Good Sam

by Dete Meserve

  I couldn’t see Eric anywhere. I wondered whether he’d realized he’d overreacted about the danger involved and decided not to come after all. It certainly didn’t feel dangerous with so many people milling around and the traffic noise behind me. I scanned the crowd, knowing any one of these people could be Good Sam. Was it the dark-haired man in the Brooks Brothers suit holding a cell phone to one ear and pressing his finger into the other? Or could it be the man with the Kindle tucked under his arm who was glancing at his watch?

  There were so many questions I wanted to ask him. “Why did you give so much money away?” “Why did you stamp the number eight on all the bags?” “Why did you keep your identity a secret?” “How did you choose the people you were going to help?” “Why did you choose me to tell your story?”

  Where was he? Too much time was passing. Was he watching me right now, making sure I’d come alone? A shiver ran up my spine, but I resisted the urge to shake it away.

  “Kate, is that you?” I heard a man’s voice say.

  I turned to my right and squinted into the streetlight to see a tall man walking toward me with two other men. I felt my blood go ice cold.

  It was Jack.

  “It is you,” he said. “What are you doing down here?”

  I swallowed hard; I thought maybe I would choke. “I’m meeting someone.”

  Jack had changed his look in the six months since we’d broken up. His wavy hair was cut short and he was dressed more formally than I remembered, wearing a Versace sport coat with a pair of dark slacks.

  “I never would’ve expected to see you here.” He turned to the two men. “This is Kate Bradley, my former fiancée,” he said. “Kate, these are two of my clients from New York, Bob and Shaun.”

  I stood. Bob and Shaun extended their hands to shake mine, but even as I did so, I felt Jack’s eyes bearing down on me.

  “Kate’s a reporter for Channel Eleven,” Jack said. “Maybe you’ll see her on the news while you’re in town.”

  “I’m an NPR guy myself,” Bob said. “Don’t usually watch the local news. Too many murders and shootings.”

  “It’s an acquired taste,” I said smoothly, but I was a jittery mess. I felt Jack looking at me. If a look could bore a hole, I was pretty sure he could see straight through me to the L.A. Law building.

  “We’re late for our meeting at Capital Group, Jack,” Shaun said, glancing at his watch. “We’ll call you tomorrow to give you those numbers. Nice to meet you, Kate.”

  “You too,” I said, but the words caught in my throat.

  I watched the two men head off in the direction of the Bank of America building.

  “Please, can we sit for a moment?” Jack asked.

  I sat down and Jack joined me on the bench, but I followed the departing men with my eyes, not wanting to look at him.

  “God, it’s good to see you,” he said, resting his arm on the back of the bench. “Mind if I keep you company while you wait?”

  I did mind. I was sure Good Sam wouldn’t approach me if he saw Jack sitting next to me. No doubt he would misread the situation and assume I hadn’t followed his instruction to come alone.

  “I’d rather you didn’t, Jack,” I said. “I’m meeting someone any minute and—”

  “Who’re you meeting?”

  I crossed my arms. “I can’t explain right now. But I really need you to leave.”

  “I’ve missed you,” he said, ignoring my plea. His sincere tone made me look at him for the first time. I regretted it instantly because Jack had a quality about him that turned my brain to mush. Maybe it was his eyes, blue like Texas denim, with a hint of mischief in them. Whatever it was, it was wreaking havoc on the rational part of my brain.

  “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh,” I said. Why was I apologizing?

  “You look great,” he said softly. “Even more beautiful than I remember.”

  I stood. “We’ll have to catch up another time. I really need to go.”

  He leaned forward and spoke so softly I almost couldn’t hear him. “Are you here to meet Good Sam?”

  I straightened. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I’m him.” Or at least that’s what I thought he said. But there was so much noise around us that I must have misheard.

  “What did you say?”

  “I’m Good Sam.” He broke into a smile and waited for his words to sink in.

  “And I’m Diane Sawyer,” I said. “The truth is, I’m meeting Good Sam, and I need you to leave because he said to come alone or—”

  “I wouldn’t show,” he said quietly.

  I felt the blood drain from my face. “The letters from Good Sam—you wrote them?”

  He nodded. “I can prove I’m Good Sam.”

  I wanted to bolt. I’m not sure where I could go to escape the nightmare that was unfolding in front of me, but I couldn’t continue to sit on that park bench with him.

  “Why?” I asked, my mind racing.

  “I made a lot of money on a recent IPO, and I figured that rather than spend it on more expensive clothes or a faster car, I should give some of it away. But I didn’t want to give it to a foundation and let someone else choose where it should go, so I decided to practice, you know, random acts of kindness.”

  “Random acts of kindness.” I didn’t hide the sarcasm in my voice.

  “Or whatever you want to call it.”

  His face began to swim before my eyes. I waited for the dizziness to pass before I spoke. “But why like this? Why all the secrecy? Why didn’t you just call me and tell me?”

  “The way things were between us, I was pretty sure you wouldn’t believe me. I knew you’d want proof. So I gave you the proof you needed.”

  He touched his hand to mine and looked me in the eyes. I was more confused than ever. My bullshit radar told me he was selling me a line, in the smooth, casual way he used so successfully with his clients. I reminded myself that this was a man whose Bible was The Greatest Salesman in the World, by Og Mandino. But there was a part of me that wanted to believe him—that did believe him.

  “Why don’t we go to the station and record this interview in the studio?” I suggested.

  Jack shook his head, and his expression darkened. “I won’t do an interview. I don’t want the media attention. I’m way in over my head here, Kate, and I was hoping you’d help me figure out what to do.”

  A lead block formed in my chest. He wasn’t going to let me interview him.

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll tell you everything…but not here. Let’s go somewhere quiet. I have a car waiting for me on Flower.”

  He stood up and held out his hand to me. I searched his face for some hint that he was playing with me, but all I saw was his wide good ol’ boy smile.

  “Okay,” I said, but I didn’t take his hand. “Let’s find a quiet restaurant where we can talk.”

  “I have a suite at the Biltmore. Would you join me there?”

  I stopped and looked at him. I knew firsthand how a casual dinner with him could transform into something else after a few glasses of wine and some quiet talk on the couch.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, as though reading my mind. “As much as I’d like to, I’m not going to try to seduce you back into my life.”

  As we started across the plaza, he placed his hand on the small of my back. It was the gesture of a lover, too cozy for my comfort. But I didn’t ask him to stop; I was still clinging to the possibility of an interview.

  A black limousine was waiting for us in a loading zone on Flower Street. Jack slid into the backseat and instructed the driver to go to the Biltmore. I was about to slide in next to him when I felt a strong hand on my arm. I glanced over my shoulder.

  It was Eric.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, fine,” I said, wishing I could telegraph to him not to worry. But even then I’m not sure he would have believed me. I had promised him I wouldn’t get into a car with Good Sam, and here
I was doing exactly that.

  “You need help?” He clamped his hand tighter.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Hey, take your hand off her.” Jack jumped out of the car and tried to pry Eric’s hand off my arm. But Eric was a full head taller and much stronger. His hand didn’t budge.

  “Stop, Jack,” I said. “I know him.”

  Jack let go of Eric’s arm, and his eyes settled hard on mine. “I told you to come alone.”

  I considered saying it was a coincidence running into Eric downtown but decided Jack needed to hear the truth. “We thought it was risky for me to come down here alone. Eric came to keep an eye on me.”

  “Well, you’ve done your job, Eric,” Jack said. “She’s in good hands.”

  Eric looked at Jack, then back at me. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes, Jack and I know each other.”

  “I’m her fiancé,” Jack said, wrapping his arm around my waist.

  I shot him a withering look. “You’re not my fiancé.”

  “You still have the ring, don’t you?” Jack said with a wicked twinkle in his eye.

  The color drained from Eric’s face. “You’re not Good Sam?”

  A taxi behind us honked.

  “We’re blocking traffic. Good to meet you, Eric,” Jack drawled then slid into the limo and pulled me with him.

  “I’ll call you later,” I said to Eric, my eyes pleading with him for understanding.

  As the car drove away, I watched Eric standing on the sidewalk, an expression of sheer confusion on his face.

  I felt exactly the same way.

  When Jack said he had a suite at the Biltmore, for some crazy reason I imagined a master bedroom with a separate sitting area. I should’ve known better. This suite, aptly named The Biltmore, had two bedrooms, a full gourmet kitchen and pantry, a dining room with a conference table, and a living room the size of my entire apartment. Its deft mix of sleek contemporary furnishings with mahogany and cherry antiques created a style that could only be interpreted as power.

  Jack always had entertained in places like this. Even though his own style was more southern traditional, he knew his clients liked doing business in a setting that exuded the appearance and style of old money. For his wealthiest clients, it was a world to which they were accustomed. For the others it was the world they aspired to—a place of luxury they too could inhabit if they invested wisely with Hansen Investments.

  I wondered whether he had brought me here to sell me something too. Had he lured me here pretending to be Good Sam while the real one was still out there?

  He shed his suit jacket, which looked as if it had been tailor-made for his tall, trim body, and carefully laid it across the back of a chair. “What can I get you to drink?”

  “Nothing.” I heard my voice tremble a little. How could he be so calm?

  “Are you sure? Because I can have them bring up a bottle of wine. Or maybe champagne? We ought to have something to celebrate getting back together.”

  “We’re not back together.”

  He grinned. “We’re here. And we’re together. Aren’t we?”

  I didn’t argue. “Nothing for me. Thanks.”

  Jack poured himself a gin and tonic and sunk down into the buttery leather couch. “You’re still surprised it’s me, aren’t you?” he said. “And you’re not sure I’m telling the truth. Am I right?”

  I nodded, pretty sure my voice would shake if I spoke.

  “I always could read your mind.” He rested his head against the back of the couch. “That’s what made us so great together. You could read me like a book too.”

  “I can’t read you right now.” My voice was surprisingly low. “If you are Good Sam—”

  “And I am.” He motioned to the seat next to him. “Sit. If I know you, you’ve got a thousand questions. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  I knew he expected me to sit on the couch next to him, but I chose the club chair instead. I pulled my cell phone out of my purse. “Let me call the news desk and have them send over a photographer.”

  “That’s not what this is about. I don’t want the media attention. I don’t want anyone to know I’m Good Sam. Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”

  I shifted in my seat, feeling like a bird whose wings had been clipped. I swallowed hard. “Okay.”

  He turned toward me. “Now, what do you want to know?”

  It struck me as odd that he seemed so comfortable, so casual about what he’d done. Didn’t he realize the sensation his actions had caused?

  “How did you do it? Did you drive around dropping off sacks of money at random?”

  He rubbed his left shoulder. “I hired a guy to do the physical act of dropping the money on the front porches. I didn’t want to run the risk of being seen, especially once the media started swarming.”

  “What’s the significance of the number eight on all the bags?” I asked.

  “Maybe you should be shining a light in my eyes, because your tone makes this feel like an interrogation.”

  “I have a lot of questions.”

  “I know, but you’re so serious. This is me you’re talking to, Kate…you know, the guy you promised to marry. Your fiancé.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, then I shut it. I wasn’t going to be bitter, so I softened my tone. “You are not my fiancé.”

  “I was once. For twenty-seven days. What did you do with the ring?”

  “I still have it.” The ring was too expensive to throw away, even though I wanted to. I’d considered sending it back to him but decided it wasn’t safe to send a two-carat diamond ring even by FedEx.

  “Then there’s still hope,” he said softly.

  I looked away, refusing to meet his gaze. “Again, what’s the significance of the number eight on all the bags?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  I shook my head.

  He sat up. “You really don’t?”

  I shrugged. “What am I supposed to remember?”

  “Vegas.” He reached across and touched my leg. “Your lucky number.”

  It all came back to me then. My first trip to Las Vegas, my first time playing the craps tables anywhere. Our first weekend trip away together.

  “Every time you played the number eight, you won.”

  “We ended up with something like four thousand dollars before the night was over.” I smiled, remembering the thrill of effortlessly winning so much money.

  “And remember the casino sent over those two beefy security guards to keep an eye on us like we were running some kind of scam? They kept changing out the dice because they thought we had a phony dice thing going on.”

  “I don’t think they believed us when we told them eight was just our lucky number that night,” I said, then sobered. “So that’s why you put the number eight on the money bags?”

  He nodded. “It was a lucky number for me too.” His voice was warm and low. “That was the night I realized I was falling in love with you.” His words hung in the air and swirled around me, drawing me to him. I looked into his blue eyes and remembered falling in love with him too—the way he looked at me as though he’d never seen anyone more beautiful, entire weekends where we didn’t get out of bed until late afternoon. I remembered feasting on Texas barbecue and ridiculously priced champagne, late-night skinny dipping in his pool, and riding up the Pacific Coast Highway together with the top down and the stereo at full volume.

  “I messed up, Kate. I really did. Nobody’s perfect—certainly not me. And cheating on you was the biggest mistake of my life.” He leaned forward, caressed my hand. “You have to know that it would never happen again. If we got back together—”

  My plans to avoid sounding bitter went out the window. “Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to find out that you were sleeping with your co-worker the week you asked me to marry you?”

  Then my mind took one of those wrong turns it often did, and I imagined Jack with Ashley. As h
ard as I tried to shut it out, I couldn’t erase the image or the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “I’d hoped we could move past all that,” he said quietly.

  I felt my body vibrate with anger. “I found out about her at our engagement party. How was I supposed to move past that?”

  “I told you it was a mistake…a big, stupid mistake.”

  “I trusted you,” I said through clenched teeth.

  “I’ve said I’m sorry. I’ve sent flowers and cards. Tell me, Kate, how else can I make it up to you?”

  I sat there silently, my heart racing. All the feelings came back to me. Anger. Humiliation. A deep ache that had dulled but never fully gone away. “Let me interview you,” I said impulsively. “On camera.”

  “Is that what it’s going to take?” He stood. “That’s all you want from me?”

  “An exclusive interview. You can’t be interviewed by anyone else. Only me.”

  He drained the last of his drink. “Fair enough,” he said. “It’s not what I want, but if it means so much to you, I’ll do it.”

  It felt too easy. There had to be a catch. And there was.

  “But after the interview, you’ll have to let me take you to dinner.” He leaned forward. “Don’t say no just yet. If you still hate me after the interview, you can say no. Otherwise you have to say yes.”

  Why did he have to be so charming when I wanted so much to dislike him? I reminded myself that I was here to get an interview, not fall under his spell again.

  “Okay. Can we shoot the interview tonight? I can have a camera crew down here in thirty minutes.”

  He glanced at his watch and grimaced. “Can’t. I’ve got a late dinner meeting. Let’s do it first thing tomorrow morning when we’ll all be fresher. I’ll come to the station.”

  I stood. I needed to get out of there before things got intense between us again. “I’ll need the proof before tomorrow morning, Jack. Copies of statements showing the withdrawals—”

  “I know what you need. I’ll have my assistant e-mail everything to you tonight.”

  “Exclusive, remember? You can’t talk to anyone else.”