kayla in the living room when Lorraine walked in, waiting for her kettle to whistle.

  Jeremy asked, “How’s it going?”

  Lorraine shook her head, sighing. “Not good. If there’s a way out of this mess, I can’t find it.”

  “Well, Griffin does have the lawyer and the PI, why not just let them handle it?”

  “I used to think the school board would just handle everything, before that I thought the public library system would simply handle itself. Look how those worked out.” Lorraine combed her fingers through her short red hair and she knelt to hug her adoring little daughter, nodding and cooing and picking at the stuffed unicorns and ponies scattered around them. Lorraine breathed deep of that soothing scent of her own daughter, a smell like no other.

  “It just doesn’t make sense to me, Jer. I mean, a guy like that, a thug, a would-be rapist … and who knows how many times his attacks were successful? But you’re telling me he’d paint pictures of Albert Einstein and Ernest Hemingway? Those beautiful, tranquil pastures? No, that’s not him.” She contemplated aloud.

  “Maybe it’s the person he really is inside, the person he wants to be, the world he wants to see … or wanted to at one point, anyway.”

  “I guess,” Lorraine said, returning her attention to Kayla as she began to walk in that hurried stagger across the big penthouse. “Still, I just don’t buy it.”

  Jeremy sighed “Sadly, you may not have a choice.” He went on, “Don’t be mad at me. I'm always on your side, you know that. And you certainly have always been on mine, especially lately. I suppose we can kiss the idea of being parents goodbye, too.”