by Abbi Waxman
“Am I legally required to be here?” Nina looked at Sarkassian. “I thought it was just an invitation.”
“It was,” he replied quickly. “I simply meant that they are legally still minors, and therefore not party to any action.”
Nina frowned at him, but before she could ask anything else, the woman across from her snapped, “And I’m your niece Lydia, your sister Katherine’s daughter, although I doubt we’re actually related at all.” She looked aggressively at Nina. “What proof do you have that my grandfather was your father and that you’re not a con artist?”
Nina gazed at her for a beat or two, then slowly raised one eyebrow, a skill she was rightly proud of. If this woman thought she could intimidate her by being rude she was about to be disappointed. Nina might battle crippling anxiety once or twice a week, but she also worked in retail, and rudeness is the special sauce on the burger that is the Los Angeles shopping public.
“Oh, I don’t know. My birth certificate? His own word? My mother’s word?”
Lydia smiled like the meanest girl in school about to comment on some underling’s shoe choice. “Well, that’s hardly sufficient, is it?”
“Legally it is,” said Sarkassian, briskly. “William Reynolds is listed on her birth certificate; he made provision for her in his will, proving he was aware of her existence, and her mother has confirmed he was her father. As far as the law is concerned, we’re good.”
“Well, who’s to say she is actually who she says she is?” Lydia looked scornful. “She might be some grifter pretending to be Nina Hill to get her hands on our money. She may have kidnapped the real Nina Hill and be keeping her in a basement somewhere.”
At this, the last remnants of Nina’s anxiety peeled away, revealing a cold center of anger. This wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Sometimes when her social anxiety got pushed too far, a strange confident madness would take over her mouth, which had led to some very unfortunate outcomes.
“Well,” she said, apparently completely nonchalant, “if I am a grifter, I’ve been playing a very long con, seeing as I went to school as Nina Hill, went to college as Nina Hill, got a job as Nina Hill, and have been working at it for six years, still pretending to be a totally unimportant and regular person. Presumably in case someone I’d never heard of dropped dead and left me a mysterious something.” She turned up her palms. “It’s a lovely blend of cynicism and optimism, but as a con it seems a little high intensity, don’t you think?”
Several people laughed, but Lydia didn’t seem amused.
“Also,” continued Nina, “I didn’t approach you guys; you came to me. I had no idea who my father was. He could have been anyone.”
“Is your mother a prostitute?” Lydia asked.
Nina paused. “No,” she replied evenly, “I didn’t mean it that way. She’s a news photographer. She won a Pulitzer.”
“Lois Lane won a Pulitzer, and she’s a fictional character.”
Nina happened to know that was true, and for a split second recognized that Lydia, for all her assholery, was a kindred trivia spirit. However, any fellow feeling quickly dissipated when Lydia kept talking.
“Where is your slutty single mother now?”
“She’s in China.”
“Convenient.”
“Not if you want to hand her something.”
Eliza spoke up from the end of the table. “This whole thing is ridiculous. If William left this woman something, isn’t that an end to it? He could have left anything to anyone, right?” She turned and looked at Nina. “I didn’t kill him, by the way. He died of a heart attack after years of smoking, drinking, and eating red meat with almost every meal.” She shrugged. “He stopped all that when we met, but the damage was done.”
“You brainwashed him,” said Lydia. “He became a vegetarian. He tried to talk me into doing a juice cleanse. It was horrible.”
Nina raised her eyebrows and looked at Sarkassian. “Is there any question about my father’s death?”
“Yes, the question is whether he was your father or not,” spat Lydia.
“No,” said Sarkassian, rolling his eyes. “There is no question. As Eliza correctly says, he was in his seventies and died of a heart attack.”
Eliza was staring at Lydia. “You barely knew your grandfather, Lydia. I’m not sure how you think you know anything about his health. When was the last time you visited him?” She was elegant in every way, this woman: pale blond hair, gray cashmere wrap over charcoal cashmere sweater, layers of gold necklaces and bracelets; but she was also irritated in a very human and somewhat ruffled way. Possibly because she was having to confront an insane ex-wife and a stepdaughter who was at least half basilisk.
“You wouldn’t let any of us visit him. You kept him hidden away so you could poison his mind against us.” It was remarkable how much anger Lydia was cramming into every syllable, while at the same time keeping a pretty even tone.
Peter finally joined the conversation. “Lydia, darling, this isn’t a telenovela. It’s amazing William lasted that long, to be honest, and attacking his widow is both tasteless and unattractive. Eliza loved William.”
Lydia whipped around. “Peter, you have no idea what’s attractive in a woman, so keep your nose out of it.”
“Really?” said Archie. “Now you’re attacking Peter?”
Lydia pointed her finger angrily at him. “Archie, stay out of this. You shouldn’t even be here. You get more money than any of us. Why do you care?”
Archie flushed. “You mean because my mother is dead? Yeah, it’s a great trade. You might be happy to exchange your mother for cold, hard cash, but Becca and I . . .”
And suddenly everyone was talking at once, and none of it was very nice.
“Oh for God’s sake,” said Nina loudly, bringing the argument to a sudden halt. “You’re all mad. I’m not coming to the will reading, I don’t want anything he left me, and good-bye.”
Lydia looked smug. The lawyer looked worried. Everyone else looked embarrassed.
Nina got up and left the room, making it out into the fresh air before she ran out of oxygen completely. She leaned against the building and slowly slid down until she was sitting on the sidewalk. She put her head between her knees and waited until normal service was resumed. She was going to go home and have a brandy, and change her phone number, and possibly her name, in order to be done with the Reynolds family.
She just fervently hoped they were done with her.
Twelve
In which Nina gets another chance to act like a human being.
Once Nina got home, however, she found herself putting all thoughts of her dumb family aside. It was Tuesday, which meant it was Trivia Night, and this evening was particularly significant because it was another chance to qualify for the regional Quiz Bowl semifinals. And why was winning the Quiz Bowl so important? Well, there were the prizes: $10K to the charity of your choice, and T-shirts that said, I had all the answers and all I got was this lousy T-shirt. Second prize was, in true movie-buff fashion, a set of steak knives. Third prize? No third prize. There was the winning team, there was the team who came in second, also known as the losing team, and that was it. Nina’s team had come in third the previous year, and it had awakened a competitive spirit that had yet to be quenched. This was their year.
Nina had devoted considerable time to reading the last six months of Sports Illustrated and several books about the history of baseball (America’s Pastime), football (America’s Sport), and, just in case, ice hockey (Canada’s Thing). She read Wikipedia entries on as many athletes as she could, and felt—if not actually competitive in this category—at least less likely to have to crawl out of the bar on her belly.
Tonight’s venue was in Los Feliz, at a bar called Arcade. Nina looked around and saw the whole story: Someone had come across fifty of those tables that used to be so popular, with video game consoles
sunk into their surfaces, and had gotten them cheap. Having been carried away in the moment, they then realized they had to do something with them, and opening a bar sounded like a good idea at the time.
The rest of Book ’Em were already there, seated at a Galaga table that actually worked. Lauren was playing while Carter and Leah heckled from the side.
“Ladies,” said Nina, as she settled herself down. Leah handed her a glass of wine, which she immediately started drinking. She must be more nervous than she thought.
“Thanks,” said Carter. “I realize I am a sensitive guy, but I’m not actually a lady.”
Nina shrugged. “How’s she doing?”
Leah looked up from the game. “Well, if the fate of the planet were in Lauren’s hands, we’d all be doomed.”
“Just as well it isn’t, then,” said Lauren, throwing her hands up in frustration as her rocket was utterly destroyed.
“My turn,” said Carter, reaching down to put in some coins.
Nina looked casually around the bar. She’d finished her wine already and reached across the table to steal Carter’s half glass.
“They’re not here yet,” said Leah.
“Who isn’t?” Nina asked innocently.
“Don’t pretend. Quizzard. They’re not here yet, but they are on the board. We’re up against them in the second round, assuming we can beat Menace to Sobriety.”
“Which we presumably can?”
“No clue; new team.”
“Where are they?”
Leah pointed to a group of guys on the other side of the bar. “Ms. Pac-Man table.”
Nina looked and grinned. “Oh, we’re totally good. That guy used to be in Tequila Mockingbird. He’s half-drunk already; let’s send over a round of shots.”
“That’s cheating.”
Nina looked scandalized. “That’s not cheating. That’s being supportive.” Then she looked at the door and Leah whacked her on the arm.
“Stop obsessing over that guy. It’s going to weaken your attack. Stay focused, Hill. We win this, we advance to the semis.”
“I’m not obsessing.”
“Sure.”
Carter suddenly let out a whoop. “I’m on the leaderboard!” He stood and shimmied around the table, kissing everyone extravagantly, which is of course exactly when Tom walked into the bar. He was with the girl from the movie theater, Lisa. She went off to find a table, and Tom headed to the bar. Not that Nina was keeping track or anything.
“You can go order your round of sabotage shots now,” said Leah. She looked at Nina. “Go say hi to your little friend.”
“My little friend? Are you referencing WarGames or Scarface?”
Leah made a face at her. “Neither. Most people are able to use language without it being a movie or book reference. You’re the one who lives her real life in a fictional universe.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” said Nina, getting up. She walked across the bar, surreptitiously tugging her dress out of any potential folds it might have settled into. She was a real person; when she sat, she folded. Fortunately, her dark green dress was vintage, and made of sterner stuff than its modern counterparts, so she was able to pull it back into sleekness with no problem. God bless natural fibers and cutting on the bias.
She squeezed up to the bar, next to Tom. “Uh, hi there.”
Tom had actually been watching Nina approach in the mirror behind the bar, having spotted her instantly when he came in through the door. He’d watched her straighten her dress and immediately wanted to unstraighten it again. He was clearly losing his mind.
“Hi,” he said, and smiled at her, glad the lights in the bar were dim so she couldn’t see him blushing. “Ready for battle?”
She nodded, also secretly blushing. “Hopefully. You?”
He shrugged. “Hopefully. Lisa, who you met the other night, has allergies, so she’s being whiny. The other two aren’t here yet.”
“Is she your girlfriend?” Oh. My. GOD. What is wrong with you?
He paused, and a tiny frown creased his eyebrows. “No, she’s a friend. We’ve known each other since high school.”
“Oh.” Nina flailed around for a comment. “Cool beans.” At this her brain threw up its metaphorical hands and curled up on its stem like a pissed-off hen. I’m not playing anymore, it said. If the mouth isn’t going to wait for my advice, I’m done.
Nina ordered a round of shots. Tom feigned horror. “Aren’t you taking a risk, doing shots before the contest? What about your laser focus and impressive recall?”
She made a face at him. “Are you mocking me? You beat us last time.”
“That was luck. I’ve seen you play a hundred times, and that was the first time I’ve seen you beaten.” He paused. “Well, apart from the semifinal last year.”
“Oh, you saw that?”
He blushed deeper. “Yeah. We got knocked out in the semis, too. By the Spanish In-quiz-ition.” He grinned. “Nobody expected it.”
She grinned back at him. Monty Python and Harry Potter; Not just a sports nerd after all. Her shots arrived, and she was about to tell him they were for the other team, but suddenly it did seem like cheating. Dammit.
He shifted his feet, so he was facing her more completely. Her head came up to his shoulder, and she had to tip her head back a little. They were very close; she could smell sawdust and soap. “Enjoy your shots,” he said. “I’m ordering a proprietary blend of caffeine, omega-6 oils, cinnamon, and ginseng. I have it shipped directly to the bars so my team is in tip-top form.”
“Really?”
He shook his head. “Nah, not really. It’s a bucket of beer and a bowl of pistachios.”
“I love pistachios.”
“Me too.”
“They’re chock-full of fat-soluble vitamins.”
Here the conversation faltered, unsurprisingly. The phrase “chock-full” might have been the killer. Nina picked up her tray of shots and pivoted to go.
“Well, it’s nice to see you again,” she said, lamely.
He nodded. “I look forward to beating you.” He paused. “That sounded weird.”
Nina frowned up at him. “Good luck with that. We’re on fire this evening. We’ve been warming up with Galaga and have successfully defended our planet for a solid hour.”
He laughed. “If you’ve been here for a while and now you’re doing shots, it’s going to be an easy win for my team of highly trained, entirely sober intellectual giants.”
“Want to bet?”
“Sure.”
“Twenty dollars?”
“Dinner.”
Nina studied his face, but he wasn’t joking. “Dinner it is. If I win, you can take me to Denny’s.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “I love Denny’s.”
“Moons Over My Hammy?”
“Every time. And if you win?”
“Chicken and waffles.”
She laughed. “We’re a classy pair.”
He nodded. “I wonder what else we have in common apart from lowbrow tastes?” He smiled slowly at her, and she had no comeback at all. She swallowed.
Suddenly, Howard’s voice filled the bar. “Good evening, brave competitors and cowardly observers. It’s time for tonight’s challenge. In the first round we have Book ’Em, Danno up against Menace to Sobriety, and if last week’s performance is anything to go by, Menace has nothing to worry about.”
“Gotta go,” said Nina, and hurried back to her table.
Tom watched her go, noticing the way she curved herself through the crowd, small and deft. Denny’s had never seemed more appealing.
* * *
• • •
In most pub trivia leagues, or quiz leagues, or whatever they’re called in your neck of the woods, teams are given written lists of qu
estions and a limited time to complete them. Cheating is strongly discouraged, but of course it happens, especially now that you can search the Internet from your phone. In response to this, the organizers had changed things up for the Quiz Bowl qualifiers. Competing teams sent single members up to battle face-to-face, like on a TV game show. Questions were posed, buzzers were pressed, and points were awarded. If the first one to answer was correct, she got two points. If not, and the other competitor knew the answer, she would get one point.
Teams were invited to bring their own buzzers, which had led to some very strange noises. Tonight, Leah had been in charge of the buzzer, and she’d brought a vintage train whistle she’d found on eBay. Its action was a little sticky, and questions were raised about her judgment until Lauren revealed she had a miniature can of WD-40 in her purse and the problem was solved. Then questions were raised about why Lauren was carrying aerosolized hydrocarbons in her purse, and then questions were raised about why Nina used that phrase to describe it. The whole discussion took nearly thirty seconds of time, which, fortunately, was how long Howard was taking to describe the rules, so it was fine.
“Category one: World Geography. Teams, please choose your champions.”
This one was easy for Book ’Em, because Leah was scarily good at geography. She had been homeschooled by a mom who believed in memorization as a form of relaxation, and she could still recite all the states (with capitals, state birds and flowers, major rivers and landmarks), countries in the world (including all the African ones, even though they changed a lot), books of the Bible, presidents and first ladies (and pets, including Coolidge’s raccoon), and every actor who’d played Doctor Who since the beginning. That last one she’d done on her own.
“But wait,” said Nina, concerned. “What if history comes up next and we can’t play her then?”
