by J. R. Rain
Two days later on Friday, I’m sporting a blonde wig, huge sunglasses, a low-cut top, and a pair of jean shorts that Danny would call ‘butt floss’ as well as flip-flops. Oh, yeah, I’ve also got a wire on. This outfit offers no place to hide a weapon, so it’s in my purse. Well, not my purse, a little hot-pink pleather square from Walmart.
The FBI agent we borrowed to help with the disguise did an amazing job with the makeup and wig. I get mistaken for being in my twenties a lot, but the face staring back at me from the mirror at the office looked more like an eighteen-year-old. We’re going for that ‘Indiana innocent’ thing.
For at least the next few hours, I’m Lorelei Duke, a just-graduated-high-school girl who’s moved to California chasing her dream of being an actress. They’ve set Miss Duke up with a fake job at a nearby go-go bar, though I have no intention of ever setting foot in the place. The manager’s cooperative, so if Martin decides to verify anything, he’ll be told I’m who I claim to be.
I pull up to a strip mall in downtown LA where Martin Brauerman Realty maintains a small storefront. The hardest part of this operation is going to be not blushing when I get out of the car. The last time I was out in public with this much of my ass exposed, I’d been three years old in my backyard. Well, what passed for a backyard in a trailer park at the edge of a forest. God. Why would anyone wear these things on purpose? It’s like having a permanent wedgie.
The agency was even kind enough to procure a disaster of a car: a 1990 Chevy Cavalier that’s been to Beirut and back. It smells like I’m sitting in Andre the Giant’s sneaker, and the seat is noticeably sticky where it touches my skin. When I get home later, I’m going to soak in a bathtub full of hand sanitizer. The thing runs as smooth as a garbage bag of aluminum cans falling down a staircase. Every head in the parking lot turns toward me, likely expecting a fleet of Hell’s Angels.
Fortunately, the car didn’t crap out on the short ride, though it doesn’t quite want to stop running when I shut off the key. Shit. How am I supposed to kill the engine when the key is already off? It sputters for a few seconds and finally conks out. Well, that’s special.
At least it’s got cloth seats and I won’t leave skin behind when I stand.
Argh. Seriously. Why do women wear these teeny shorts!? They ride up so snug if I move faster than a walk I think it would count as cheating on Danny. I don’t bother locking the door for fear it’ll never open again, and walk toward the building. Hell, anyone who steals that car would experience a loss of net worth.
Chad was able to verify Martin Brauerman Realty as legitimate. He’s a licensed realtor and works officially with non-HUD properties. His little scam with us probably started off as side money, though at this point, he’s making more from the scam than his legal commission work.
Predictably, guys stare at me. Yeah, the mostly-open shirt revealing my cleavage is real subtle, but then again, I agreed to do that on purpose. The higher brain functions of most men switch off when a woman shows this much skin. With any luck, if Marty’s checking me out, he’s not going to be as careful as he might otherwise be. I’m a little pale for this outfit, but that works with the ‘just moved here’ angle. About all I’m missing is pink bubble gum that I keep snapping. Don’t want to push the cliché too far. Hmm. Do people from Indiana have an accent? Crap. Oh well, I’ll play it as straight as I can.
The girl behind the desk, who probably is as young as I’m trying to look, lifts her gaze from a computer screen to smile at me. Her blonde is as fake as mine, but probably triple the cost and from a bottle. A thinly veiled sense of territorial threat bleeds through her expression. “Hello. Can I help you with something?”
“Hi! I’m looking for Marty? I called earlier about gettin’ myself a place to live ‘round here. You know, it’s not rightly nice of me to stay with my friends so long if I can help it.”
Great. I come off sounding like Marilyn Monroe on excessive amounts of valium.
“Oh, sure. Miss Duke?”
“That’s me!” I grin. “Sorry if I’m a little early. I’m still getting used to this city. Everything’s so big! I think you’ve got more people in one little block than my whole home town.”
The woman barely manages to suppress the urge to roll her eyes and nods toward a waiting area. “Please have a seat and I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Thank you.” I wander over to a row of dingy red chairs, looking around, trying to appear awestruck at everything.
“Mr. Brauerman,” says the receptionist to her phone. “Your 11 a.m. is here.”
An indecipherable murmur emanates from the speakerphone.
“Okay.” She looks up at me. “He’ll be out in a moment.”
“Thank you!” I chirp.
I sit there staring at the bland décor for a little more than ten minutes before a fortyish guy with salt and pepper hair strolls out from an interior hallway. He’s wearing a cheap, shimmery gray suit that screams ‘used car salesman.’ Hopefully, his front desk girl’s territorial hostility is only due to her needing to be the prettiest woman in any given place, and not that anything’s going on between her and Marty. Of course, if she’s eighteen, it’s not illegal, but still awkward.
Trying to ignore that unease, I bounce to my feet. “You must be Mr. Brauerman.”
“Please.” He grins, offering a hand. “Call me Marty.”
The elusive Marty. I want to high five someone; instead, I daintily shake his hand. “I’m Lorelei.”
“Is that your stage name?” asks the woman behind the desk.
Ooh. Bitch. “Whatever do you mean?” I feign confusion.
She smirks. “Never mind. I thought you were trying to be an actress.”
“Oh.” I grin. “I am. Just got here two weeks ago from Indiana.”
Martin’s plastic smile says he probably expects me to wind up hooked on heroin and working in adult films inside of two months. If only that wasn’t likely for a girl in ‘Lorelei’s’ position. City of Angels… or shattered dreams.
“Come on back to my office and I’ll see what kind of options we have.” Martin nods toward the hallway and strides away with a forward-leaning walk.
After an overly polite wave at the front desk woman, I follow him past a small kitchenette area and a bathroom to the door at the end. His office is large, perhaps a quarter of the whole space, with a window overlooking a row of dumpsters behind the strip mall. What charming scenery.
“Please, have a seat, Miss Duke.” He stares straight at my chest as I lower myself into a fake leather seat. “So, how did you wind up hearing about me?”
“Oh, this girl Renata I work with at Diamond’s Lounge mentioned you. I’m not sure if that’s her real name.” A woman he’s scamming works there, and her application went through five months ago, so he’ll probably assume I mean her. Strippers are notorious for using false names, even to each other.
He nods. “Excellent.”
I fidget in the seat, biting my lower lip. “Renata said you can help me get a home, even though I’m not making much money.”
Martin observes me, much the way a wolf sizes up an injured deer. While there’s a definite sense that he’s aroused, the predatory vibe coming off him isn’t sexual. In fact, it’s pretty tame. He really does feel like a used car salesman about to foist a lemon off on a clueless blonde. “How long have you been in the area?”
“About two weeks.”
He jots something down. “And are you working?”
“Mm hmm!” I try to sound impressed. “I’m dancing at Diamond’s right now, but it’s only temporary until I land an audition. I got the highest score in my drama class at Filmore High, and I was Maria in the school’s production of West Side Story. Mr. Benson told me I’m gonna be a star someday.” I can picture Chad, outside somewhere listening to my wire, rolling his eyes and laughing.
Martin cringes. He almost seems sorry for me, but his smile returns. “Well, in addition to being a realtor, I run a property management com
pany on the side. I specialize in helping people in your… income bracket obtain housing. Now, since you’re likely to wind up a famous actress before too long, I’ll probably have to assist you finding a more fitting home someday, but until then, I think I can probably help you.”
“That’s swell!” I grin. Do people in Indiana still say ‘that’s swell?’ Hope so.
He fishes around a lower drawer in his desk and hands me three stapled bundles of paper, standard realtor dossiers on houses for sale. “Take a look at these. I think they’re the ones most likely to fall within your budget. I can’t make any promises. The final determination happens with the bank, but I’ll damn sure fight hard for you.”
“Hmm. They’re all so pretty.” I read the addresses aloud so we get them on tape, and giggle. “Oh, Mr. Brauerman, I don’t know any of these street names. What are the areas like? They’re not full of bad people, are they?”
“Oh, no… they’re all in nice areas. A pretty little angel like you shouldn’t have any problems.”
“That’s good to know.” I hold up the cheapest one and sit with a posture that makes my chest prominent. “I think I better try for this one. I’m not making an awful lot of money right now. But as soon as I get into the movies, I won’t have to worry about money.”
Martin grins. I can practically see the dollar signs in his eyes. “All right.” He hands me a clipboard with some forms. “If you wouldn’t mind, please fill those out and I’ll get things sent to the bank right away.”
The forms look like a rearranged version of the HUD application. Naturally, he’s collecting all the information so he can fill out the real documents. I spend a few minutes filling stuff out, regurgitating all the information I rapidly memorized earlier when we cooked up the Lorelei Duke persona. If, as we expect, he’s going to feed this back to us, we can fix anything I don’t get quite right. Every three or so lines, I ask basic questions about what I’m supposed to put there. It makes the process tedious, and gets him red-faced with frustration, but each time he’s about to snap, a boob wiggle distracts him. Okay, maybe this is overdoing it. I don’t need to make him think I’ve got the IQ of a scallop, but if I filled this thing out like a pro, he’d get suspicious.
Once I have all the sheets finished, I hand the clipboard back to him. “I think that’s everything. Are you sure this is going to work? I thought getting a place would be a lot more work than filling out some forms.”
Martin mutters, “Oh, don’t worry. That’s what I’m here for,” while looking over the information. “Everything seems to be in order here.” He lets the papers flutter flat against the clipboard and smiles at me. “This number you put here as your contact. That’s a cell phone?”
“Uh huh.” I nod. “I can take it with me wherever I go.”
His ‘holy crap this girl’s an airhead’ expression almost gets me to laugh. “Umm. Yes, well. That’s the whole point of cell phones.” The smile returns. “I’ll see what I can do with this and give you a call in a couple days once I get an answer from the bank. On your way out, stop by Marissa’s desk so she can take photocopies of your driver’s license and Social Security card.”
“Oh, great. Thank you, Mr. Brauerman!”
Martin stands and walks around the desk. “Please, call me Marty.”
I’m expecting a pat on the ass as soon as I stand, but he surprises me by behaving himself. The receptionist narrows her eyes ever so slightly when I flounce across the lobby and approach her. Ice hangs in the air while she takes the fake license and SSN card to copy, practically throwing them at me when she’s done.
“Thanks,” I chime, overacting innocence.
Marissa narrows her eyes, but keeps a forced smile. “Have a nice day.”
Outside, two guys whistle at me, one yells, “dat ass!” and another rides his skateboard straight into a post along the strip mall frontage.
Laughing, I stroll back to the POS car, certain Marty is watching me. The door creaks when I open it, and the engine doesn’t want to start, but at least getting in makes me feel less exposed to the world. After much banging and swearing, it finally turns over, and the roar of a dead muffler follows me out of the parking lot.
I can’t wait to get back to the office and out of this ridiculous outfit. Hopefully, it won’t take Marty too long to submit the paperwork while claiming to be me, or rather Lorelei. It’s petty, but I think I’m going to enjoy watching the receptionist flip out when we swarm the place.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Done Deal
The rest of Friday passes in a blur of collecting documents, bank statements, and every scrap of paper trail I can get my hands on into a neat package before forwarding it on to the federal prosecutor.
I’m only a little late getting home, but I’ve got a giant, satisfied smile. Mary Lou’s agreed to keep the kids overnight so Danny and I can go out. We have a wonderful time at a nice sit-down Mexican restaurant, and catch The Bourne Supremacy after since it’s opening today. When we get home, we make love like we just got married, and wind up falling asleep naked together.
This is payback weekend, and not in a bad way. While Danny keeps an eye on our kids, I drive over to Mary Lou’s to pick up her three. I’m watching her brood until Sunday night. She and Ricky are going off to some cabin he’s got in Big Bear for some ‘couple time.’
For the most part, the weekend is a blast. Juggling a pair of two-year-olds is a challenge in public, but we hit the Universal Studios Hollywood park on Saturday, and The California Science Center on Sunday. It’s tiring, but amazing. I think Anthony and Ruby Grace are conspiring to take over the world. Every time I look their way, they’re muttering to each other and eyeing the world around them like they’re up to no good. Ellie Mae is a lot like her mother. Even at six, she’s trying to help me take care of the smaller kids as much as she can.
Sunday night arrives too fast, and I’m almost sorry to see my sister’s kids go.
Danny sidles up behind me while I stand in the door watching Mary Lou pack them in their minivan. He kisses the side of my neck and asks, “What’s wrong?”
I lean into him. “I expected this weekend to kick the crap out of me, but it was fun. Wrangling five wasn’t as bad as I thought.”
“Maybe in another life you had a huge family and a part of your soul misses it.”
“When did you turn into a mystic? That sounded scarily like something my mother would’ve said.” I wave to Ricky and Mary Lou as they back out of the driveway.
Danny pulls me inside and nudges the door closed. “You’re not pondering another one, are you?”
I grab my belly. “Oh, I don’t think so. I haven’t been at HUD that long and if I go out on maternity leave, well, they might find an excuse to cut me loose.”
“Hmm. So, if I knock you up, you might be forced to do something that won’t expose you to bullets?” He grinds against my butt.
“Hah! Keep that thing away!” I laugh, playfully trying to twist my rear end out of stabbing range.
Anthony lets off a shrill glass-shattering shriek that fills the hallway. He’s never made that sound before. Panic fills Danny’s eyes. Wordless, we both run toward the sound of screaming child―and find our son stuck in the toilet, almost folded in half.
“Ooh. That water’s cold, isn’t it, little man?” asks Danny.
I put a hand over my mouth to stop from laughing. That noise he made sounded like he’d cut his foot off. Danny lifts the wailing boy out of the toilet and sets him in the tub for a quick bath.
“Might as well kill two birds,” I mutter, and head off to collect Tammy.
When I set her in the bathwater Danny’s run, he looks up. “She’s probably getting a bit old to share a bath with him.”
“She’s only four.” I put my hands on my hips.
“How old were you when you stopped sharing a bathtub with your siblings?”
I laugh. “You don’t want to know.”
He stares at me. “Wow, really?”
<
br /> “Uhh, like nine…” I squint, trying to remember exactly when my demand for privacy got heeded. Probably as soon as I could run the bathwater myself. “We were kinda backwoods in those days.”
“Surprised CPS didn’t take you away.” Danny washes a squirming Anthony.
I soap up Tammy’s hair. “Oh, if they ever came out to check on us, they would have. We looked like a Great Depression family for a while there.”
“Sorry,” says Danny.
“Oh, it’s not that bad. We had plenty of food… just wasn’t the cleanest place to live.”
He nods. Danny’s childhood was painfully normal. His older sister Julianna moved to the east coast. She’s a prosecutor somewhere in Maryland, trying to get into the federal circuit. His younger sister Adriana is an absolute doll. I think she absorbed all the ‘nice’ between the two girls. If a guy mugged her and tripped while running away, she’d run over to help him. She’s twenty-five now I think, with the same dark hair and blue eyes as Danny. Started off as a social worker, but she couldn’t handle the depression. Cried herself to sleep every night after some of the situations she had to deal with. Poor girl didn’t last a year. She’s a teacher now up in Glendale, working with K through fifth-grade.
Danny’s somewhere between the two extremes. He can have Adrianna’s loving kindness at home, but he usually turns into Julianna in the courtroom. Not that she’s wicked or anything, but she’s got the ability to switch off empathy. Danny sometimes calls her ‘the android.’ Fortunately, she’s more a rule follower than even I am, so if she is a sociopath, at least she’s a sociopath for the forces of good.
Anthony’s fidgety on the way to bed, but Tammy’s out in my arms before I can even get halfway to her room. With the kids tucked in, Danny and I have some wine in the living room, smooch a little, and migrate to the bed for some heavy cuddling. I love that so much about him. Sometimes, he just wants to hold me and be close.
Laying there in Danny’s arms, I let my mind drift over all the fun memories we made this weekend, even if three of the children involved aren’t mine. Still, they’re family.