by Mel Curtis
At first Amber drew a blank. And then memories started to filter back. Her father asking her, “Do you want this or that?” An adorable bikini by True Religion or a vomit colored one piece in her size from Wal-Mart? An aluminum emergency blanket or a brightly printed, gauzy wrap? An iPod or a box of granola bars? These options had been given to her on a helicopter ride departing from Biscayne Bay, Florida. Amber would have chosen differently today. She’d looked good in the bikini, listening to her new iPod while her stomach growled and she shivered all night on a deserted island in the Florida Keys, cursing her father for leaving her there to re-think her decision not to go to college.
“So I can blame him when I wear practical grandma sweaters?” Amber shook her head. Figuring out how her father “helped” people was hopeless.
And then a name in the lower corner caught Amber’s eye: Kent Decklin.
She traced the flower’s stem to the ground and read the label: Charity Case.
As in: Date my daughter. She’s a Charity Case?
It was a good thing her father was already dead.
Chapter 23
L.A. Happenings by Lyle Lincoln
…L.A. has always had a different definition of normal, but can you guess which Rules are stretching those boundaries? Which Rule was recently spotted in Chinois holding hands with a woman more than twice his age? And which kicked butt in a streetball game? I’ll give you a hint. It wasn’t the Rule-breaker caught exiting LAX’s International terminal with five bulging suitcases.
“What are you doing here, Cora?” Amber demanded when she walked into her office Monday morning having had to pretend one very persistent photographer with a red baseball hat didn’t exist. He’d shouted questions about her sex life as she climbed the back steps to the office. She’d found herself judging the distance between him and her water pistol’s range, but the pap seemed to know how close he could come.
Amber shouldered her purple Dooney & Burke tote higher. It contained the Ego picture her dad had drawn. She’d planned to have it sitting on her desk when Blue came in. Together they’d be able to figure it out. But seeing Cora sitting in Amber’s chair trying to log onto the red laptop halted the workday before it began.
“I decided to accept Daddy’s offer,” Cora said haughtily, turning the chair and crossing her legs. She had on a cream linen sheath and cream colored sandals, accented with a puffy green silk bow.
It was all Amber could do not to taunt her sister: trouble with a big ego that Dad was unable to fix? Oh, yeah. Cora had a wilted flower or two in the Ego picture.
“This is my office.” Amber sounded whiny. She still hadn’t decided what to say to Blue about what she’d come to think of as the twelve Ground Rules she’d found in her father’s artwork. If only Cora would leave.
“This office has the best view down the Promenade,” Cora said. “Once I gut the toys and bring in a decorator, it’ll be perfect.”
Amber, who’d been unable to box up or throw away her father’s Lego sculpture or pipe cleaner artwork, took offense. She opened her mouth to ask Cora if she’d been out of the country recently, but Blue beat her to the punch.
“Where’ve you been, Cora? I hear you landed in LAX yesterday.” Blue appeared at Amber’s shoulder. “Franklin Kremer told me Cora was making an appearance today.”
Amber gaped at Blue, recalling his list of deficits according to her father’s Ground Rules, while realizing Blue must have been the Rule holding hands with a female wrestler. What was going on here? Amber hitched her purse and its precious cargo further behind her back. “And you were going to tell me this when?”
Blue kept glaring at Cora. “Why ruin your weekend, too?”
As if it hadn’t been demolished by Evan Oliver and her dad’s hidden secrets. “I guess we’re even then since Jack Gordon called me in for a meeting Saturday morning.”
Blue spared Amber a dark look and promised, “We’ll talk about that later.”
With a mighty growl, Mr. Jiggles attacked the leather laces of Blue’s loafers.
“According to Daddy’s will I have just as much right to be here as either of you,” Cora said, turning the chair sideways and placing both feet on the ground. “I’m going to work right here. This office has the best light.”
“Dad put Amber in charge,” Blue said firmly. “This is the CEO’s office.”
Taken aback by his defense of her, Amber merely nodded. Maybe she should have called him more than once yesterday. Instead, she’d sulked as she put eleven of the twelve Ground Rule pictures back up on the walls.
“My skin glows in this office. Amber’s fine under fluorescents and – ” Cora leapt up, screaming and dancing about.
Mr. Jiggles yipped and scuttled away to the corner with the fichus, where he piddled.
Blue picked up the tiny poodle and cradled him in his arms before Amber could move. “You didn’t have to hurt him, Cora.”
“He attacked my Christin Michaels.” Cora slid out of one shoe and inspected it. “Look. There are teeth marks in the bow. They’re ruined.”
“They’re replaceable shoes, Cora.” Amber glanced at her watch. It was only eight-thirty, but already she was exhausted.
“I can’t replace these,” Cora pouted. “Why doesn’t he chew on your shoes, Amber? I’m sure you get those at that buy-one-get-one-free store.”
Although it was tempting to pull off one of her silver L.A.M.B pumps and throw it at her sister to prove it was designer, Amber refrained. “Mr. Jiggles likes me,” she said instead.
Blue continued soothing Mr. Jiggles, who for once seemed to have forgotten he was an aspiring killer. “Your office is down the hall, Cora. Take it or leave.”
Cora stood in her classic model pose, one hand on her hip, her shoulder in a shrug. “Amber always gets what she wants.”
“As I recall, when Dad bought Amber a car for her sixteenth birthday you went on about it until he bought you one, too,” Blue said. “He didn’t buy me a car until I was nearly seventeen.”
“But Amber always – ”
“Out!” Blue, who was so rarely outwardly furious with anyone, yelled. “Get your spoiled ass down the hall. When we have something for you to do, you’ll do it or we’ll fire you.”
“You can’t fire me.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Blue countered.
Cora sniffed and strutted the long way around the desk to the door.
Amber set her purse on the credenza behind the desk, pausing to look out the window.
“I have no idea what we’re going to do with her.” Blue put Mr. Jiggles on the floor and then took a handful of tissue and blotted out Mr. Jiggles’ accident with his foot. The shaken dog hovered near Blue’s feet.
Sighing, Amber sank into her chair. “She was born to be taken care of.”
“That’s going to be a problem.”
“Yes, but it’s her problem. She can’t possibly make her sales quota.” And Amber wasn’t about to help her.
“If Cora doesn’t, she’ll show up on your doorstep, broke, blaming you and wanting to move into that spacious house of yours in Beverly Hills.”
Ack! Blue was right. “We need to help Cora meet her sales quota.”
Mr. Jiggles made a noise that was half growl, half groan. Blue bent to stroke the gray beast, then said, “Go lay down.”
For once, the little dog obeyed, walking away without any show of aggression. The kind gesture made Amber feel guilty about what she’d found on Sunday. “We need to talk later when…you know…when she isn’t around. I’m leaving for the Flash’s practice soon. Have you learned anything from all those books and infomercials Dad did?”
“No.”
Amber sifted through her stack of messages. “Look at this. Lyle Lincoln wants me to spend another session with him today.”
“You’re doing it again,” Blue said.
“What?” Amber said too quickly.
“Dressing frumpy.”
Amber blew out a breath. “I wouldn’t cal
l this outfit frumpy.” Low riding, hip-hugging jeans and an Environmental Justice Foundation Save the Sea T-shirt, not to mention heels. “I’m going to basketball practice.”
“A skirt would be nice,” Blue said carefully.
With her colorfully bruised knees? “The Flash calls for a more conservative approach.” Maybe even a hoodie if Amber could stand bundling up in the ever increasing heat. Anything to cover up more of her body so that Evan wouldn’t look at Amber as if she was the latest chocolate Godiva creation he had to take a sample of. Godiva wasn’t big on free samples and neither was Amber.
As of Saturday.
Blue wasn’t supportive of Amber’s defenses. “Thank God you didn’t wear tennis shoes. Wait. What if you need to shag balls or something?”
“Not to worry.” Amber gave her brother a half-smile. “If necessary, I can play streetball in high heels.”
“Mr. Kremer.” Out in the lobby, Gemma popped out of her desk chair as if she were a toaster pastry and then adjusted her long skirt self-consciously, flashing her combat boots.
The old lawyer nodded a greeting to the receptionist.
“Mr. Kremer, what a surprise.” Amber followed Blue out to the lobby to greet their jailer. Cora lounged in the doorway of her small windowless office.
“Call me Franklin.” He shook Amber’s hand. “I spoke with the Zablonskis. They say you’re enjoying Beverly Hills.”
Amber wanted to ask Franklin if he knew about her father’s Ground Rules. “Yvonne and Sonny are such caring people.” And such early risers. Blueberry pancakes and fresh coffee at six-thirty this morning. Amber was sleep deprived.
Franklin beamed, turning to Blue. “Where’s that little poodle of yours?”
Mr. Jiggles, sensing fresh meat, was creeping up behind the aged lawyer, growling low in his throat. Franklin chuckled when Blue gave the dog away. “Your father loved these little dogs.”
Then why hadn’t Amber ever seen him with Mr. Jiggles? Granted, she hadn’t visited him much the last few years, but her father had never mentioned the poodle.
“You’re all doing very well, except…” The aging lawyer faced Cora. “There seems to be a violation of the terms of the will.”
“There is not.” Cora stuck her nose in the air. “Here I am, starting my year of slavery.”
Franklin shook his head almost sadly. “You signed an agreement on Friday morning and left for Paris that night, which I could forgive, except you bought merchandise in Paris.”
“We’re allowed to shop, right?” Amber whispered to Blue. They both still had credit cards issued by, and paid for via, their father’s bank account.
Blue shushed her.
“My year starts today,” Cora insisted. “I’m giving up an apprenticeship with one of the hottest new designers, for God’s sake. I’m allowed some shopping therapy.”
Career pathing didn’t fit with Amber’s perception of her sister.
“Your year of work starts today. But your agreement with your father started on Friday,” Franklin corrected.
Cora pouted. “You’re mistaken.”
“I’m having the details of every purchase sent to me. When we do your inventory this afternoon we’ll take those items and have them sent back to Paris.”
Amber was lost. “What inventory?”
Blue shushed her again.
So much for being CEO and in charge. Amber might as well have been the Completely Excluded Officer.
“You can’t do this.” Cora paced back and forth in front of Gemma’s desk.
“I can do what I think is fair as long as you wish to work toward your inheritance.” The elderly lawyer was chillingly calm.
“I’ll be the laughingstock of L.A. My friends won’t want to be seen with me in last year’s clothes. It’s all Amber’s fault.” This last came out weakly, as if Cora didn’t really believe it, but was used to blaming her sister. “I won’t do it.”
“That’s entirely up to you. If you decide to keep your purchases you’re breaking the terms of the will. There will be no salary or living allowance. If you wanted to work here, it would be up to Amber, as CEO, to decide if she wants to continue employing you.”
Cora stared at Amber in horror.
Amber felt sick to her stomach.
“Your fate would be in Amber’s hands,” Blue said, awestruck, as if he didn’t realize a CEO would have power over anyone, including him.
That’s right. Give the dirty jobs to the CEO. Confront the sex therapist. Coach the gossip columnist. Fire siblings. Amber cleared her throat and addressed their lawyer. “What exactly is Cora violating?”
“I’m not supposed to buy any new clothes for a year,” Cora ground out, staring at her precious dog-eared shoes. “I thought it wasn’t supposed to start until today.”
That would have been nothing for Amber to endure, but for Cora, who prided herself on leading fashion, it would be torture. Go Dad.
“I’m sure she’ll cooperate fully, Franklin.” Amber hoped so. The last thing she wanted to do was fire Cora. Still, as Amber returned to her office, she couldn’t help smiling.
Her dad was one sick S.O.B. And for once, Amber didn’t cringe when she imagined her father’s laughter.
Chapter 24
Amber showed up early at the Flash’s practice facility, which was blessedly kept a photographer free zone by a security guard at the parking lot entrance. And yet that red capped rat idled at the curb, rolling down his window and aiming a big lens in her direction as she ducked her head and hurried inside, pulling on her black hoodie.
Evan was running up and down the court without the ball, looking as if the devil was after him. Which was silly. Evan was the devil.
“Suicides,” said a grumbly voice behind her.
“Excuse me?” Had Evan made some attempt to end it all?
“Name’s Spinks.” A huge black man she recognized as the Flash’s coach shook her hand. “Oliver’s running what we call a suicide drill. You start on one baseline, run a quarter of the way across, go back, run to half court, go back, then run three-quarters of the way, go back, then run up and down the length of the court.”
“Why is he doing it so fast?”
“Speed and endurance are everything in basketball.” The coach moved past her, dragging a wake of assistants with him to a cluster of chairs at half court.
“Well, he’s got that speed part down,” Amber murmured, twisting a curl about her finger. She hadn’t wanted to straighten her hair today. Holding the iron hurt her scraped hands.
Now that Amber was here, she wasn’t sure what to do. Ask Evan if his suitcases were heavy? Look to see if he had a Wiggy Bottom? Amber hovered indecisively at the door, reluctant to shed her lightweight black hoodie, despite the gym’s stuffiness.
Other players drifted in. Some introduced themselves, others walked past her with their headphones blaring as if she was nobody.
Practice began. Coach Spinks yelled a lot. Amber leaned against a wall, far away from the action. Evan didn’t so much as look her way.
As if that was some great loss.
But when Evan moved, it was with a controlled energy, well-defined muscles pumping. Amber couldn’t take her eyes off him. Or maybe she was just bored. Basketball practice was repetitive. And the gym was increasingly stuffy. Amber shed her hoodie.
The men ran more suicides. They took turns at the free throw line. They played a game but didn’t keep score. Often Coach Spinks blew an ear piercing whistle and yelled at Evan. In between the frenetic action most players talked to each other. Whether by choice or circumstance, Evan stood noticeably apart from the rest of the team.
“Hey. Come over here, pretty lady.” A handsome African-American wearing a leg brace had entered the gym and sat carefully on a chair in the corner. He patted the folding chair next to him as she came closer. “I’m Zee Johnson. You must be Amber Rule. Sorry to hear about your dad. He really helped me last year.”
“Oh.” This was the player Jack Gordon ha
d talked about? He looked well-balanced, happy even. She made a mental note to look for his name on the Ground Rule pictures.
“I might not have let my retainer with the Foundation slide if I’d have known they had such fine looking life coaches now.” His grin was devilishly smooth and Amber couldn’t resist smiling back.
After they’d exchanged a few pleasantries about the weather and the decibel points Coach Spinks hit when he yelled, Amber couldn’t control her curiosity any longer. “Can I ask…Why did you come to my dad for help?”
“Can you keep a secret?” He paused, then laughed. “I don’t know why I’m asking you that. You’ve got access to my file.” He leaned conspiratorially close. “I had a problem being a team player – big head and all. I had to embrace my community…my team…as my family.”
Just like Evan.
Amber almost fainted, recovering enough to joke, “But you seem so nice.”
“I know.” He had a mischievous smile and a diamond studded wedding band.
“How did he help you? My dad, I mean.”
Zee sobered, searching Amber’s face. And then he laughed again. “You really don’t know, do you? Damn, I should have believed Dooley when he said he’d never tell anyone.”
Amber did her impression of a bobble head. She hadn’t believed her dad either.
He started singing, “You’ve got to have a wiggy-bottom to make it to the tippy-top.”
Amber should have recorded Zee with her cell phone, but he’d taken her by surprise. “You’re not, you know, on medication?” Or other recreational drugs?
“Ha!” Zee punched Amber’s shoulder lightly, as if they were good friends and he’d put one over on her. “You don’t get it. That proves you don’t know. I’ve been sworn to secrecy myself. If your dad didn’t tell you, I’m certainly not going to.”
Well, hell’s bells. “I suppose I can respect a vow of secrecy,” Amber grudgingly admitted.
“Are you helping the new guy?” Zee asked. “Might tell him his timing is off. He moves too fast. This offense can’t capitalize off him. And if they can’t provide other tools to score he’s got to do it all alone.”