by A. K. Smith
It takes Ward two long minutes to find the video, but when he hits play, I watch an auto-tune video of Ward’s interview with clips of video footage from someone’s cell phone in the casino. “It has over two million hits or something like that. A virus, is that what it’s called? Now isn’t that just plum crazy? Two million people know I won all that money.”
There I am, plain as day, laughing in the video while Ward counts out the hundred-dollar bills to me. Yes, I have dark short hair, but still…Oh My GOD…my heart is thumping on the highest setting, making it difficult to breathe. What else could possibly go wrong today?
I sit down. “Can I see it again?” The clip of me was less than four seconds. My hand shakes as I hold Ward’s new phone.
“Are you sure you’re feeling all right, Ms. Bridget? You look a little peaked to me.”
“No, Ward, I’m fine, only tired. Two million hits, that’s a lot. That means the video went viral, not virus, meaning it just kept getting forwarded and viewed.” I stand up. “I’ll be right back with your drink.”
When I come back, Ward is sitting with another gentleman quite a bit younger than him, with blonde messy hair and in a suit. He hands Ward a pen to sign something. Ward introduces him as his favorite son and lawyer, Devon, and introduces me as Bridget, his lucky charm.
“Yes, now I need an attorney and an accountant. Imagine that.” Ward laughs.
“I’m his only son and he’s always needed me.” Devon extends his hand; I can see the resemblance in both the eyes and smile.
And as I shake his hand, which is warm and firm, a light bulb turns on in my head.
“Devon, do you have a card? I have a friend who might be looking for a lawyer.”
Hudson is leaning against the outside wall after my shift. I’m terrified Amir will be standing outside the casino when I walk out the door. I am ecstatic to see Hudson’s handsome, caring face instead.
“That sucks that you guys got robbed. Jamie said you guys didn’t even call the police.” He pauses. “What did they take of yours?”
Hudson’s concern fills his green eyes, and for a moment I see Clark, an older version I’ve conjured up in my mind, of my brother fifteen years down the road. I imagine he would have been a happy optimist like Hudson. “They took everything.”
And then it hits me. I can’t help but smile. Even though my world sucks big time, I am wondering why I never realized the similarity between Hudson and what I imagine my brother Clark would look like. It’s hard to explain, but a secure feeling washes over me, as I study him. “Did you have blonde hair as a baby?” I ask.
“What? They took everything?” Hudson cocks his head to the side. “And yes, I was a towhead, but what does that have to do with the robbery? And what are you smiling about? That rare Hannah smile… and after you just got robbed.”
I knew it. “Nothing. I just wondered what you looked like as a baby. I bet you were cute.”
“What is up with you tonight, Hannah? Did they take your brain?”
“They might as well have…I’m going to be homeless. The crooks took all my money, every last cent, except my tip money from the last two shifts. I’m finished.”
Hudson stops and shakes his head. “Hold on. I’m sure Adriana and Jamie will give you some time, given the circumstances.”
“No, they don’t have the money to cover me since they got robbed too. So yes, I’m going to be homeless. I’m out tomorrow unless I come up with $400 in cash tonight. I think they have already found someone from school to move in. And Adriana will be happy to get rid of me”
Hudson shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what to say. “Well, you’re in good company. Lots of famous people started out homeless before they became rich and famous. Charlie Chaplin lived on the streets of London and Halle Berry lived in a homeless shelter. Houdini, Cary Grant, and the millionaire New York stockbroker Chris Gardner all lived in homeless shelters. Haven’t you ever seen the movie The Pursuit of Happyness with Will Smith and his son? Well, they wrote a book about being homeless. See all the opportunities, Hannah?” He smiles and put his arm around my shoulders.
“Thanks, Hudson, that really makes me feel better.” I sarcastically roll my eyes at him.
He tugs me closer and whispers in my ear. “I wish I had the $400 to loan you. But, I’ll loan you one hundred bucks and you can crash on my couch until we figure it out.”
“That’s really nice, Hudson.” I mean it and swallow that stupid lump in the back of my throat. “Do you know any lawyers?”
“What? What are you going to do, sue Adriana and Jamie for kicking you out?”
“No, nothing like that. Isn’t it true that whatever you tell a lawyer is confidential?”
“Yes, as long as you hire them, but I don’t know if that means anything. I mean, if a guy kills his wife and goes to a lawyer and tells the attorney, ‘I just killed my wife,’ the attorney can’t call the police and tell them the husband did it, but if the wife is dead at the house, I think they have to call the police and say she’s dead.” Hudson jerks his head in my direction. “Is there something I should know, Hannah?”
Again, Hudson reaches inside of me through my eyes, searching for an answer. I want to say yes, there are so many things you should know, so many things I want to tell you, your head would spin; but I can’t tell you. “No, I’m just asking for someone I know.”
“Someone you know. Okay, Miss Mysterious.” We walk slowly; Hudson’s arm slung around my shoulder.
“I wish you would talk to me. Maybe I can help. Are you in trouble?”
He slows his step and rubs my shoulder as we walk to the park. “Are you going to sleep in your bedroom tonight?”
I freeze. Then back up, moving away from Hudson, my eyes glued to the silhouette of the person sitting on the bench smoking a cigarette.
Hudson slows down and stops, and turns towards me, questioning my sudden stop as if my tension emitted a signal, his brow arches up. “What’s wrong?”
Amir stands up, blowing his smoke our way. In the fading light, through a puff of cigarette smoke, he looks older, darker, and sinister. My nerdy, sweet neighbor is gone.
“Good evening, Sunday, who’s your friend?”
I put my fake face on, hoping my pounding heart isn’t a dead giveaway to my fear. I pray it is not as loud to Hudson as it is to me.
Hudson can’t be a part of this. “Hudson, I forgot I was going to meet my friend Amir. I’ll catch up with you later. I’ll text you.” I force myself to move next to Amir, hoping Hudson will walk away.
Hudson stops dead in place, as if he is playing musical chairs and the music suddenly stopped. He exhales with an odd look as he focuses on Amir and then back at me, trying to assess the situation.
“Why is he calling you Sunday?” Hudson stands his ground. He doesn’t look a bit intimidated.
Amir has an amused look on his face. But not like a funny ha-ha face, more like a sick twisted amusement. He is a stranger to me.
I force a fake laugh, and say, “It’s Sunny, a nickname.” I walk over to Amir and, with my back to Hudson, give him a stern look and compel myself to give him a hug. His scent is smokey and sour, unexplainable to my nostrils. And, without turning around, I pray that Hudson will just walk away. “I’ll see you at work tomorrow, Hudson. Thanks for the walk home.” I use a loud voice, without turning around.
Leave, Hudson. Walk away. I don’t turn to say goodbye, which is so awkward. I can’t stand being in Amir’s space, the fingers on his right hand touch me and slowly dig into my shoulder bone. Amir leans down and kisses the top of my head and pulls me tight, as I close my eyes, forcing myself not to scream. I count to twenty in my head, hoping against hope that Hudson is walking away. I don’t want Hudson to even converse with Amir, and I don’t want him to see my fear. I don’t want my new friend to be any part of this.
Just let me go, Hudson. Walk away.
“Who’s your friend?”
“Just a guy I work wi
th.” I study Amir, trying to control the shaking that is overtaking my hands. Amir scares me. It is impossible to see the chubby boy with glasses, the braces, and the dress pants. How did this metamorphosis happen? Amir is a transformer, the worst kind of monster.
I pull my shoulder out of his grasp and lower my body to the bench, still careful not to look at the spot where Hudson stood. I’m focused on the ground, listening. I don’t hear anything but the beat of my heart, so I’m guessing Hudson left. Amir sits beside me, his hand on my leg. I study his hand, so I don’t have to raise my head. His fingernails are dirty underneath, and long. Even in this dim light I can see the unkempt nails, and it seems odd to me, with his new clothes and overbearing cologne he is wearing.
“I’ve been thinking, Sunday, about the past—you know, all those times down by the creek; our place.” His freakish smile makes me sick.
It was my place, not ours, I want to yell.
He keeps talking. “You talked about your dreams and your plans, but I was never included.” He pauses. “So that was then, and this is now. You not including me always pissed me off, and I never said anything, but things are going to change now that we’re going to be together.”
He sits down. “It’s going to be great, just you wait and see.”
“I’m not going with you, Amir.”
“Of course you are. You don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m sorry, Sunday—I mean, Hannah. I’ll work on calling you Hannah,” he says in a patronizing tone. “Hannah, look at me.” He yanks my chin toward him with his dirty fingernails that smell like cigarettes.
I pull back. “I don’t know what happened to the Amir I once knew, but you’re not him. I’m not going anywhere with you.” I slide my backpack on my shoulder, trying to anticipate his next response.
“Hannah.” His tone overflows with sarcasm and his fingers grab my wrist. “You’re forgetting what will happen if you don’t go with me. I’m sure the Maryland police would be extremely interested to know that Sunday Foster is alive and faked her death. Your father… well….”
I hesitate, not sure if I should show my card. I pry his fingers off my wrist and stand up. “You do what you have to, Amir, but I have a great story to tell them if that happens.”
“Oh yeah, what story is that?” He stands, his chest an inch from my face. God, he must have grown two inches in the last couple months, or maybe I never noticed how tall he was as he sat behind me down by the creek, hunched over.
My fight or flight instinct is building inside my chest, my hands are shaking, and my heartbeat accelerates into a sprint. “You knew Eric was going to kill all those people, our classmates, and you didn’t do anything. You let him do it. I don’t even know who you are anymore. How could you let him kill them?”
In a flash he has me by my arms, grabbing them tight and pushing my elbows together. I remember what Hudson said the other night by the lake, to protect myself if anyone like Tyler ever tried to take advantage of me again.
“Eric was angry and wanted to kill something, it’s not my fault it only took a little push to set him off. It was so easy. He was just on the edge of doing something. He killed them, not me.”
I lift my knee and used all my anger to jerk it into him below his belt as hard as I can. He lets go of my arms and I step back and then I raise my foot and kick him as hard as I possibly can in the same spot. He doubles over.
“But you knew, and you didn’t tell anyone. You told him not to shoot me. You knew—you sick creep. What’s wrong with you? What happened to you?” I bolt, not sure where I am going, but I run like a track star. I never look back until my chest is about to explode. I stop, a wheezing sound escapes from my lungs, as I try to catch my breath. I survey the street, looking in every direction. Amir is not behind me. I keep running.
Chapter 25
Free The Lion, Truth, and Consequences
The automatic doors continue to open and close as I wait in the lobby of the Cosmopolitan Casino for what seems like hours. Finally, a little breakfast place opens across the street. I scan the crowd from every direction, sipping my coffee and eating my bagel, clutching the wrinkled business card of Devon Perry in my fist. Devon Perry, Attorney at Law. God, I hope you can help me, I pray.
His office is only two bus rides away. It will take me an hour to get there.
Something about bumpy, hot bus rides make me queasy; or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.
Yes, I even lie to myself. It’s the truth that makes me queasy. The naked truth cuts me in half and almost doubles me over. I’ve been living a lie for so long, I’m not sure if I am ready for the truth or even if I can handle the truth.
The moment I step on the bus, headed to Devon Perry’s office, I know that if I do this, go through with this, Hannah will be gone. The end of Hannah. I need to find my strength, pull the tape off my mouth, and let the truth out. The bus pulls up to my stop. I force myself to take a step, move forward, and walk off the bus. I can do this.
I spot Devon’s office building and drag myself to the entrance. I command myself to push the elevator button. Riding up to the fifth floor, I take in long, deep breaths. Breathe in, breathe out. If someone was in the elevator with me, they might think I was practicing for having a baby. The irony of my thought almost makes me laugh hysterically. Get a hold of yourself. The doors open, and there’s a long line of name plaques hanging on the glass door. The generic office of Mr. Devon Perry is a rent-an-office space with a general reception area and a variety of companies operating behind the numerous closed doors and cubicles.
He doesn’t even have a real law office.
“Mr. Devon Perry is not in,” states the receptionist. She has bright cherry-red lips, and heavy black eyeliner circles her eyes and mouth like a bad villain in a Marvel movie. She studies me up and down and both our eyes meet as my trembling hands hold Devon’s card. I clasp my hands together.
“I could call him and make an appointment,” she says. “Would you like me to see if I can reach him?”
It’s a sign. An omen telling me not to go forward. This plan is not well thought out. My emotions are in the driver’s seat, my shredding gut instinctively leading the way. I need to flip my actress manners on and make something up—anything—and get the hell out of here.
I lower my body to the cushioned chair with the high back and grip the arms of the chair, so I won’t run. My cell phone is dead. Another sign? I’m sick to my stomach and exhausted, my anxiety is off the charts. I lean over and put my head in my hands, taking deep breaths.
“Miss. Miss.” I can hear the high-pitched voice of the receptionist and I don’t care. Now, I can hear her whispering. Please let me sit here for a moment before you throw me out. I just need a minute, and…
“Miss, Miss… Mr. Perry just walked in.”
I lift my head. Ward’s son is standing in front of me. A sign?
The truth will set me free. I repeat this as I walked toward him, clutching his card in my hand.
I manage to speak. “I’m Hannah Williams. I met you last night with your father at the Magic Hat Casino.” I stick out my hand. Ward’s son meets my brown contact eyes and ignores my trembling and shakes my hand with a warm and firm handshake, just like last night.
He seems to remember me and then pushes his thick, wavy blonde hair off his face, a series of emotions wrinkle his tiny crow’s-feet at his eyes. He is undecided if he should be talking to me. His face reveals time spent basking in the sun, and with his denim button-down shirt, no tie, and khaki slacks, he could have been going to a picnic or a lunch date I interrupted. I can smell his cologne, not overbearing, but barely there and masculine. Compared to the only attorney I unfortunately know personally, HE, Mr. Perry does not appear to be in the same pompous, pretentious, strong-cologne-wearing club. His card said General Practice, and I hope this is not yet another mistake.
He hesitates before he speaks, sizing me up. “I met you last night with my father?”
“Yes, I’m his
waitress. He introduced me as Bridget. It’s uh… my casino name.” My IQ is flying out the window.
He nods as if he understands and cautiously smiles. “Yes, I remember now. You look a little different.”
“Yes, they want us to wear a lot of makeup.” I’m barely making sentences. Without the heavy makeup, I’m sure he wondered if I was twenty-one. It doesn’t help that I sound like a babbling idiot. Right now, I want to crawl out of the room like a toddler. What am I doing here?
“Why are you here, Ms. Williams?” he asks as if he can read my mind.
I open my mouth to reply, but suddenly, instead of my mouth opening, my knees go weak and I have to shuffle in place. I press my hands to my cheeks, trying to hold my head from going backwards, and whisper, “I think I need to hire a lawyer.” And in slow-mo the lights get dimmer and everything slowly fades to black.
Mr. Perry was a race car driver and a skier. Pictures of a much younger, athletic man skiing and standing beside a black and yellow race car covered in advertising are plastered in various frames in his office. As I sit on his leather couch, sipping a glass of cold water, he assures me I was only out for seconds, and he’d caught me.
“Is there someone you want me to call? I think you should get checked out to see why you fainted.” He is unsure of what to do.
“I’m okay. I know why I fainted.” Who would I call anyway?
He sits on the edge of his desk, and his directness reminds me of his father.
“Why?” His blue eyes seem warm with genuine concern; perhaps even caring. I remember what Ward said about his son: “He’s one of the good ones.” I hope Ward is right.
I take another drink of water and inhale and exhale. “I’m scared to death to tell you the truth, but I need to get it out. If I tell you something illegal, something illegal I’ve done… do you have to go to the police? Or am I protected by attorney-client privilege?” I fish a twenty out of my pocket and hold it out. We both notice the shaking motion in my unsteady hand. “I know I have to hire you and give some consideration or something to make it legal, so here’s some money.”
