Despite the lack of sleep this past week, I tossed all night. Between the goons and Matt’s comments, I wasn’t able to turn my brain off.
I had gone to Frieda’s earlier in the evening, hoping she could help me sort things out. She was a wreck, her imagination getting the best of her. Evan was at her side, quizzing me on everything I knew. Something Laura might have said? Anything that she might not have said?
I found myself feeling protective of Laura too, not wanting to give too much away to her mother, just in case there was a big mistake somewhere. Laura, I reasoned, was entitled to her privacy. I justified this as well by saying Frieda and Evan never asked me about people coming around looking for her—including Charlie—who I figured was behind this somehow.
Which brought up an interesting point. What did Charlie know? I had played back my conversation with him. His questioning seemed perfectly innocent. He seemed humbled and soft-spoken. But, I realized, jumpy from the week’s activities, I was too nervous to concentrate on him. I had been focusing on Matt coming over to rescue me from potentially another dangerous situation.
And, just to add a bit less sanity to the mix, As I was thinking about this, I kept dreaming of Wendy telling me how a proper real estate agent would use scripts to capture Charlie as a prospective lead and possibly save the sale. I dreamt of Don Kublensy, coaching me to treat everyone like a prospective buyer. Maybe if I had gotten more information and acted like a salesperson—the real estate expert—I might have a way to contact Charlie now.
I drifted off into a restless sleep, only to be awaken by my cell. “What?” I whined to the caller.
“Teeny Tiny Tina?” It was Saint Jimmy, who would never in his life be in any type of weird drama such as this. My older brother always did everything right. Jimmy was the stereotypical overachiever. The alter boy, top athlete, class president and eagle scout. He graduated magna cum laude and now was in medical school at UCLA (much to Mother’s delight).
Jimmy was Christmas letter fodder, with Mother dripping honey all over his every achievement. Hell, he even came out with blond hair, freckles and green eyes—like any respectable Irish relative of mine, leaving me looking more like the mailman’s kid than anything Irish.
I adored Jimmy despite his perfections. But, calling me at—I looked at the clock—four fifty-six a.m., was a bit much. It wasn’t even light out. He didn’t give me a chance to respond. “Who is Carl and why is he looking for you?”
I bolted up, wide awake. “What!” I practically shrieked. I took a breath. “What are you talking about?” Holy shit! I had forgotten to pay Carl. I slapped my forehead. I missed this past Friday’s payment.
Jimmy started over, “I just got a call from a guy named Carl. He was looking for you and said you owed him money. He suggested I call you—at not even five a.m.—to remind you,”
He seemed to be showing an incredible amount of restraint for someone just being presumably woken and protectively relaying to his kid sister this bit of news. “Tina, who the hell is Carl and what is this about owing him money. Why is he calling me? Are you in trouble? Do you need money?” The questions just seemed to rattle out of his mouth, not waiting for an answer.
“No. No Jimmy. Everything is ok.” Amazingly, I could tell from his breathing he wasn’t buying it. “Thanks for letting me know. I will take care of it.”
Jimmy wasn’t budging. I tried my best to reassure him it must be some stupid prank. He didn’t buy it. Silence. Jimmy waited for the truth.
I was exasperated. “Look, I owe this guy some money and I forgot to pay him.”
His cool exterior melted through the phone. His voice hit the roof, asking another barrage of questions. So, I laid it on the line, giving him the whole sorted tale from breaking down to Crazy Ed to Carl.
“So,” he said finally, absorbing my story. “That explains why you didn’t make it to El Paso El Paso
I rolled my eyes. “What would she have taken well?” I asked sarcastically.
“You staying at home, getting married—scratch that, graduating from college first and then getting married—and living off your trust fund as a devoted wife, mother and community advocate,” he said with a touch of amusement. “But, nobody is stupid enough to think our Tina would ever consider being so complacent.”
“May I remind you,” I said with a touch of annoyance, “My trust fund died the day I dropped out of college.”
He laughed, “You know Mom and Dad will give it back to you if you just ask.” I did know. College degree or no college degree, Jimmy was right. But, I wanted to feel what it was like to earn my way.
“My kids can have my trust fund.”
Jimmy knew I wanted to find my on way. I know he respected my decision. And, I respected his. He preferred the easy way and the good life. Both were his for the taking.
Feeling better knowing Jimmy—as always—was on my side, I chuckled. Our conversation ended with me promising to call him later. I would call Mother and say hello (apparently she had been working on Jimmy to get him to intercede on her behalf). And, I would take care of Carl before he got any other ideas. We said our, “I love yous” and I immediately dialed Carl.
“Miss Cavanaugh. How nice to hear from you. I have been waiting for your call,” He said in a syrupy voice.
After telling him I was happy—no, ecstatic—to pay him and I was so sorry the time had gotten away from me and there had been no need to burden my brother. I asked, “Why didn’t you call me?”
Carl didn’t miss a beat. “This seemed much more motivating, don’t you think?”
I waved a rude gesture in his general direction. I assured him I would bring over the money right then. He laughed, “You will want to fix your flat before you do too much more.” Before I could process his comment, Carl hung up.
After a moment the realization dawned on me. Not bothering to change out of my pajamas, I rushed outside to find my driver side tires (front and rear) slashed. I put my hands over my face, rubbing my temples. This just can’t be happening.
An hour later, Jet was at my door. “I thought you might want coffee too,” he said holding up a freshly steaming cup. Again, I went with the literal translation to his comment two weeks earlier, Don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything. After dragging him out of the arms of someone (Holly, I found out later), he didn’t hesitate, promising to come right over.
I had thought for a brief moment about just dragging myself, tail between my legs, to Matt to beg for a ride. My pride was still wounded from yesterday. Another lecture from him and I would be over the edge—and I was perched pretty precariously as it was.
“Sorry about leaving your date.” I said, now fully dressed and holding the door open for him.
He made a dismissive gesture. “We were through anyway.” Jet walked in as if he lived there, flopping himself on to a dinette chair. “What happened?”
I gave him a look pleading not to ask.
We held eye contact for a moment. “I take it you need a ride?” I nodded, afraid if I spoke I would burst into tears. Jet read me right, getting up and walking to me. He gave me a hug, and mussed my hair. “Let me guess here. Someone is pretty pissed off at you, took it out on your Firestones, and you need to go see this person.”
I nodded again. “So, do you need a ride, or do you need a car?” Jet asked. When I just shrugged he said, “I’ll tell you what, take the Jeep and I will see if I can find some way to get the tires fixed.”
“At this hour?” I choked.
He shrugged again. “I know people.”
I took Jet’s Jeep Wrangler, hoping my inexperience with a manual transmission didn’t show too much. With Sunday traffic, I made it to Carl’s office in thirty minutes, slapping the money down on his desk without as much as a word and walked out. I pushed out thoughts of what he could possibly be doing in his office at this hour. I really didn’t want to know.
“It is always a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Cavanaugh,” he called to my back.
As I was leaving Crazy Ed’s, on a whim, I drove across the street to get a better look at the chain-linked rubble where the Hacienda stood only a week earlier. The half of the building housing the lobby and one wing of rooms (where Laura let one housekeeper and Joe the handyman live) were in tact. The larger wing, the area where most of the guests’ rooms were, was burned to the ground.
The parking lot was barren with the exception of Joe’s truck. I suspected he was still sleeping off last night’s fun. Laura once told me he was a frequent patron at the Sweet Shop. As I surveyed the damage I felt a wave of grief rise over me. Laura worked so hard to grow this. And, she had done it alone. Now, what she had worked for was bits and pieces of charred remains.
After talking to Frieda last night, I realized how right Matt was and how foolish I had been. Laura wasn’t the type to walk out on this mess. She worked too hard. She would have been there from sun-up to sun-down if necessary getting the place fixed. My eyes welled up. I said a prayer asking for wherever Laura was, she was safe and far from this mess.
Returning home, I saw two new tires on my car. Jet and Matt were standing outside. Jet was pointing at my car as I walked up. “I see you two have met.” I said, cheerily joining them and handing Jet his keys.
Matt turned to leave and said to me. “Come by later.” It wasn’t an invitation.
I turned to Jet. “Thank you so much for your help. But, I can’t repay you for the tires until Friday.”
He brushed it off. “Don’t worry about it. A friend owed me a favor.”
“Yea, now I owe you one.” I said sheepishly.
He got the faraway look in his eyes I had noticed the few times before. It usually was followed with some obscure volleyball fact.
“You know, you are right. You could repay me tonight.” I could feel my face muscles tighten as the shock set in. “No. That wasn’t what I meant.” He said, waving his hand. “I am taking Holly out again tonight. Can you call me at seven thirty and just go along with whatever I say. I want to ditch her early. I will just act like you are telling me there is some sort of an emergency. She will believe it. Between you and me,” he added, “she is too high maintenance.”
Now, I know as card-carrying member of the female population this is one of the lowest date tricks out there. But, what Jet didn’t know—because he wasn’t a card-carrying member of the female population—is no woman believes this when a man pulls it. I would loose my card-carrying status if I told him as much.
So, if she decided to take his exit personally after his theatrics tonight, he might end up in a lot of pain. Would I be responsible for this? I considered for a moment. Reason won out. I owe him for two tires. Jet’s personal safety be damned. “Yes, I will do it.” I said.
And, feeling lucky while I was living on borrowed time, I added, “So, did you ever call Amy?”
“Yea, about that…” he explained, “I am not sure it is a good idea. I don’t think she is my type. I need more… more down to earth people to work with. I think it would be bad karma.” He shook his head, as if he was shamed to imagine what working with her would be like. Who could blame him, I thought sympathetically.
But, I had made promises too. So, I gave him a recap of the whole sorted tale about Amy showing up at Price Bargains last week. He didn’t bite. “I will think about it.” He said noncommittally.
“What would it take for you just to eat lunch with her?” I asked, exasperated, thinking along the lines of me promising all my future loan business to him coupled with cleaning his Sedona/Scottsdale home and being his emergency get-out-of-date free card whenever necessary.
Jet waggled his eyebrows.
I glared at him. “That isn’t going to happen.”
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