Esme and the Money Grab: (A Very Dark Romantic Comedy)

by Paloma Meir

  Christmas holidays had been hard since my parents had passed. For the first few years, I celebrated with my mother’s employers. The woman did everything she could to make me comfortable, a part of her family and she was successful. But time marched on and I just felt awkward. A token responsibility leftover from a debt never owed.

  After that it was just Jack and me. We would go see a movie at the Arclight, which was a big treat for us, you wouldn’t believe how much more expensive the tickets were there than at regular theaters, and then head over to the IHOP not far down the road and drown out holiday sorrows in maple syrup. I missed him so much.

  I can’t tell you difficult it was to have to constantly remind myself that that Jack didn’t exist anymore.

  I decided to go to Hawaii. I know my destination choice wasn’t very imaginative, but really, I had lived in Los Angeles my whole life and I could count the number of times I had been to the beach on one hand. Hawaii was paradise as far as I was concerned.

  Paying for the tickets and hotel wasn’t something I could figure out. Sure, I could go on the internet and sign up for a package deal but that would require a credit card. I had a debit card and I could have deposited my bag of cash into my bank account, but that was a paper trail. How could I ever explain to anyone, the possible police in the future or the IRS, how I just happened to have thousands of dollars lying around.

  All they would see would see was a Latina girl, and that was already a red flag to them, with too much money. And of course the money was ill gotten gains, so you know, in this case they would be right to suspect me. I hated that they were right.

  I had set up the ironing board in the living room to press all of Mr. Galloway’s clothes that I had been wearing. He preferred dry-cleaning. I found the cost wasteful. His summer wardrobe that I had been wearing (Even after my shopping spree. I liked his clothes better. What can I say?) were made from cotton and linen. Washing them seemed cleaner to me.

  I ironed in the living room because that’s where the largest television was and in my loneliness, I had become a TV addict. I loved Bravo, especially the housewives. Sorry, dear reader.

  I couldn’t quite tell one group of women from the other. I think I was watching the New York cast that day, but who knows? The woman on the screen who was physically holding up as well as Mr. Galloway, was arguing with her friend or cast mate, again, who knows? She ended the fight by throwing up her arms and yelling that she needed a vacation.

  This interested me. I put down the iron and gave the television my full attention. The next scene opened with her seated in a travel agent’s office, ranting about how hard her week had been and that she needed “a respite from the madness”. Me too, sister.

  I put away the iron, grabbed my golden satchel of money and was in the car before the scene was even over. At the stoplights I looked up the closest travel agent on my phone. I couldn’t believe they still existed with all the discount travel sites on the internet.

  Rich people, what are gonna do with them?

  For the second time, I didn’t think about what I wearing until I walked into the travel agent’s office building on Camden Dr. I had really outdone myself. I was wearing purple argyle golfing pants, a paper thin cashmere undershirt and a bowler hat. And of course my Lanvin slippers, baby blue that day.

  The office was filled with women and men dressed in suits. They appeared to be very busy. I can’t tell you how much this surprised me. Travel agencies not only existed, they thrived.

  “Hello,” I approached the receptionist at the front of the office. “I would like…” I didn’t know how to phrase it, “to go on vacation.”

  She looked up to me and smiled warmly, “You’ve come to right place,” She stood up, “Follow me.”

  Her kind nature made me feel less out of place. I happily followed her.

  “Would you like something to drink? Water? Coffee? Champagne?” She asked as she waved me towards a seat in an empty cubicle.

  Now I understood why a certain class of people preferred travel agents over the internet.

  “No, thank you.” I replied and sat down in the plush leather chair.

  “Andrea will be with you in a moment.” She smiled again and went back to her desk.

  And she was.

  “Hello, I’m Andrea,” An elegant older woman held out her hand to me. I shook it.

  “Hello, I’m Esme… and I would like to take a vacation.”

  “Hello Esme, very nice to meet you,” She sat down behind her desk and flicked on her computer, “Where would you like to go, and do you have a budget?”

  “Do you ask everyone if they have a budget?” I spat out.

  I felt tricked. Make me comfortable and then come in for the kill. Let me know my kind didn’t belong here.

  “I do ask everyone,” Her exquisitely plucked eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise and I felt like a jerk. Working for Mr. Galloway had me paranoid. “I do have some clients who have limitless budgets, but not many.”

  “I’m sorry… rough day.” I’m sure I was bright red, I felt so embarrassed about my outburst. “I would like to go to Hawaii… and I think I have a large budget.”

  “How long would you like to go for? When would you like to leave? Will you be traveling alone? Which island?” She asked as if I weren’t a complete lunatic.

  “Maybe a week… soon, and yes, alone… I don’t know the islands well enough…” I deflated in the chair. I felt like an idiot for having come in without knowing what I wanted. Hawaii, vacation, I sounded as if I were four years old.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart?” She looked at me with genuine concern.

  “Yes… it’s just I’ve never traveled before. I’ve never been outside of Los Angeles, never been on a plane… I’ve come into some money… an inheritance.” I felt horrible lying to her about the money.

  “I see,” She leaned across the table and patted my hand that was resting on the edge. “Why don’t I just run up a mock itinerary for you and you can look it over. If you like it, I’ll book it for you.”

  “Thank you,” I managed to reply.

  “First class all the way?” She smiled brightly.

  “Yes,” And I blinded her with mine in return. We chatted back and forth as she pecked away at her computer, planning my dream vacation.

  Let’s just say Andrea knew how to plan dream vacations. I was very happy with her itinerary. She was a little surprised when I paid in cash, but not too much.

  “Great pants, I like your style,” The receptionist called out as I left the office with my itinerary enclosed in a leather bound envelope embossed with the travel agency’s name across it. I was going to miss being rich.

  …

  My heart flew aflutter as I pulled up in front of Mr. Galloway’s house. I had stopped parking in the garage. I didn’t want to waste a waft of the icy cold air-conditioned air. Landon was outside by the mail box again. This time with a clutch of freshly picked wildflowers in his hands.

  I so much loved our mailbox rendezvous.

  “Hi Esme,” He tilted his head in the cutest way and said as if he were in a trance.

  “Hi Landon,” I replied in a similar love struck tone.

  “I picked you some flowers.” He leaned into my car and handed them to me.

  “Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

  “Not half the beauty of you.” He sighed. I loved when he sighed.

  “You’re so funny,” I coquettishly said. The old Jack, the good Jack would have laughed his head off if he could have heard me.

  “Only for you, Esme.” He leaned in farther and ran his finger along my cheek. I almost passed out. “I checked online, I’m preemptively apologizing for that, and your school quarter is over. You’re on Winter Break. I think it’s time for our date. The Ivy tonight at 8:00?”

  You would think having Jack stalk and terrorize me for close to three months would put me off of anyone looking online for even the most trivial information about me. Wrong. I couldn’t
have been more charmed to know that Landon had checked UCLA’s school schedule for my date availability.

  “I wish I could, but I’m leaving in the morning at 5:00. I’m going to Hawaii, not just Hawaii but Oahu,” I corrected myself. I was proud of my newfound understanding of the island chain and its various cultures.

  “Oh,” He looked momentarily disappointed, but then perked back up, “Where are you staying?”

  “Turtle Bay, it’s on the North Shore,” Andrea had told me that part of the island was far from the tourists and I would find my “respite from the madness” there. She was a fan of the Real Housewives too.

  “Okay then, I’ll pick you up 8:00 tomorrow night. Have to run. Bye Esme,” He ran away back to his house.

  “You’re too funny, Landon,” I yelled out to him as put the car into park.

  I know you, dear reader, see where this is going. But I didn’t. It was all a beautiful surprise. One I could have done without, considering my fugitive lifestyle. Still, I don’t regret it.

  Chapter Nine

  Rich people have so much Champagne in their lives. It was first thing the driver mentioned to me after packing my bags away in the trunk, “Can I offer you a glass of Champagne?” It was five in the morning. I declined.

  It goes without saying that I used Mr. Galloway’s luggage. Louis Vuitton, a matching set. He even had a kitty travel bag for Mila. Who knows why he even had it. The man hadn’t left his estate on the top of the hill in over a decade.

  I took Mila out of her carrier, cuddled up to her and fell asleep on the drive to the airport. The driver gently shook me awake and walked me to the first class check-in counter. I was very happy he did that. I wouldn’t have been able to figure it on my own.

  The check-in attendant practically genuflected as I showed her my itinerary and identification. This is where the driver and I parted ways. I tried to offer him a tip, but he refused, saying it had been taken care of by the travel agency.

  Mila and I were quickly led through the security checkpoint. I thought I would be on my own after that, but no, the attendant walked me to the Premiere Club of the airline I was flying on. Guess what they offered me as soon as I entered their reception area? Did you guess Champagne? Then you would be correct.

  Being in the Premiere Lounge was as comfortable as being in Mr. Galloway’s home. I could have spent the day there, happily contented. But alas, my flight was called. I don’t have to tell you what was offered to me as soon as I sat down in my plush and spacious first class seat, do I?

  Just imagine being waited on hand and foot while being fed exotic delicacies for five hours. That was my flight. They even let me take Mila out of her case to hold her.

  At the airport in Honolulu I was greeted by my driver with a glass of Champagne. The concierge at the hotel also greeted me with a glass of Champagne. In my cottage overlooking the sea, next to the overwhelming large complimentary basket filled with exotic fruits, stood a bottle of Champagne.

  I would have been having a very different vacation if I had drunk every glass offered to me.

  Mila and I settled into the hammock in front our cottage after unpacking my mix of Mr. Galloway’s sporty ensembles and my pretty dresses from Barney’s. And that’s what we did for the remainder of the day, rocked back and forth and stared out into the sea. The peaceful breeze and swooshing sound of the waves left me overly relaxed. I felt as if I had been drugged.

  I thought about Mr. Galloway as we swung in the light wind. The island was so tranquil, I wondered if living here would have made him a different person, less hateful. I didn’t see how anyone could be negative in the splendor of the island.

  I really didn’t know that much about him. His money had come from real estate. I knew he still owned a few office buildings around Los Angeles, but he had told me once that he sold most of them off at the top of the market. I believe the phrase he had used, “I screwed the buyers over, and they lost everything in the crash.”

  Yeah… maybe even the halcyon power of the beauty of the islands wouldn’t have lightened his dark heart.

  As the sun went down, I found myself missing him, both states of him. The once living Mr. Galloway and the now dead Mr. Galloway. Had I grown used to living with a corpse? “Enough with that line of thinking, Mila. Time to go inside and order room service,” I laughed to her and carried her back inside the cottage with me.

  …

  I opened the door for room service and guess who was standing there? I know you, dear reader, have already figured it out, but I couldn’t have been more surprised, happily surprised. Landon, he wore a tuxedo and his tousled hair was swept up with gel. Around his neck he wore a lei of plumeria, so sweetly fragrant.

  He thrust a bouquet of pale pink roses into my hands, “You’re not ready, Esme. I told I would be here to pick you up at eight o’clock.” He impishly smiled, and my heart exploded in my chest.

  “Come in, Landon,” I opened the door and waved my hand across the room, “I thought you were joking. I’m not used to dating men rich enough to fly across the world at a moment’s notice.”

  “It’s not across the world,” he stepped into the room but didn’t go further, “Just across the Pacific. If you were going to China or Zimbabwe, I probably would have been a little late for our date.”

  “I guess I’m happy I didn’t book my vacation to one of those far off places.” I suddenly became aware of my appearance. Of course I was in Mr. Galloway’s Paul Smith pinstripe pajamas, and my hair was up in a tight ponytail. I wasn’t dressed for the most romantic moment of my life at all.

  “You have a cat,” He went to Mila who was curled up under the teak desk and ran his hand across her back, ‘Time for you to get ready, cute as you look, I don’t think they’ll let us into the Pa’Akai dining room with you dressed for bed.” Mila raised her back to take in his attentions, “You have a very unique style, like my grandfather, but it looks better on you,” He blinded me with his smile.

  “Thank you… I’ll get ready.” The budding criminal mastermind inside me knew I should send him away, tell him he had invaded my personal space, get angry about the whole thing. Nothing good could come from him getting to know me. Any relationship we developed would be more dangerous to me than the dreaded paper trail. Landon knowing that I lived in Mr. Galloway’s house was bad enough.

  The problem was, I was new to be a criminal mastermind, and I had crush. Leave me alone. My heart was aflutter.

  I took the silky, droopy, frilly Thakoon dress I had bought at Barney’s from the closet and went into the bathroom to change. I had never heard of the designer before my shopping binge. It was as if the rich had this whole secret world of luxury that they didn’t want the poors to know about.

  I can’t say I blame them. Thakoon was worth having a class war over. (I’m joking, dear reader)

  “Wow,” Landon comically threw his hand to his forehead when I came out of the bathroom, dressed and made-up as best as I could under such short notice. Could he have been cuter? “I was expecting to see you in the tuxedo pants you like so much. This is even better. You’re lovelier than the sunset outside, Esme.”

  “Landon…” I sighed, “Nobody has ever spoken to me as sweetly as you…” Jack had always been sweet to me before his Jekyll and Hyde-like twist of personality, but our relationship, though romantic at times, was more the gentle teasing of brother and sister.

  “You like that? Noted. I’ll be keeping it up.” He extended his hand, “Now, tell me everything about yourself, you fascinate me.”

  I took his hand, “My sainted parents…” I carried on with everything you’ve already read, dear reader. Every word I told him was the truth, up until the day before Mr. Galloway and I had our falling out, which may or may not have killed him.

  I thought fast and spoke faster when the story of my life reached present day. I had never had an argument with Mr. Galloway, instead he had gone fishing in Canada and left me to housesit. I worried even as the words came out of mout
h that this untruth would be what did me in should Landon ever hear of the elderly man who died alone in his house next to the one he had rented for a few months.

  Jack was addressed, but I downplayed his level of his harassment of me. I didn’t want him to think I was too much to take on. I put my best face forward. I probably shouldn’t have done that…

  Landon was entranced by my story. He rested his chin on his hand and stared deeply into my eyes. Swoon.

  I was out of breath by the time the dessert trolley was rolled to our small table by the window that overlooked the pounding sea. “Now you know everything. Am I still fascinating?”

  “You’re not only fascinating, you’re an inspiration. My life has been embarrassingly easy…” He held a forkful of bread pudding up to my mouth.

  “Opposites attract,” I took the bite as delicately as possible, “Your turn, I want to know everything. It’s only fair."

  “After the story you just told? No, another time,” He laughed, “I will tell you about the summer I spent in Colombia a few years ago…”

  I was a little bit embarrassed about how much more he knew about my parent’s homeland than I did… Of course I knew of the day-to-day life of your average Colombian. My parents had grown up in a small village outside of Bogota and emigrated when they were teens. The country had been a war zone with FARC and their daily terrorist activities. They fled.

  Still, the customs carried on in our small apartment. They would speak wistfully of the country they could never return to. And believe me I was eating quinoa decades before he it had crept into the hipster vegan culture.

  But, did you know that Colombia was second in biodiversity on EARTH? It followed Brazil on that list, and Brazil was like ten times larger. It was number one in bird species too. Can you believe that?

  I couldn’t have been more excited as he told all of these facts.

  And do you know why he had spent the summer of his senior year in high school in Colombia? To watch the birds. Landon was a bird watcher. I really thought that had fallen out fashion somewhere in the mid-twentieth century.