by Debra Lynch
Levi gave me his award-winning grin, and his whole face lit up. “You bet.”
Before we signed off, I bowed my head. My eyes nearly filled as I delivered the line I recited at the end of every show: “This one’s for you, Daddy.” Today the dedication felt even more impactful. If I didn’t play Dennis just right, my career would be down the tubes, and then what kind of a legacy would I leave for Daddy? Exactly what everyone always expected of me. A life of prison where the best I could hope for would be facilitating a meditation group for death row inmates who’d suddenly found Jesus and yoga.
I squared my shoulders. I was proud of what I’d accomplished, and the success of the show was due to my father. If only he could see me now. He didn’t want me to follow in his grifting footsteps, but what I did for a living may as well have been the same thing. Con artists trained themselves to put on an act, and I was one of the greatest actresses on YouTube. I kissed my fingers, and we signed off.
“This is Rachel Goodman.”
“And Levi Swift.”
“Saying namasté.”
I had a good life. Make that a great life. No way was Dennis going to ruin my carefully laid plans.
After we finished filming, I turned on my phone. The device blew up with eighteen text messages, the chimes going crazy with a machine-gun-like rapid fire dinging.
All from Dennis.
Every single text featured a romantic emoji: A guy and a girl with their heads pressed together and a heart in the middle, a heart with an arrow piercing it, two hearts with wings. The texts all gushed something along the lines of how much he had enjoyed our drink. And how much he loved the shirt I wore. Maybe next time wear something feminine. Not cargo pants.
Heat rose up my neck and suffused my face, and Madeline caught my eye, her face scrunched up in an exaggerated look of concern.
Levi raised his eyebrows. “Everything okay?”
I stammered out my reply with a fake smile. “Fine and dandy.” I slammed the phone down on the counter.
All I could think about was how to get the thumb drive back from Dennis. And not just the thumb drive. Did he have the surveillance video saved to his computer? I had to figure out a way to get a hold of it.
My father taught me the art of the con, and I’d embraced it like a child playing a particularly tricky board game. One I was determined to win. This lifestyle comes in handy when one needs it, and if ever there was a time that time was now.
Every time I thought about Dennis with his supposed “career” it made me nearly dizzy with laughter. The way he’d acted like being a rent-a-cop for The Treasure Trove was the next step to being chief of police of a major city was quite hilarious.
Okay, guilty as charged. I broke the law. But the way he was putting the screws to me? No, Dennis. I don’t think so.
I would remain positive because I learned a long time ago that it was either maintain my center or sink into a mire of negativity that turned the world black. With that in mind, I happily taught my beloved video blogging class at the Laguna Beach Community Center that night.
As I wrapped up the class, one of my students approached. “Did you have a chance to watch my video?” Lila was one of my favorite students, a twenty-something goth girl who loved her black eyeliner, nose piercings, and was a whizz-bang with a video camera.
I threw my head back and laughed. “Sorry babe, but I got trapped by a fan who talked me into going to the kombucha bar. Creepy little hipster man. I’ll watch it tonight.”
I glanced up and nearly hurled in my mouth when I saw Dennis striding down the hall until he stood inches from me. Oh, god, he heard me. I squeezed my eyes shut and wished with all my might that the floor would open and swallow me.
“Hi, Rachel.”
“Dennis! I wasn’t expecting …”
“To see me?”
The room grew silent as Dennis and I stared each other down and Lila gawked at us both. All I could hear was the whoosh of outside traffic and smell the exhaust fumes coming in through the open window.
“Umm, Lila, this is Dennis,” I said.
He grinned like an idiot and gripped her hand while peering into her eyes like he’d never made an acquaintance in his life. Lila had best wash her hand the second she got out of here. Scrub it with lava soap and don’t touch any part of her body in the meantime. “Pleasure.”
Lila seemed to wince, and it looked like she’d been caught in one of those Chinese finger traps when she pulled her hand out of his vise grip. “How do you two know each other?”
Well, let’s see, I committed a felony in his store, and can you believe it? The man let me off with nothing more than a drink at the kombucha bar! My hand covered a dry cough. “We go way back, Dennis and I.”
“Yes we do.” He clapped his slimy hand on my shoulder like we were sorority sisters. “Way back. Good friends. Isn’t that right, Rachel?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Just stopping by.”
I picked up my satchel. “Well, I’m kind of busy.”
“But I came all this way to see you. Want to go for a walk?”
I glanced at Lila, and Lila glanced at Dennis, none of us speaking for long moments.
Unless I wanted to make a scene—and Dennis definitely was not the type to put up with a scene—I was stuck. “All right. I suppose I could do that.” I turned to Lila. “I’ll get back to you with my notes on your video.”
“Sounds good. Nice meeting you, Dennis.”
I walked at a brisk clip ahead of Dennis, through the hallway, pushed through the door and into the swelteringly hot summer night.
“Hey, slow down,” he yelled as I crossed the street into the downtown section of Laguna Beach.
A driver who paid more attention to his phone than the road nearly clipped me, and I swung my head around when I heard Dennis yell and slam a hand on the hood of the driver’s car. “Slow the fuck down! Idiot!” The man mimed a sorry motion and sped off. “Stupid cell phone addicted moron!”
I put my head down and nearly broke into a jog, my heart pounding. Could I do this? Could I play this game? Deep breaths, Rachel.
He caught up with me in front of the French bakery, and I whirled on him, my long hair swinging in the night. I barked out the words before weighing their impact. “What the hell are you doing sneaking up on me like that?”
He raised his hands. “Sneaking? I thought we were friends.”
I nearly laughed in his face. Friends? Not in this universe or any other. I started walking again, and he followed me.
“I wouldn’t snap at me the way you are, Rachel. I think you owe me an apology. All I’m trying to do is talk to you.”
He stopped me with a hand on my arm that felt like a hot poker searing into my delicate flesh. Oh god, he was touching me again. “Don’t touch me,” I said through clenched teeth.
His white face looked genuinely perplexed, and he shrugged. “Let’s just walk for a bit.”
What the hell did Dennis want now? Okay, Rachel, if you’re going to play him, you need to improv with the best of them. I could do this. “Fine.”
We walked the two blocks to Main Beach, the big tourist spot in Laguna, where all the vacationers who came to visit liked to hang out. There, they’d watch the pro volleyball players smack at the ball with the sparkling ocean in the background. Or get an expensive latte at the Urth Caffe. Or eat at one of the fancy bistros that costs thirty bucks a plate for a few sprigs of asparagus surrounding a piece of salmon that was some wild-caught scam. God, I loved Orange County.
I made myself relax, and broached the subject. “Any sign of the thumb drive?” I said.
“Yeah. I’ve got it. It’s safe.”
“And where would that be?”
“At my house.”
I pressed my lips together and kept walking, only now Dennis had taken the lead. “Where are we going?” I said as we made our way up the stairs toward Heisler Park.
“Let’s go sit on a bench and listen t
o the ocean. It’ll be nice.”
We strolled through the park, and I shook out my hands, my acting persona kicking into gear.
It really was beautiful here. The park looked like something out of a movie set at night. Like one of those old films—South Pacific—with its skeletal palm trees stark against the navy-blue sky and the dramatic cliffs that led down to the boulder-strewn ocean. Dennis picked a bench that was close to the railing overlooking the sea, and we sat. I perched as far away from the slimeball who passed for a man as the bench would allow.
“Does Levi like you?”
My breathing stopped. What did he know about Levi? “You watched the show?”
His eyes lit up. “It’s great. Is he your boyfriend?”
A flush of adrenaline tingled through my body. I had to protect Levi from Dennis. Maybe one day, Levi would be my boyfriend. Only now that I was here with Dennis did the sad fact dawn on me that Levi could be affected by my bad choices, by my shoplifting. I pursed my lips and gazed toward the ocean. “No. We’re just colleagues.”
He stared at me through the creepy hipster glasses, his gaze intense. “I don’t like the way he spoke to you on the show. All snooty like he’s better than you. I don’t like the way he looked at you, either.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and touched my throat. He’d better not get any ideas about involving Levi in our conflict. The thought of his jealousy toward Levi made me protective over my partner and had me considering murder over shoplifting as my drug of choice.
What was it he didn’t like about the way Levi spoke to me? I knew better than to ask. A nutcase like Dennis had a screwed up mind I’d never understand and didn’t want to.
The night felt oppressively hot. I yearned to fan myself as my blood pressure spiked. Dennis needed to step off unless he wanted me to decapitate him in broad daylight. I folded my arms. “He means well.”
“Well I don’t like it. But you handled it great.” He smiled. “You were so cool. A true professional. I love that about you. Does he know about your tattoo?”
“What about it?”
“That it’s got your dad’s ashes mixed in the ink?”
I turned toward Dennis so fast I felt the air shift between us. “Is there a point you’re trying to make?”
“Now don’t go getting all huffy. Just making conversation.”
We sat in silence for a few moments listening to the angry ocean slam against the boulders, inhaling the briny sea air.
With shaking fingers, Dennis reached into his pocket. “Did you ever make a macramé bracelet for a friend? You seem like the macramé type.” He held two bracelets up for my inspection. “Ta da! Made out of hemp. Made ’em myself. One for you and one for me. Kind of a going steady bracelet. Yeah. That’s it. We’ll think of it like that.”
Jesus. Was the man delusional? The answer to that was yes and hell, yes.
I stared at the bracelets, wondering if I could wrap one around Dennis’s neck and cut off his air supply. “Come on, hold up your wrist.”
I could play his game, but my hands shook like a leaf anyway. I tentatively lifted one wrist and he slipped the bracelet on. “Looks great! Now for mine.” He slid the bracelet on and held it in front of me.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
My stomach lodged in my throat. I should’ve known he wanted more than a drink at the kombucha bar. “Dennis … I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
His lips wobbled when he spoke. “I … I have something to tell you.”
“What’s that?”
“I’ve never been great with women.”
I nearly barked out a laugh. His comment was so Dennis—pathetic and ludicrously comical. Gee, I wonder why not?
May as well call his bluff and get our cards on the table. “I’m never going to get the thumb drive back, am I?”
“Maybe I can come to your class sometime.”
“You’ll bring it then?”
“Maybe.”
I tapped my foot. “I need to know when you’re giving it back. And if you have other copies.”
He picked up his hand and inspected his fingernails. “Nope. No other copies.”
Until I got a hold of his computer, I’d have to believe him. “When do I get the thumb drive back?”
“Like I said. I’ll come to your class.”
“When?”
He blew out an impatient breath. “I’ll have to check my schedule.”
“Just give it to—”
His voice was sharp. “I told you! It’s safe.”
“But that’s my reputation.”
“Should’ve thought of that earlier.”
We stared at each other, and finally, Dennis sat up straight. “Gotta go. I’ve got work tomorrow.”
My feet felt unsteady on the grass even though I was sitting. I’d have to play along with Dennis until I could get a hold of the thumb drive and his computer. “Fine … come to my class.”
I watched Dennis stride away. Head held high, arms swinging, probably whistling a happy tune as he enjoyed the Laguna Beach night at my expense.
Enjoy your happiness while you can, Dennis. Because it won’t last long. Not if I have anything to say about it.
Four
I glanced at the time on my phone for the umpteenth time as I waited for my attorney friend, Karen Hertzman, to meet me at Ocean and Main, one of Laguna’s trendy new lunch spots. I stirred my iced tea again, staring out toward the sliver of ocean visible from my vantage point on the patio.
The night before, I’d received a text from Dennis with two pictures of models wearing baby doll pajamas. Along with more disgusting texts and emojis gushing about how much he liked me. The fine hairs had crept up the back of my neck, and my stomach went sour.
“Rachel! Sorry I’m late. You know how traffic is getting through the canyon this time of year. A complete and total nightmare.” She threw her Hermes bag onto the cushioned booth and slid in, removing her oversized designer glasses and running a hand through her wild red mane. Karen snapped her fingers to the passing waiter, a guy who could’ve passed for a young Brad Pitt. “Sex on the beach, please.” When his eyes grew wide she laughed and said, “Just joking. That drink went out with Farah Fawcett’s hairstyle. I’ll have what she’s having.” She peered at my drink. “What are you having?”
After we settled in and ordered—a Niçoise salad for me, a grass-fed burger for Karen—, she asked, “So what’s up? You look like you’re headed to the firing squad.” She narrowed her eyes. “You okay?”
I drummed my fingers on the table and launched into my tale. “I made a mistake.” I heard Dennis’s obnoxious voice in my head. Mistake?
She scrunched her eyebrows. “Does this mistake have anything to do with the law?”
I pressed my lips together tightly, and then I spoke. “I stole a letter opener from that trinket shop in El Toro. You know, The Treasure Trove.” I averted my gaze. “I got caught.”
“Go on.”
“The man who caught me, well, I offered to pay for it, and after making me squirm, he said he’d let me go.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Just like that? What about surveillance footage?”
I gave a nervous laugh. “The store does have cameras if you can believe a mom and pop place like that covers their butt. Not very fancy equipment from what I can tell. But yep.” I raised one manicured hand. “Yours Truly was caught on camera. The man, Dennis is his name, transferred it to a thumb drive and then erased the footage from the feed. But now this lowlife is acting all weird.”
“Weird how?”
“First he wanted to have drinks with me, then he randomly showed up at my video blogging class. He’s sending me disgusting texts with pictures of lingerie he thinks would look good on me and gushy heart emojis. He’s keeping me up all night with text messages and I can’t turn my phone off in case Madeline needs me.” I leaned forward. “He made me a macramé bracelet, said it was a going steady bracelet.”
“Has he
made advances? Like tried to kiss you?”
“God no.” The idea of Dennis’s thin creepy lips touching mine was enough to nearly send me into a panic attack.
“You are pretty hot, you know.”
“Not helping.”
She set down her napkin. “I’m joking. Come on Rachel. We’ve known each other a lot of years, and I know you. You’re strong. You made a mistake, but you’re tough. You can handle this guy.”
“He wants to expose me.”
“Expose what? One accidental case of petty theft? Does he think you’re Lindsay Lohan?”
The last thing I wanted to think about was shoplifting celebrities. With all her money and fancy attorneys, the wildly famous Ms. Lohan was slapped with cuffs and served jail time. Oh God, please don’t let me end up like her. I didn’t think I could survive prison life. I pursed my lips and blew out a breath. “There’s a problem.”
“And what’s that?”
“The letter opener was worth eleven hundred bucks.”
Karen let out a low whistle. “Shoot. That is a problem. We’re talking felony.” She covered my hand with hers and looked me in the eye. “Listen to me. We’ll handle this. If it comes down to it we’ll plead not guilty and make him look like a stalker. But my guess is he’ll forget about it.”
“He has the thumb drive and he’s lording it over me. I can’t let this get out.”
“So here’s what you do. You set up a meet. Tell him you’ve sought legal counsel. That’s usually enough to scare the daylights out of these cheap dime-store hoods. What can the guy make working at that silly little shop? Twelve bucks an hour? He won’t be able to defend himself. A hundred dollars says he’s bluffing. It was just one time, right?”
I couldn’t meet Karen’s eyes. I’d lived with this secret shame most of my life. My therapist said there’s no cure for kleptomania. Said her head-shrinking will help diminish what she calls my cycle of compulsive stealing.
Did I want it to diminish? Well, yes and no.
I’d feel lost without the rush, the high, the relief I felt after I stole.
But here I was talking to a lawyer instead of a shrink—just like the therapist warned me would happen if I didn’t get this impulse under control.