Going For Broke

by Nina Howard

  Victoria was surprised to find someone in this tony town who confessed to needing any money at all. She sat, savoring the latte that Kathy insisted on buying, and surveyed her new friend. Kathy was tall - she had to be just under six feet. She had a short brown bob, and the flattest chest Victoria had ever seen outside of grammar school. Even in New York, where plastic surgery was not talked about but required, a woman like Kathy would have been augmented years ago. She looked sporty, but not horsey, in that Kiki Montgomery type of way. It was clear that she was super-smart. It wasn’t often that Victoria came across someone who could reference Eudora Welty and Wilma Rudolph in the same sentence. Without trying. She was a new type of friend for Victoria. Perhaps now was the time for new friends.

  The tea party ended too soon, and the foursome stood outside the coffee shop.

  “Let us give you a ride home,” Kathy insisted. “Are you okay to ride?”

  Oh, here comes the giant SUV, thought Victoria. Instead, Kathy headed to a black Volvo wagon. “We can stuff it in the back. I may have a bungee cord in there somewhere.” Victoria peeked in the back of the car which looked like it had just returned from a weekend at Woodstock. Papers, books, water bottles and stray socks were strewn across the back. She gave a little shudder.

  “No, I’m fine,” Victoria said. Driving through Tenaqua with her bike hanging out the back of someone’s car was just too much for her. It was bad enough that she had to ride the damn thing. “If you can get Posey back home, I’d really appreciate it.”

  “No problem,” Kathy said as she tossed a stray shoe into the far back of the car. “What are friends for?”

  CHAPTER 14

  After she got the kids in bed, Victoria retreated to her mother’s tiny bathroom. She sat on the edge of the bathtub, and tried to breathe. For the first time in her adult life, she was overwhelmed. Essentially she was new to parenting, hadn’t had a job for fifteen years and the stress of having very limited funds was starting to wear on her. Not to mention that her husband was MIA. And she was constantly followed by a dogged FBI agent.

  She stood up, determined not to think about Mike. She felt like an awkward twelve year old when she was around him. Where did that come from? It was easier just to put him out of her mind. She had more than enough to keep it busy.

  She looked in the mirror and became even more deflated. The fluorescent bulb over her the shell pink sink didn’t do her any favors. She ran her fingers through her dingy hair and realized she couldn’t blame everything on the lighting. She had another appointment with Mercedes the following day and just couldn’t take one more day of looking like someone who had never seen the inside of a Hair Cuttery, let alone Frederick Fekkai. Her hair was much too long and much too brown. She had successfully chewed her nails into nubs. She barely could wash her face with soap and water before bed, that was the extent of her beauty routine of late.

  She had gone to the Walgreens earlier in the day to pick up the ingredients for what would be her at-home spa day. She didn’t want to go to Soloman-Cooper, afraid that Conney would do a verbal inventory of everything she was buying. She pulled her ammunition out of the bag. A box of hair dye. She had never died her hair at home, but if it was good enough for Sarah Jessica Parker, it was good enough for her. Nail polish, an Emory board, mud for a facial and a box of wax strips for her brows and bikini line. (Not that anyone had been within miles of her bikini line, but she was beginning to feel like Sasquatch.) And a pair of scissors. That would be the true test.

  Where to start? At the spa, she always ended with the mani/pedi, so she would leave that for last. Might as well tackle the big one. She opened the box of hair dye and opened the instructions. They were as big as a cross-country road map, and had plastic gloves glued to the page. There were instructions in English, Spanish and French, so at least she felt very European. With the focus of a nuclear physicist she mixed the chemicals, nearly knocking the bottle off the tiny countertop. She took a deep breath and started to pour the mixture on her head. She had always been a highlights-only girl, but had seen millions of women at the salon getting full color. By the time she finished, she was feeling darned competent.

  She hopped in the shower to rinse off the dye. The color washed down the drain, and Victoria had a moment of panic. Her hair was a rich chestnut brown, but the color going down the drain had a definite red tone to it.

  After she toweled off, she looked into the mirror. Sure enough, she could tell even with a soaking wet head that she was red. Lucille Fucking Ball red. She grabbed the box out of the garbage to look at the name. “Auburn Nights” it read. Auburn was the same as a rich chestnut, wasn’t it? She looked up. Fuck no.

  She hopped back into the shower and poured half a bottle of shampoo onto her head, working a a lather with a vengeance. She got out again and looked hopefully in the mirror. Nope, still red. Fuck fuck fuck!

  She grabbed the rest of her spa essentials and chucked them back into the plastic bag. If she screwed her hair up this bad, imagine what she would do to her bikini line.

  She figured at the very least she could give herself a unbelievable blow dry. She may have shocking red hair, but she’d have shiny shocking red hair. She worked up a sweat getting that hair to shine.

  As she walked out of the bathroom, wearing her robe and new hair color, she ran into Bud. He just smiled and said good night. No mention of the Flaming ‘do. Obviously he was close to blind. Or really, really kind.

  She crept into the bedroom where Posey was sleeping. She stopped to give her sleeping daughter a kiss before she crawled into bed. Posey woke up for a moment.

  “I love you Mommy,” she said in her sleepy voice.

  “I love you too, angel,” Victoria said, tucking the blanket around her.

  “Mommy?” Posey said.

  “Yes, honey,” Victoria wanted to get her back to sleep.

  Posey reached out a hand and stroked Victoria’s hair. “Your hair is pretty,” she said as she drifted back to sleep.

  ###

  After successfully dodging the reflection of the toaster, the glass on Barbara’s kitchen cabinets and her butter knife, Victoria sat down with a cup of coffee and dry toast. Her mother walked into the kitchen and caught her breath.

  “Don’t,” Victoria warned.

  Barbara didn’t miss a beat. “And good morning to you too.” She went about her business of washing up the dishes in the sink, getting herself a cup of coffee and pouring a bowl of Rice Krispies. She took a seat at the table next to Victoria.

  “Can you pass the sugar, Lucy?”

  “Very funny, mother.” She put a hand to her red head, as if to make sure it was still there. She pulled a section of hair and looked at it. Yup, still red. She heaved herself on the table. “I look hideous!”

  Barbara couldn’t help but smile. It was like having a teenager back in the house again. She stroked the back of Victoria’s head. “Come on honey, it’s not that bad.”

  Victoria popped back up, on the verge of tears. “You’re just saying that!”

  Barbara tucked a piece of hair behind Victoria’s ear and surveyed her daughter’s face. “You are a beautiful girl. I think you can carry it. You know, I think it suits you.”

  “It’s a disaster, mother. I know one when I see it. I’ve been living a disaster for the past three months. Now I have hair to match.”

  Barbara was surprised. Victoria had held it together fairly well (television marathons and junk food binges notwithstanding) so far and had not displayed any real emotion about her current situation. “What can I do to help?”

  “Cut it all off?”

  “Your hair is hardly the issue,” Barbara said.

  “It’s one issue I can control. Or thought I could.” She threw her head back on the table.

  “I think you’re doing a amazing job, considering the circumstances.” Victoria lifted her head a bit to look at her mother with a skeptical eye. “Really, think about it Vicky. You managed to get yourself out here, settle you
r kids in school, and you even found a job. A lesser woman would have crumbled by now.”

  “Maybe I want to crumble.”

  “You don’t have it in you. You’re strong, Vicky.”

  Victoria looked at her mother on the edge of tears. She wanted to be eight years old again, crawl into her mother’s lap and have her tell her that everything would be okay.

  “How did you do it, Mom?”

  “Do what?”

  “After Daddy died. He left you with nothing.”

  “Nothing but you. He left me with you.” For the first time in years, Victoria let herself succumb to her mother’s embrace.

  ###

  On the train the next day down to see Mercedes, Victoria didn’t even try to avoid Mike. She had begun to accept that he was part of her life now, like it or not. She grabbed a seat on the main level, and he sat next to her. She wasn’t exactly a morning person, so she contented herself with reading the paper. This suited Mike just fine. He didn’t care for women to felt a need to talk all the time.

  Swept of the train with the sea of commuters, Victoria and Mike got separated for a few minutes. Victoria was surprised that her first instinct was to look around to find him, like a mother separated from a child at a crowded amusement park. She had to laugh, as the last time they ventured downtown, she spent most of her energy trying to ditch him.

  He caught up with her and fell into step. “Hi, Red.”

  She kept walking, not wanting to give him the benefit of a response. The train station was on the West side of Chicago’s downtown which is known as “The Loop”. So when they exited the train station, the majority of the commuters headed east, towards the skyscrapers and offices. She and Mike, along with a motley handful of train riders, went west. There they would find an assortment of old loft buildings that were once inhabited by starving artists, but now were the domain of developers and the super-hip urban professionals that followed them. There was still a vagrant scent to the area, which just underscored how out of place Victoria looked and felt.

  Which is why Victoria was surprised, to say the least, to see Scott Simons walking out of one of the less-developed buildings on the street. He recognized her instantly, and approached them with a great smile.

  “Vicky! Imagine that. I don’t see you for 25 years, and now you’re everywhere!” He gave her a kiss on the cheek, like they were expressing pleasantries over cocktails at the country club. He managed to check her out quickly and liked what he saw. “You are looking fantastic!”

  Yeah, that’s what you told me when I was in Bud’s sweatpants in the drugstore. She knew a bullshitter when she saw one.

  “You too,” she said, noticing that while he was a still as handsome as ever, his belly was looking a little soft through his polo shirt. Apparently no FBI training program for him. He looked older than Mike, by a good five years. Holy crap! Did that mean that she was older than Mike by a good five years? Or was Scott just aging poorly. Must be the latter. She was curious what he was doing in this part of town, but didn’t want to ask, because she knew he’d want to know the same thing about her.

  “So what brings you to this part of town?” Bingo. She hemmed and hawed a little, but Scott apparently had the attention span of a teenager, and had moved on to Mike. “Hey there, Scott Simons.”

  Mike gave him a firm handshake and little information. “Nice to meet you.”

  “I’m just running out for some coffee - the office is just inside,” he said. He really was like a big slobbering puppy with a too-soft belly. He couldn’t have been more friendly. Unfortunately, he was talking to two of the least friendly people he could find.

  “You should come on up - you’d love it! I’ve got a little marketing agency upstairs. Right now we’re working on a new software account that specializes in games for X box and the like. They’ve come up with some really outrageous games. You don’t have any teenage boys, do you?”

  Okay, she knew he was trying to be friendly, but teenage boys? How old did she look? She thought she could still date teenage boys. No thanks.

  Mike jumped in. He put his arm around Victoria (was that the distinct scent of testosterone she noticed?) and started to lead her away. “We really should get going. We’ll be late.”

  Mike didn’t give Scott a chance for lengthy goodbyes. Scott was left standing in the street, waving after them.

  “Who was that tool?” Mike hated him on sight.

  Victoria stole a look at Mike. “Don’t be jealous. He’s not CIA, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Some people just try too hard,” Mike said.

  Victoria completely agreed, but Mike had her on the defensive. “He’s a great guy,” she said, not really believing it. “You have to admit, he is one good-looking man.” She had to stick it to Mike, if just a little bit.

  “I prefer your friend Martha, back in town,” he said, smiling. He knew how to press her buttons. “She had enormous personality,” he said, gesturing with both hands, right at chest level.

  Victoria hit him on the arm, and pulled back quickly. Not because she was worried about hurting Mike, but because that was an action reserved for friends. Mike Towner, FBI, was no friend. He was damn charming though, and he made it easy to forget that fact.

  They arrived at Mercedes’ office early. The receptionist instructed them to wait, which was not something Victoria did well. She tried to sit with the newest issue of Michigan Avenue Woman, though the only article she could find was an travel article about a Pig Fest in Kewanee, Illinois. Like any Michigan Avenue Woman would find themselves at a Pig Fest. Or Kewanee, Illinois.

  She got up to pace. The last time they were here, Victoria was much more unsure of herself. Today, she was back to form. She could see Mercedes sitting at her desk, talking on the phone. There was no drug dealer sitting in the little chair beside her desk. Couldn’t she gab with her friends after Victoria had gone. For Christ’s sake, she was the customer!

  She ignored the protests of the receptionist and walked straight back to Mercedes’ desk. She stood next to her, waiting for Mercedes to acknowledge her and cut her phone call short. Mercedes spun her chair so her back was toward Victoria, and continued her phone call as if Victoria didn’t exist.

  Exasperated, she marched back to where Mike was waiting. He was busy doing the crossword puzzle in the US Weekly magazine. Victoria was momentarily distracted to notice that he had almost finished the puzzle. Did he really know the names of Brangelina’s twins?

  He looked up and smiled.

  “All done?” he asked, knowing fully she had not even started.

  Victoria stamped her foot. “She’s yakking on the phone. Probably deciding what she’s going to have for her next meal.”

  “Me-ow!” Mike purred.

  Victoria rolled her eyes. He was hilarious. She was surrounded by idiots. She sat down next to Mike in a huff. He handed her his magazine, but she turned her shoulder. She was in a foul mood and didn’t want to get out of it.

  “Victoria Vernon,” the receptionist called.

  “It’s about time,” Victoria said to no one as she checked her watch. She walked over to Mercedes’ desk, ready to rant.

  Mercedes beat her to it. “Mrs. Vernon, please sit down. I have to tell you that if you ever repeat the scene you played her this afternoon, I cannot take you as a client. That was inappropriate and unacceptable behavior. We have a very strict protocol here and we can’t tolerate clients breaking it. Do you understand me?”

  Mercedes spoke in a quite, professional voice which alarmed Victoria much more than if she had shouted or pounded her fist. She’s talking to me like I’m an idiot, Victoria thought. Screw her.

  “Of course. I was under the impression that we had an 11:00 appointment,” Victoria said, straightening her back on the vinyl chair as she checked her watch.

  “Great, let’s get started, then,” Mercedes wasn’t one to dwell on the infraction. She opened Victoria’s file and looked up.

  “O
kay, were you able to get any of the statements we discussed?”

  Victoria pulled a file from her enormous bag. Mercedes tried to peek inside as she extracted the files. She took the folder and rifled through the pages. “Here are our joint accounts, the children’s accounts, Trip’s IRA, my IRA, the trust for the children, Trip’s trust from his father,” she placed pages upon pages across Mercedes’ desk. She went back to her bottomless purse and pulled out another folder. “I couldn’t access his mother’s trust as that’s only in his name. Here are the annuities, the 401K, and an account for housekeeping in Connecticut. Oh, and here are three different investment accounts, they’re kind of small, I’m not really sure where they go.”

  Mercedes picked up one of the ‘small’ accounts. The balance was $467,968. Nice small account if you can get it. With a cursory glance across the paperwork, she did a quick calculation. The Vernons were worth at least $18 million, and that wasn’t counting real estate. What the hell was this guy embezzling for?

  “I didn’t realize we were in such financial straits,” Victoria said. “Trip must have panicked. He was just trying to make ends meet.”

  Mercedes looked over her glasses at her client and didn’t say a word. Victoria could feel she was being judged, but didn’t care. She was probably the first client Mercedes had who had a bank statement. She was sure most of her clients only went into a bank to rob it.

  “Okay, then. As you know, the government has frozen all your assets pending an investigation into the alleged activities of your husband. It’s typical in a case of this sort, although to be honest, I don’t have a ton of experience with this sort of thing.”

  “Neither do I,” Victoria fumed.

  “Hopefully we can get some of your assets freed up - thank you for the statements. I’m going to try first with the children’s accounts.” She took a look at the statement for Parker. There was over half a million in that account alone. “This is a little complicated. You’ve going to have to give me some time to get this sorted out.”