Page 12
Chapter Eleven
–––
Destiny
Las Vegas, Nevada
“How about this one?” Kat asked, holding a shirt up for me to examine.
“Love it,” I said absently. We were in one of the price-gouging stores that lurked in every casino, eager to separate gamblers from whatever cash the house had grudgingly let them keep. The showroom we stood in was cavernous but contained only two discreetly placed racks on either side with a sofa in the middle. They’d actually offered us champagne when we walked in.
Admittedly, I was a fan of the free booze. Halfway through my second glass, I was weighing whether or not it would be tacky to ask for a third.
I’d spent most of the morning thinking about the side of Grace I’d seen at the Buggy; it was still kind of wigging me out. I felt awful about invading her privacy and was wondering if I should apologize the next time I saw her.
Anyway, I was distracted. Which was clearly starting to piss off my girlfriend.
She pouted. “You didn’t even look at it.”
I sighed. “Kat, honey, it’s a black turtleneck. I can only muster so much excitement.” I checked the price tag and tried not to openly gag.
“Where did you disappear to this morning, anyway?” she asked.
I could tell she was trying to keep her voice casual. Avoiding her eyes, I shrugged. “Just helping out with wedding stuff.”
“Oh?” She made a face. “That’s odd. Dot didn’t mention it.”
“Yeah, well, it’s kind of a surprise for her.” Why was I lying? It wasn’t like I’d done anything wrong. But part of me didn’t feel okay about sharing my glimpse into Grace’s life.
“Do you think I should get it?” Kat asked, turning toward the mirror.
I sighed. A love of shopping was one of the few things Kat and I didn’t have in common. Twenty minutes in, and I was already getting twitchy. “For four hundred dollars, it better have an eight ball tucked up one of those sleeves.”
She went rigid. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, immediately realizing my mistake. “That came out wrong.”
“No, it’s fine.” Kat made a big show of marching over to hang the turtleneck back on the rack.
I hurried after her, trying to repair the damage. “I meant to say I love it, and it will look amazing on you. Let’s get it.”
“No thank you, Amber.” Kat was already walking to the door, head held high. “Please excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”
I grabbed the shirt and went to the register to pay for it, muttering under my breath. As I waited in line, I drained the rest of the champagne in one gulp. During the past few months, I’d learned something about serious relationships: You always had the same fight, over and over. There were seemingly endless variations on the specifics, but the bottom line never changed. And this was our particular battle.
Kat was loaded. Probably worth a lot more than me, and that was saying something. But what differentiated “old money” from the kind I had was that it wasn’t “liquid.” I’d spent the past few months undergoing a crash course in how rich people lived, and it wasn’t at all what I’d expected. Kat told stories about flying to an island on someone’s private jet and then getting kicked out of a bar there because none of her rich pals had thought to bring cash. “I mean, who doesn’t take Apple Pay?” she’d asked, eyes wide.
“Shocking,” I’d agreed at the time, still trying to get past the whole “private jet” part.
Anyway, that meant that I frequently footed the bill for things. And I didn’t care. I’d have to buy overpriced turtlenecks by the truckload to even make a dent in the money Grace had given me. But considering the fact that not so long ago I was barely able to scrape together enough cash for a thirty-bucks-a-night motel room, sometimes the prices in the world I now inhabited made my head spin.
Whenever I commented on it, though, Kat always got weird. I wasn’t sure if that was because mentioning how much something cost was considered tacky, or if she was embarrassed about not having the cash on hand to cover it herself.
I had learned one valuable lesson: Whatever it was, just buy it for her. That made my life a lot easier. And yes, I was fully aware that this made me sound like a problematic husband from the Eisenhower era. She reciprocated with pricey gifts like my Rolex and by covering our Napa weekend. All in all, it felt pretty even.
I was standing behind a middle-aged woman in a headscarf and sunglasses whose transaction seemed to be taking an awfully long time. I watched as the salesclerk swiped the woman’s credit card over and over, a slight frown marring her perfect features. The customer, meanwhile, was prattling away about how disappointed she was that the sweater she was trying to return hadn’t fit her sister, and she was so sad that they didn’t have a smaller size in stock…
Tuning in to what was really going on, I bit my lip to contain my bemusement. The customer was pulling what my grifter mother had coined a “boomerang Alice” (not that she’d invented it, mind you, but Mom was constantly taking credit for cons that had been around since the Dark Ages). The way it worked was that someone shoplifted an item and then they (or ideally, a partner) came back later to “return” it. The con handed over a nonfunctioning credit card to put the refund on. Retailers had caught on to this sort of thing, so they usually insisted on issuing store credit. The trick was to persuade them that you were never going to be able to use it, you lived nowhere near one of their stores, nothing currently in stock fit you, etc., etc., etc. And nine times out of ten, the store would eventually cave and hand over cash for stolen goods.
I’d never used this con, mainly because it involved shoplifting, which was really stealing. I also knew that some jerky managers would subtract the loss from a hapless employee’s paycheck. And back when I used to run scams, I’d always been careful not to target anyone who couldn’t afford to take the hit. All of my marks could handle having their wallet lightened a little; a lot of them probably never even noticed.
Clearly, the woman currently holding up the line had no such qualms. She was arguing with the poor salesclerk now, her voice rising as she became agitated.
I frowned. There was something unsettlingly familiar about her. I leaned to the side, trying to get a better look.
“I apologize, ma’am, but I really can’t give you cash for this,” the salesclerk was explaining frostily. “The manager isn’t here, and I—”
The older woman suddenly clutched her chest, grabbed at the counter, and slid to the floor. I resisted the urge to slow-clap at this obvious charade. The shocked clerk froze with alarm as the woman gasped and twitched, delivering a truly Oscar-worthy performance…
…and providing my first clear view of her face. As the clerk hurriedly punched digits into the desk phone, likely calling 911 (I could have told her not to bother because this character would be long gone by the time help arrived), I stood above the woman, hands on my hips.
Finally spotting me, her contortions stilled. She lowered her sunglasses and said, “ Emily ?”
“Hi, Mom,” I said, offering a hand to help her up.
———
“Don’t worry, I’ve got this,” I said to the salesclerk as I pulled my mother to her feet.
“Are you sure?” the clerk asked uncertainly. “If you’d like, I can have an ambulance—”
“No!” my mother and I barked simultaneously. I glared at her and then told the clerk, “I’ll help Mom back to her room. She’s just a little, y’know…” I mimed tipping a bottle into my mouth.
My mother frowned at me. “Emily, that is absolutely not—”
“C’mon, Mom,” I said loudly, grabbing her elbow and steering her toward the door. “Time to sleep it off. Again.”
“Oh! I almost forgot!” the clerk called out when we were nearly at the door. “Ma’am, here’s your refund.”
She hurried over and offered my mother a few crisp hundreds. My mom smiled weakly at her. “Oh, aren’t you a dear. I’m going to write a letter, make sure they name you employee of the month.”
“I better hold that for you, Mom,” I said, deftly plucking the bills from her hand. “Until you’ve sobered up. Thanks again!”
I nodded at the bewildered salesgirl and frog-marched my mother into the hallway that led back to the casino. Guiding her toward the exit, I hissed, “So. Where’s Dad?”
“Where do you think?” my mom scoffed, her voice back to normal. She’d added a dramatic little quaver in the store, which explained why I hadn’t recognized her immediately. “Losing at blackjack. That’s why I needed to stop at the ATM.”
“Right.” I released her and sighed. “Well, great seeing you. Have a nice life.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but I’d already turned away. I’d had no contact with my parents in nine years, not since they’d bailed on a con that went wrong (which was kind of a pattern for them). Fifteen-year-old me came home from high school to nothing but a wrinkled twenty-dollar bill and a note that read Sorry kiddo, timed this one wrong.
So yeah, they weren’t in the running for any “parent of the year” plaques. I caught sight of Kat twenty feet away, scanning the hall for me, and quickened my pace. If there was one thing I definitely did not want, it was to introduce Kat to my erstwhile parents.
“Emily, wait!” my mom called after me.
I ignored her. Just a few more steps, and I’d be free and clear. Sorry Mom , I thought with a smirk. I haven’t been Emily for a long time now. Part of starting over a few years ago had involved paying for a new ID, which is how “Emily Austin” became “Amber Jamison.”
Kat looked perplexed as I approached her at a near run. “Is everything okay?”
“Yup, fine!” I wrapped my arm around her waist and guided her back toward the casino, mentally reviewing the layout. We’d passed the blackjack tables on our way in, so I’d have to exit by the slots instead…
“I bought you a present,” Kat said, holding up a bag from an insanely expensive jewelry store. “Sorry I became so upset before.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said, picking up the pace until we were practically jogging. Trying to ignore the inner voice that was muttering, Great. Another necklace you’ll never wear , I said, “That’s so sweet, you didn’t have to do that.”
“Do you want to open it?” she asked, sounding breathless. “Amber? Can we walk more slowly, please?”
“Um, I just want to get back to the room and open it there. That way I’ll really be able to give it my full attention, you know?”
“Okay.” Kat was checking back over her shoulder. “Do you know that woman?”
“Who?” I said, feigning innocence.
“The one running after us?”
I heard my mom yell, “Emily, wait!”
“Never seen her before in my life. Let’s grab a cab.”
A surprisingly strong hand on my shoulder jerked me to a stop. I whipped around, ready for anything.
My mother and I stared at each other for a beat. Perplexed, Kat looked back and forth between us.
“I thought it was you!” my mother exclaimed, clapping her hands together in a decent approximation of unbridled joy. “Darling, what a lovely surprise!”
I gritted my teeth, but it was useless to pretend this was a case of mistaken identity. I looked eerily like a more petite version of my mother—her “mini-me,” as one of my parents’ derelict friends used to say. The jig was up.
Doubly annoyed by the victory in her eyes, I gestured at her and said with resignation, “Kat, this is my mom. Mom, Kat.”
“Your mother!” Kat’s eyes widened. “Oh, how amazing! What a coincidence!”
“Yup,” I agreed, eyes narrowing as my mother enveloped Kat in an embrace. “Kind of unbelievable, really.” Could my parents have orchestrated this “chance encounter”? But how would they have found me?
And why would they bother? They certainly hadn’t made an effort at any other point during the past nine years. Of course, I hadn’t had money back then…
My mother winked at me, which only heightened my suspicions. Then she drew back and held Kat at arm’s length. “My, aren’t you pretty as a picture.”
Kat beamed in response. “Thank you.”
“So what are you girls doing in town?” Mom asked.
“Gambling,” I said at the same time that Kat offered, “A wedding.”
“A wedding! Not yours, is it?”
“No!” I barked, a little too sharply. Seeing Kat frown, I threw her an apologetic look.
“Still,” cooed Mom, not missing a beat, “how lovely!” She was channeling her best ideal-mom routine. If I hadn’t grown up with her, I might even have believed it myself. “Well, your father and I would love to take you both out to dinner if you have time.”
“We don’t,” I said firmly, grabbing Kat’s hand and starting to move away. “But thanks. Have fun.”
Sounding wounded, my mother called after me, “Wouldn’t you like to say hello to your father? He’ll be so disappointed to have missed you!”
“Give him my best!” I called back, maneuvering Kat double-time toward the door.
“Amber,” Kat protested. “What’s wrong?”
“Long story. I don’t have a great relationship with my folks,” I said in a low voice. “So let’s just go, okay?”
We rounded the corner and nearly collided with my father. Seeing me, he startled. “Honey?”
“Fuck.” I dropped my head, conceding defeat. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hello, sweetheart.” My dad beamed at me. He was dressed in khakis, a golf shirt, a Members Only jacket, and sneakers—the perfect uniform if you were trying to blend in with a typical casino crowd. Which was probably the point. “Wow, what a surprise!”
“Is it?” I asked skeptically. “I didn’t think you ever came this far west for…work.”
His eyes flicked to Kat and then back to me. He shrugged. “Well, your mom thought we could use a vacation. Gamble a little, see a show—”
“Right,” I nodded. “So how far down are you?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.”
“Oh, I definitely won’t.” My mother had caught up. She eased around us and tucked her arm through my dad’s. “Anyway, we were just leaving.”
“Now, don’t be like that,” my mom said. “We’re family!”
I goggled at her. My initial reaction had been shock, followed by a strong urge to flee. But the way they were acting, as if they even had the right to refer to themselves as my parents…that was starting to piss me off. I mean, sure, I liked to think of myself as being pretty tough, even unshakable. But my parents had basically abandoned me when I was still a kid.
I’d imagined versions of this reunion for years. Usually, those fantasies centered around berating them for their selfishness. In every one of these scenarios I was rich and happy. I threw in their faces the fact that I’d survived—along with a twenty-dollar bill, which would be the icing on the proverbial cake. I’d show them everything I’d achieved and sneer, “See? I didn’t need you anyway.”
I realized, looking at them now, that this might actually be that moment. I was definitely rich, I was pretty happy, I’d graduated from college…and I hadn’t conned anyone to gain any of those things. I’d done it all on my own (well, mostly). I’d won.
But as I opened my mouth to unleash the speech I’d mentally prepared, I noticed that in the fluorescent light, they appeared old and washed out. Diminished. The sleeves of my dad’s jacket were frayed, and his glasses were held together with a safety pin. My mom’s outfit was dated, her shoes worn. Maybe that was just costuming for whatever scam they were pulling, but something in me doubted it.
And just like that, my rage ebbed. Kat squeezed my hand reassuringly, and I reciprocated. Drawing a deep breath, I said, “If you’re free now, maybe we could grab a coffee.”