Deadly Assets

by Wendy Tyson

  It was well after midnight when Allison fell into bed, exhausted. The night air had stilled to a ghost of its former self, and Allison closed her eyes to the gentle patter of drizzle. Francesca had filled her head with details about the Benini business. Gone were the older woman’s sentimental ramblings, replaced instead by a determined zeal to get started. Together, they’d created an initial plan. And business acumen and leadership skills were to be the main foci.

  Allison took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of clean cotton. Francesca’s family—the whole odd lot of them—still made her uneasy, but she forced her mind to think about work. In work, she found comfort. Before she drifted off to sleep, her last thoughts were of Francesca Benini’s hands clutched around that Bible and the name Gina Benini. She listened for Gina’s other-worldly moan, but if the dead woman was calling, her voice was drowned out by the sounds of Allison’s own rhythmic breathing and the rain showers outside.

  Four

  Other than making the necessary arrangements for her client’s future visit, Allison didn’t have time to consider Francesca Benini or the woman’s unusual family. She had another client visiting on Monday—Tammy “Swallow” Edwards, the eighteen-year-old ingénue from Scranton, Pennsylvania. After talking to Vaughn days before, Tammy’s manager, Denise Carr, contacted Allison directly to discuss the budding star. She wanted to impress upon Allison that the girl had a voice like an angel but the social skills of a monkey on Xanax.

  Tammy’s parents had been unable to bring Tammy to First Impressions, so Denise brought Tammy down herself, leading the girl with a hip-swaying nonchalance that said she owned the place. Long, straightened, blond hair clashed with eyebrows left to their natural state. Skin-tight red skirt, red and hot pink floral blouse painted on to breasts that were no stranger to Victoria’s Secret’s line of push-up bras. Black heels so high that she practically shuffled into the Client Room. A heavy dose of red lipstick that made pillow-thick lips compete with a strong Slavic nose. Denise Carr was a cross between Wall Street arm candy and the star of an eighties metal band video.

  Denise sat next to Tammy and patted her hand. “Tammy’s not comfortable with people, Ms. Campbell. We need to help her slither out of her shell. She has a glorious music career ahead, if we can convince her that people don’t bite.”

  Choosing to ignore Denise’s unfortunate descriptors, Allison regarded Tammy. The kid was the polar opposite of her manager. Denise’s initial description had been a bit unfair, but not completely off the mark. Tammy was skinny and tall—nearly six feet—with lank, mid-length brown hair and a strong, almost masculine, facial bone structure. She had a long face, prominent nose and chestnut-brown, soulful eyes. Doe eyes. But it was hard to see those eyes because Tammy hid them behind her hair.

  In an attempt to engage the teen, Allison said, “The thing to remember, Tammy, is that a performance—any performance—is not about you, really. It’s about the audience. It’s hard to feel self-conscious when you’re focused on other people’s needs.”

  Tammy remained intent on her left thumb nail.

  Denise said sharply, “Ms. Campbell is talking to you.”

  “It’s okay,” Allison said. “Why don’t you leave us now? We’ll be fine. Right Tammy?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Denise said, “Do you think you can help her?”

  Allison’s first impression was that Tammy’s was a problem of communication. The girl might have a voice that won her a spot on America’s Next Pop Star, but she wouldn’t open her mouth to speak. And Allison was loath to admit it, but here, Denise was spot on. It was hard to garner an audience’s affection if they couldn’t connect with you.

  “I can help her with presentation. But what about voice? Does she need a voice coach?”

  “She has a voice coach. Anyway, singing is not her problem. If you’ve watched the show, you know half the time will be spent answering questions, engaging the audience. That’s what we need you for.”

  Allison said, “Does that make sense, Tammy? Do you want to tackle things this way?”

  Tammy mumbled, “Sure.”

  “Oh, my.” Denise smiled apologetically. “She packed clothes for the week. I know you’re putting her up at a hotel. That’s fine. My agency will pick up the tab. Her parents aren’t in a position to pay right now. But no one’s worried about that.” She patted Tammy’s hand again, a gesture meant, no doubt, to be reassuring. Allison couldn’t help focusing on Denise’s coral-coated talons, which she didn’t find remotely comforting. “Because we believe Tammy will be well worth the investment.”

  Allison smiled. “Shall we get started, Tammy?”

  Tammy shrugged.

  “You’ll be okay,” Denise said. “I’ll pick her up on Friday?”

  Allison stood. “My colleague Vaughn will drop her off. Say noon? At her house?”

  “All the way up there? That seems very out of your way.”

  “Vaughn’s headed to Ithaca for another client. Tammy’s house is directly on the way. It’s no trouble at all.”

  Denise looked at Tammy. “Does that work?”

  Tammy shrugged again.

  Denise shook her head. “See what I mean? How is she going to win over an audience if she can’t even answer a question?”

  Allison tried fifty ways to get Tammy to talk, but the most she got was a curt nod and a mumbled yes or no. The kid wasn’t rude, simply agonizingly shy.

  Allison would have chalked it up to meeting a new person, but Denise said this was status quo for the young musician. How the girl could stand in front of thousands of people and sing, she had no idea.

  It was a hot, soupy, Philadelphia day in August. Allison had chosen a sleeveless charcoal sheath dress, but with the air conditioner on, she needed a sweater.

  She rose from her seat across from Tammy and excused herself. She kept a cardigan in her office. Retrieving it would buy her a few minutes to think strategy.

  When Allison returned, sweater in hand, Tammy was gone.

  “Tammy?” Allison called. “Tammy!”

  No answer.

  She hurried through the client room into the kitchenette. No Tammy. The bathroom door was open, the space empty. The offices to First Impressions were not that big. Where could she have gone? Allison decided to go room by room. But each one—and every closet and nook—came up empty.

  Great, Allison thought, two hours in and the kid’s already quit.

  A bird flying by a window caught Allison’s eye and she happened to glance outside at the small parking lot below. There was Tammy, sitting on the curb next to Allison’s Volvo, hunched over her tall, thin form, arms around her legs, head on her knees, rocking rhythmically back and forth.

  Allison let out her breath slowly, unaware that she’d even been holding it. Quickly, she tossed the sweater over the back of a chair and headed outside. She sat next to Tammy on the curb, doing her best to keep her dress from riding completely up to her backside, and echoed Tammy’s posture.

  They sat in silence for almost fifteen minutes, the flimsy shade offered by the Volvo doing little to mitigate the stifling heat. But Allison knew better than to talk. After the work she’d done with another teen, Violet, years ago while still a graduate student in psychology, and then based on her relationship with the difficult Maggie McBride, Allison understood that kids would speak when they were ready. She just hoped it happened soon in this case, before they both melted.

  Finally, Tammy said, “I want to go to the Ellen and James S. Marcus Institute for Vocal Arts. At Juilliard.”

  Surprised, Allison said, “That sounds like a great goal.”

  Tammy shook her head. “Not happening.”

  “What do you mean, it’s not happening?”

  “I’m going to record an album.”

  “Recording an album and going to school are not mutually exclusive.”

&n
bsp; Tammy sighed, gaze still locked on the black pavement under her Converse high-tops. “You don’t get it.”

  “Then help me get it.”

  “I sing pop music.”

  “And I hear you’re pretty amazing.”

  Rocking again, Tammy turned to Allison, her sad eyes brimming with tears. “I want to be an opera singer.”

  Allison thought about that in the context of what she knew. Denise, Tammy’s manager, had said that Tammy was discovered by a music exec while singing in a church choir. She was encouraged to try out for the pop star competition and won a spot on next season’s show. Denise never mentioned opera.

  But Denise had also said that the family was a challenge. Tammy’s mother was allegedly meek and docile, and her father a burly, brusque man who worked two jobs—a toll booth operator and a maintenance man at a local landfill—to pay for his brood. He called the shots, and according to Denise, right now he had dollar signs in his eyes.

  Understanding all of that, Allison thought she also understood Tammy’s despair. An education at Juilliard meant tuition money. And even if she got a scholarship, school meant lost income—income that would be invaluable to a family with seven children under the age of eighteen.

  Tammy wouldn’t want to disappoint.

  Classically-trained opera singer was a far cry from pop music reality television star. One just may pay the bills in the short term. But, it seemed to Allison, that the other could be a fulfilling, long-term career. Especially if it was your true passion. And what a gift to know your true passion at such a young age.

  Allison took another look at Tammy, trying to envision her on stage, dressed in the elaborate costumes of an opera star.

  With that bone structure and that frame, she could pull it off physically. And perhaps with a little coaxing, Tammy could pull it off mentally as well.

  “I see,” Allison said finally.

  Tammy wiped her eyes with the back of a grubby hand. “Can you help me?”

  Allison tapped manicured fingernails on hot cement. Could she help? She took a deep breath. “In a way, perhaps. Have you told your parents how you feel?”

  Tammy shrugged.

  “Let’s start with all this shrugging. I want to help you, Tammy, but you need to meet me half way. That means you need to communicate, hard as it may be. And shrugging does not count as effective communication.”

  Tammy looked up. “Fine. I mentioned it once. My father said there was no money for college and that was the end of it. I don’t argue with my dad.”

  “When was that?”

  Tammy started to shrug, thought better of it, and said, “A few months ago, maybe.”

  “And how do your folks feel about the television show?”

  “My mom hates the idea. She’s pretty religious. My dad seems fine, though. He hooked up with Denise after the executive for the record label called him.”

  At least Tony Edwards wasn’t trying to manage his daughter’s career himself. That was something. Allison wanted to meet the Edwards family in person. Perhaps that would be next. Was Tony the domineering father Denise had painted him as, or was there more nuance here, more to the story than Denise’s simple depiction? She was betting on the latter. But one thing was certain—although Allison wasn’t a counselor and had no intention of putting herself in the middle of the family’s struggles, she could help her new client help herself just by doing her job.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do.” Allison stood, tugging down her now-wrinkled dress. “We’re going to put you in the best position possible to advocate for your own future. That means you need to trust me. Do you think you can do that?”

  Tammy, now standing, was the same height as Allison, despite Allison’s three-inch heels. Tammy nodded, her eyes downcast.

  “First lesson, Tammy. Look at me when you respond. Eye contact is important. It tells people you’re interested in what they have to say. It provides a connection with your audience. And it’s easier to speak articulately when you have that connection. You want that, don’t you?”

  Tammy raised her head so that they were just about eye-to-eye. “Yes,” she mumbled.

  “Now say it like you mean it.”

  “I understand. And I’ll trust you,” she said in a stronger voice, a voice that hinted at the talented singer she was alleged to be.

  “Good. Very good,” Allison said. “Now let’s get back inside where it’s cool.”

  It was after eleven when Allison finally crawled into bed between her two favorite guys—her ex-husband-turned-boyfriend Jason and her Boxer dog, Brutus. She wasn’t sure who was the noisier sleeper. But only Jason woke up after she entered the room. He flipped on the bedside light, blinked a few times and smiled when he saw her.

  “You’re late,” he said without a trace of accusation.

  Allison sat next to him and leaned down to kiss his mouth. “Yeah, got caught up with the kid. She’s pretty damn amazing, actually.”

  “This is the rising pop star?”

  Allison nodded. “I finally convinced her to sing opera for me. Her voice made me weep.”

  Jason sat up in the bed, gently pushing Brutus over to the other side of the mattress. “You sound like you like her.”

  “She’s extremely shy. Just getting her to address people directly will be a challenge. And she doesn’t speak up, even when it’s in her own best interest. But those things can be dealt with.” Allison thought back to the scene in the parking lot. “It’s the bigger picture I’m worried about. Lots of people are suddenly making decisions on her behalf. I’m not sure who has her best interests at heart.”

  Jason smiled. “Leave it to you to find the wayward kid in need of protection.”

  Allison took the good-natured ribbing as it was intended. She grabbed a pillow from underneath Jason’s shoulders and hit him squarely in the chest. “Oh yeah?”

  Jason grabbed her wrists lightly. “It’s what I love about you.” He pulled her on top of him and hugged her close, his hands already trailing their way toward the hem of her chemise.

  “Not so fast,” Allison said, but she stayed in his arms. “I have to be up early tomorrow. Breakfast with the kid, then a business luncheon.”

  “Who’s with Tammy after that?”

  “Vaughn’s carting her around to various appointments, but she and I will have sessions throughout the week.”

  Jason brushed Allison’s ear with his lips, sending a tingle that reached her toes. “When does she leave?” he whispered.

  Allison kissed Jason deeply before answering. She let her hand wander across his chest, down his tight stomach, before trailing one fingertip across a thigh. He moaned.

  “I’m saying good-bye to Tammy on Friday morning and hello to Francesca Benini that evening. Vaughn’s driving one back and picking up the other.”

  Jason put a warm hand under Allison’s silk nightgown. He kissed her, hard, while tracing a finger from the sensitive peak of one breast to the other. Allison shivered.

  “Then Vaughn’s the one who needs a good night’s sleep.” Another kiss, deeper, harder. “Not you.”

  Five

  The kid said exactly two words during the entire drive to Scranton: whatever and no. She sat slouched on the passenger seat of Vaughn’s BMW with the hood of her black sleeveless hoodie hiding her face. For most of the drive, she slept. When she wasn’t sleeping, she had her head pressed against the window of the car, iPod on, headphones in. After they passed Allentown, Vaughn offered to plug the iPod into the car’s sound system just to have something to listen to. That’s when she said “whatever.”

  Vaughn was surprised to hear classical music come out of the speakers.

  But his attempts to engage Tammy in any type of conversation were met with blank stares or watery smiles. At one point, about thirty miles from Scranton, on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, Vaug
hn asked if she’d like to stop at a rest stop to use the bathroom or grab something to eat. That’s when she said “no.”

  Vaughn shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Traffic was light, cruising was easy. It was an uneventful drive.

  And so Vaughn made it all the way to her house in Scranton in a little over two hours, arriving almost an hour sooner than they’d anticipated. He pulled up in front of Tammy’s home on Linden Street and parked next to the curb.

  The house was a half a double on a street of twin homes. It was blocky, with a fading front porch that spanned the width of the house and a pair of vinyl-clad windows above that. Chain link fencing ran alongside a shared driveway. Whatever yard they had in the back would have been the extent of green space because the porch started within two feet of where the sidewalk ended. It was not a big house and Vaughn, who had been raised in the slums of Philly, wondered how the Edwards family reared seven children there.

  Vaughn noticed a Chevy Cavalier in the driveway. He followed Tammy up the steps to the porch and waited while she opened the front door. She threw her bag onto the floor and stood, blocking the entranceway. The house behind her was dark.

  “Dad!” she yelled. There was no answer. She shrugged. “No one’s here.”

  “We’re early—Denise wasn’t expecting you for another hour. Isn’t your mom home?”

  Tammy shook her head. “That’s my dad’s car outside. When he works at the landfill, sometimes he carpools.”

  “Are you okay by yourself?”

  Tammy’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? I’m eighteen.”

  Vaughn smiled. Kid was right—and I’m getting old, he thought. He glanced at his watch. If he got on the road now, maybe he and Francesca could be back to Villanova at a reasonable hour. It’d be nice to hang out with Jamie tonight. Catch a movie, talk about Jamie’s new job. He felt more distant from his twin now that Jamie had a life outside of their apartment. He was happy for his brother…happy, but change could be tough to swallow. Even good change.