by Debra Lynch
“You’ll never let me live that one down, will you?”
“Hey, I gotta have at least one claim to fame around here.”
I pulled a ten out of my wallet and laid it on the bar. “Pony up.”
“Fine.” He placed a wrinkled ten on the counter between us. “If you weren’t so much fun, I’d have had you eighty-sixed from here months ago.”
“Ready?”
He covered his forehead with his hand. “What do I gotta do to protect myself?”
I chuckled. “No protecting yourself from the master. That ten is mine. Okay. Here we go. What’s one plus one?”
He squinted. “Are you serious?”
“Just answer the question.”
“Two.”
“What’s two plus two?”
“Four.”
“What’s three plus three?”
“Six.”
I kept going rapidly until I reached “What’s eight plus eight?”
“Sixteen.”
“Name a vegetable.”
“Carrot.”
I smiled. “Now look at the paper.”
He unfolded it, and there, in black and white block letters, was the word carrot. He smacked his forehead. “How the hell?”
I slid his ten my way and held it up. “I’ll have another.”
He shook his head. “Not so fast. Tell me how you did it.”
“That would be giving away my secrets.”
He threw his hands in the air. “You’re impossible.”
“But a great tipper.”
He turned to make my drink. “At least you got that going for you.”
The mind-reading trick was an old one Daddy taught me. Ninety percent of the time, people will think of a carrot. It’s a mathematical trick used by phony psychics to “read” people’s minds, and here’s how Daddy explained the science. Our brains have two functions. When the higher cognitive function is distracted, we revert to a very suggestive state of mind. Some think this trick works because the counting reminds us of children’s books, and carrots are the most common vegetable we learn about as U.S. kids.
Who knows exactly why it works, but I knew one thing. I was now ten bucks richer.
When Daddy tried to do the right thing and tell me I deserved an honest life, he always hauled out his clichéd line. Honey, we may have pulled a few harmless ruses together. He’d gaze into my eyes with seriousness. But remember. In the long run, crime doesn’t pay.
That might be true, but in the short run, it does pay. My father was only trying to protect me, I know. I want a different life for you. Not this life of looking over our shoulders all the time. And one day I’ll have enough money to make that happen. Promise me you’ll do something better with your life.
I told him I would. And I did plan on taking his advice. Eventually. Some day. Cross my heart and hope to die.
I ran cons when I needed to relax, and being around Dennis had spiked my blood pressure big time.
My gaze strayed to the plate glass window as I observed the busy tourist town. Excited children ate strawberry ice cream cones in the sweltering heat, parents clutched shopping bags from designer boutiques. Did any of those bags hold pilfered goods?
My therapist told me that I stole because it released a rush of dopamine that became addictive—that I had an imbalance in my brain’s opioids system.
Some of the witch doctors I’d worked with tried to drug me. I’d gone along with the medications at one point but holy moly! Talk about side effects—blurred vision, anxiety, and nightmares. Didn’t I have enough bad dreams?
My therapist didn’t know anything about the harmless cons like the mind-reading trick I’d learned from Daddy. The less she knew, the better. I wasn’t keen on watching her pull out her prescription pad to cure more so-called impulse behaviors.
The plan to recover the thumb drive weighed heavily on my mind, along with the research into Dennis. I opened my laptop and pulled up “oh holy master of the universe,” aka Google. There was the address that I’d verified with my drive-by to Dennis’s wreck of a house, and with a few more keystrokes, I read about Dennis’s misdeeds while sipping my hard kombucha. My eyebrows rose at the slick words used by a creative journalist to describe his transgressions. Dennis was a card-carrying evildoer. But I think we’ve already established that.
When I left the Adam and Eve Kombucha Bar, I left a forty percent tip.
The Tuesday night of my “date” with Dennis, I sat on the beach in full lotus posture performing a grounding meditation. The hot sun warmed my skin, the salty ocean air a soothing balm. Breathe in, breathe out.
One of my foster siblings was the one who’d turned me on to yoga. She’d handed me a worn library book detailing the sacred practice, the pages tattered like an ancient scroll.
I accepted the book and devoured it, studied it like there would be a rigorous final exam. The discipline spoke to me. Yoga promised an inner land of riches, a place where I could use my mind to escape. It helped me go beyond myself to a place deep inside where things were still. Where things like dead fathers, social workers, and bed bug-ridden mattresses didn’t exist.
I completed my meditation, and with a light step, climbed the staircase to my home, my soul a tiny bit lighter.
At seven-thirty sharp, the doorbell rang insistently. Hold your horses. I answered the door with a smile that was sure to win me a trophy—Most likely to charm, if there were such a thing.
Seemed Dennis went extra heavy on the cheap cologne that night. I resisted the urge to pinch my nose shut. “Hello, Dennis.”
He handed me a bottle of two-buck-chuck wine from Trader Joe’s, his eyes wide. “Wow! Is this the house The Namasté Getaway built?”
I ushered him in with a smile. “It’s not much. But I call it home.”
“Not much? It’s a palace.” He scanned the large living room and let out a low whistle. “Fancy. Who decked the place out?”
What was this? Property Brothers? I had a con to run. Save the HGTV commentary for another day. “Did it myself. Come on. I’ll give you the tour.”
We entered the kitchen. His gaze took in the impressive space—the humongous picture window that overlooked the ocean, a classy kitchen island made from imported marble, barstools surrounding it.
Acting like he owned the place, Dennis strode through the kitchen, running his hand along the countertop, and opened the pantry door. “Well what do you know. Check out this feast.” He elbowed me. “Is this where the party starts?” My Oreos, cheese puffs, corn chips, and sugary breakfast cereal stood alongside the gluten-free pasta and organic rice cakes. I quickly shut the door, wishing I had thought to poison a few Oreos and offer them to my guest. He laughed. “It’s okay. I like a bit of a treat myself sometimes.”
I ushered him through the living room and into the studio where Levi and I filmed the video blog. Sitting down at my desk, I pulled up Dennis’s personal yoga video. My fingers worked the mouse and maneuvered to the video icon. “Have a seat.” In the electric chair. Wouldn’t that be a fun way to end the evening?
Dennis made himself comfortable on the chair next to mine and stared at the screen. And there I was in the video, smiling at the camera, talking Dennis through the ins and outs of challenging yoga postures like camel pose and triangle pose. I’d set up a backdrop in a cream color and wore my black yoga shorts and yellow top. I swallowed over caustic bile. How had I agreed to make this film? It felt dirty. But what was I supposed to do? Until I retrieved the evidence, I’d have to play along. “I’ve got about fifteen minutes of edited material.”
“Where’s the blue top?”
Certainly didn’t take him long to notice. My head flicked his way, my eyebrows scrunched together. “What?”
“Seriously?” His face turned red, and he smacked his hand on the desk. “I asked for the blue top. I told you that’s the one I like.”
Leaning back in my chair, I stretched out my legs. “It’s in the wash.”
I watched
in amusement as his jaw clenched. “Is it too freaking much to ask? That’s the one I like so that’s the one you’ll wear. Got it?”
Having yourself a little tizzy fit, eh, Dennis? Pointing at him with my index finger, I said, “Right.”
The movie came to an end as I moved into a flawless crow pose and then stood up.
You know,” he said. “There’s something about you that I can’t put my finger on.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“You look so young and innocent.”
Young. There was that word again. If Dennis liked them young, why wasn’t he hanging out at the elementary school instead of here with me? I looked at him through slitted eyes. Why? Because he was one messed up freakshow. I threw my head back and laughed aloud. “Young? Not by Newport Beach standards. And innocent? I’d love to take credit for that title, but unfortunately, I’ve been around the block a few times.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Oh Dennis, do I really have to explain it? It means I’m better than you. Smarter, wittier, the better chess player. I waved my hand dismissively. “Oh nothing. You’re embarrassing me. I’m a human being with flaws like anybody else. So you like it?”
“Like what?”
“The video.”
“It has possibilities.”
Like the possibility that Dennis will end up begging for his miserable life to be over? Now there’s a fun possibility. I stood up and cocked my head. “Drink?”
He hopped out of his chair and slid his smartphone out of his pocket. “Stand close. Let’s get a selfie.”
I was doing okay transporting myself into actress mode, but now Dennis wanted me close enough that we touched? My body stiffened. “No.”
“What did you say?”
“I … I said no. Give me a second to comb my hair.”
“Your hair looks fine.” He tugged at my sleeve. “Stand next to Dennis so we can make our friends envious.”
A tingling shot through my hands, and the room felt too hot. I pulled at my dress, stalling for time. What if he kissed me? Or worse? Oh, god, no. I straightened my spine. I could deal with him. I’d fight back if I had to. Oh, would I fight back. “Fine.”
“Come here.”
I cringed as he moved in.
“Okay.” He stood so close to me that I could feel the heat of his body. “Closer,” he commanded. “Cheek to cheek.”
We touched cheeks. The feel of his skin against mine felt raw and biting, like a rat’s sharp teeth threatening to chew through my skin. As soon as he snapped the pic, I jerked away. He pulled up our likeness on the camera roll. “Hey, look at us! The happy couple.”
I blew out a hard breath and forced myself back into actress mode.
Before we left the room, I caught Dennis eyeing my safe with the combination lock, which stood inside the slightly open closet. And my secret room right on the other side. No big surprise there. People like Dennis couldn’t walk into a house without casing the joint. Just can’t help yourself from wondering what’s in there, can you Dennis?
I was putting on the performance of my life. The Namasté Getaway didn’t gain twenty million monthly views on its own. Nope. It took skilled craftsmanship and stellar acting to get the followers Levi and I had attracted over the years. The long hours spent at acting improv class and public speaking intensives definitely came in handy. Successful YouTube channel. Check. Conning Dennis. Double-check.
But let me tell you, boy, it wasn’t easy. I got myself into this mess, I’d get myself out. But sometimes life didn’t seem fair.
Just keep him on your side until you get your way.
I smiled like the perfect hostess I was. Martha Stewart, move over. “What’ll it be?” I opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of chardonnay. “There’s iced tea, soft drinks, kombucha.” I poured myself a hefty glass of wine.
“How about a cherry coke? Maybe a kombucha later.” He winked at me. “Save the strong stuff for the witching hour.”
Witching hour, my ass. Hopefully, I’d get what I needed and have Dennis out of here long before then. “Suit yourself.” I slammed ice cubes into a tumbler, filled it with cola. “Take our drinks outside?”
I lit the outside fire pit, and the deck came to life with the festive twinkle lights Levi had hung. Settling ourselves into padded lounge chairs, I took a deep sip of wine, and the warmth hit my veins. I took another slug. And another. I’d probably need a gallon of hard stuff to get through a night with Dennis. “You know Dennis, I think I’ve been a bit harsh on you.”
His body visibly relaxed into the chair. “It’s okay. What’s a few words between friends?”
“Mind if I ask you something personal?” Get him talking.
“Go ahead.”
“How come you don’t drink?”
“Just doesn’t work for me.”
“In what way?”
“I get a bit out of control.”
I’d hate to see what Dennis called out of control. Would that mean he’d send me pictures of himself in baby doll pajamas? I shuddered at the visual. Jesus. If I didn’t keep my sense of humor, I’d have been put into a padded cell long ago. “Surely it’s not as bad as all that.”
He let out a huge exhale and set his drink on the side table. “Can I confide in you?”
Reel him in, Rachel. Maybe he’d tell me something useful. I clutched my drink tighter and turned to face him. “Like you said, we’re friends.”
He hesitated and then spoke. “I got myself into a bit of trouble.” He waved his hands. “Nothing serious of course. Just high school stuff.” Oh, Dennis. Did he really think he could pass himself off as a minor misdemeanor kind of guy? Come on, dude, spit it out. Say the words I can use in a court of law. Tell me all about how you nearly murdered that man the other night, how you’re blackmailing me. Listen to me, sounding like I had a job in the Superior Court. The only words he’d probably give me would be more remarks about how screwed I was.
“What kind of trouble?”
“Just took up with the wrong crowd is all.” He cleared his throat. “But that’s all behind us.”
“Us?”
“You and me. Isn’t that what you always say on your videos? We’re all one?”
“It’s not meant to be taken literally.”
He sat up quickly as though he’d been shocked by a live wire. “Oh but I have. I’ve studied your show and I’m a better man. I practice yoga, I eat healthy, all kind of organic stuff, and I say no to drugs.” He tapped his forehead. “Wouldn’t want to muddy the noggin.”
Honey, your noggin’s been muddied since the day you were born. “Certainly not.”
It took everything in me to do what I did next. The act was enough to make my insides go all funny. Like a thousand creepy-crawlies had been dumped out of a burlap sack, straight down the gullet into my stomach.
I actually touched his skin with my mouth. I leaned over and whispered in Dennis’s ear, my lips making contact with his reptilian skin. “But you’d be okay with a little weed, right?”
He sat up straight, his eyes wide. “I told you, I don’t smoke.”
I needed to loosen him up. I smiled. “It’s okay. You’re with me. It’s organic.”
“I don’t—”
“Come on scaredy-cat. Let’s party.”
Dennis started to speak, but I was already halfway across the living room, where I retrieved my stash from the antique armoire. I gathered up my bong, a baggie of Grade-A Indica, and my lighter, bringing it all back onto the deck.
I packed the bowl with the heavenly weed and toked up. My voice sounded strangled as I held my breath and spoke. “You’ll love it.” I exhaled in a burst of air and giggled hysterically. I held out the bong. “Come on Dennis, don’t be a wimp.”
His pale skin and wide eyes contrasted with the black sweatshirt he wore, making him look like a comical marionette. “If you think it’s okay.”
I took another toke. “I do.”
I thrus
t the bong his way, and this time he took it. “Maybe just this once.” Dennis took such a long drag off the bong that I thought all the air would get sucked out of the atmosphere. He exhaled in a fit of coughing and laughter. “Wow. That stuff’s strong.”
The Indica oozed pleasantly through my system, and I relaxed back on the chaise lounge. “Let’s listen to some music. What do you like?”
“You have The Ramones?”
I took another puff and passed the bong his way. “Not into punk rock but I can stream anything. How about classical?” I queued up Beethoven’s piano sonata “Little Pathétique” and stretched out.
The heart-wrenching euphony blasted through the speakers. The ocean boomed as Dennis and I got high on the killer weed (I made sure he smoked most of it) and kidded around just enough to make it seem like we genuinely bonded. At least that’s the way Dennis would’ve viewed it. I couldn’t wait to get his creepy hipster ass the hell out of my house, but I had a job to do.
Dennis refilled the bong and took a long toke. Well, well. It seemed that once he got going on the good stuff, his “just say no” flew right out the proverbial window. “Rachel, can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Why’d you steal?”
I hesitated before answering, taking a calming breath of soothing ocean air. Life with Daddy lived in memory as the ultimate adventure. I was the world’s greatest sidekick in his many brilliant cons. I smiled when I thought of the “rare coin” scam we’d perfected, where the target ended up paying beaucoup bucks for a worthless coin.
I’d taken to the grifter lifestyle with a passion that Daddy didn’t think was healthy. One of these days, I would keep my promise to Daddy and give up the life, but definitely not tonight.
I took another toke and considered. I would give Dennis a small part of the real reason I shoplifted. When running a con, it was always best to integrate a portion of your authentic personality. It made things more believable to the mark. “There’s this feeling that comes over me.” He stared at me intently through unfocused eyes, and I continued. “Waiting to be caught. My breath speeds up.” I shook my head. “Greatest feeling in the world.”