“I’ve heard that about you. No matter what, you get the job done.”
I have to pause and wonder which of my previous seventeen clients referred her to me. I should ask and give her a discount or something on a previous service. Then again, if the mystery client was telling the likes of Dana Knox about me, then I assume she’d be willing to pay whatever I asked. No discount required.
“I do my best. Tell me exactly what happened.” I ready my pen on the wide ruled paper.
Dana takes a deep breath. “So, I knew about Chad. In fact, I’d met him a few times. My mother and his father ran in the some of the same social circles. I knew about him, about his reputation as a love ‘em and leave ‘em Romeo.”
“You didn’t believe it?”
“Oh, I believed it. I’d seen him with women before, girls—women, he didn’t care how old they were. He was a huge flirt, but he was that way with everybody. I knew what I was getting myself into, but—”
“You thought you could change him.”
She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. I hand her a tissue I keep on hand for situations like this. It isn’t my first rodeo, and more times than not these things go the same way. “Yes, I thought I could change him. How stupid is that?”
Very. “No, not at all. Everyone sees the good in people.” Unless they are me and they see the horribleness of humanity in pretty much everyone they meet.
She honks her nose in my tissue. Another occupational hazard. “I guess that’s what happened to me. I just saw the good in him.”
And his millions of net worth, but I don’t say that. It seems rude. “What happened?”
She wipes her nose. This lady, I have to say, doesn’t seem much like a socialite. I mean, I know who she is because I happened to be sitting next to my sister when she read a People Magazine, but from what I recall, she sort of just burst on the scene. Like no one knew who she was, at all, she starts dating Chad and BOOM! Socialite everyone knows.
I’m sure there is a story there. I’m sure I don’t care. It is getting late. My luck, Mr. Parsons will close the store and lock us in without remembering we are back here. I don’t think I can handle being locked up in this place. I’m sure there are ghosts, or at the very least, flesh eating mice.
Dana finally spills the beans. “We dated for about six months. It was nice. We went places. We got our picture made together, it was… it was nice. And Chad,” she says dreamily. “He was so good to me. Like, he’d genuinely listen to me. He’d care about what I said, he was nice and pleasant. And on my gosh, such a killer kisser!”
I write that part down and circle it. I bet she’s the seventeenth woman who has told me that about their exes too. I don’t know why I bother writing down notes. It’s all the same. Every damn time.
“Why did you break up?” We need to hurry this along. Those flesh-eating mice will be out soon.
Her face contorts into all kinds of wrong, and she cries into her tissue. Good glory, it can’t be that bad? Though I suppose it has to be pretty bad or she wouldn’t have called me. “Two days ago, I found out he’d been cheating on me.”
Pretty common story. “Cheating on you with who?”
“I don’t know her name. Just that she’s brown headed and not as pretty as me.”
There’s that. “How do you know he cheated? Did you catch him in the act?”
“Eww, no. Look, I don’t believe I need to give you all the details. That isn’t part of the service, right? I don’t want a therapist, I want someone who can give Chad Harris exactly what he deserves.”
Okay, then. “Fine, then tell me what he deserves.”
That seems to perk her up. “He deserves to feel every bit of pain as I do.”
“I’m sorry, I draw the line at violence.” I’m kidding. She doesn’t seem to have my sense of humor.
“Do you draw the line at blackmail?”
The past seventeen cases have been fairly cut and dry. A few, I got the ex in a compromising position, took a photo, and let the client do the rest. For others, I set up public humiliation. Nothing like having your tiny dick flapping in the breeze on one of the hottest days of the year in the middle of a crowded swim meet. That one was pretty fun to pull off, no pun intended.
“Depends on what you have in mind,” I lie. I’ll take the case. I need the money, but if Dana Knox is as loaded as I think she is, and if she is as desperate as she lets on, then hell yes, I’m going to raise my rates. It isn’t like they are set in stone. Means I’m moving up in the world.
“Chad’s family is very influential. I’m sure you know his father is the Senator.”
“I’m aware.”
“And that he is thinking of running for President, but first he has a very big election coming up. Like very big.”
I did not know that. “Interesting.”
“And I’m sure he doesn’t want any scandals haunting his political aspirations.”
Dana sounds cold and calculating. I like it. “No, I don’t suppose he would. What do you need me to do?”
Her eyes narrow. Every bit of tears has dried in barren rivers on her cheeks. “I want you to make a scandal.”
Dana and I map out the details of one of the most simply elaborate revenge plans that has ever gone through Once Bitten. The hardest part will be getting close to Chad. It isn’t like we run in the same circles or that I’d ever be in the position to get to interact with him. And, with his family, I can’t just call him up. I’m sure they screen things like that. Hell, they probably have the FBI tapping their phones.
Because of the additional time and resources I’d need—and because I believed Dana had plenty of money at her disposal—I upped my rate to a thousand dollars. Dana didn’t blink, just wrote me out a check for half the money now with the agreement to pay me the other half when Chad Harris had officially paid.
She leaves me with one last warning, “No matter what you do, don’t fall for him. He’s very charming and very manipulative. There is a reason women fall all over him. Be careful. Don’t let him get to you.”
I assure her again that I have no interest in Chad except for our particular arrangement. If I wanted to fall for someone, it most definitely wouldn’t not be a millionaire playboy. I have standards. In fact, they are so high, no one has reached them yet. I doubt Mr. Harris will even come close.
When we leave, I tell Mr. Parson’s bye, and turn left toward my dorm. Dana turns right, toward what my father called the rough part of town. I wouldn’t go that way if I were her. Good thing I’m not her.
I make it to my room and toss my bag on my bed. I’m exhausted. Not that I don’t like having the nice, new five hundred dollar check in my pocket. I do appreciate that. It’ll help with Christmas presents this year. I can give money to my dad to help pay for some of his bills this month. Man, if I could get clients who paid that much all the time, I’d be rolling in it! It would be nice to have extra and not have to scrimp and save. Scholarships saved my college dreams. This job is keeping them alive.
Amy is laying on her bed, her headphones are on her ears and her Walkman is so loud I can hear Paula Abdul. I’m more of a hair band girl myself. If she notices when I come in, she doesn’t say anything. My note is exactly as I left it so I’m not sure she even read it.
She must have given up on Johnny calling because for the past three days, she hasn’t put earphones on. What if she’d missed his call?
What if he did call? What if she talked to him?
Why do I care?
I take out my brush, sit down at my desk, and try my damnedest to comb my unruly hair. I have to take a shower in the morning anyway to wash the moldy and musky smell off of me from the bookstore. I love Mr. Parsons, but it wouldn’t hurt the man to clean every once in a while.
“Nancy!”
I jump when I hear my name. My heart is in my throat when I drop the brush on the floor and turn around to see who is murdering Amy, ‘cause no one would scream that way unless murder was involved.
<
br /> Her eyes are closed, still rocking out to Paula. I’ll kill Amy myself. “What?” I scream just as loud so she can hear me over the music.
“You got a phone call while you were out.”
I’m halfway bent over to retrieve my brush from the floor when I stop dead. Oh Lord, no. Please… please let it not be someone for Once Bitten “Who was it?” I ask as innocently as I can.
“Wrong number, I guess. He asked for you, I said you weren’t here. He hung up.”
“He?” Hes rarely call me.
“Yeah, he. You got a secret feller you aren’t telling me about?”
“No.” That’s not a lie at all, though if I go through with the plan Dana laid out, I might have a feller for a few days, and that feller will hate me for the rest of his life. Good thing I don’t give a rat’s ass about him.
“Then who could it be?”
“No idea.”
Amy sits up and takes her earphone off. She’s washed all her makeup off, leaving a face so clean it could be in a skin care ad. Brooke Shields has nothing on Amy’s fresh face. Sans makeup, Amy also looks younger. Poor girl looks nothing like her twenty-one years. Life hasn’t been as cruel to her as it has me. She has both her parents, a dog, lives on a farm near Sevierville, and, in my opinion, has the perfect life. “You wouldn’t be trying to protect me, would you? You’d tell me if you had a beau?”
“Yes.” It isn’t a total lie. If I had someone special, someone other than a client’s ex, then I would tell her. As it is, the less she knows about this, the better. She’s not devious enough for it, doesn’t have enough life experience. I mean if she’s this upset because some guy took her virginity and ran, I doubt she’d be ok with what I do to make money.
And I need her to be okay with me. Truthfully, she’s my one and only friend. Maybe that’s why I’m trying so hard to keep this away from her. I know I can’t forever. Someday my bubble will burst, but that day isn’t today. Today, I have five hundred dollars in my pocket and a new ex to take my mind off of the problems in the world.
“Hey, do you happen to have any recent Peoples?” Totally a change in topic. Maybe she won’t notice.
“Yeah…” she draws out. “Why? You said you weren’t a People sort of girl.”
I shrug. “Need something to read in the bathroom.”
“Gross.” She groans and throws me the top one on her nightstand. “Keep it. I won’t want it when you are done.”
“Thanks.” I smile and take the magazine to the door. I stop when my hand is on the knob. “Amy, are you going to be alright? About Johnny I mean?”
She takes a deep breath and nods. “I think I will. I have a plan.”
“What sort of plan?”
“You have your secrets, Nancy Corbin. I have mine.”
Fair enough. I take my newly acquired magazine and leave her and Paula alone. They need some quality time.
I don’t go to the restroom, though. Even I have standards. I head to the sitting area which, during the day, is full of people who don’t seem to like to be alone. Tonight, it is occupied by the George Michael fan club. I totally forgot they met tonight. Bummer.
I end up sitting on the steps under the light outside the dorm. Might as well do a little research before bed tonight. I’ll fail my chemistry test tomorrow. Oh well. A thousand dollars is calling my name.
The table of contents is a big help. It allows me to bypass an article on Full House (apparently the Olsen twins aren’t identical. Who knew?), The Young Riders (though I could stand to look at the hottie who plays Buck), and behind the scenes of Ghostbusters 2 (I mean, how many times can people save New York?). Finally, I find the gossip section and figure it is as good place as any to find info on Chad and Dana, especially Chad.
Sure enough, on page three no less, is a “torn apart” picture of Dana and Chad. It is a night picture but both Dana and Chad have on sunglasses. I think they are leaving the movies because Dana has a popcorn tub, and Chad has what appears to be popcorn in his hair and on the shoulders of his black shirt.
Public break up. Brutal.
Chad Harris isn’t unattractive, I’ll give him that. Though, from a few other pictures I see of him in the magazine, he looks like the kind of dude who knows it. He has straight brown hair that falls a little over his ears, big blue eyes, and wide shoulders. Honestly, if I didn’t know him, I’d think he was fairly cute.
However, since he is a client’s ex, I only see the potential for a huge payday in my future. If I do this for Dana, she will refer lots of her scorned friends, who I assume have money too, and then I’ll be rolling in it. Cellular phone, bill money, help my dad out… but I’m counting my money before it hatches, and that is never wise.
I have to focus on this job, on this mark, and making him pay in a way that is satisfactory for Dana.
I find another picture of Chad. It is in the back section of the magazine in a section titled, “Stars Uncensored.” I thought it would be a big section of actors acting out, and it sorta of is. All except Chad. It is a candid shot of him, one that might be staged in Teen Beat, only this one isn’t staged. You can tell by the soft expression on his face. In my experience, a guy who cares as much about his appearance as Chad wouldn’t be caught dead giving that pose knowingly.
He looks… dare I say, contemplative. Younger somehow with his softened features. His jaw isn’t set. He’s leaning on his arm, his blue shirt making his eyes that much bluer. He’s sitting at a window, staring out. I don’t think he sees anything but whatever is going on in his mind.
Pictures can be deceiving.
I dog ear the page just as I have every one that features Chad Harris, and close the magazine up.
Tomorrow, I meet Chad Harris.
Tomorrow, all the pieces are set in motion.
Tomorrow will be the worst day of Chad Harris’ life.
Only he doesn’t know it yet.
I wake up and put a little bit more makeup on than normal. From what Dana said about Chad, he likes the sort of high maintenance women. I have no idea if she noticed that she literally called herself high maintenance, but whatever. No skin off my back.
Amy is in a little better mood today. She said she had to leave early. She actually seemed, dare I say, happy. I thought about asking her why, but she had bounded out the door before I could.
Maybe Johnny Slade has come to his senses and called her. He’d do worse than Amy. In fact, Amy might be the best person I’ve ever met. I should offer Once Bitten services to her…
I’m a horrible person.
Thankfully, I only have two classes today: physics and that blasted chemistry class. Today is test day, and I never got to study. I hope it is multiple choice, and it is my lucky day.
I try to push the fact that I have to keep a C average to keep my scholarship. Everyone back home is rooting for me to fail, so I can’t. I have so much I want to do with my life, and getting into college was the first stepping stone.
I’ve kept my grades up the past three years, I can do it now. Course I was more focused then.
I can do this…
My chemistry test isn’t as much of a disaster as I thought it would be. I think I made at least a C and with my other grades, I’m not terribly worried about losing my scholarship. Things can change, of course, and I’d love a grade nest egg to fall back on. All in all, I think everything will be okay. It has to be. I’m not going home without a degree.
If I ever go home at all.
My good mood dims.
I leave physics in a bad mood. It wasn’t the class. The class was fine, but my mind is spinning and I can't pull it away from things I can't do anything about. There are so many things that keep me awake at night: money, manipulation, my mom. I try to keep my anxiety contained in the late hours of the night when Amy is snoring in her bed beside me, and my mind always wanders back home. My Dad's worries are becoming my worries, and my mom—well her worries were deadened a long time ago.
There is too much on my mind,
and I hate it. I have to focus on the one thing in my life I can control: Once Bitten. I can control that. And I can control how I deal with Chad Harris. This opportunity landed in my lap. I'm not throwing it away.
I’m not thinking where I’m going. I just walking with my head down, my bag slung over my shoulder, and my thoughts as dark and as gloomy as the clouds gathering overhead. I should be happy. I’m meeting a new ex today. I’m exacting revenge. I’m helping some poor girl move past the jerk who wronged her. I didn’t bomb my chemistry test. All should be right with the world.
It isn’t.
All the thinking about home and my dad, my town, my mom it puts my mind in a place I don’t like.
I feel like I’m on autopilot. I’m supposed to be going to the little coffee shop on Second Avenue, about two blocks from the college. That’s where Dana said Chad goes when he’s in town and, just our luck, he’s in town. I’m going to go there, play the Southern “I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers” weakling, and get him in my grasp. I’ll get him to trust me. I’ll break his heart. I’ll take pictures he will not want to be seen. I’ll blackmail him. Dana will pay me. All will be well.
I don’t think I’ve looked up the entire time I’ve walked through the common area on campus. The large, mature trees are blowing in the breeze. There’s a storm coming.
Next thing I know, I’m on the ground with a thud and a sharp pain running through my right butt cheek.
Ow!
I reach back and remove the massively big and pointy rock from under me and throw it as far as I can. A bird a few yards over loses five years of his life.
Does anything else hurt? Hell if I know. All I know is that my butt hurts. If it is bleeding, I swear to God, I’ll never leave the house again.
“I’m so… are you okay?” It is a man. And I’m going to smack him.
“No! I’m not okay. Weren’t you looking where you were going?” Rain is starting to fall.
I look up at him and blink a few times because it has to be the rain messing with my eyesight because there is no way in God’s big Earth that—
1989: Once Bitten, Twice Shy: Love in the '80s: A New Adult Mix Page 2