by Mia Thompson
* * * * *
Sapphire let her fork drag across her plate, creating a high pitch squeak that she knew her mother would hate, as she was most definitely hungover.
“Sapphire!” Vivienne shrieked.
Sapphire smiled to herself then noticed Julia staring at her with a warning look.
“I’ll make the eggs if you make the pancakes,” Sapphire said, moving toward the refrigerator.
“What, you trying to poison us? Sit down.” Julia smiled.
“I can cook, you know.” Sapphire glanced over at her mother and stepfather—breathing hard through his oxygen mask.
Julia laughed and pushed Sapphire out of the way to get to the fridge. “Like what?” she asked with her usual Latina attitude.
“Poptarts. Popcorn. Anything that involves a microwave or toaster really.”
Julia chuckled and smacked Sapphire on top of the head with the spatula, sending her back to her seat.
“Don’t meddle with the help, dear; it’s what we pay them for,” Vivienne mumbled from behind her magazine.
For a second, Sapphire caught a glimpse of sadness in Julia’s eyes as she scrambled the eggs. Julia had been with them since Sapphire was about five; she couldn’t even imagine how empty and lonely her childhood would have been if Julia hadn’t been there.
She played around with the idea of a life without Julia and ended up back in 1998. For a second Sapphire was there, on a brightly lit stage in front of other parents, students, and their siblings. She gazed down at two empty seats in the second row with signs on them, the first reserved for Mr. Dubois and the second for Mrs. Dubois. Before she started singing Annie’s “Tomorrow,” that minute on stage had been the longest of her life. She felt as if every single person in the room stared at those empty chairs. Why the hell her mother couldn’t just have declined, instead of doing that to her, Sapphire would never understand. Then, at the worst moment of her life, or so she felt at that age, Julia came sneaking through the dark room up to Sapphire’s seats. She gave Sapphire a discreet wave before she sat down and then, Sapphire sang—badly—but sang nonetheless.
That same scenario had happened so many times that if it weren’t for Julia’s uniform or Hispanic accent, teachers and parents of Beverly Morris School would have thought Julia was Sapphire’s mother.
Sapphire smiled at Julia now more than a decade later; as always, Julia saw her smile even when facing the other way.
“What es it, more jooce?”
“If I need juice, I’ll get juice,” Sapphire snapped. She hated how Julia always made herself more of a housekeeper than a member of the family.
Vivienne, on the other hand, had no problem with that. She held her cup over her head without taking her eyes off the magazine. “Refill.”
Julia hurried over with the coffee pot and refilled the cup. Sapphire looked over at her mother, annoyed.
“So, Mom, did you have a good time this morning?”
Her mother looked over at her with big eyes, then back to her husband, Charles. “I…ah…don’t know what you’re talking about…I slept so…”
“That’s weird; I could have sworn I heard some strange noises coming from the gym.”
“Oh, yes. Now that I think about it, I did have an early morning workout.” A pause, then, “While we are on the subject, we might have to get rid of Sven.” She patted her husband’s hand as he looked at her with ninety-two years of life and experience.
“Wrrrr gghtt,” he started, trying to form a sentence.
Vivienne looked away, bored, and went back to Vogue. “Don’t try too hard, dear; rest your vocal cords like the doctor said.”
Charles let out a sigh and went back to staring at the empty plate in front of him.
At times, Sapphire felt sorry for him. His wife was a cold-hearted bitch. He was a millionaire but too old to enjoy the money. Last but not least, he shat himself every other hour. Vivienne was supposed to change his catheter and diaper, which, of course, she didn’t.
“He’s hungry,” Sapphire said.
“He already ate some; he’s full.”
Sapphire gave her mother a defiant look and walked over to sit by Charles. She ladled up some food on his plate and began feeding him.
“Well, you change his diaper then,” Vivienne snorted.
“Or…I’ve heard about these people who come in and do that for you in exchange for money. They’re called nurses.”
Vivienne put down her magazine and stared at Sapphire. “You know how I feel about that; they steal and Lord knows what else they’ll do.” She put as much of a hand on Charles as she could bear without throwing up. “And I just don’t think I can trust anyone but myself to take care of my boo boo.”
Charles slowly moved his other hand to place on top of Vivienne’s. As soon as she realized it, she pulled away hiding a disgusted face. Sapphire watched her and knew it was all bullshit. Vivienne’s fear wasn’t for Charles’ health; it was in losing his money. If Charles had a nurse, he might fall for her, divorce Vivienne, and give all his hard-earned money to his new wife when he passed. Sapphire knew her mother was crossing her fingers, hoping he would croak any day now.
Julia turned to Sapphire and snapped her fingers. “Oh, Chrissy called. She says meet at the club at two not one.”
Sapphire smiled a thank-you to Julia, but cursed herself for making plans with her so-called best friend.
“You wanna come see the new chair on the dick?” Julia asked, mispronouncing deck.
Since neither Julia nor Sapphire gave a rat’s ass about Vivienne’s home decor on the ‘dick’ it meant, “I have something to tell you.”
Julia closed the door behind them on the patio. She was smiling from ear to ear and bubbling with excitement.
“What’s up with you?” Sapphire smiled at her.
“Guess,” Julia demanded.
“Gerardo and Jaunita finally did the nasty?” Sapphire asked jokingly. It wouldn’t be the first time Julia had announced exciting news about her favorite soap opera Los Amigos.
“No.” Julia rolled her eyes.
Sapphire’s entire body turned cold. No, not now, not yet, she thought, taking a deep breath. “He proposed,” she knew she sounded like she was announcing a funeral.
“Si, si!” Julia jumped up and down and hugged Sapphire for a long time, longer than Sapphire usually preferred, but after all, it was Julia.
“W…when?”
Julia’s smile suddenly disappeared, replaced with a concerned head tilt.
“What es that face?” Julia asked, sounding angry.
“What face? This is a normal face.”
“Sapphire, you’re over twenty-years-old now. You don’t need me now. I’ll always be in your life, but you don’t need me to take care of you.” Julia gently grabbed Sapphire’s arms like she used to do when Sapphire had done something wrong as a child. “You have to understand me…”
Sapphire broke out of her grip. “I understand perfectly, and I’m not a child, so don’t treat me like one.”
“But you act like one. I think…I hoped you will be happy for me.”
“I am and it’s would…past tense.” Sapphire looked away. She couldn’t stand the look she knew was being returned to her. “I have to go.”
Julia crossed her arms and turned her back to Sapphire, like she always did, to hide the fact that she was upset.
Sapphire reached for the glass door and froze. In the glare of the glass Sapphire saw something up on the hill: the shape of a person, half shielded by the bushes, staring down at them.
She turned around abruptly and peered up at the foothill. There was nothing—or more precisely—no one. She must have imagined it.
Sapphire wasn’t an idiot. She knew perfectly well, that extreme paranoia automatically came with the job. However, as she left the mansion, the tiny hairs on her arms and neck still stood alert. Her gut told her to look over her shoulder, but she was determined to not give into the delusions that she knew were only figm
ents of her imagination.
What Sapphire didn’t know at the time, was that her body was warning her of something yet unseen. Silently pleading for her to hear its message. Danger!
Chapter 3
Aston was greeted by his new colleagues as he walked through the hallway of the—in his opinion—overdone Beverly Hills police station. The floors were too clean, the smell too fresh, and the people too friendly. His new chief of police, Anderson, led him into an elaborate presentation room at the end of the hall. Other officers, detectives, and sergeants followed.
Aston tried to sit down, to remain invisible from the group of spoiled “policemen,” but Chief Anderson pulled him up to be displayed in front of the group.
“Ladies. Gentlemen. This is Detective Ashton Ridder; he transferred over from the downtown district.”
“It’s As-ton, actually.”
“Right,” the chief said. “Astein.”
Aston stood quietly, irritated, deciding to let it go and reminded himself that the chief would get it eventually; they always did.
The group looked at him. The men with respect, the women with sexual curiosity. They gazed directly in his eyes, each and every one smiling shyly, like schoolgirls. Aston had been told several times that his eyes—clear blue—were his most attractive feature. If his eyes were extra sparkly today, he’d probably end up sleeping with at least one of them by next week. Which suited him nicely, he definitely needed some relaxation.
As he wondered what a stuck-up Beverly Hills chick, pretending to be a cop, would be like between the sheets, he noticed Chief Anderson staring at him.
“Floor’s yours, Detective.” Chief Anderson ushered Aston to the middle of the room.
“Um.” There was a long pause, and then Aston cleared his throat. “I’m a man of few words.”
The force looked at him, waiting for him to continue.
“Questions?” Aston added.
“O-kay?” Chief Anderson arched his brows, turning his head to the men and women. “Questions for Detective Ridder?”
To Aston’s delight, the room was dead silent. Then an attractive woman raised her hand.
“Officer Moore,” Chief Anderson acknowledged.
Officer Moore cleared her throat, holding Aston in her gaze.
She probably wants me, Aston thought, giving her a mental eight out of ten.
“We’ve had some major issues with four-eighty-eight as of late. What’s your take on it, Detective?”
Four-eighty-eight? Is she kidding?
Code four-eighty-eight. Shoplifting. Loss. Aston looked at her for a while, trying to get over what she just asked him. That was their biggest issue?
Pathetic. “Well…” Aston started, about to say something stupid, when Chief Anderson interrupted.
“Last year we had hundreds of thousands of dollars in loss. The stores, like Gucci and Prada, won’t put in more security because they don’t want their high-end clientele feeling spied on or as though they have something to be frightened about.”
Aston knew he couldn’t get away with a simple agreeing head nod. “It’s a serious matter that I’ll definitely look into.” Or not.
The chief nodded and held his hands out.
“Alright, I guess that’s all. Oh, fundraiser ball this Friday.” Chief Anderson eyed Aston quickly up and down. “Remind me to send my tailor your way.”
Aston looked down at his washed out jeans, T-shirt, and sports jacket. What the hell was wrong with his clothes?
He looked over at Officer Moore who gave him a shy smile before looking down at her notes.
Correction. She definitely wants me.
* * * * *
“Waiter…Waaaaaiter!” Chrissy’s voice cut through the restaurant in the Beverly Hills Country Club filled with everyone from rich to filthy rich to disgustingly wealthy.
Sapphire covered her face in humiliation; her friend believed that her scone was in fact an American scone and not French like the menu had stated. The poor waiter came over with clasped hands, a low head, and a worried look. Chrissy explained about the scone, like someone retelling a painful childhood memory.
“Would you like me to bring another scone or would you prefer something else, Ms. Kraft?”
Chrissy sighed loudly to make sure the next table could hear her.
“What I wanted was a French scone. Has your chef ever even been to France?
“Um…I…” the waiter started.
“Because I have. J’adore Paris,” Chrissy added. Americanizing every syllable. It happened to be the only phrase she knew in French.
“So a new one then?”
“It’s too late; you’ve ruined my morning. Congratulations. I’m not paying for it. Do you understand?”
The waiter nodded, bowing away. While Chrissy was busy holding her mouth in a pouted snort, Sapphire took the opportunity to roll her eyes. Chrissy came from one of the ten infamous families that had ruled America since the 1700s. She could definitely afford to buy her scone, whether she liked it or not.
“That little rat. See how people try to walk all over you if you don’t pay attention, Saph?”
“Mmm, the nerve.” Sapphire worked hard to hide her sarcasm, wondering how she could live through another year of Chrissy’s friendship without blowing her own brains out.
“He was looking at my boobs too; did you see? Like he could ever have a chance.” She paused, looking down at them, and added, “Then again, who wouldn’t? They’re fabulous.”
Chrissy’s full name was Christina Kraft, as in Kraft dairy, coffee, pasta, Kool Aid…the list was endless.
Sapphire and Chrissy had been friends since they were sixteen. Six looooong years for Sapphire, probably not so much for Chrissy.
By comparison, Chrissy was better than many of the others. Yes, she was an extreme case of spoiled brat, but she also had something the other candidates for the role of Sapphire’s best friend didn’t have.
They first met at Winchester Private Academy where Sapphire’s mom had put her for the remaining years of high school. It wasn’t that Sapphire wasn’t doing well at her old school, but she suspected (rightfully so) that Vivienne wanted time away from her daughter.
She was shipped miles away to a place where the rich put their kids for whatever reason they wanted. Supposedly for the best high school education in the country.
At that time, Sapphire already knew she wanted different things than the other kids. She knew she craved something more than a life in the lap of luxury, but she also knew that for her plan to work she would have to create a persona that would never be suspected, never even considered for the destiny that lay ahead of her.
One night, like most, Sapphire tossed and turned, trying to sleep in her pimped out dorm room. She had to practice and sleep was no longer an option, so she climbed out of bed and wandered the dark hallway filled with glamorous paintings of famous women from the past who had attended the school. She reached the chancellor’s office at the end next to the bathrooms.
She had two tools back then—a hairpin and a nail file. Sapphire began fiddling with the locks. It took her about seven minutes longer than she would have hoped, but then she was in.
The office lay still, dark, and hauntingly silent. Sapphire’s heart pounded hard against her chest from pure excitement. She walked around the chancellor’s desk, letting her hand slide over the expensive ebony wood. Slowly, she sat down in his chair, hearing the leather crackle.
That was it. That was all she wanted to do—to see if she could get in and out undetected, leaving no trail of evidence. She enjoyed her victory for about five more minutes before she decided to leave.
When she carefully closed the door behind her, Sapphire could feel that something was off; something in the hallway was different. A light escaped from the bathroom. In the doorway stood a girl with curly blond hair, staring at Sapphire, mouth hanging open.
A quick thought flitted through Sapphire’s mind. This would screw everything up; getting caug
ht breaking into the chancellor’s office would mean expulsion. Expulsion would mean a record, a record would mean she existed as a criminal of sort and that she had tendencies to do criminal activity. She thought about knocking the girl out, she knew she could.
The girl bit her lip, looked at Sapphire, then let her eyes slide across the hallway.
“I won’t say anything, don’t worry.” She nodded to Sapphire to keep going.
The hell you won’t. Sapphire shot the girl a look of doubt and took her hand off the doorknob, discreetly wiping it free of prints with her pajama sleeve. She turned her back on the girl and walked all the way to her room before she looked back over her shoulder. The girl was gone, probably off telling security.
That night Sapphire didn’t sleep at all, she lay awake listening, waiting for the sound of campus security at her door. When hours had passed and nobody came, Sapphire created a scenario where she’d go to class and then in the middle of lunch the cops of Winchester came, marching toward her in front of the whole school.
Her alarm rang as she lay there with open eyes staring at the ceiling. Unwillingly, she got up, got dressed, and went to class. No one gave her sly looks, no one talked behind her back … no more than usual … no campus officer came to bring her in for questioning. Nothing.
Lunch came and still nothing. That’s when Sapphire saw the girl sitting a few tables away from her eating sushi. She looked up and saw Sapphire staring at her, picked up her tray, and came over.
“Is this chair taken?” the girl asked, flipping her curls back with one swift neck move. She didn’t wait for an answer but sat right down. “What are you eating? My sushi sucks; wanna trade?”
Six years later there they were. Not one word had ever been spoken about the night at the chancellor’s office, and no questions were ever asked. Sapphire smiled at Chrissy, looking at her slightly more styled curly hair and her thousand dollar sweats. Loyalty was exactly what she had been looking for in a friend and Chrissy, though intensely annoying, was just what Sapphire needed.
