Jane saw them to the door. She shut it, stood quietly with her head against the wood, and listened as the truck’s doors slammed and it drove away.
Finally, she was sure she was alone. She glanced around her empty house—not hers, anymore; the embassy had made it clear that the lease was up, end of the month. It was bare, stripped of everything down to the last framed print.There was nothing but the cheap single bed and the white goods in the kitchen.
Oh, and her coffee mug.
She went over to the bed and flopped down on it. And finally, she allowed the tears to come.
When she was done, she went and took a shower—at least the hot water was still on, and she had a towel and clothes in a suitcase. Sure, the embassy wanted to “look after” her—on its terms.
Jane was not into that. Stuck in some hideous Washington two-bit school, where everybody would know who she was? Laugh at her? Humiliate her?
Hell, no. School was a brutal exercise in social Darwinism. Jane Morgan had no room in her heart for further bruising. And what would she get out of it, with her grades disturbed and her college plans disrupted?
She stepped out of the shower, carefully brushed her teeth, and got dressed.Then she let herself out the back door with the key Consuela had left for her when she was fired.
“You’ll be okay,” her former nanny had told her. “I never saw anybody like you.”
Jane had bit her lip, to stop it from trembling; a rare moment of weakness. They’d never been close, but at least Consuela was familiar. And now she was gone, too.
Jane glanced at the driveway: empty now, like the house. She was so young … but … everything in her world had fallen apart.
Her father—useless, unloving, selfish. But hers. Deep down, she had hoped that one day they could forge a relationship.When he was retired, and she was grown up.
That chance had gone. Forever.
And her lifestyle. At least that had been great: independent, stylish, and rich. Her driver, her maid, her nanny, the beach house, the security guards …
Miss Milton’s, for heaven’s sake. Who’d have ever thought she’d appreciate her lousy, unacademic school?
But the money—she felt she could have done without that. In other circumstances. Because, at least, for some time now, there had been the girls.
Her best friends—no, her family.
And, like her father, like Consuela, like the money, her friends had gone. Just like that. One blink, and they’d evaporated….
Helen. Vanished the day after the party. And now, gone back to Egypt to get married.To a distant cousin.
To get married! She’d never spoken of the guy to them. Not a word. Nor of the fact she was thinking of leaving the country for good.The three girls were inseparable; how could Helen not tell them? She hadn’t left an address, a phone number—nothing. Just vanished.
Helen Yanna had left Jane’s life the same way she’d arrived—quietly; definitely.
And Sally—her older friend? Far different, and far worse. She ached to see Helen, to cry on her shoulder, but at least Jane knew Helen was happy—was doing okay, getting married. For Sally, life had exploded, in almost the same way it had done for her.
Now Jane sat in her still-neat garden, on the iron bench they hadn’t bothered to remove, and looked at the sea.The ocean was clear, blue, and immense. It crashed, and crashed, eternally, on the beach below her; mindless, soothing noise.
She had come out here to think.
The disasters, one of top of the other. No friends now. No money. No contacts. At the end of this month, no house.
She was entirely on her own.
Getting a lawyer would be the right start. Emancipation—Jane read about that in the library. A teen petitioning to be designated a legal adult. Usually due to marriage—she’d stay well away from that. If you got too close to anybody, you exposed yourself.They left—and your heart shattered.
Once she had the important pieces of paper, she’d be two things: an adult and an American. She could go anywhere she liked in the country, do whatever she wanted.
Her first change—no more bookworm.
Jane had learned a hard lesson, and learned it fast. Money counted in this world. When she’d had privileged access to it, Jane had despised money. She’d only sought prestige, position as a tenured professor somewhere.
Now, she wanted revenge. And that meant cash. The kind that Paulie Lassiter used to have—but legitimate, all hers. The kind that protected schoolgirls from taunts, that enabled people to fulfill their every whim.The kind that could help get her own back on Julie, and all those snobby bitches at school. That could help Sally deal with the rich friends who’d seen fit to dump a devastated and grieving widow.
Money was protection. Money was control.
Money was something women didn’t have.
Yes …
Jane watched the ocean and let that thought sink in. Plenty of rich girls in her orbit … except they weren’t, were they? It was always somebody else’s money. Sally had nothing of her own—it was all in Daddy’s accounts.When they were cut off, so was she.
HelenYanna—daughter of a wealthy middle-class man—now married, apparently, to another wealthy middle-class man. Passing from one comfortable lifestyle to the next, but not under her own steam. Jane worried about her. What happened if she fell out with her husband? What happened if her father cut her off? Helen, at school, had been bright, quiet, God-fearing, and shy.Yes, there was a core of determination—but still. The world didn’t prepare people like Helen—or Sally—for the moment the Jericho walls crashed into rubble.
What would Sally do now? Regroup … heal … then marry somebody? She still had those blonde Barbie looks, and right now it seemed she’d be reduced to trading on them.
Jane didn’t want that for herself. No way. She didn’t want to depend on some university board, either. She was here—by the ocean, in L.A. And she still had assets. Brains—thank God, for everything stemmed from that. Beauty—not like Sally’s, but she would never go back to her dowdy self.
Sally had once told her glamour was a weapon. It got you through the front door. After that, your brains had to take over.
It was time to grow up.
Jane saw things much more clearly now. She went inside, picked up the phone book now lying on the dusty floor of the living room, and called the DMV.
“Hi. I’d like to make an appointment for a driving test.”
“Then there’s the matter of my fee.”
The lawyer looked at Jane down his nose, expectantly.
She sighed. The office was filthy; there was a fat bluebottle buzzing lazily and hopelessly against the glass; the windows were dusty; and he had papers all across his desk.
“Two hundred,” she said, hopefully.
“Two hundred!” He snorted. “Fifteen hundred, and that’s a discount because you’re a minor.” He leaned across his desk and leered at Jane. “In one sense. In another, of course, you’re legal… .”
She knew exactly what he meant.
“Maybe we could work something out.” His gaze traveled slowly up her legs.
“Look, Mr. Richards.” Jane stood up, wanting to get away from the stare, but he just transferred it to her breasts, so she took a walk to the window. “Can I speak frankly to you?”
“You can be as frank as you want to, honey.” Josh Richards regularly screwed desperate women who couldn’t pay him any other way. Mexicans mostly. And seeing as how he had bad breath, wonky teeth, and a widow’s peak at only thirty-one, it was the only way he got any play.
None of those mamacitas were as hot as this limey, though. Damn! She was fine, with her delicately styled hair and peaches-and-cream skin. He dug the accent, too, all cold and haughty. She’d look great bent over his desk with that—
“You’re a loser,” Jane said.
That brought him up short. He blinked, not sure he’d heard her right.
“Excuse me?” He was outraged.
“Y
ou’re a loser,” Jane repeated flatly. “Going nowhere fast. It’s why I picked you to handle my case. I can’t afford a decent lawyer, and you desperately need some work.”
“Two hundred ain’t work.”
“I mean real work. Cases.You need your name in the papers. Nobody’s going to hire you for so much as a quickie divorce if you slob around like this.” Disdainfully, she lifted one of last week’s papers, the sports section, lying on the edge of his desk. “You’ve got to get yourself a secretary—not somebody who’s going to sue you for sexual harassment, either. A neat office, a decent suit, and some real clients.”
Richards wanted to tell the schoolgirl to take a hike. What a ballbuster! That twitch between his legs had vanished like she was pouring cold water on it.
But it was true … he did need work. He was already behind on the rent here.
“All that takes cash. And I got clients like you who don’t want to pay it.”
“I bring more than cash. I bring you a chance. Represent me, and you’ll get publicity.You’ll have a major client. I can guarantee you press coverage. In fact, forget the two hundred.You’ll do it pro bono—much better PR that way. And once it’s taken care of, I’ll give you a fabulous quote.”
“A quote?”
“Yes. Let me see.” Jane composed herself and looked at him; her eyes were suddenly brimming.
“ ‘After my father died the Brits abandoned me,’ ” she said, her voice breaking. “ ‘Nobody cared—nobody would help me. Except Josh Richards … I know what they say about lawyers but he’s one who really cares.You can trust Josh Richards. I owe this all to him.’ ”
She brushed away the tears and snapped back into business mode.
“Wow,” he said, impressed. “You should be an actress.”
With Jane’s looks, she heard that ten times a day.
“No, thanks. Five thousand chicks chasing twelve low-paying jobs.”
She had no intention of getting into that; a totally ephemeral business, where success often depended on pure chance.
“How about it?” She snapped her fingers.“Focus, Josh, focus!”
He blinked. He had the uncomfortable feeling he was being railroaded. By a schoolgirl.
On the other hand, she did sound like she knew exactly what she was doing.
“I take you on—for free. And you organize some publicity?”
“Hey, you read the papers. Even if you start at the back.”
He defended himself against Jane’s contempt. “I like baseball… .”
“My father was a high-ranking British diplomat who stole lots of money and sold lots of secrets.They had the goods on him. He likely would have got the death penalty.”
As she recounted this tale, Jane Morgan seemed almost totally devoid of emotion. Josh flinched—the chick was a robot.
“Anyway, he cheated them—flung himself out of a top-floor window. In full evening dress.”
“So where’s your mom?”
“Dead.” Jane shrugged. “I never knew her. And before you ask, there are no aunts or other sundry relatives. My father was estranged from his only brother. I’m orphaned and on my own.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, awkwardly.
“It’s been that way for a while. Point is, I don’t inherit a dime. And I need to get to work. The ‘minor’ thing is getting in the way. The embassy doesn’t want any more bad publicity; they’re trying to force me into a lousy Washington school and a cramped little apartment.”
“What’s wrong with that? At least it’s a place to stay, right?”
Jane didn’t bother to answer. Maybe he was the sort of person that accepted “at least.” She wasn’t.
“I want to be a legal adult. And I want U.S. citizenship. I’ve been here almost all my childhood. I’m naturalized.You take care of the emancipation and get me a pass from the INS. I’ll get you great PR for your pro bono work for the traitor’s orphaned daughter. Deal?”
She strode back to the desk and offered him her manicured hand.
“Deal.” He couldn’t suppress his curiosity. “Where are you staying right now? Do you need someplace? I have a couch.”
“They’re still paying the rent on my house here. I’m fine.”
“Whatever you say.”
“I’m serious about this,” Jane told him as she turned to leave. “I want emancipation. Legal adult status. I need that to work. No time-wasting—you file those papers this morning. Or else I’ll walk down the street and find myself another hungry lawyer.”
“Don’t do that,” Richards said hastily. “I’m on it—I’ll file this afternoon.”
“Good.” She walked out, closing the door behind her.
Damn! He pushed a hand through his thinning hair. Why was he worried about getting fired from a job he was doing for free?
But Richards knew the girl was one hundred percent right. It could be a publicity bonanza for him. A lifeline.
When she came in through the door, he’d only seen two things: a fee or a screw.
But Jane Morgan had her eyes on the bigger picture. And he suddenly knew that this was his one shot. Working for a seventeen-year-old schoolgirl who wanted to grow up fast.
He didn’t want to blow it. He turned his computer on and got to work.
“So what do you think?”
Think? She thought the place was a dump.
Studio apartment, above a dive of a record store on Sunset Strip. Winos and crackheads outside the door. Tiny, filthy bathroom, with cracked shower tiles, mildew, and a stain in the loo.
“It has a separate kitchen.” The fat landlady puffed her cheeks out. “Y’can see if ya like.”
Kitchen! What a joke. A tiny alcove, one cupboard, and an electric socket.
“Fridge is broke,” the landlady said succinctly. “Y’can buy a microwave to cook with. They go for cheap outside Farmers Market, got a wetback store selling secondhand electrics.”
Jane watched as a fat black cockroach scuttled up the kitchen wall. She shuddered.
“Five hundred a month and same as deposit, minimum one-year lease.”
“Forget it.Two hundred and no deposit.”
“You forget it.” She was outraged. “Get out, you’re wasting my time.”
Jane stood firm.“Think about it, lady.You won’t get anyone in here but addicts. And they’ll just trash the property. Now what I am is an English lady down on her luck.You rent to me, and I’ll clean up this shithole. No more roaches—it’ll smell good and it’ll look good. I’ll make it bohemian and funky, and when I’m gone you can rent to a student at a thousand. Or, you could sell it—having a human being live here will add fifty grand to the price at least. I don’t do drugs and I’m not a hooker. Plus, I pay cash—no contracts—meaning no taxes for you. And you get to kick me out whenever you feel like it.”
“I dunno.” The fat woman hummed and hawed. “Two hundred ain’t enough.”
“It’s all I got, so it’ll have to do.” Jane reached into her purse and pulled out two hundred-dollar bills. She waved the portraits of Benjamin Franklin temptingly in front of the owner.“By rights, you ought to be paying me.What I’m going to do for this place is like a month of Molly Maid and a free contractor. Come on, you haven’t been able to move this apartment, you told me yourself it’s been on the market eighteen months—even the welfare types don’t want it. Two hundred, I’ll only be here three months, and there’ll be something rentable when I’ve gone.”
“What’s gonna happen after three months?”
Jane tossed her head. “By then, I’ll have a real job.”
“Ha! That’s what they all say.” But she snatched up the money. “Three months, girlie, then the price goes up to five hundred. Call me if you want to do porno; I got a cousin who’s always looking.”
“Thanks,” Jane said wryly. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
“You get free electric—no heat. Here’s the keys.” She fished out a couple of grimy copper Yales and threw them at Jane, who ca
ught them in one hand.
“Enjoy,” the woman said, bustling out.
Jane exhaled. She stood by the window, watching until the landlady drove away. Then she turned round and went through her handbag.
Let’s see … a grand total of … three hundred and twenty-two dollars.
All she had in the world.
Carefully Jane hid the money under a squeaking floorboard, after she had extracted thirty bucks. There was a Shop Smart within walking distance—great, since she didn’t have a car.They sold the cheapest of everything. And Jane needed to invest in some sponges, some serious disinfectant, and the cheapest new bedding she could find.
She stripped the bed, emptied the stinking fridge and the garbage pail, nearly gagging, and hauled the black bin-liner downstairs. Then she came back up, threw the window open, and locked the door.
For a second, despair overcame her, but only for a second. No—this wasn’t bottoming out.This was independence, she told herself. The start of a brand-new life. And she, Jane, was going to make a go of it.
That night, she worked her tail off. Mopping, scrubbing, even painting her windowsill. Jane pulled the dusty net curtains from their slide and washed them in the sink, with a capful of bleach. While the drunks and hookers fought and screamed below her, and her floor shook with the dull thud-thud of the booming bass from rap tracks on the stereo, Jane cleaned. She wore out three scrubbers and got her hands raw from rubbing alcohol. The stinking refrigerator she emptied of bugs and droppings, and closed it tight.There’d be no way to get rid of roaches other than keeping zero food in the house.
When the place was done, she unpacked her other purchases. Amazing what you could get for a dollar or two in the bargain bins. A shade for the bare lightbulb that hung from her ceiling; it transformed the bleak glare into a pretty, peach-colored light. Fresh sheets on the air mattress—not exactly matching, but all basically white or cream; a pillow; and a comforter. Gave it a tone-on-tone look that was perfectly acceptable. A snap-up wardrobe made of fabric and plastic, with a zipper, and hangers for her clothes. A cheap Mexican rug, for a splash of color. A shower curtain, discontinued, clear plastic and decorated with little white suns and moons.
Finally, Jane had blown a whole two dollars and fifty cents on a cheerful yellow plastic vase and a bunch of carnations.
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