Before my thoughts turned too cranky, my eye caught Pierce walking down the street. He was dressed in a suit, his tie off and thrown over his shoulder. The tiniest flash of pectoral muscle peeked through his slightly open collar. As he got closer, I thought I caught a whiff of cologne mixed with that warm smell men give off when they’ve been working. Goose bumps rippled over my arms thinking about his body heat.
When he saw me, he waved and beamed a kid at Christmas smile. It took my brain a second to remember the whole mechanics of breathing thing.
“Am I late?” he asked, sitting down.
“No,” I squeaked. I cleared my throat before adding, “I was early.”
He shook his head. “Work was crazy, and I could barely concentrate.” He smiled again boyishly.
“Speaking of work, I’m sorry about the interview.” As I spoke the words, I noticed the suspicions in my belly were back and multiplying into something a lot like paranoia…but not paranoia because I was starting to think I wasn’t crazy at all! In fact, given my former life, I should have realized it sooner.
I pushed my chair back and hit the floor. I then threw the checkered cloth over my head and looked under the table.
Nothing. Just innocuous looking table legs.
“Brenda?” Pierce’s voice called from above. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I just need a second.”
I looked again to see if I had missed it earlier.
Nope, no briefcase.
I emerged from underneath the table, brushing my hair back. Pierce held my elbow to help me up. The warmth of his hands almost sidetracked me from my mission, but I had to be sure.
My eyes darted around looking for anything suspicious.
“Is there something I can do?” Pierce asked.
I heard the I am obviously dealing with a crazy person tone in his voice, but I ignored it. After a few more furtive glances, I moved to lower myself back into my chair. Then a new thought hit me.
I grabbed the table, swung myself around it, and threw myself at Pierce. My hands padded down the front of his chest. I did my best to ignore the delicious sensation of muscle in order to focus on the task at hand.
“Brenda, not that there isn’t a part of me really enjoying this, but…what are you doing?” I could feel him trying to make eye contact, but my gaze was focused intently on his glasses trying to determine if they were in fact just glasses.
Again, nothing. They looked clean.
That’s the problem with paranoia. It can make you look like an idiot.
I made my way back to the other side of the table, sat down, and smiled my most charming, not at all crazy, smile.
We sat in silence for a moment, neither one of us acknowledging my mini-break from reality.
Pierce broke first. “Brenda, I have to ask…”
“Yes?”
“Are you looking for hidden recording devices?”
“Um…yes.”
He cleared his throat.
Oh man, here it comes, I thought. My guess was the next words out of his mouth would be Wow, would you look at the time.
He took a breath. I cringed.
“So…hungry?”
“Starving.”
For the next little while, we covered first date basics. Where are you from? What do you do? What are your hobbies? I let him do most of the talking. The rest of the time, I lied. I probably should have felt bad, but it was kind of fun…freeing. I didn’t have to be Bremy St. James for once. A few times I had to stop myself from talking about Jenny, but aside from that, it was almost…easy.
“So I take it your food is good?” Pierce asked.
“Good?” I mumbled, mouth half-full. I followed his gaze down to my plate. My spaghetti and meatballs had arrived less than two minutes ago, and I had already eaten half of it. I swallowed hard and dabbed the corner of my mouth with a napkin. “Very good. Thank you.”
Things had been going pretty well so far, but I figured it was time to address the elephant having dinner with us. “Listen, about earlier—”
“When you thought I was secretly recording our date for my article?”
“Yes, that. How did you know that’s what I was doing?”
“I didn’t at first, but when you got to the really thorough pat down, I clued in. And, no, I don’t have a camera in my glasses.” He then leaned forward to put his elbows on the table, and rested his chin on his interlaced fingers. “But now that you’ve brought it up, I think I should break something to you.”
I bit my lip before saying, “Okay.”
“I don’t need the interview that badly. It was one bank robbery. Most of the city has already forgotten about it. I mean, it’s not like you’re some billionaire’s socialite daughter.”
My jaw dropped. I almost checked my forehead to see if I had a this property belongs to sticker with my father’s company logo on it.
“Was that insulting? Oh man, I’m an idiot. I didn’t mean it that way. I would love to have secret pictures of you…that sounds wrong.” Pierce paused, took a breath, and placed his hands calmly on the table before flashing me a smile that burned more brightly than the sun. “I normally have more game than this.”
I would have replied with something witty, but the lightning bolt his smile sent to my loins had me flustered.
“What I should have said was I’m not that kind of reporter. All this Sultana versus Dark Ryder stuff…it’s not my passion. Although I will say, the history of the tattooed lady is kind of interesting.”
Oh, thank God. A segue. I needed to keep us this going in a new direction. “What history?”
He leaned back. “Well, women covered in tattoos were commonly billed as Circassian Beauties in circuses around the turn of the century,” he said, looking a little like a distracted professor…who I wanted to sleep with.
“All that hair,” he continued, gesturing around his own head with a fork, “that’s a Circassian Beauty trademark.”
My brow furrowed. “But what is a Circassian Beauty?”
“A concubine…the most beautiful of concubines. The legend goes that Sultans would kidnap women—Circassian women from Russia—for their harems. Circuses would claim they had rescued such a beauty. Then they would put her on display for men to gawk at while imagining her terrible history.”
“Men are really disturbing sometimes.”
“The fact that men are disturbing is not a newsflash,” Pierce said pointing his knife at me. “But you know what’s weird? The Sultana looked so familiar to me…like from a story, maybe years back. I just can’t remember. Even so, I’ll be glad when the news world moves on from Dark Ryder and her latest nemesis. I might as well be working for a tabloid. I really want to do more investigative journalism. Something that matters.”
“Wait,” I said looking at him sideways. “Dark Ryder doesn’t matter?”
“Don’t even get me started.” He shook his head and took a bite of fish. “I’m glad it wasn’t you on that balloon with her. She represents everything I hate about the modern age.”
My cheeks suddenly felt a little hot and not in a good way. “Wow, that’s a little harsh.”
“Everyone sees her as this hero who swoops in and saves people, but if you ask me, she’s a glory hog. There are people in this city who work every day to make it better. The people in the soup kitchens. The social workers. The police officers. They devote themselves to doing what’s right. They don’t need a look-at-me outfit and TV cameras in order to make a difference. Ryder is all about Ryder.”
“But, but,” I was practically spitting now, “she puts her life on the line and goes into the most dangerous situations to help people…you have to admire that.”
Pierce met my eyes. “Ryder is a vigilante. She doles out justice the way she sees fit. Who elected her to do that? What if she gets it wrong? You can’t tell me she knows the backstory to every crime committed. Where’s the accountability?”
I had no clue what to make of any of this. I didn’t d
isagree with his points on paper, but he seemed to be missing, well, the whole awesomeness factor that was Ryder.
“And have you ever thought about how she makes her money?” he asked, breaking our gaze to cut into a potato.
I had. I had indeed.
“I can’t prove it, but my guess is that she takes some sort of donation from the city.”
“And that’s wrong?” I asked.
“Well, yeah.” His eyes flashed back to mine. “It’s one step away from blackmail.”
How was it my dream date was going so wrong?
I didn’t get it. Pierce wasn’t the cynical type, and yet here he was with an obvious hate-on for the coolest woman in the universe.
I tried to smooth my ruffled mental feathers. This could still work. He was simply misguided on this one little issue. Couples couldn’t agree on everything right? I envisioned many playful fights in our future, with lots of rolling around…in bedsheets…naked.
This was most definitely not a deal breaker.
“But I’m so tired of talking about Ryder. As I said, what I really what to do is investigative journalism.”
I nodded eagerly, with my interested face on.
“In fact, I’m working on something right now that could blow St. James Industries wide open.”
Everything stopped.
I should have known. The Dark Ryder thing wasn’t the deal breaker. My father was. Always my father.
Believe me, I had no desire to defend the man who sired me—especially given what he had done to my mother—but I couldn’t be involved in this. If my father thought I was helping an investigative journalist, he’d commit me faster than you could say cuckoo.
I hoped beyond hope that I had misheard Pierce.
“Yeah, it’s pretty crazy. St. James Industries is having a big press conference with the mayor in a couple of days. My guess is that it has something to do with this new product they’re developing—an antidepressant in the form of a microchip.”
My eyebrows hit my hairline.
“Exactly,” he said, eyes sparkling. “We should all be concerned. Mr. Atticus St. James himself is going to be there, selling it as a revolution in healthcare, but I’ve got a source who swears this chip is dangerous.”
“Wow.”
“I know,” he said taking another bite. “It would be great to take a guy like that down a notch or two. Do you know he spent over half a million dollars on his daughters’ sweet sixteen birthday party?”
That was a great party.
“I mean, how do you justify that kind of grotesque extravagance in a world where there is so much poverty and suffering?”
Okay, perhaps the ground diamond dust in my nail polish had been a bit much, but it matched my dress.
“Anyway, I don’t have anything concrete yet, but I’m getting close.” He pushed up his cute nerd glasses on his Greek God face. “And…I just realized I have been talking your ear off like a self-obsessed jerk.”
I laughed, weakly.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded. “Suddenly I’m not feeling well.”
“Oh, you…you want to go?” he asked as I signalled the waiter for the check. He looked so sad, almost as sad as I felt.
We could have worked out the Dark Ryder thing, but this was impossible. Not only would my father destroy me, but Pierce too. I couldn’t let that happen.
The waiter put the bill on the table, and without thinking, I reached for my credit card.
“Um, Brenda, you do know that you’re holding a picture of a credit card taped onto what appears to be a piece of cardboard, right?”
I looked down at it. Oh fake credit card, you were born in a much happier time.
“It’s okay. I’ve got this,” he said quickly putting money down on the table.
I began to push my chair back. Pierce rushed around to pull it out for me.
“Can I at least walk you home?”
“No, that’s alright. I’ll—”
“Let me get you a cab. My treat. I insist.” I watched Pierce trot out to the road with his hand in the air. I equally cherished and mourned the sight.
I walked over as slowly as I could.
“Brenda, I really feel like I’ve messed this up.”
“No. No. It’s not you,” I said. It wasn’t. It was my stupid father. Again. I would never be free.
“I’d love it if you would give me another chance,” he said, with puppy dog eyes.
This was killing me. Really truly killing me. I could feel my heart strangling itself to death.
“Look, Pierce, sometimes these things—”
He leaned in and kissed me. It was very soft and warm at first—the equivalent to being surprised with warm caramel. Then it was hard…and much hotter.
He pulled back suddenly, and I stumbled—lips still puckered—face first into his chest.
“I am so sorry,” he said. “I crossed the line. I just thought there might be a chance I would never see you again, and I had to…try? Here’s my phone if you want to call 911.” He added with a smile.
911! 911! I think I would have to call 911. My heart had stopped.
“Do you think maybe I could see you again?”
“You’ll live to regret it,” I said truthfully.
“I’m counting on it.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Fifty bucks? Fifty bucks!”
The man at the counter looked up from the lingerie league football game playing on the mini T.V. underneath the counter.
“Are you not hearing the indignation in my voice?” I yelled at an even higher pitch.
“I run a secondhand shop lady, indignation is about as new to me as the smell coming from my pits.”
I had to shake that image off before I could reply. It didn’t help that he was wearing a stained undershirt.
“But I paid five thousand for that jacket.” At least I think I did. That shopping trip had been a bit of a frenzy.
I had thought about selling the jeans Queenie had referenced earlier, but I only had one other pair of pants. This jacket was the only piece of clothing I owned that wasn’t essential.
“It’s vintage!” I tried.
“Does it look like I went to fashionista school?” he asked, shaking his head. “Fifty bucks. That’s my final offer.”
I ran my hand over the gorgeous cashmere coat on the counter. I should take it to another store. I still could, but there was no guarantee I would do any better. To make matters worse, the bakery next store was making cinnamon buns. I was starving.
Don’t do it Bremy, I thought. Grab your precious and leave!
“Fine. Give me the fifty.” Stupid cinnamon buns.
The man punched a lever on his older than dinosaur’s cash register and took out a wad of cash. He then licked his thumb to count off the money.
“Do you have to do that?”
“What?”
“Lick the money?”
He looked at his thumb, and then gave it another slow lick before putting the bills on the counter. I didn’t want touch them right away, not until they had dried, so I looked around the shop. That’s when I spied it. Over in the corner, on a headless mannequin, there was a black shiny bodysuit with a zipper up the middle. Granted it wasn’t perfect—actually, it was pretty tacky—but if I squinted my eyes just right, it actually looked a little bit like something Dark Ryder might wear.
“Wait!” I shouted. “I need you to throw in that bodysuit!”
“You’re really new to this aren’t you?”
“I haven’t picked up the money. The deal isn’t closed,” I sputtered desperately.
“It’s closed,” he said making a backwards gesture with his thumb. My coat was already on a hanger, dangling on a rack. Wow, he moved fast.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “I’ll give you the suit for that bracelet you’re wearing.”
“No way.”
“The suit and I’ll throw in another fifty just because I’m impressed tha
t you managed to tie your own shoes this morning. It’s like charity.”
“Yeah, just like it,” I muttered, staring down at my bracelet. It was silver and the clasp was made of three diamonds, small but of exquisite quality. The diamonds represented my sister, my mother, and me.
“Look, I’ll give you a chip for it.” He reached underneath the counter and pulled out a small plastic disk. “You return the money in a month, I’ll give it back, and you can keep the suit.”
My stomach churned.
It could work. I just wouldn’t spend the fifty.
I could see the advantage for him. He probably had people come in all the time who traded things for money and never came back, but that was not going to be me.
I really needed that suit.
“How do I know you’ll take care of it?”
“In this business, reputation is everything.”
“You should know I am a close personal friend of Dark Ryder’s.”
“Oh yeah?” he said, while picking at something stuck in his teeth. “Sundays I go bowling with Santy Claus.”
I unclasped the bracelet. Ripples rang out through the universe. Before I could even get it across the counter, my phone buzzed. I didn’t have the strength to look at the message.
I grabbed my money and the suit and headed for the door.
I stopped to look back at Jabba the Clerk. “I’ll see you within the month.”
“Sure thing, doll,” he said without looking up. “Be sure to wear the suit when you do.”
***
I ran a few more errands on the way to the square after my sticky bun feast. I ate faster than my stomach could give me feedback, so I wound up queasy. I’m sure the pain had nothing to do with the fact that I was about to see my father.
The second Pierce had told me about the press conference, I knew I would go. I refused to think too deeply on the reasons why. Maybe my father installed a self-destruct chip in my brain. Wouldn’t put it past him.
It was a miserable day.
Drizzle clouded my vision and flattened my hair to my face. The weather was probably the last thing on the planet my father couldn’t control, so I did a mental high five with the Rain Gods.
For a few minutes, I thought I was lost, but I knew I was on the right track when I saw the St. James company logo on the side of a skyscraper—a giant happy face, seemingly drawn within an orange crayon, on a glaring white background.
Sidekick Page 9
