by Elle Casey
I don’t get these people or how they operate, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let them take me down. I grab my hot dog and take a giant bite out of it, eating that thing like a boss as I try not to choke on all the little bits of onion and chili bean that fall into the back of my throat.
“There you go,” my friend says, bits of bun flying out of her mouth as she gives me a thumbs-up. “You’re a hero now. Deep-throat that thing.”
I get caught up in the mood, grinning as I try to chew around the massive mouthful of garbage I have in my mouth. I am quickly finding that hot dogs are salty and do not taste like any identifiable meat that I am familiar with.
I take a second bite of my dog and then sample the juice drink, hoping it’ll help quench the fire of fresh onions and chili. Surprisingly, it does the job and goes together pretty well with the mix of spicy flavors I have going on. Who would’ve thought? Processed meat and fruit . . . there’s a veritable party going on in my mouth right now.
I finish the hot dogs even though I know it’s way too much food, and stumble out of the restaurant feeling bloated and sick. I’m probably going to leave out this part of my story when I recount it to my sisters; I don’t want to ruin it for them. And honestly, even though they’re giving me indigestion right now, the hot dogs were pretty darn good, and the juice is something I want to try to re-create when I get home.
When I return to the Four Seasons I’m in a much brighter mood than I was when I left. As I’m walking over to the elevator, somebody at the reception desk waves at me. I recognize the man sporting many gold buttons and walk over.
“Hi, James.”
“Hello, Ms. Fields. I have a message for you.” He hands me a piece of paper over the counter.
“Thanks.” I open it up and read what is written inside on Four Seasons notepaper. Please call Greg Lister at blah, blah, blah . . . I pull my cell phone out of my purse and dial the number, taking a few steps away from the reception desk so I can find some privacy.
“Lister-Spector-Harvey,” says the person answering the phone.
“Hello. I received a message that I need to call Greg Lister. This is Amber Fields.”
She patches me through and another female voice answers. “Hello, Greg Lister’s office.”
“You don’t sound like Greg Lister,” I say, trying to be funny.
“How may I help you?” she replies, no humor in her voice at all. I can totally picture his secretary in her sexy outfit with nude, uncomfortable high heels. I wonder if Lister knows she’s gunning for him.
“This is Amber Fields. I’m just returning a phone call.”
“Please hold.” Some classical music comes over the line, and I’m about to hang up after I hear five minutes of it, but then the line is picked up again.
“Ms. Fields, this is Greg Lister. Thanks for calling me back.”
“You have news for me?”
“Yes. I’ve talked to the band. Is there any chance they could meet with you tomorrow morning over breakfast?”
A little bit of panic seeps into my heart, and the hot dogs churn uncomfortably in my stomach. Now that the actual meeting is being set up, the stress is back, full force. “I’m not sure. I need to get back to you.” I’m worried about missing my flight tonight. I need to talk to my sisters and figure out a Plan B in case I can’t get reimbursed. Not having a credit card makes it really difficult to buy plane tickets. We had to drive into town and use a travel agent to pay cash and get the one I have.
“Okay, let me give you my cell phone number in case you call back after hours.”
I scramble around in my purse and find a pen. “Go ahead.” I write on the note James gave me as Greg recites the numbers. “Got it. I’ll call you back later. Bye.” I close my phone and look around. Although it seems like everybody’s going about their business and ignoring me, I worry that people are listening in on every word, so I take the elevator up by myself—Jeremy is nowhere in sight—and let myself into my room. I position an armchair so it faces the window. I’m going to enjoy the New York skyline while I call my sisters down on the farm and figure this thing out.
CHAPTER TEN
Rose picks up the phone immediately. “What’s going on? What happened? Tell us everything. I’m going to put you on speakerphone.”
Just hearing her voice makes me feel better. A wave of homesickness washes over me and gives me goose bumps. I can’t believe how much I miss my sisters. I haven’t even been gone a whole day yet.
“Is she there?” It’s Em, sounding a little panicked.
“I’m here. Can you guys both hear me?”
Their chorus of voices sounding extra cheerful as they yell, “Yes!” creates a stabbing feeling in my heart.
“Okay, cool. So here’s what’s going on right now . . . I need your help.”
“Anything,” Rose says in her confident voice. “Whatever it is, we’re here for you. And we feel really bad about letting you go down there alone, by the way.”
“Yeah,” Em chimes in. “We should’ve gone with you. We totally chickened out, and we’re butts for doing that.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s better you aren’t here. Not everybody is very nice. It’s been a little depressing, to be honest.” More like a roller coaster, but I’m going to spare them the details; they’re already worried enough as it is. “The hotel is nice, but that’s about it.”
“Really? A hotel?” This is from Rose. She’s the most compassionate of the three of us. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, it’s going to take an extra day. Don’t worry about it, though. It’s not a big deal, I promise.” I take a deep breath so I can tell them the story. “I need to change my plane ticket so that I come back tomorrow instead of tonight, because they aren’t here until tomorrow morning, but they do want to meet.”
“I was afraid that was going to happen,” Rose says. “Maybe we should’ve called ahead.”
“Well, somebody did call ahead. Barbara.” I roll my eyes, still irritated about that. It’s because of her that Ty and I got off on the wrong foot like we did. If he hadn’t known about me coming, he never would have shown up at the airport, and I never would have used my kung fu moves on him.
There’s a long silence. “I’m sorry,” Em says. “She asked me too many questions about why you were spending so much time in town, and I couldn’t keep it in.” She sounds overly sad.
I totally called it. Em is the weak link in our chain, always. “It’s not a big deal, I swear. The lawyer only found out I was coming a few hours before I arrived, but by then the band was already in Toronto.” I can’t say ‘our fathers’ because it makes me feel sick to my stomach to admit we have parents out there who’ve ignored us all our lives. My gut is burning with the need to tell them off again. It’s either that need or the hot dogs . . . I’m not sure.
“So, you’re going to meet them tomorrow?” Rose asks.
“Yes. That’s the plan. A breakfast meeting.”
“Did you talk to their lawyer?” Em asks.
“Yes, I did a little. And I also talked to the guy who plays lead guitar in the band now too.” Bitterness rises up in me. Another jerk in New York City. Why does he have to be so cute, though? That doesn’t seem fair. Rude people should be ugly and nice people should be hot.
“Oh my god, don’t tell our mothers,” Rose says. “They’ll squeal like teenagers. You know I hate that.”
“Don’t worry. He’s nothing special.” I say this and try to sound convincing, but it makes me feel bad to have voiced those thoughts aloud. He’s a human being like anyone else, and even though he acts like a jerk sometimes, I’m sure there’s somebody out there who thinks he’s pretty special. He sure did get some crowds gathered around us at the airport and in front of Lister’s office.
“Why would you say that?” Em asks. “Was he rude to you or something?”
“Maybe a little. I don’t know. I can’t really figure him out. He’s weird. Everybody here is weird.”
&n
bsp; “Huh,” Rose says. I think she’s going to say more but she doesn’t.
“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”
I can imagine her shrugging. “Oh, nothing. I just expected you to get along really well out there.”
It feels like she’s saying I’m a jerk too, but that’s not like Rose. “Why?”
“Because . . . of the three of us, you’re the most outspoken and direct. I hear that’s what New Yorkers are like, so it just seemed like you would speak their language better than we would.”
“I’ve met some nice people here and had some good conversations, sure, but anybody associated with the band kind of rubs me the wrong way, I guess you could say.”
“Well, that’s not surprising,” Rose says. “It’s an uncomfortable situation. Maybe nobody really knows how to handle it properly.”
What she’s saying makes sense. “I know I don’t know how to handle it properly. It seems like every time I open my mouth I get into a disagreement with someone.”
Em laughs. “Just try to remember to stay calm. And don’t let them mess with your head. You know who you are and what the plan is. We don’t need their guilt money or their charity. All you have to do is stick to the plan.”
“Right.” I nod and stand. I’m feeling stronger already. “I’m going to meet with the band members, and I’m going to tell them we are not interested in their payoff and that our hearts are not for sale. They can take their money and shove it up their butts!”
“You may want to leave off that last part,” Rose says.
I can hear Em mumbling in the background. “I think she can leave it how it is.”
I smile big, my faith in humanity fully restored. “Don’t worry, sisters; I’ve got your backs.”
“We know you do,” Rose says.
“We’d better go now,” Em adds. “I think this phone charges us for every minute that we talk.”
“I think it does too.” Stupid tiny rip-off phones. “And by the way, we’re really missing out. Apparently, those really expensive phones we didn’t buy are smartphones, and they have all these apps on them, and you can get on the app and find a one-night stand.”
“We can just go to the local bar and do that, so why would we need to do it on our phones?” Em asks.
She has a point. “I really don’t know. I’m still trying to figure all this stuff out.” I brush my hair back from my face. “I had a hot dog, but I’m going to wait and tell you about it when I get home.” Hopefully, the stomachache will pass by then and I’ll be able to offer up a better description than ‘gut bomb.’
“Cool,” Rose says. “I hope you go do some more fun stuff before you get back, because we’re living vicariously through you right now.”
“I will, I promise.” I have no idea what that thing is that I’m going to do, since I can’t afford anything, but I’ll find something, even if it’s just wandering around Central Park. “I need you guys to do me a favor, though.”
“Name it,” Rose says.
“Could you figure out if my plane ticket is refundable? And if it’s not, how am I going to get back tomorrow?”
“I’m on it,” says Em. “I’ll take care of everything, and I’ll send you a text when I have answers.”
“Thanks, sweetie pie. I love you.”
Both girls chime in together. “We love you too!”
“I’ll call you before I go to bed. Kiss, kiss. And since our moms apparently know what I’m up to, give them a hug for me. And tell them not to worry . . . I’m fine.”
“We will,” Em says.
“Don’t talk to strangers,” Rose trills with a smile in her voice.
“I would never.” I’m still smiling when I hang up the phone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I’m used to doing a lot of hard work at the farm, but for some reason, simply walking to and from the hot dog place has exhausted me. I think New York is draining the energy directly out of my body and feeding it to the surrounding environment. I don’t like this nearly as much as the city giving me its energy like it was earlier. For this reason, I decide a nap should be my next big adventure, but I’m not fifteen minutes into it when there’s a sound from the other room waking me up.
I sit up straight as a board and look around, momentarily confused as to where I am. I take in the tasteful wallpaper, the paintings, the expensive furniture around me, and the brightly lit New York City skyline at the foot of my bed, and I realize . . . I’m on a mission. But instead of enjoying my one and only trip to Manhattan, I am sleeping off a hot dog stupor like a senior citizen.
A knock at the door reminds me of what woke me up in the first place. I get up and wipe the drool off the side of my mouth, straightening my hair as best I can as I walk over to look through the peephole.
“What are you doing here?” I say at the messy-haired fool standing out in the hallway.
“I have a message for you from Lister.”
“What are you, his errand boy?” I’m finding it really hard to believe that a high-powered lawyer like Lister and a highly paid famous musician like Ty Stanz can’t find a more convenient way to contact me . . . like using a telephone maybe? Obviously, there’s something going on here. Lister’s probably trying to get some inside information by using Ty as his spy. Too bad Ty sucks at it with his bad attitude and that chip on his shoulder.
“No, not an errand boy, just a good Samaritan.”
I pull open the door and stare at Ty Stanz, the dummy who thinks he’s going to get a warm welcome after what he said when he left here last time.
“What’s the message?”
“Can I come in?” He doesn’t look apologetic but he also doesn’t look angry or mean either. More than anything, he looks tired. I guess we have that in common.
I back out of the way and open the door, because I’m curious enough about his motives for being here that I’m willing to chance another unpleasant encounter. “Fine, I’ll let you in . . . but if you’re here to insult me again, you’re wasting your time. I’m not interested in your garbage, and all it’ll do is earn you a one-way ticket out into the hallway.”
“Noted.” He walks into the living room and takes the same spot on the couch that he was in before.
I follow him into the room and stand in front of him with my arms folded over my chest. “What’s the message?”
He looks everywhere but at me. His eyes roam the room, glancing up at the windows and down at the rug before he answers. He speaks directly to the coffee table. “The message is that you are cordially invited to attend an event this evening that’s being hosted by one of the band’s sponsors.”
“What kind of event?” I wasn’t expecting this at all. An event?
“It’s a publicity thing.” He sounds less than enthusiastic about the idea.
“Publicity for the band? Why on earth would I be invited to that?”
He finally looks up at me. “I thought you said that you were related to someone in the band.”
“I did say that, but it doesn’t mean I’m somehow involved with their publicity issues.”
“Well, you’re invited. I’m not the one making decisions around here. I told Lister that I would discuss it with you, and that’s what I’m doing.” He slaps his hands on his jeans as he looks around. His body language is telling me that I’m not getting the whole story.
“There’s something else going on here.” I start tapping my toe. “Are you going to tell me what it is, or am I going to call Lister and get it out of him?”
Ty leans forward and starts punching one hand into his other palm. He’s not doing it in an angry way; I think he’s just trying to figure out how to say what he’s got on his mind.
I stop tapping my toe and wait for his mouth to catch up to his brain.
“He wants me to get you to go. I’m not supposed to just tell you about it, I’m supposed to convince you.” He hisses out a sigh of annoyance and throws himself against the couch cushions, lifting his arms up behind his he
ad again.
“Why you? Why not Lister himself or someone else who works for him?”
“Because,” Ty says, “it’s a sensitive situation that he doesn’t want spread around his office, and I volunteered to help out, since I didn’t go with the band to Toronto.” He tips his head back and closes his eyes. He actually looks like he’s sleeping, so I just watch him for a while. Then one of his eyes opens. “You’re staring at me.”
“I’m staring at you because I wasn’t sure if you were asleep or not, and if you were sleeping, I didn’t want to bother you.”
He sits up and shakes his head. “No, I’m wide-awake. Wide-awake in this nightmare that is my life.”
I sit down on the chair as I try to figure him out. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more confusing person. He definitely could use some time down on the farm, preferably when I’m not there because I’d be too tempted to throw manure at him or something equally disgusting. He is so very annoying.
I already have enough complications in my life right now; the last thing I need is to be involved in his issues . . . but I find myself being dragged down into the rabbit hole anyway. It has something to do with that sad face of his and that hair sticking out all over the place. He’s freaking adorable is what he is.
“You told me that you’re the new lead guitarist for Red Hot. Why are you calling your life a nightmare? You said that you’re their biggest fan. It seems to me like you’ve got a dream come true on your hands. And why didn’t they have you go to Toronto?”
“Sometimes things that look like dreams can turn into nightmares before you know it.” He’s staring at me intensely. I have to look away when my emotions start to run a little too warm for comfort. Is he talking about himself? Does he know I find him attractive? Is he warning me away?
“It sounds very complicated,” I say, forcing myself to stay engaged in the conversation rather than let my libido run away with me. Using Ty’s perspective to examine my own life, I’d have to say I agree with him. Some girls would be thrilled about the idea of inheriting millions of dollars from a famous relative, but for me, it seems more like I’ve been invited into a nightmare where I have to face people who never gave me a chance to love them or to be loved, who didn’t love my moms enough to ask them why they walked away without a word. It makes my heart ache too much to bear. I’m definitely not thrilled at the idea of standing in front of the band tomorrow morning and telling them how my sisters and I feel about their payoff attempt.
