The Perfect Liar

by Debra Lynch

  He crossed his arms. “Doesn’t work that way.”

  I licked my lips, and my body trembled. I gripped the arms of the cheap chair. He had me. I’d lose my viewership, I’d lose Levi’s respect, I’d end up right back in the rat trap of poverty. I could see myself applying for food stamps now as former fans asked, “Didn’t you used to be Rachel Goodman?” No. I couldn’t go back to the life of hand-me-down clothes, bed bugs, boxed macaroni and cheese, and sleeping in an overcrowded room occupied by smelly, snoring bodies. I couldn’t go back. I wouldn’t go back.

  Was I going to pass out right here in this hell hole of an office? My voice was nearly a whisper. “Please. This could ruin me. I’m a famous YouTuber.” Tears sprang to my eyes, and I blinked them back. “I also teach yoga and teach a video blogging class at the community center.”

  He leaned back in his creaky chair and tapped his pen on the desk, then picked up the phone. “Gotta call my boss.”

  I wanted to slap it right out of his hand. “No. Please.”

  He gripped the receiver and kept one vigilant eye on me. Think, Rachel, think. You can finagle your way out of this. I held my breath, trying to stay quiet as he spoke to his boss. “Yeah, okay … sure … yes … yes, everything’s okay … I was just checking the system.”

  He set the phone down and smiled, but it rang again. The one-sided conversation had something to do with a faulty cash register, and finally, Dennis slammed down the phone. “I’m needed downstairs. Be right back.”

  I exhaled the breath I’d been holding. As soon as I heard Dennis hit the bottom stair, I tracked him on one of the cameras. He stood at the register, practically pulling out his hair, trying to help the cashier. She stood with arms folded, a twisted expression on her face as she chewed on her fingernails.

  The letter opener sat on Dennis’s desk. I hurriedly slid my phone from my pocket and snapped several photos from various angles. As I took the final picture, I heard his feet pounding up the stairs. I quickly settled myself into the hard-backed chair and crossed my legs.

  Dennis smiled and regarded me with cold eyes, and the seconds ticked by as he stared me down. All I heard was the whooshing of blood as it pounded through my ears.

  Finally, he spoke. “Good thing I’m feeling generous today.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a thumb drive. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll transfer your info.” He gave me a playful wink. “You know, where you made your mistake, onto this memory stick.” He stuck the removable drive into the server and went to work transferring the video. “And then I’ll permanently erase the footage from the live feed.” With a few clicks of the mouse, it was done. He rubbed his hands together. “All gone.” Dennis made a big show of checking he had my name spelled correctly, copied down my address, created a name tag, and slapped it on the storage device. He held it up with a smile. “All good.”

  What the hell? My muscles felt weak from the prolonged anxiety of being in the same room with my tormentor. It was obvious he enjoyed his power play. “So what now?”

  “You’re free to go.”

  I pressed a palm to my heart. “Wow. Thank you so much.”

  “There is one thing you could do.”

  Great. Here it comes. What did this weasel want? Whatever it was, I knew it wouldn’t be good. “Anything. Name it.”

  He slipped the evidence into his pocket. “You could buy me a drink sometime.”

  My throat nearly closed up, but I knew how to play the game. I batted my eyelashes. “Anytime.”

  “Great. I get off in a half-hour. There’s this kombucha bar I heard about in Laguna Beach.” He peered at me intently. “It’s called the Adam and Eve Kombucha Bar. Been wanting to check it out.” He must’ve seen me swallow in revulsion because his eyes narrowed. “And don’t even think about bailing on me. I know where you live.”

  I glanced at his pocket, where the thumb drive resided. I felt like tackling him to the ground, ripping the evidence out of his hiding place, smashing it with violence against his white forehead, and breaking his hipster glasses. I stood, my throat uncomfortably dry.

  I could have kicked him in the shins and hightailed it out of there. This wasn’t the first time a man had taken advantage of me. Oh, I’d experienced much, much worse. I squeezed my eyes shut and shivered.

  Over the years, I’d learned the way to win. Enact a part—remove myself from my body and play the game. That’s how I would treat this situation with the disgusting man who thought he’d bust me with felony theft. Like a chess match—one that I’d win against this vile opponent.

  It didn’t mean that I wasn’t rattled, though. Being in the same room with Dennis gave me some serious heebie-jeebies.

  Game on. “Fine. I’ll see you there.”

  He stood up and smiled. “Happy hour just got happier.”

  I strode out of The Treasure Trove as though the place were on fire.

  I slammed the door of my Tesla, the soothing environment of the luxury vehicle like a meditation retreat, and sucked in deep breaths. Cleansing breath, Rachel. Calm down.

  I pulled out my phone and scrolled to the picture of my father and me, my eyes blurring. Daddy wasn’t thrilled with how I’d taken to the life, but we did what we had to do. I got my start by stealing sandwiches because we couldn’t always afford food, and I decided I liked it. It made me feel powerful in a world where I didn’t have much control.

  Call it nostalgia, call it minor misdemeanor petty theft, call it whatever you want. But felony?

  We’d see about that.

  Two

  I strode into the Adam and Eve Kombucha Bar and slapped my designer bag down on the counter. “Hey, Rachel. What’ll it be?”

  I glanced up at the bartender. “Passionberry kombucha martini.”

  “Coming up.”

  “Make it strong.”

  He wiped down the bar with a grin. “That bad, eh?”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  He made the heavenly drink, I took a long swallow, and my body relaxed slightly. I yanked my phone out of my bag, opened the photo app, and peered at the picture of the letter opener, eager to get home so I could research it. To kill time, I scrolled through pictures, stopping on a favorite of Madeline and me. I took another sip of my beverage and smiled. The picture showed us sitting on a bench in Heisler Park overlooking the sparkling Pacific Ocean. My arm was flung around her shoulders, our cheeks touching as she sat in her wheelchair, beaming at the camera. Madeline, at age sixty-seven, with her silver-streaked brown hair and her penchant for gaily colored clothing always brightened every room she entered.

  I was working on martini number two when Dennis strolled in. The man actually turned one full revolution, gawking at the place before he found me bellied up to the bar. “Whoa. Nice place.” He slid into the barstool, pulling it entirely too close to mine, his gaze traveling to my open phone with the picture of Madeline and me. I quickly closed out of my photo app and scooted away. The alcohol had worked its magic to ease the tension from my wound-tight-as-a-top body. But now that Dennis was actually here, sitting next to me, I wanted to take a shower—scrub until my skin bled. “I don’t get out much, but I read about this place in the local paper. Sure is everything they said.”

  I took in the trendy eatery with its whitewashed brick walls, wooden farm tables, gleaming concrete floors, macrame wall hangers. A large glassed-in display in the center of the restaurant which held the shiny silver vats of kombucha brew as though they were some kind of nectar from the gods. I took another gulp of my drink and settled into actress mode by giving Dennis a weak smile. “What can I get you?” I held up my glass. “Passionberry martini’s good.”

  “Is it alcoholic?”

  What do you think, idiot? It’s a martini. “It is.”

  “I don’t drink.”

  I crossed my legs. “Well, how do you get your fluids then?”

  He looked at me a few beats too long. “How do I what?” He slapped his thigh and pointed at me. �
�Oh, I get it. Good one, Rachel.”

  For somebody who knew the law so well and fancied himself an aficionado in the world of security, he sure didn’t have much in the way of a brain. I addressed the bartender. “What’s on tap sans the good stuff tonight?”

  “Ginger coke, Roy Rogers with a twist, and organic lemonade sweetened with local honey.”

  “He’ll have the lemonade,” I said.

  We settled in with our drinks, and I checked him out. Freaking hipster with his dweeby glasses, dark facial hair complete with mustache, black earrings, receding hairline peeking out from underneath an orange knit cap. He had about ten years on my twenty-nine. I blurred my eyes and thought that Dennis may have been slightly attractive at one time. Maybe in another lifetime. Not this one, that’s for sure. This time around, all the past life regressions in the world wouldn’t do squat to make him handsome.

  He held up his drink for a toast. “To friends.”

  Whatever. I wouldn’t be his friend if we were the only two people left after a nuclear holocaust. “So, you always been in security?”

  “Yeah. Always.” He smiled a big smile, and I wondered what was so damn funny. “You should see some of the scams I’ve come across.”

  The only thing I wanted to do was get home so I could research the letter opener and find out if it really was as valuable as he’d made me believe. But Dennis had a captive audience, and there was no stopping him. “Do tell,” I said in a bored tone.

  “Well. There’s your closed umbrella trick. Seeing as it doesn’t rain here much that scam only works in the rainy season.” He leaned in, and I could smell a combination of breath mint and cheap cologne. “How it works is the perp—that’s what we call perpetrators in our business—carry an umbrella at their side and drop small items into the gap.”

  I knew what a perp was. Did Dennis think I was five years old or had never seen one single episode of CSI? “Fascinating,” I said.

  “Then there’s the baby carriage trick. That one works crazy good because nobody wants to think these oh-so-high-and-mighty OC mothers would steal. But they do. They wait for the baby to cry and believe me, Rachel, those spoiled brats carry on, screaming like banshees almost like they’re part of the ruse. When the mom goes to comfort the poor kid she slips the goods under the baby blanket.

  “Of course you’ve got your basic ‘commotion’ scam. That’s where a group of rowdy kids come into the store and a couple of them make a bunch of noise or start gathering around a YouTube video played real loud. I even had one kid act like he was having an epilepsy fit while his friend stole a notebook. A notebook. Can you believe it? Like somebody’d be willing to get thrown into the hole for stationary?” He let out a snort and took a sip of lemonade.

  I mentally rolled my eyes and thought, kill me now.

  The smile that spread across his face was so creepy that I nearly called the whole thing off right then and there by telling him to go ahead and turn me in. Not only did I have to sit here and listen to him go on and on about how talented he was at work, I had to inhale the aroma of his aftershave. Staring into those eyes felt degrading with his reptilian stare.

  He pointed at me with one bony index finger. “But yours.” He shook his head. “Your scam is especially brilliant. Freaking cell phones that people can never spend one freaking second without? Yeah. That’s a good one. Too bad for you, I’ve seen it all.”

  I leaned back in my chair and took an extra-long swallow of precious alcohol. The vodka hit my veins, and I relaxed slightly as I went on with my act. “Sounds like you’re great at your job.”

  “Enough about me. I want to hear about this video thing of yours. What’s it called?”

  “The Namasté Getaway.”

  “Never seen it. What’s it about?”

  “It’s a yoga-themed YouTube channel. My partner and I talk about the yoga life. You know, yoga postures, healthy food, meditation. It’s kind of a day in the life account of the yoga scene in Laguna Beach.”

  “I’ve been practicing myself, you know. I’ll have to check it out. You say people know you from it? How big is this so-called YouTube thing?”

  It gets twenty million monthly views, you creep. “We do okay. I started it as a fun thing about eight years ago when people like me could still find an audience. Then my friend Levi started recording with me.” I thought of my bestie, Levi. The women and men practically devoured him and his dark good looks. An electric current tingled my spine when I thought of his sea-green eyes contrasting against olive skin, his wavy hair that fell over his forehead. It made him look like he’d just gotten out of bed. Levi drove the fans wild. He had been my salvation after all the years of therapy and trying to get my life together.

  I’d met Levi at a yoga retreat in Joshua Tree five years prior, and we’d hit it off immediately. Our subscribers liked to speculate as to whether or not there was anything sexual, but there wasn’t. Not that I wouldn’t have loved it. But my sad love life consisted of a few failed attempts at relationships before the horrible bad thing that happened to me when I was nine loomed its head.

  I wanted to be close to a man. I did. I had gone so far as to sign up for online dating at one point—a site called karmaMatch. Here at karmaMatch we promise to match you with your soulmate in a relationship that’s emotionally and spiritually fulfilling.

  I went on a couple of dreadful dates with Om chanting men who took me to vegan restaurants, mountain biking on the local trails, picnics on the beach at sunset.

  But I was never able to relax because the dates always ended with the guy’s tongue in my mouth (because I’m so sexy!) while visions of the trauma raced through my head until I felt like vomiting.

  The brilliant marketers at karmaMatch were selling hope—fall in love, and you’ll be in nirvana!

  I couldn’t delete my profile fast enough.

  I know people like to joke about yogis being like a herd of lemmings following the crowd right off a cliff without a backward glance. And hey, if you think that saying “om” for fifteen hours while sitting in the desert listening to some dude play a sitar is going to save your sorry ass, more power to you. But those aren’t the reasons I’m into yoga.

  There were real benefits. A kick-ass physical body (comes in handy if you ever need to murder somebody like Dennis, ha!), and the calm centeredness that comes from meditation, along with the real benefits of a healthy diet. Not to mention my loyal followers who wanted to be just like me. Jeez. A psychiatrist could have a field day with my contradictions, and believe me, they have.

  Counseling, crying, becoming a workaholic, and yoga had saved me. And Levi and Madeline’s friendship.

  Dennis set his glass down with a smack on the bar. “I will definitely have to check it out. You also teach?”

  “Yep. Yoga and a class on how to video blog.” The ceiling fan did little to counteract the summer heat. I leaned back to brush the hair away from my neck, and that’s when Dennis touched it. I jerked back.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. What’s the tattoo?”

  Hell, yes, he’d scared me. But if I’d let every frightening event in life stop me, you’d find me humming in a corner with a straight jacket tightly bound to my shivering body.

  My hand reflexively went to my neck and rubbed the spot Dennis had defiled. “It’s an infinity symbol.” I don’t know why I blurted out this next part, but the evening held a Twilight Zone feel to it already. “The ink’s mixed with my dad’s ashes.”

  His eyebrows shot up his forehead. “He’s dead.”

  Brilliant observation, Einstein. “That he is. Died when I was nine.” And that’s when I nearly lost it. I didn’t want to talk about my father. I wouldn’t. Especially not with him.

  Dennis looked at me like he was going to cry. Did he think I’d actually fall for his stupid act? “I’m sorry.”

  My throat tightened, remembering the way Daddy had died, and I took the last gulp of my martini, placing the glass on the bar with a sense of finality.
“It’s been swell but I really need to go. Early call tomorrow.”

  “Can’t stay for another?”

  I gathered my bag. “No can do.” I stood up and made for the door because I couldn’t wait for another second to research the value of the letter opener. Maybe there was still a chance that this day of shoplifting could be salvaged.

  A few patrons in our small town where everyone knew everyone turned to stare, and I gave each lovely fan a cheery salute along with an award-winning grin. When you have as many viewers as Levi and I you get used to the adoration. I loved our audience. They’d taken me from a nobody to a very wealthy woman who garnered the hero-worship of millions all over the world. But if they knew who I really was, would they still love me? I made haste, and Dennis followed me outside.

  We stood in front of the kombucha bar, the summer sun blinding as the orb set into the Pacific. “So, about the thumb drive,” I said in a low voice.

  He gave me another one of his creepola smiles. “Well you see, there’s a bit of a problem.”

  I’ll just bet there was. I’d put my firstborn on the fact that Mr. Security Guard of the Year had problems. Problems like what to do about that face. It looked like it had been on fire, and someone tried to extinguish the blaze with an ice pick. “What kind of problem?”

  “The video footage. My boss reviews them all at the end of the week. Just to keep me on my toes.”

  My throat felt thick. “But you erased it.”

  “I did. But there’ll be a gap in the feed. He might notice. It’ll be okay. I’ll fix it. My boss is my uncle so I can come up with a ruse.” He winked. “You know all about ruses, don’t you, Rachel?” He patted his pocket. “We’re safe. I’ve got the thumb drive.”

  His eyes looked myopic behind those horn-rimmed glasses, and I wanted to haul off and punch the guy right in the nose so I could see his glasses shatter. “Can’t you just give me the thumb drive?”

  “Can’t you just meet me on Thursday? Here? Same time?”