The Book, the Key and the Crown (Secrets of the Emerald Tablet Book 1)

by Jennifer Cipri

  “Nate!” the mayor cries, like he hasn’t seen him in fifty years. They give each other a strong embrace and the mayor puts a fond hand to Nate’s cheek. “A good man. Just like your father.”

  The mayor and Nate’s family are tight. Nate’s dad is holding a fundraiser for Mayor Vaughn as he will be campaigning for Governor next year.

  “Damon,” Nate says. (They’re on a first name basis). “This is my girlfriend Priscilla.”

  Damon’s looking at me now, lit up with curiosity. He takes my hand in his and I make sure to give him a dainty little handshake—because that’s what ladies do. “Priscilla. Nice to meet you, indeed.” I’m a little surprised. He’s not as good looking as his photographs. From my up close vantage I’d say he’s average in the looks department. I search but find nothing remarkable or noteworthy in his features. He’s a little bit of a slouch too, with an unathletic physique—weak shoulders and a thin neck.

  But he’s cool to me, if that makes any sense. He’s got an air of self-importance about him that sets him apart.

  Never underestimate a man who thinks he owns the world.

  He keeps shaking my hand and his eyes have unapologetically descended to my breasts. He leaves them there and his hand grips mine tighter. Then he does something I haven’t experienced in years: he scratches the inside of my palm with his finger. He wants to fuck me, I silently muse. The Mayor of Redemption wants me.

  It turns me on. His objectification of me. Even though it’s demeaning, there’s something wild and forbidden about the way he’s hitting on me right in front of my boyfriend. Something taboo. I can only imagine what he’s thinking.

  I want to fuck him too. It’s not right. It’s cheating. Cheating on Nate. God, maybe I’m the one who’s unfaithful. Maybe the cheater is me.

  “You must be an actress,” Damon says, finally letting go of my hand.

  “Me? No. I’m a social worker.”

  “Ahh. Well please allow me say thank you for the service you provide to our fine city of Redemption.”

  I suddenly remember what Stori told me about him—not that I believed her. But I can’t help but wonder if someone so prominent could be involved in something so sinister. I’m pretty good at reading people but he’s so intimidating it’s a little hard. “I’m often in the Valley,” I tell him. “The last few months have been tough, with all the children who have gone missing.”

  “It’s a shame, I know.”

  “Priscilla’s an idealist. She think there’s hope for the Valley,” Nate says, “But I’m a realist. So can’t you send a wrecking ball to that side of town? I mean really. There would be no crime at all if we just got rid of that place.”

  “I’ve tried to explain to Nate that the culture is complicated,” I say. I hope someone changes the subject now. Why the hell did I even bring it up?

  “Much agreed,” Damon says to my relief. “Many of the habitants are third generation. They preserve some very old customs originated from the southern regions of Italy and many of those traditions are quite special and I do believe they should be preserved.”

  “That’s wonderful. I’m sure they would love to know you feel that way.” I wonder if he knows how many people in the Valley don’t like him.

  “But the poverty is a problem. Rest assured, I have plans. I plan on making affordable high rises. Get rid of the small houses and build up. Up into the very sky,” he raises his champagne glass with triumph. “You see, the people there just need some help. They don’t know any other way of living. They can keep their traditions and their pride, and they can modernize themselves as well. Best of both worlds. And now, seeing amazing people like you already in the trenches gives me great peace of mind. I do believe we are on the right track.” He raises his champagne glass higher. “To Redemption.”

  We raise our glasses and cheer, “To Redemption.”

  Curtains open and a man in a polka dot suit and bowtie is standing behind a microphone in the center of a stage. “Good evening. Good evening. I’d like to first start off by saying welcome to Heaven. All of you must have been very good boys and girls to have ended up here.”

  The room eats it up. Hoots, hollers and cat whistles are the reply.

  “My Name is Michael the Great and I will be your host for the night. Please make yourselves at home and get ready to enjoy a night of singing, dancing and maybe if you’re lucky, a few magical surprises. I’d like to introduce you to our first act, a new group that has just been signed to Blues Nation Records. Forever Young.”

  Everyone rushes toward the stage to get closer. They cheer as a trio of young girls march onto the stage in flapper outfits, their hair in pin curls and ribbons. Fabulous. If I could transport myself back in time it would definitely be the 1920s. Everything about that era seems so glamorous and fun. The rebellious women, the lavish parties, the short sequence dresses. The men and women as rich and outrageous as Gatsby.

  The robot girl offers me an electric cigarette. I take it between two fingers. This time I notice the weary in her face. How strange that a robot could look worn, like it’s done a lot of living. Almost like it once was a real person. I place the cigarette between my lips, wink at Nate and inhale. A band takes their places behind the trio. Drums pound, saxophones wail.

  The song is a big hit. Everyone is dancing, including the mayor and what looks like his wife. Nate is spinning me around, holding me tight. And then something wonderful happens. The roof above our heads slides back like a sunroof and the open sky is above us. White clouds sail in the deep grey black. Little stars are winking. A spray of lilac petals come showering down around us. They are scented with a fine fragrance. “Heaven!” I cry. “Heaven!”

  Tell me this isn’t destiny. That God’s hands are not in this, working his wonders, making this happen for me. I went from cleaning my father’s vomit out of a J.C. Penny rug every other Sunday night, to dancing amidst lilac petals with a beautiful man in a palace fit to please King Solomon himself. I have politicians kissing the back of my hand, and women casting curious glances in my direction. Who am I, they are asking. She must be someone important.

  Don’t tell me I need to come back to Erie and finish old business. I paid my dues and then some. I am worthy of this place. I am worthy of this man. I am worthy, Goddamnit. I am worthy.

  We dance until our feet ache and retire to a booth in the corner of the room. A mustached man in grey Armani and a handsome Middle Eastern man take a moment from their commiserating to greet Nate.

  “This is my girlfried, Priscilla,” he tells them.

  “Quite beautiful,” says the Middle Eastern man.

  The mustached one snaps his fingers and shouts. “Get this fine beauty a drink!”

  Nate settles into the booth and leans in to impart a new secret. “The one in the grey is Chuck. He’s a big-time record producer for Blues Nation. The other one’s an oil tycoon. See. I told you.” He pats my knee, but is preoccupied with his phone. He starts to look nervous. I notice Trish has arrived with her usual entourage. “What is she doing here?” I demand.

  “She’s getting a record deal soon with Chuck. I can’t help it if she’s a part of this scene.”

  “It just feels like everywhere we go, she’s there.”

  Nate gets serious, which happens only on rare occasions. “Prissy. You’ve got to stop. With the jealousy. It’s taking a toll on us. I don’t know where it’s coming from. Why you feel so insecure, but you need to deal with it.”

  “Well how would you feel if my X was at every event we went to and still all chummy chummy with me?”

  “I’d be fine with it.”

  “Really?”

  “Pris. Did it ever occur to you that Trish and I are friends? And because of you it’s been really hard for us to keep that friendship going?”

  Is he effing serious? Please don’t tell me this is happening right now. That I’m the one getting blamed for another girl’s intrusion. I want to scream at the top of my lungs. So I abruptly make my way out
to the balcony so I can be alone.

  I find an empty space. I lean my elbows over the balcony and look out to downtown Redemption. It’s only fifty degrees tonight and with how cold it’s been for the past month I don’t even need a coat. Nate comes up beside me and says, “Come back inside. You’re gonna catch a cold.”

  “I just want to be alone with you,” I plead.

  “We will. In just a few hours. I’ve planned something really nice. A dinner at Jon Pierre’s. Have a little faith, girl.”

  “That will be nice. Just us.” I’m still not looking at him.

  He gets a text. He’s nervous again. He pulls out a napkin from inside his jacket and wipes his forehead. He hands me his glass and says, “Enjoy yourself. Order another drink. I have to make a call. I shouldn’t be long.”

  I look for Trish; she’s sitting by Chuck, looking at her phone. She looks dead at me, and smiles.

  I don’t smile back.

  “Redemption is quite lovely from way up here, is it not?”

  I turn and find Jerry. “Oh. Hi, Jerry.” I fake a smile.

  He takes Nate’s glass from me and puts it on a table. “Everything alright?”

  “Yes. I just needed a little fresh air.”

  “You know I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said the other night at dinner.”

  “Oh. Yeah. That.”

  “You don’t have to feel bad. You were just telling it. Like it is.”

  “I do that sometimes. It doesn’t always work out for me.”

  “What? Saying how you really feel?”

  “Yes. Saying how I really feel.”

  “If you ask me I think that’s what’s wrong with the world right now—people DON’T say how they really feel. And maybe because they don’t even know HOW they feel.” He takes a sip of wine, then right out of the blue, says, “I know a lot of important people in this city Priscilla.”

  “I know. Nate told me. He wants to be just like you.”

  He laughs darkly. “I bet he does. And I bet he will.” Then he comes out of left field and says, “You’re from the gutter aren’t you?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s not an offense. I can tell by the way you were talking about the Valley that you understand the hard life.”

  “I don’t talk about my past. This is the city of Future Forward remember?”

  “Did you know I was saved last year, Priscilla?”

  “Saved?”

  “Yes. Saved.”

  “You mean by God?”

  “Yes. In a church by myself. I was lost in a wave of sorrow and then suddenly I fell on my knees before the cross and opened my arms wide. I was saved.”

  “My mother was saved,” I say from the pit of my stomach. “She said it made things easier and harder all at once.”

  He smiles somewhat pathetically. “It complicates things, that’s for sure. Some things have to get left behind.”

  I’m not quite sure what being saved even means. “I guess.”

  “You know I have a big stake in this casino. I have friends in high places. People counting on me.”

  “I know. Nate told me.”

  He puts his head down between his shoulders and says, “God. But I…” He’s struggling with something. Some unnamed desire that’s pulling him in a direction where he doesn’t really want to go. He thinks too much, I conclude. The way I do. So I tell him, “Don’t think too much, Jerry. Just drink.”

  He picks his head up. “Maybe you were better off where you came from. Maybe this isn’t the good life after all.”

  Just then I notice Trish reading another text. She smirks, slips off her bar stool and trots in her slinky dress the same way Nate went, right out of Heaven.

  I lose my sense of direction as I try to navigate through the swells, but finally I find my way to the hotel lobby and I get detailed directions on how to get to our room. Up on the 60th floor, I slink down the hallway, grateful for the thick rug eating up the sound of my heels. I find our room, 240 and carefully slip my card inside. I take a good minute with the door and I have to say I’d make a pretty good cat burglar.

  Nate’s somewhere inside the room. I can hear him murmuring through the walls. I press my back into the wall and slide my way as close to the bedroom without being seen. I take a quick peek into the room, finding it empty. Where is he?

  His voice comes in clearer. “I just can’t stop thinking about you,” he says. “So it has to be real. This thing we have has to be the real thing.”

  MOTHERFUCKER. I move to the bathroom and am ready to burst through the double doors and kill them both with my bare hands. But there’s a crack in the doors and I look through first. Nate’s kneeling in front of a full-length mirror. He’s holding a ring box. He stares pleadingly into his own eyes and says, “Will you marry me, Priscilla? Will you be my wife?”

  I stifle a gasp, latching my lips shut with two fingers. I back away from the door and make my way through the hall. Not as quiet as my entrance, my exit is rushed and clumsy. I let myself out and run like hell back to the elevators, terrified Nate will catch me.

  21: Joe

  Damn. Look at that ass.

  Holy moly. I gotta stop for closer inspection. Oh yeah, shift your hips again. Just like that. Round, firm, cushiony. That’s the kind of ass shouldn’t be let out in public. Can make a decent man like me think of beastly things.

  I’m an assman in case you haven’t noticed and when I see one that good I don’t let it slide.

  I cut some douche bag off waiting in line for a drink. “Hey asshole,” he says but I ignore him. Men nowadays are not nearly as tough as they used to be. Especially young ones like that. Besides, I’m on my fifth Heineken and already hit a fat line in the bathroom. The combination brings out my pushy side.

  “Buy you a drink?”

  “Already got one.”

  Wow, she’s a dime. Got a face to match the rest. (The face will usually take a backseat to the body or vise versa, but not this time.) But she’s upset by something and from what I can see she’s alone.

  Jackpot. A broad alone at a bar upset by some insensitive man, no doubt. I live for moments like this. Today is my lucky day.

  “My name is Joe, and you have got to be the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. Just sayin,”

  She’s shaking her head like she feels sorry for me, but I can see she’s holding back a smile. No matter what girls say about being respected, there’s nothing more satisfying than to hear that a man thinks they’re fine. Or even wants to fuck them. I’ve done that a few times. Driving past a girl walking in the street. Just rolled my window down and told her straight out what I had on my mind. Each and every time I saw her smile against her own will. They like it. It’s the animal in them. The one they try to suppress.

  This animal is a brown fox and I’m looking to spend a little QT with her, even outside of the bedroom. From those shoes and that dress I can tell she’s moneyed up. And everyone knows moneyed up pussy takes a little more time. “You look kind of sad for a girl who’s in heaven.”

  “I was thinking. I’m over it.”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  “Just life stuff.”

  “Boyfriend.”

  “No.”

  She’s lying. But I play along.

  “Work.”

  “Yeah. Let’s go with that.” She shifts the focus back to me. “You’re not too subtle about your game.”

  “I ain’t one of these little boys you’re used to dealing with. Baby. You haven’t seen nothing yet.”

  “What?” Oh, yeah. She’s enjoying the attention. I can tell, she’s the kind of girl who needs alot of it. The prettier they are the more attention they need.

  I decide to switch gears to keep her on her toes so I divert my interests elsewhere. “Ahh. Look at the mayor hamming it up over there. I bet you he’s just loving this.”

  “I wonder if he knows how many people in Redemption actually hate him.”


  “He’s a good guy. Did a lot for Redemption already. Why would you say that?”

  “I work for CPS. People in the Valley have horrible things to say about him. You can only imagine.”

  She’s been to the Valley. “Oh yeah? What do they say?”

  “Uh uh. I can’t tell.”

  “Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

  “One girl, only sixteen years old, thinks he’s planning on making all the orphan girls at Pilgrim’s Island his wives.”

  Okay. Keep it cool Joey. Keep it cool. How the hell did she get that information? “Crazy,” I comment blankly, taking a sip of beer. “Just out of curiosity, who told you that?”

  “Can’t say.”

  “Whoever it is they’re probably on crack.”

  “Not, Stori. No. She’s tough. But she doesn’t do drugs…” She bites her lip, instantly regretful for her unprofessional slip, but she doesn’t know it’s enough to send me over the moon.

  That little brat. How did she find out?

  I want to rush out of here, put a bag over that little girl’s head, drag her back to the dam where she should have drown the first time and drown her. But I can’t let this one pass. “You from around here? Originally?”

  “No.”

  “Let me guess. You came out here looking for a better life.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Did you find it?”

  She ignores the question. She strokes her glass, letting her varnished fingertips get wet from the condensation.

  “Trust me. You didn’t find it. None of us have honey.”

  Then finally she looks at me. There it is. The sweet spot. The opening. Note to any men listening: they all want the same thing—a man to understand them and be a better version of their father. “Do you ever feel lonely?”

  “Shit. Everyone does.”

  “No. Like not just when you’re alone. But all the time. Like right now. Talking to me. With all these people around us. Are you lonely?”