Win for Love

by Isabelle Peterson

Faith. I have to have faith in what David and I share, or I risk losing him too. I decide right then and there to tell David everything. No secrets. No room for misunderstandings. I’ll tell him my real name. My hometown. That my mother is an alcoholic, and that my brother is in jail. That I don’t know who my dad is. If David’s worth it, if he can see me for me and not my family, he’ll stay. If not, it wasn't meant to be.

  23

  Making Amends

  CRYSTAL

  Wednesday afternoon I race back to the street where I’d run into Leo and am relieved to see that the job is still underway.

  I didn't get any sleep last night. My mind was in so many directions I didn't know what to think. I almost knocked on Lainey’s door to talk about all of it, but where would I start? Yet another place in my life I need to be more forthcoming about. Instead, I stewed.

  I reviewed all the misunderstandings between Leo and me and his life now. I'm so happy he is married and has his two beautiful girls. I never wanted kids, but I knew Leo did. Now he has that. Funny how things worked out.

  I practiced how I was going to tell David all about me and my past. How much do I tell him? Is it too soon to tell him all of it? Maybe I just start with my real name. Maybe my hometown, and that I grew up in a trailer. While I'm not exactly proud of the fact, I'm not ashamed either. That said, it's not the opinion of most—made especially clear by several classmates of mine growing up. Would David have their same opinion or would he consider more than where I grew up and where I am now? And what would he think of my mom's situation? And Jude’s?

  I also researched the illness that Leo’s daughter has, never having heard of a child with arthritis before. It’s a fairly rare autoimmune disease where her body is literally attacking itself. The illness will have lifelong implications for her. There are some cutting-edge treatments coming out, and she is at the best hospital for the disease, but it's also super expensive, especially for a man with a job like Leo has in addition to living in this area and supporting the rest of his family.

  I spot Leo, but hang back while he and a few guys are pouring and pounding new asphalt into the hole. The guy I recognize as Gator looks up, then elbow’s Leo, and nods in my direction. Leo looks up and smiles at me while scrunching up his face in confusion and surprise, clearly not expecting to see me again. I motion for him that I can wait.

  I watch him work for the next ten minutes or so. Finally, he takes leave of his group, telling them that he’ll be right back.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, again removing his hard hat as he walks up to me.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you and Francisca last night. I read all about JIA last night, and I want to help her.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe a little restitution for running out on you? I can’t believe I was so stupid to think you’d left… and…”

  “Hey, the trail of mistakes went both ways,” he assures me.

  I dig out the envelope in my purse and hand it to him.

  Leo looks around to see who might be looking our way, and seeing no one, he looks inside the envelope.

  “What is this?” he asks.

  “Just a little something. I can get you more if you need it.”

  “Crystal. This isn’t ‘a little something.’ There has to be a few thousand dollars in here.”

  “Five.”

  He shakes his head and shoves the envelope back toward me. “I can’t—”

  Before he can try and refuse, I interrupt him. “Please, Leo. Just put it in your pocket and stop being proud. I can. Let me do this.” I almost tell him that I want to give him some money every month to help, but he doesn’t let me say anything more.

  “This isn’t about seven years ago, Crys. I’m good.”

  “If this is what I want to do to say I’m sorry for being stupid, then please let me. It won’t even start to pay you back for how I must have hurt you. Use it for Francisca’s medical bills or maybe you four take a vacation. Please. I insist.”

  He looks in the envelope again and thumbs through the stack. “This is a lot of money. It’ll go pretty far,” he says. I just give him a little nod.

  DAVID

  When Chip pulls onto West Jackson Boulevard, I think I’m losing my mind. I think that I missed seeing Talia’s face so much that I was seeing her everywhere. But when I look again, I see that it is Talia, her perfect profile with her pert upturned nose and delicate lips talking to some road worker. She looks urgent and desperate.

  “Stop the car, Chip.”

  Silently, through the tinted glass, I watch the pair carefully. When Talia pulls a thick white envelope from her purse, I wish I had a pair of binoculars handy. The man looks in the envelope, and his eyes go wide. I watch the exchange wishing I could hear what they are saying and look in the envelope myself. I wish that I could see Talia’s face and try to read her lips, or his lips, but from a profile, that’s impossible.

  I see the man open the envelope again, pulling out a stack of what can only be money and run his thumb across the top as if he’s counting it, or at least making a rough guesstimate.

  Dread fills my veins. Why would Talia be giving some construction guy money? She said she didn’t know anyone in Chicago other than her neighbor and her neighbor’s friends but didn’t know them very well. She told me what they all did, and none were DOT employees. She said that she has a brother, but she said he didn’t live here. Is she buying drugs? Is he doing some dirty work for her? Is she just giving random strangers cash? My mind races a million miles an hour. As I try and come up with a reasonable explanation, a bigger question pops into my mind. Where did she get the cash? Talia is a sweet girl, and I didn’t get any impression that she was a girl of means. Judging from the man’s face, it was a lot of cash too.

  I had left Talia at my condo on Monday morning. I told her to make herself comfortable and take her time, and that there was no rush for her to leave. Did she really know who I was all along? Did she know about my family’s wealth, and she’d been playing me this whole time? Had she gone through my office? Had she taken my money? Or stolen something and hawked it at a pawn shop? I hadn’t gotten any alerts from my security detail, but…

  Maybe she’s that good at what she does.

  Maybe this is why she seemed so guarded and quiet about details about herself.

  Fire burns through my veins, the sense of betrayal so deep I can barely breathe. This is on par or even worse than what Angelique did to me.

  “Back out of Jackson and take Monroe. And forget the office, take me home,” I tell Chip before I get out of the car and confront Talia on my own.

  She seemed so sweet and innocent. I’ve felt since that first date that she was holding something back, but I ignored my intuition. Now I’m not so sure who Talia is.

  Before Chip even has me at my building, I’m on the phone with Alec, my family’s P.I. asking him to look into Talia.

  “Talia Jameson. Illinois. Brown hair. Blue eyes. That’s all you’re giving me? No town? No work history?”

  “Reddish brown hair. And southern Illinois,” I remind him, racking my brain to remember the names of the towns in those library books on her shelf in her apartment. Maybe one was her hometown. Then I recall another detail and tell him, “She has a brother named Jude.”

  “Okay,” he replies, sounding skeptical. “I’ll see what I can do.” I almost ask him to look at the security footage from my place, but I want to see it for myself.

  “Call me in one hour with whatever you have.”

  “An hour?”

  I sigh in frustration, perhaps a little too loudly and give in. “Fine, take two, but call me before two hours, or I’m calling you,” I tell him more gruffly than necessary and hang up.

  Chip pulls up to my building, and I’m out like a shot making my way to the elevator as quickly as I can and up to my place. The whole time I’m doing my best to keep my suspicions in check. Innocent until proven guilty, right? I sweep thro
ugh my living room and don’t see anything amiss, not that I should—my cleaning lady, Renata, is always on top of things.

  I head straight to my office and fire up my desktop computer. While I wait for the screen to blink to life and ask for my password, I fight the urge to open my desk drawers. Did Talia look in these? Did she find the drawer with my emergency cash? I want to look in that drawer, but then again, I don’t—so I leave the drawer alone and wait for the video. If she stole from me, I want to see it with my own eyes.

  My computer pings to life, and I type in my convoluted password and wait. The mere fifteen seconds feels excruciatingly long, but when the main screen pops up, I’m clicking and typing like a madman.

  I launch the video app for the security and comply with the security checks. The system is set up to only record when movement starting at the door is sensed. I see that there are five entries to the office over the past two days. Doing a mental cataloging I know that the first one will be me when I came in before leaving for Los Angeles on Tuesday morning, and the last one will be me walking in just now. Of the three left, at least two will be Renata coming in for her daily dusting. I’m hoping against hope that the remaining video will be Renata coming in for something she’s forgotten, and not Talia coming in to snoop.

  Why in the hell did I leave her here in my place alone?

  Because you were thinking with your dick, not your head, I answer myself.

  Prolonging the apparent inevitable, I start with the most recent video, which as I knew would be, is me now. Then earlier today is Renata—dusting. The video before that, Tuesday afternoon, is the same. I smile to myself as Renata makes the same sweep every time. Starts with the desk, lifting and shifting items as she moves along.

  Two videos left. Both from Tuesday. One of the clips, I know will be me. Will the other be Renata with a surprise appearance? I know looking at the time stamp for the file, that it’s not Renata, but I don’t want to acknowledge the wild imaginings my subconscious is screaming.

  With a shaky finger, I click the movie strip icon. My stomach drops like a rock when I see the unmistakable form of Talia. Although the video feed is black and white, it’s almost like I can see her silky, reddish blonde hair. She’s put back on my Notre Dame t-shirt, and her long legs stick out from under the hem. I vividly recall those legs being on my shoulders not long before I went to L.A. Those legs… Her breasts… Her pussy…

  It takes a considerable amount of effort, but I push my perverted thoughts aside as I watch Talia slowly make her way to my desk. She’s not skulking about, but rather she’s meandering as if she is simply curious. She spots the photos on my desk, and my eyes flick to the same quickly before refocusing on the image streaming on my computer. There are just two photos. One with my parents and me on my graduation from Stanford. The other, my favorite one, is of my sister, Darlene, and me in a silver frame with ‘Brother & Sister Forever’ engraved at the top and our names at the bottom.

  I can’t help but notice Talia’s reaction to the photo as she sets down her coffee cup and picks up the frame and gasps, pressing her other hand to her mouth. It was taken about two months before Darlene died. It was a rough day for her, and my parents insisted on her going in her wheelchair. They’d even insisted on the oxygen that day, the clear plastic tube secured under her nose. We were at the Brookfield Zoo, Darlene’s second favorite place. I’d often wondered if that was where she’d contracted the pneumonia. She wanted to be a zoologist specializing in endangered species. She had taken a particular interest in spider monkeys.

  Talia takes a moment with the photo before putting it back where it sat, not taking much care to reposition it perfectly, and clearly unaware that she’s being recorded.

  I hold my breath while she stands a moment at my desk. Is she about to open the drawer? The drawer where I kept my emergency cash? Her eyes sweep through the room and then glances at the books in the bookshelf behind my desk. She looks at several titles and then pulls a book out, opens the cover to read an inscription. I briefly wonder which book she pulled out and looked at, but I can’t tear my eyes from the screen. After Talia re-shelves the book, she glances around the room and walks out.

  No real snooping. She didn’t pay much mind to the diplomas that hung on the wall which would have blown my cover as Talia would have seen my last name. Definitely no digging. And she seemed to feel bad about stepping foot in my office.

  Needing to confirm one last thing, lest she’s really clever and somehow figured out there was a camera recording her moves and, in some James-Bond move, manipulated the recording, I open the bottom, right drawer, and, as hoped, immediately spot my cash box. I grip the handle and lift it to my desktop then dial in the code and open it. Everything seems to be intact. The cash. A few historical coins. A CD with some sensitive files. And my sister’s necklace—a Hello, Kitty! face.

  I re-lock the box and tuck it back into its drawer, relieved. Bottom line—Talia didn’t take money from my office.

  I get up and grab a cold water bottle from the mini-fridge in my office and drink half of it without taking a breath, feeling a bit better about Talia not being a thief, however, I still can’t shake what I witnessed on the street. What was she doing? Who was that guy? Where did she get so much money? Talia said she didn’t have a job yet. She didn’t volunteer how she had money to live in Chicago, and I didn’t push. Why didn’t I press her? I’m tempted to call Chip and have him take me back to West Jackson. Maybe I could find that guy and ask him what the deal is.

  My cell phone rings, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I grab for the device and am disappointed it’s not Alec with news. Rather it’s the group in L.A. I’d just spent yesterday and early today with calling to go over some of the details of the joint venture we were embarking on.

  Thirty minutes later, we end our call, and I sit back, grateful that I can finally focus on what has been on my mind for the past hour. Talia. I decide to think while I run, so I change clothes and head to my home gym.

  Pounding out miles on the treadmill, lifting weights, and doing seemingly endless crunches while I blare the musical stylings of AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, and Black Sabbath, the punishing workout does little to quiet my mind. The scenarios running through my thoughts range from possible to outlandish with the outlandish ideas taking the lead. The current idea that my mind is obsessed with is that Talia is involved with many rich men around town, and that she and the road worker are in cahoots.

  After a shower, which didn’t help to wash away any of the images in my head of Talia and the money, I’m pacing the floors of my condo feeling like a madman when Alec finally calls.

  “Sorry, boss,” he says. “I can’t find anything on a Talia Jameson. I’ve tried a few other spellings other than the one you gave me, and nothing, at least not matching the description of your Talia.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Is your Talia African American.”

  “No.”

  “Then, no. Not in southern Illinois or Illinois at all. And I scanned a hundred or so Jameson families in the area. There were a couple other Talia Jameson’s I found in the US, but they are still active in their parts of the country. I did find a Jude Jameson in Illinois, but he’s incarcerated. Stole a car and had enough pot on him that he was convicted of intent to sell. He’s actually scheduled for release tomorrow.”

  My mind reels. No Talia Jameson’s recorded in Illinois? A Jude Jameson in jail? Can’t possibly be her brother. Must be another person with the same name. I mean, I’m not the only David Waterston. And Alec said that there were more than a hundred Jameson families there. Then again, if it’s the same Jude Jameson, and if her brother is a criminal, maybe it runs in the family.

  Maybe Talia isn’t her name after all. Maybe it’s all a part of her big secrecy charade. Then I remember that Talia said her name was a nickname or something. Dammit! Why didn't I dig to find out her actual name?

  I ask Alec to keep digging and end the call.

  I lo
ok at the clock and see that I’m supposed to be picking up Talia for dinner in an hour. I can’t. I can’t see her right now. With so many questions looming, I won’t be able to hide my suspicions. She’ll know something is up and then anything Alec might glean could be in jeopardy.

  Quickly, I text Talia. Hi Talia. Something came up, and I won’t be able to make dinner tonight. Sorry. TTYL

  I head into my closet to get dressed deciding that I can’t stay cooped up. I need to get out. But then I see my Notre Dame t-shirt hanging there. Talia must have hung it up. I take it off the hanger and bring the neck of the shirt to my nose. I give a light sniff, half afraid of what I’ll smell. Either me or her. My heart starts to pound when I definitely smell her. It’s a heady mix— me and her mixed together. I curse under my breath as an unpleasant mix of excitement and despair courses through me—basically, my dick and my head at war.

  I couldn’t wait to get back from California to see, hold, kiss, and make love to Talia. I’d even arranged to come home early. Now with this new information, which is admittedly still suspicion and speculation, my head and heart are torn.

  I can only hope that Alec sifts through the information, and Talia is in the all-clear.

  CRYSTAL

  Canceled? A ‘something came up’ text and no dinner?

  I should be upset and worried, but I’m still wound up with guilt and shame over Leo. I’m also still working out how I’m going to tell David all of my secrets.

  I send David a quick text. That’s fine. I’m really tired anyway. Hope you had a good trip, and we’ll get together soon.

  I hit send and hope it sounds light, casual, and confident when I feel anything but. I fix myself a peanut butter, jelly, and potato chip sandwich and go to bed early hoping to make up for some of the sleep I lost last night.