“I'm not really sure,” I say, moving my hands out of the way to allow the server to place two glasses of scotch on the rocks in front of us.
After we order, Alex raises his glass and makes a toast.
“It's nice to have you back in my life. It has been way too long.”
“Hey, thanks for inviting me,” I say, hitting my drink with his.
The thick expensive glasses make a loud reverberating echo. I bring it to my lips and revel in the oak colored liquid running down the back of my throat.
“So, I don't think I ever asked, but what kind of work are you in?”
I think about my answer carefully. I don't want to lie, but I don't want to come out with the whole truth either.
Hardly anyone knows and I'd like to keep it that way.
“I've been doing a lot of day trading. I've gotten quite good at it so my nest egg kind of grew. I like it because it frees me up to do a lot of other stuff in my life like woodworking, camping, hiking, reading, that sort of thing.”
“Oh my God, man. It's like you're retired,” Alex says.
At first, I take it as an insult, but I quickly realize that he doesn't mean it that way at all. He's looking at me with admiration.
“I wish that I could do something like that with my life,” Alex says, finishing his drink and waving over to the server for another. “Don't get me wrong, I like my job, but it gets stressful.”
“You know, you don't have to work all those hours. You could take it easy. Everyone needs a little bit of self-care, isn’t that what they're calling it these days?”
“Self-care? What the hell is that?” Alex asks. “I work over 100 hours a week and if I don't, then I'll have to work 150 hours the next one. Is there even that many in week?”
“So, that's all you do? Work?”
“Yup, pretty much. These three days off would have been the first days that I have taken off since Emma and I met. Wow, I can't believe that it has been that long.”
Our food arrives.
Alex ordered oysters and a lobster tail. He digs into it feverishly as soon as it arrives. I'm not very hungry but the taco salad with avocado and green onions is delicious. It's also huge, much bigger than I thought it would be, taking up almost half the table.
I finish my scotch and order another round. At this point, Alex is on drink number four, but who's counting?
“So, you never told me about how much you were thinking of investing.” Alex brings the conversation back to the basics.
I take a big bite and chew, debating whether I should tell him the truth.
“I have a few investments in real estate but have more liquid investments in the stock market. I think I'd like to allocate… Two million.”
When he hears the amount, he chokes on his food.
I smile at the corner of my lips and take another sip of the smooth and delicious scotch from the top shelf.
“Wait, seriously?” Alex asks after a moment.
I shrug.
“Are you serious?” he asks, putting his hand over my knuckles.
I nod.
“Okay, dude, you totally made it sound like you were just a day trader, not like you had actual serious money.”
I shrug, taking a bite of my salad.
“I'm not sure what you wanted me to-” I start to say, but he puts his finger in my face, shaking his head.
“You showed up at the party dressed, pretty subpar, to be honest.”
“What are you talking about? I was wearing a suit.”
“Oh, come on. I know suits. That one didn't even cost 400 bucks.”
I laugh.
“Are you seriously telling me that you're one of those secretly wealthy guys that just goes around dressing like a normal person?”
I continue to laugh. I find his shock to be purely comical.
“Okay,” I say, clearing my throat. “Yes, I am wealthy, but I'm not hiding that fact. I just like to wear what I like to wear and not wear what I don't like to wear. I'm not much like you guys. I got the first suit that I saw at the department store and it helped that it also had a nice fit.”
“No.” Alex shakes his head. “That was… Okay. You mostly looked nice because you have a killer body and it was a slim fit, but as far as suits go, it was pretty crappy.”
The more that we banter back and forth, the more relaxed I start to feel. There was a time when Alex and I were close. He was one of the most popular kids in school and I was the kind of kid who had friends in a lot of cliques.
I was a theater kid and the jock. Somehow it all worked out. But people loved Alex. When my family moved to Seattle at the end of middle school, I missed him the most.
At first, we stayed in touch on the phone and Skype, but after a while… You know how kids are.
“Okay, be honest with me,” Alex says, ordering another drink and slurring his words just a little bit.
I nod and wait.
“Weren’t you like, living on the streets at one point? How did you go from there to this?”
I shrug and say, “I was interested in finding some work that I could do on a freelance sort of basis. I wanted to go rock climbing, camping, traveling, and stuff like that. I wanted to make money, but I didn't want it to consume my life. That's when trading sort of came about and the more that I found out about it, the more interested I got.”
This is all true, but it's not the whole truth. I have been doing some day trading, but there’s a whole other part of my life I’m never going to share.
“So, tell me about Emma,” I say, changing the subject.
“What do you want to know?” The tone of his voice changes immediately to something callused and distant.
“What the hell happened?”
He shrugs and says, “Women, you know?”
I hate statements like that. They’re misogynistic, self-serving, and only used by men who don't know how to communicate.
“No, I don't,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
The server takes our plates away and offers us the dessert menu. I surprise myself by ordering a vegan cheesecake on a whim. Not just because it's vegan, but because I'm not much of a dessert person.
“I don't know why she came to see me at lunch yesterday. She wasn't supposed to. She walked in on me with Jen.”
“Jen?”
“Jennifer Lester, my immediate superior.”
I nod, trying to look surprised.
“I know. I'm such an asshole,” Alex says, slurring his words.
He’s had so many drinks in such a short time that I'm actually shocked that he’s still speaking coherently, but he has a high tolerance.
“How long have you been seeing her?” I ask.
“A while,” he says, biting his lower lip. “We were together for three years before I met Emma.”
“Wow, that long?”
“Uh-huh.”
I wait for him to offer me something else, but he doesn’t.
“So, why aren’t you and Jen together?”
“Don’t you think that I want to be? She is off limits.”
I tilt my head, waiting for him to explain.
“Jen is married. Not happily, but they have two kids together who are nine and seven. She made it clear to me on numerous occasions that she has no plans to file for divorce and to uproot her children. In fact, she's perfectly fine with just keeping our relationship exclusively to the office.”
“Shit. I'm sorry,” I say, shaking my head.
“I tried to stop. When I first met Emma, I broke up with Jen. I wanted a clean slate. I got tired of being in this… Unfulfilling relationship.”
I can see his pain, just below the surface.
“The thing is that,” he continues, “Jen and I work insane hours. Her husband understands that and I thought that Emma did, too. Before I met Emma, Jen and I were together all the time. All mornings, all afternoons, and all nights. We would fool around and then we’d get back to work. She had no reason to leave her husband beca
use she barely saw him as is, but she also really wanted to keep her children in a stable home.”
I nod my head, trying to think of something to say.
“You know, women have been in these situations with men for millennia,” I finally say. "That's why there's even that cliché about sleeping with your married boss and expecting him to leave his family for you.”
“Of course,” Alex says, shaking his head. “I know that. I'm a fool for wishing that she would choose me. I'm a fool for leading Emma along and then going back to Jen. I just love her.”
I give him a slight nod and then ask, “Who? Who do you love?”
“Um, Je-” he starts to say, but then catches himself. “I love Emma, of course.”
“What do you think is going to happen now?” I ask and reach for the bill, but he grabs it out of my hand.
“Listen, I have all intentions of signing you as a client so why don't you just let me pay for this. We can call this a potential investor meeting.”
“Let me get this straight,” I say with a smirk. “I give you $2 million of my money to manage and in exchange you treat me to a $400 lunch? Yep, that seems fair.”
“I don't see what's wrong with that at all,” Alex says and puts his business credit card in the folder with the bill.
23
Emma
I haven't taken a long drive in a while and I've never taken one by myself before. Part of me was afraid of coming out here alone, so I kept trying to get Brooke to go with me, but as soon as I get into the car, I realize that it's a good thing that she refused.
I get on the freeway early in the morning.
There are still a lot of cars even though it is Saturday, but they start to thin out after Pasadena. It has been on my bucket list to go out to Joshua Tree National Park and this is my chance. I'm going to pop into Pioneertown which is about twenty-five minutes east of the park and if D. B. Carter isn’t there, I will just keep driving and head to the park. I'll salvage the day however I can.
For a long time, I drive in silence.
I know that a lot of people like to listen to the radio or an audiobook, but it feels good just to look around and think. When I first started this drive, my hands were sweaty and I was gripping the wheel tightly. As the minutes ticked away, I started to relax.
About an hour and a half into the drive, I pull into a gas station to use the restroom. I'm tempted to stop by the snack aisles and pick out something junkie to nibble on, but I'm proud of myself when I get back in the car without making a purchase.
My thoughts keep swirling around Alex and the mysterious writer that I'm certain I will not be able to find. I started one of his books last night and ended up staying up half the night.
I'm not much of a fantasy fan, but the realism that was infused into each scene made me connect with the story and kept me turning pages.
The book ended on a cliffhanger and of course I had to buy the next one immediately. In addition to the book, I also purchased the audiobook and downloaded it. When I get back into the car, I turn on the Bluetooth and pair it to my phone.
The story opens with a sexy scene where the two main characters finally get together and have sex for the first time. The words flowing out from my speakers are eloquent, precise, and incredibly arousing. When traffic slows down near the Ontario airport, I actually feel my cheeks blushing as I look around, hoping that none of the other drivers can hear the audio in my car.
I have never read romance before.
Is this what it is really like?
Shit, no wonder everyone loves it.
Suddenly, I realize how unnatural some of the books that I have previously enjoyed are when the author ends the scene with two people falling into bed together and fading to black.
If it’s something that happens, why not go into it?
Why not offer the details and describe it just as you do a car chase or just about anything else? We all want to know.
I finish the book and start another, which is also heavy on both fantasy and romance and with a good dose of sexy scenes that makes my mouth water. By the time I pull into Yucca Valley and see the sign to Pioneertown, I have to turn it off to try to focus on why I’m here.
The beauty of the desert is undeniable.
There are enormous boulders and tall leaning cacti springing up from the hills and valleys with an almost endless blue sky up above.
Whatever clouds hovered over Santa Monica have all burned off. Out here, the sky is huge and my mind clears immediately.
Suddenly, I don't feel this oppression of thought as if something from the heavens is pushing down on me. There are no low hanging clouds, just a bright and unforgivable sun.
The road leading up to Pioneertown is winding surrounded by enormous boulders. When I get to the top of the hill, I see the famous Pappy and Harriet’s and all of the Harley-Davidson motorcycles parked in a neat row in front.
I've never been to a biker bar before so I promise myself that no matter what happens today, I'm going to come back here and have lunch. My stomach rumbles and I consider having some lunch before going to the house, but I'm too nervous to prolong this meeting anymore than I absolutely have to.
Driving to the parking lot behind the restaurant, I pull up next to the dusty unmarked main street of the Old West town and look at the big sign that prohibits cars from driving through.
Proceed on foot or horseback only
I slow down and look out of the window at the little shops selling turquoise jewelry. One of the places has a big leather saddle out front, the exact one that I saw in my Instagram search.
There's also supposedly a church and a saloon further down the dusty road, but I don't get out of my car to investigate. I drive back out onto the paved road and let GPS lead me to my address. If this is all fake and there is no writer living at this house, then I'll have plenty of time to tour the town.
The directions lead me a few miles down the road and then instruct me to turn left up an unpaved, desert path. There's a dip and the bottom of my car scrapes along the ground.
I consider parking and then walking the rest of the way, but I don't see the house from here and according to the GPS, it's another few miles away. That's a long walk under the hot desert sun so I get back into the car and keep driving.
A very bumpy two miles later, I reach a wrought iron gate, placed almost arbitrarily in the middle of the road. If I were in a different type of vehicle, I could easily drive around it and onto the property, but there are cacti, shrubs, and all sorts of other vegetation blocking my way. I get out of the car and look for the button to call the owner.
There isn't one.
I walk around and put my hand over my forehead to block some of the sun, peering into the distance. There, on top of the hill, I see the house sitting on at least five acres of property.
The gate doesn't have a way to call, but it also doesn't have a lock so when I pull up one of the latches it swings inward, welcoming me inside.
Back home, I would not have dared to walk through a gate without first trying to reach the owner because I know that they will call the police.
Out here?
The consequences are probably more dire. I'm pretty certain that almost everyone owns a gun and isn’t afraid to use it.
But I get into my car and drive over anyway.
The house is a modern masterpiece. It’s made entirely of glass resembling those rectangular mansions they have scattered over the Hollywood Hills.
I park my car out front and walk down the carefully manicured desert landscaped yard full of barrel and saguaro cacti.
When I step on a twig, it cracks underneath my foot. A black crow takes off from the roof, startling me.
I take a deep breath and look up at the couple of stairs leading to the enormous distressed wood double doors, which look more like an entrance to a castle than a single-family home in the desert.
There's a small doorbell to one side and when I press it, an antique sounding bel
l reverberates throughout the house. A dog runs up to one of the windows adjoining the doors just as I peek through. All I spot is the large foyer before a toy Australian Shepherd jumps up on her hind legs and launches herself at the window, barking her head off.
The dog is gray, white, and orange, with the bluest eyes you have ever seen. She barks loudly and proudly and doesn't let up. When I dare to touch the glass, she stands up even taller and presses her paws harder into the glass.
I wait for a few moments. I don't need to ring the doorbell again or use the enormous door knocker. If anyone is home, this dog has done a lot to notify them of the fact that I'm here.
Ten minutes later, still no one answers.
I wait in the yard, away from the front door and the dog eventually gives up and lies down. The few times that I decided to step on the porch, she jumps up and tells me to go away.
I'm not sure what to do. Clearly, someone lives here and they’re not home, but I don’t know when they are going to be back.
I also have no idea if this is the person that I'm looking for.
Probably not.
I am hesitant to walk around the property, but my curiosity gets the best of me. There are sharp, futuristic looking Joshua trees all around leading to a wonderland of enormous granite boulders.
Turning the corner, I peek over one side and see that the whole back of the house is an enormous piece of glass. There seems to be no walls and no separation between the living room and the towering, twenty-foot rock outcroppings out back. The landscape is otherworldly and reminds me of a time when dinosaurs roamed.
Suddenly, far in the distance near the horizon, I see someone trotting on a horse.
24
Emma
It's 10 o'clock and the sun is not at its highest point in the sky yet, but it’s already beaming down a curtain of heat.
I peer into the distance, straining my neck, to get a better look at the silhouette of the man riding his horse. Sitting comfortably in the saddle as if he belongs there, he lifts up his hand to adjust his cowboy hat.
I look closer. I even pull up my sunglasses to the top of my head, but the blinding light makes it hard to see.
All the Lies Page 10