For Money or Love

by Heather Blackmore

  The Mercedes stopped and, with her hand on the handle, TJ hesitated. The moment was awkward. She wanted to give Jess a hug for being so strong and sure tonight. But they’d be working together, and that seemed an inappropriate gesture between colleagues. “Thanks again,” she said, exiting the vehicle.

  As she started up the steps, Jess called her name. Jess was out of the limo and walking toward her. She threw her arms around TJ. Startled at first, TJ returned the embrace. It was what she’d wanted. She let herself enjoy the warmth of the woman’s body. Neither of them spoke, but that didn’t stop their audience from doing so. Some of the men started making sexual comments and offering Jess their services if she needed comfort. Others were egging TJ on to escalate things to another level. Jess gave TJ’s hands a squeeze and disappeared into the car.

  TJ ascended the grime-ridden stairs. She’d long since stopped noticing the tenement’s neglected common areas. They were a means to an end. Home was on the other side of her apartment door. It had been at her urging that they’d moved into this building. Her mother had opposed the idea but relented since TJ was paying all the bills. There was only one reason they were here: the school district.

  TJ had done her homework before moving her family to this run-down building in an industrial area. In its heyday, this unincorporated district had been primarily a manufacturing area, but with most of the businesses long ago exporting those jobs to China, it had dwindled to a handful of remaining commercial properties. Only a cement manufacturer, a vodka distillery, and a truck-rental facility remained. The other older buildings were boarded up and fenced with barbed wire.

  On the other side of the tracks, literally, was the wealthy city of Montgomery Hills. In its flat section were the businesses and restaurants. As you ascended the hills beyond, you entered the world of the privileged.

  And, unquestionably, the privileged had great school districts.

  During her online research, TJ had accidentally stumbled across the address of the apartment building. It was located on the only street outside the Montgomery Hills city borders included in its school system.

  Although other school-age children lived in the building, none of them went to Montgomery Hills. The high-school-age kids were put to work by their parents or, more frequently, parent, and the younger kids were either kept home or dropped off at Vista, a poor district that, due to its interdistrict public-school-choice program, accepted students from neighboring areas.

  Education had become important to their father, whose lack of a high school degree had vexed him throughout his short life. He had worked odd jobs, mostly as a bartender, with some side gigs in carpentry and construction thrown in. TJ had received a good education due to his hard work. After he died and it became obvious Evelyn wouldn’t be carrying on his efforts to ensure Kara was equally educated, TJ had stepped in, researched the best schools, and moved them here.

  She thought of her father and smiled as she unlocked the door. She’d upgraded its hardware as he’d shown her, and it felt solid and smooth in her hand. He’d taken her on some of his carpentry jobs and taught her the basics. He’d introduced her to the salvage store that sold high-quality used and recycled goods such as lighting and plumbing fixtures, hardware, windows, cabinets, and furniture. It was still one of her favorite shopping destinations.

  It didn’t matter that the landlord didn’t pay for any of the upgrades she’d done to the place. It felt like home. During the first year at the apartment, she’d removed the bars from the windows; installed vinyl flooring in the kitchen; replaced the stained toilet, bathroom and kitchen sinks; retiled the shower and kitchen counter; re-carpeted the two bedrooms and living room; and repainted. Aside from the portable air conditioner that worked wonders on hot days, she was able to use inexpensive recycled items that, for the most part, appeared new. The only thing she made the landlord pay for was a refrigerator, since the old one leaked.

  The worst feature of the apartment was the lack of natural light, as the windows were small and scarce, and she couldn’t do anything about that. To tackle the problem, she’d selected light-colored paints and purchased used lamps for each room. She installed pleated blinds on the windows and added several mirrors throughout the apartment to encourage what little natural light they did have.

  The best feature—perhaps its only innately good one—was the sound. The walls and floors were surprisingly thick, and the old aluminum-frame windows were dual-pane. Soft music from the stereo could drown out noisy neighbors and traffic.

  As she closed the door behind her, she studied her surroundings and sighed. All her hard work had paid off. This would never be her first choice for a place to live, but she’d made it a warm and welcoming one. Standing on this versus the other side of the door was like being the deputy instead of the inmate. She admired the accent walls Kara had helped her paint. Her father would be proud of them.

  Or would he? Kara wasn’t here tonight. She was miles away, in pain and alone. TJ frowned. Was that her fault? By insisting they heed her father’s wishes to give Kara a good education, had she pushed her into making poor decisions? She grabbed a glass of water and slumped onto the couch.

  Ever since they’d moved here, Kara had become a little sister to many of the residents, a number of whom were younger males TJ suspected didn’t shy away from illegal activities. They’d taken her under their wings and into their “garages”—which were the abandoned streets surrounding them—and taught her how to fix cars.

  Since Kara wasn’t interested in sports or other after-school programs, and TJ didn’t have the means to enroll her in music or art courses, Kara spent her afternoons hanging out with the guys, working on cars. She was a quick study, with small hands that could reach things in tight spaces, and she didn’t mind dirt or grease. Though her neighbors didn’t pay her for the work she performed, they made up for it by teaching her everything they knew about vehicles.

  Including how to steal them. Borrow, TJ reminded herself. The distinction Kara tried to place on it the first time she got caught (smugly explaining why joyriding was a different legal construct than theft) had so infuriated TJ that they didn’t speak for two days.

  TJ walked to the window and gazed below. As usual, the street in front of their apartment building was lined with cars, as was the feeder street perpendicular to it. Although she wasn’t naive enough to believe they legitimately owned all the vehicles they gave Kara to work on, she also didn’t believe it was fair to put the onus on Kara to somehow check. TJ couldn’t be with Kara most afternoons, and these guys, for all their faults, looked after Kara as one of their own. Why didn’t Kara drive these cars? They were at her disposal, and she was surrounded by a group of men who didn’t care if she took them for a spin. Why swipe autos from other neighborhoods? Was it to see if she was capable of hot-wiring them? Was it to see if she could get away with it? Did she want to get caught?

  TJ couldn’t wrap her head around it. Such a smart kid to be doing such dumb things.

  Dumb things Kara would never be involved in had TJ not moved them here. If they continued living here, Kara could remain at Montgomery Hills High. But would she stay out of jail through graduation? And would she survive until then?

  TJ got ready for bed, her thoughts turning to Jessica Spaulding. What had that been all about? She’d been not only helpful, but thoughtful and surprisingly competent. Was she simply good in a crisis, or had the lobotomy elves returned what they’d borrowed? Although Jess was pretty, she was all-out attractive when she sounded smart and capable, which was exactly how she’d been this evening.

  Maybe she was sharper than she let on because, in the firm, she was forced to play a role she was unprepared for or uninterested in. Neither prospect thrilled TJ because Jess would be a poor teacher in either case. The good news was that she’d mentioned she’d involve her colleagues as well. If Jess was true to her word, the internship would prove invaluable.

  TJ slipped under the covers and closed her eyes. She misse
d Kara: her grunting reply when asked if she wanted a snack, the sounds in the bathroom as she showered and brushed her teeth, the way she mumbled “’Night” before turning in, the gunfire from her video games. Who would have thought she’d ever miss the thunder of virtual weaponry?

  She thought of the kicks and punches Kara had suffered at the hands of someone who’d turned his limbs into real weapons. She wished she could comfort her sister the same way she’d been comforted by Jess, whose hug had been as welcome as a late winter. Even if Jess’s promises turned out to be empty, nothing about her tonight had been.

  Heart full, with thanks for Jess and in anticipation of seeing her sister tomorrow, she drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Six

  “Still okay?” TJ asked as she opened the apartment door.

  “Yeah.” Kara was sweating and irritable from the ride over and from having taken five flights of stairs using one leg, one crutch, and in places where the banister was broken, her sister. The cab driver knew how to brake and accelerate, but to him the concepts of coasting and maintaining speed were as advanced as quantum physics. Aware of her sister’s propensity for motion sickness and her already throbbing head, TJ had asked him to drive more evenly. Her request was lost in translation.

  Kara maneuvered into the apartment on her crutches. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Good idea,” TJ said. “Your sheets are clean and I’ve laid out fresh PJs. How’s the leg?”

  “Peachy. Let’s do some leg presses.”

  “Itching? Swelling?”

  “It itches.”

  “Pain?”

  “Yes. She’s about five-ten and her name’s TJ.”

  “You must be feeling better.” TJ followed Kara into her bedroom. Kara sat with her leg out and scooted back on the bed. TJ angled the crutches against the wall within Kara’s reach and propped a pillow under her cast to elevate it.

  “Not really.”

  TJ crouched next to the bed. “No? Do I need to call Dr. Stanfield?” Though the doctor had proclaimed a CT scan unnecessary, TJ remained anxious. Kara’s headache had improved somewhat but lingered.

  Kara shook her head slightly. It obviously hurt to do so.

  “What can I get for you?”

  “Morphine.”

  “You can take two more acetaminophen in…” She glanced at her watch. “Two hours. I’ll wake you. Anything else?”

  “Mouth’s dry.”

  “I’ll bring you some water. Be right back.”

  TJ’s phone vibrated as soon as she entered the kitchen. The display showed the same unrecognized number that had called three times earlier. This time she answered. “Hello?”

  “TJ?”

  “Yes. Who’s this?”

  “It’s Jess. Jessica Spaulding.”

  “Oh, hey. Hi.”

  “I won’t keep you. I just wanted to see how your sister’s doing. Is she out of the hospital?”

  “She is, yes, thank you. We just got home. She needs more rest so she’s going to bed.”

  “That’s great to hear. I’ll let you get back to it. And if you need to take time off next week to handle anything, just give me a call or let Gary know. It’s no problem.”

  “Thank you. I will. And thanks for calling. It’s very sweet of you.”

  “Don’t forget to take care of yourself too. Okay, see you Monday, unless we hear from you.”

  “Bye.”

  TJ returned to find Kara’s eyes closed. She set the water on the nightstand and headed back out.

  Kara’s voice stopped her. “Who was that?”

  “Woman I work for.”

  “At Zelda’s?”

  “No. Magnate.”

  “Thought you quit.”

  “We’ll talk about it when you’re feeling better. Want help with your PJs?”

  “Not moving. Statue impression.”

  “I’ll get you up in a few hours.”

  “’Kay.”

  TJ flipped off the light. As she was closing the door, she heard, “The hot one?”

  Living with a teenager could be such a one-way street. When you asked questions, you were met with mumbles or glares. When the teen asked, she expected an answer.

  TJ decided an honest reply would be the quickest way to end the conversation and get Kara to sleep. “Yes.”

  “What’d she want?”

  “To check on you.”

  “Nice of her.”

  “Yes. Now get some rest.”

  “’Kay.”

  *

  Jess had given her word, and now she regretted it. She’d promised to teach TJ, but what information could she appease her with without revealing too much about herself?

  Jess replayed some of their interactions. TJ had turned down a golden parachute in the form of a recommendation letter because she felt she hadn’t deserved it, and she wanted to ensure any action taken toward winning Muriel Manchester’s business wasn’t simply window dressing but part of a real commitment to change. These issues along with her reluctance to accept things like medical benefits, clothing, and lunch pointed to a level of virtue Jess didn’t share.

  It didn’t make sense to her for TJ not to accept the recommendation and use it to land a decent-paying job that could get Kara and her out of Maddiston. She’d have to earn her stripes there, so what did it matter if she used all the tools at her disposal to help her get started? It wasn’t as if the letter contained false information—TJ had performed her tasks satisfactorily, albeit over an abbreviated period.

  Jess didn’t understand or share TJ’s sense of right versus wrong. If TJ learned that Jess was essentially wearing a mask at work every day and, worse, learned the reason behind it, she would quit again. No way would she continue to be coached by a woman who took the easy way out at the first sign of confrontation, a woman who prized her possessions above all else.

  Assigning more busywork wasn’t an option, so how should she proceed? She didn’t want to hand over any of her real marketing files to TJ. She primarily did her work and research at her loft, saving her time in the office for contrived displays. Her colleagues believed the firm’s reputation was all that was needed to bring new clients calling. Since most of the firm’s staff had finance backgrounds, they gave little thought to how word was spread. To them, marketing was as useful as Swahili.

  In truth, Jess had built a finely honed marketing machine.

  Knowing that high-net-worth (HNW) individuals as well as government and nonprofit asset managers engaged professional advisors to manage their complex affairs, Jess focused on events these advisors attended and insisted that Brooke and Derrick go. Face-to-face meetings at key industry events performed well for the firm; the subtle sale thrived.

  To target HNW individuals themselves, rather than pay exorbitant fees to be the lead sponsor at a conference or event, Jess spent a fraction of the amount by securing the attendee contact information and sending personalized gifts to attendees in advance, such as what she did with Golden Oak wines. Brooke and Derrick then had brand awareness and rapport to build from.

  Although recommendations gained through advisor networking were the best entry point for Magnate, Jess knew decision makers wouldn’t switch firms without doing significant research. She made sure the firm’s website was packed with market insights and viewpoints; she paid market experts to create timely and relevant Q&A-style education for investors; she retained a search-engine optimization agency to make sure Magnate showed well to treasury managers researching investment firms online and was easily found via the major search engines.

  She knew what she was doing, and the firm enjoyed high conversion rates across all fronts.

  Jess worked hard to achieve these results and took pride in the firm’s success. Based on some intel from her professional network, Jess estimated the firm brought in twice as many new clients per year as other similarly sized investment advisors. The trick was trying to educate TJ without revealing all she did.

  Since they’d already c
overed how Kara was doing—it was the first question out of Jess’s mouth—she couldn’t stall any longer.

  Jess arrived at a decision. She wouldn’t provide TJ with anything more than what she, herself, started with. She’d give TJ the ingredients; it would be up to TJ to create the entrée. If she was as capable as she was purported to be, she’d discover Jess’s secret. But Jess wouldn’t make it easy. And by then she might come up with a plausible alternative explanation to account for the firm’s marketing prowess, one that would allow her to keep her success private.

  Jess popped a removable drive into her laptop. As she moved electronic files, she said, “These are the lists we purchased last year. They’re the attendees of each event we co-sponsored or received through networking. We know who they are and how we found them, which is all here. Every introduction has an origin. While we don’t determine exactly which combination of our marketing touches led to closing them, we can at least assess the lead sources based on what revenue they ultimately drove and calculate a proper ROI for each activity in our tool kit.”

  After removing the pinkie-size drive, Jess handed it to TJ. “I’d like you to ignore our actions and results. Start with the lists. Research how you think it best to reach these people based on the associated event. Try to discern who they are and what incents them to alter their status quo. Your goal is to come up with two different initiatives designed to yield the most new clients. For the first, tell me how you’d proceed if you had five hundred thousand dollars to work with. For the second, you have two million. Any questions?”

  As TJ reached for the drive, she asked, “Do I get to assume you or someone like you is available as an expert resource, or am I expected to proceed as if I’m the sole marketer?”

  Initially Jess flushed at the compliment. No one had ever pegged her as an expert at anything. But she was uncomfortable. TJ hadn’t even opened the lists, and she was already deferring to her. Jess didn’t want to be seen as an expert. She spent many hours pretending the opposite. “You can allocate your budget as you see fit. If you want to pay for advice or work with an agency, assume it will come out of your budget.”