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  “Money that Leah paid back in full—every last cent—plus interest,” Piper states.

  “Oh yeah right, like she’d do that,” I say, rolling my eyes and motioning for the check.

  “We don’t pay here,” Piper explains. “And yes Tristan, she did. All of it. You should’ve at least heard her out—found out the whole story.”

  “I don’t give a shit if she paid it back or not,” I declare still throwing three twenties on the table. “She fucked me over and slandered me around town.”

  “To you and Dad. Big deal,” Piper quips picking up one of the twenties and putting it in her purse. “Plus, if you’re ‘being smart’ about sex. You should’ve remembered what happened that night anyway. It shouldn’t have been such a surprise or a mystery that you raped her… or didn’t rape her. You should just know that shit.”

  Fuck. That was a damn good point, but I sure as fuck am not going to tell her that. When in the world did my kid sister gain insight?

  “But then to accuse me of rape and to tell Dad… our asshole father… that I raped her? You don’t think that’s crossing some kind of moral ground?” I ask, throwing another twenty on the table and putting my hand over it when she reaches for it.

  “Of course it does. I never said that,” Piper explains. “But I would think you of all people should know that one immoral thing, one major wrong, shouldn’t ruin you for life… especially if you’ve done everything you could think of to make amends… including a face-to-face apology… that shouldn’t blemish your entire character forever… do you think?”

  “I do! Yes Piper, I do!” I say, shocked. “I cannot believe you’re siding with that money-grubbing bitch.”

  “I think you’re not seeing the big picture… and the big picture is what pisses you off,” Piper says. “She never told anyone other than you and dad. It was obviously a ploy to get to you.”

  “And money,” I add.

  “Yes, and money… that she paid back. But Tri-stand, don’t you see, this was all about you… getting you to see that you hurt her?” Piper exclaims. “You obviously broke her heart. Are you that blind?”

  “What? Are you out of your min—”

  “How do you not see this? Kathryn knew it all along. It only took me ten seconds to figure it out after Leah told me the whole story,” Piper admits. “Lanette did as soon as I told her too. Granted, Ade never figured it out. Men are just a little slower than women; that’s all.”

  “She accused me of rape! Has everyone lost their minds?” I grit through my teeth.

  “She told Dad—boo hoo. It’s Dad. He probably figured you raped 50 chicks anyway. He thinks the worst in all of us,” Piper says, nonchalantly. “If I were you, I’d question it more why Dad didn’t try to get to the bottom of it and why he just naturally believed some stranger.”

  “What the Hell? Who the Hell are you?” I ask, staring at her in disbelief. “What in the world happened to my young, naïve little sister?”

  “Oh her? Yeah, she stuck a razorblade in her veins.” Piper says crassly, shrugging as if she just told me that it was going to rain on our beach and bucket parade. “It’s amazing how a little near-death shit can clear the picture for you and create a whole world of newfound wisdom.” I’ll say. I didn’t know this girl, no… correction, this woman, sitting across from me. My baby sister wasn’t a baby anymore.

  “I guess.”

  “I guess you’re next Tristan,” Piper says, smiling. “First there was Adrian who grew up. Then me… that only leaves you.”

  “Well, I’m not sticking a razorblade in my arm… and I’m not hanging out with some fucking homeless people,” I say stubbornly. “Or living in a tent.”

  “Fair enough,” Piper says, standing. “But it’s time my big brother started growing up.”

  Before we left, Piper insisted that I needed to meet the “back of the house” employees. I can honestly say that in all of my life I have never, and I mean never, been in a restaurant’s kitchen. It was much cleaner and more efficient than I expected it to be. The “line” consisted of a bunch of scraggly guys, but they were probably the nicest group of dudes I’d ever met. Hell, they even invited me to play poker with them on Monday after closing. Something tells me though that they just want to take my money.

  The “food runner” chick was smoking hot with a tight ass and great legs. When I stopped to talk to her, Piper pushed on my back and said, “Keep going, nothing to see here.” Once we were out of earshot of the girl, Piper whispered, “Eight weeks pregnant… baby daddy left. She’s looking for a filler-daddy.” Damn, look at that, Piper saving me. I would’ve tapped that and then been stuck. Dodged a nasty, Baby-Bjorn-wearing bullet there.

  “Let’s go out the back,” Piper suggests, after we meet the dishwasher and prep cook.

  Walking out the back door, we’re both a little taken aback by what we witness. Lanette is crying and begging some man in a suit to “reconsider” and pleading with him to “give her more time.”

  “Lanette, what’s up?” Piper asks boldly, walking in between the two of them. The man sees his opportunity and bolts for his car, leaving us staring after him in confusion.

  “Nothing, baby, nothing Miss Nettie can’t handle,” Lanette consoles, obviously lying and wiping her eyes.

  None of us moves. Lanette stares at the ground. Piper stares at her; I stare at the water just hoping to haul ass and not get involved. We sure as fuck walked right into a scene that was none of our business, nor did Lanette want us to know anything about it.

  “Alright Pipe, we gotta get going,” I say, tugging on her arm. “We’ve got a lot to do today.”

  “No we don’t—we’ve got nothing to do,” Piper says, rubbing Lanette’s back while she cries and dabs her eyes with the bottom of her grungy apron. “Plus, we’re not going anywhere until I find out what’s wrong with my woman here.”

  After three iced teas in the back office and a lot of tears, Lanette admits that she didn’t do the math correctly and that ever since her husband died, she’s been drowning in debt and accounting issues. He was the brains of the operation; she was the socialite. Basically, she has three weeks to pay the full amount that she owes to the bank and back taxes to the IRS, or they’re going to take over the Oasis. In a nutshell, Lanette is fucked.

  Leaving through the back of the restaurant for the second time, Piper loops her arm through mine, and says, “Looks like we know what your first ‘good deed of growing up’ is going to be.”

  “What’s with No-gasm?” Jill asks, sipping her cranberry juice.

  I was surprised to see Shayla and Jill both at one of my new artist exhibitions. They did, however, have some pretty spectacular news. Shayla won her case. Jill is meeting with the fertility specialist next week to go through some tests and start looking at insemination. She has to wait and see exactly when she’s ovulating before they can actually schedule the dates. Everything is going their way. Their future is all planned out and right on track.

  “Why do you always have some new, derogatory nickname for him?” I ask, always feeling like I have to defend Samuel to my family.

  “Because he’s a douche,” Shayla says, laughing.

  “Enough wine for you,” Jill says, taking the wine from her.

  “Hey! I thought we were ‘celebrating’ all the good things in our life?” Shayla pouts, slurring her words.

  “You, my love, have celebrated enough for everyone,” Jill says. “Plus, if I’m not gonna be drinking for the next nine months, it’s only fair that I don’t have to carry your drunk ass home every night.”

  “But I hate being around ‘slimy Sammy’ if I’m not drunk,” Shayla whines.

  “Enough you guys! I get it. Samuel’s not your favorite person,” I say, exasperated. “But he’s my boyfriend, so you need to keep your traps shut.”

  “I just don’t know what you can possibly see in him,” my sister groans.

  “Of course you don’t… you’re gay!” I argue.

 
; “Thank God,” they both say in unison.

  Rolling my eyes, I start to walk away, but Jill catches my arm and pulls me back. “Hold on a sec. Just look at him for a second… just look… don’t you think he’s being a little too touchy-feely with that chick?”

  Glancing over at him, I notice that his hand is on the small of Christine’s bare back. Samuel’s thumb is rubbing small circles near the bottom of her spine. “That’s our new artist. He’s introducing her around,” I argue futilely as I silently wonder why in fact he is touching her like that.

  “All I’m saying is what he’s doing right now to her is more than I’ve ever seen him touch you,” Jill adds.

  Watching his thumb as it glides easily over her skin, I wait for the jealousy to flood through me, for the envious rage to overtake me, but what I really feel is a sense of relief, relief that I may not have to have sex with him tonight. Maybe our young artist will blow him in the back room, so he’ll be satiated for the next week. Maybe she’ll even screw him on a blank canvas, so he’ll be good to go for the next week or even two if I’m lucky. Wishful thinking.

  One time Samuel asked me what he could do to excite me and turn me on me more. I giggled like a schoolgirl, batted my eyes, and said exactly what every guy wants to hear, “Oh honey, you turn me on so much already.” What I really wanted to say is, “Be a total bombastic bastard, grow four more inches, wear blue contacts, work out for three years straight, dress better, grab a mirror, and have a seat on that chair over there.”

  So fucking sue me! Seeing Tristan last weekend fucked with me big time. Knowing that he wasn’t going to rip my head off at the airport ignited something in me. Do you know what it lit up in me? A reawakening of my old, pathetic self, that’s what. That same person who thought about, swooned over, fantasized about, and longed for Tristan Michael O’Donnell was once again salivating and begging for some of his table scraps, something to feed my poor excuse for confidence and self-evolution. There’s been none of that. I’m still that same chick, yearning for his attention. And yes, I know his damn middle name. I know every stupid thing about him. Of course my pathetic, naïve self can so easily forget how he left me alone in a hotel to be reminded of how pathetic I truly was… truly am. My pathetic self has the ability to suppress that morning-after humiliation and turn it once again into a whole big bag of “what ifs” that I carry around proudly like a Louis Vuitton.

  But, I only allow my pathetic self to rear her self-conscious, insecure head in the presence of Tristan. In all other places, she’s so far inside of me that she doesn’t even know how to get out. Walking over to Samuel and Christine, I step directly between the two of them, grabbing his hand, bending his thumb back until I hear his voice catch, and then wrap his arm around my waist. Christine now knows where I belong, and Samuel knows the world of hurt I’ll impart upon him if even thinks about fucking with me.

  “I don’t know why you’re acting so pissy,” Samuel says, taking off his tie. “Christine’s our client. She was jittery and nervous. I was just trying to calm her down, remind her that we’re on her side.”

  “Really Samuel? I’m not even going to entertain that with a response,” I mutter. I walk into the bathroom to take off my makeup and brush my teeth. “It’s rude for you to be all over some woman when I’m standing five feet away… with my family no less.”

  “I’d hardly say I was ‘all over’ anyone Lee,” Samuel replies from the other room. I roll my eyes. He’s recently started calling me “Lee,” because he thinks it’s better for business if people don’t know whether or not the gallery and the art in it is from a male or female. I think it’s a ludicrous notion that it would matter one way or another.

  “Let’s just drop it.” I offer through a mouthful of toothpaste. Spitting out the toothpaste, I add, “I just wanna go to bed and be done with it.”

  “Fine by me,” Samuel says sarcastically. “I’ve got some paperwork to sift through and sign. I’ll be downstairs for a good hour or so.”

  Lying in bed for over an hour, my stomach is churning. I think the combination of bad wine and crab cakes is doing a number on my digestive system, couple all that with the fact that Samuel’s acting like a cheating slime ball and Tristan’s long gone, and my stomach is a woozy mess. I decide that Tums or Pepto are the only remedies for the way I’m feeling.

  I roll over and grab my phone to text Samuel to bring me up some from the cabinet in the downstairs bathroom. I hear his phone vibrate on the other nightstand. Fuck a cat! He’d already plugged it in to charge for the night. I lie still for about 15 more minutes, hoping the motion in my stomach will settle on its own. After 15 minutes, I know that I have to make the trek to the downstairs bathroom. As much as I hate how physically lazy I am, I hate getting up out of bed even worse.

  Samuel is working on his laptop at the dining room table with a ton of paperwork surrounding him. Instantly, I feel twinges of guilt. He’s so good to me. I wish I loved him like I should—like he deserved to be loved. I’m in bed early, and my Samuel is up late doing paperwork and finances for my gallery. I don’t deserve someone as selfless and giving as he.

  Samuel doesn’t hear me approach, which gives me a few seconds to look over his shoulder before I kiss him on the back of his neck. As I’m leaning down, I watch speechlessly as he clicks “yes,” agreeing to transfer ten grand into another bank fund. Before I begin screaming, I look at the name on the paperwork and laptop. All of the forms have my name on them with a signature that looks nothing like mine, but very eerily close to mine.

  “What… what…?” I stammer.

  Samuel jumps, but composes himself quite quickly. “Hey babe, you okay?”

  “Yeah, I just need something for my stomach. I texted you, but your phone’s already up in the bedroom,” I say, reaching for one of the files.

  Samuel grabs my hand, kisses the back of it, and says, “I’ll bring something up for you… with an icy water. Okay?”

  “That’d be great,” I agree, starting for the stairs. I hear Samuel exhale heavily as I retreat. I pound up the steps and stop midway up, waiting a few minutes on the stairs.

  I walk back down the steps, listening for Samuel in the bathroom, rummaging through the cabinet. I stare at the paperwork and spreadsheets on the computer screen in utter fucking disbelief. Good to me, my ass. Knows he can’t fuck with me? I’m a holy fucking delusional dumbass!

  “I thought I was bringing these up to you,” Samuel says, his eyes dark and angry.

  “I came back down,” I state.

  “I see that,” he says in a challenging tone.

  “How long?” I ask, not wasting any time.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Samuel says carefully. “How long what?”

  “Damn it Samuel, how long have you been stealing from me?” I ask through gritted teeth in a clipped, choppy way. “Was I clear that time?”

  “Don’t be all fucking self-righteous now, Leah dear,” Samuel says, smirking. “I was surprised you didn’t notice earlier. You know the old saying ‘Takes one to know one.’ Figured with your history, you’d be able to spot a con from a mile away.”

  Walking toward him, I grab the Pepto from his hand and chug it straight from the bottle. He continues snidely, “No matter how hard I tried, there was no turning the trash into a treasure.” Shaking his head disgustedly, his face grimaces, and he adds, “Why not just use the back of your hand to wipe off your mouth, now?”

  Doing just that, I say, “How much?”

  “A little more than you extorted from the O’Donnells,” Samuel says, smugly.

  “How much do I have left?” I ask, sitting on the steps, feeling a great sense of defeat.

  “Only about a fourth of what you extorted from the O’Donnells,” he admits chuckling.

  “Is your name on anything?” I ask, putting my head between my knees.

  “Not a thing,” Samuel states. “Well, nothing that has your name on it.”

  “Why?” I ask, feeling the fight
flood out of me. Guess he can fuck with me and get away with it.

  “Why not?” Samuel says, shrugging his shoulders. “You were a beaten down target, a silly stupid, lovesick girl. The easiest kind of con.”

  My stomach turns, knowing that he’s right, knowing that I had to be the easiest target out there. I was broken and battered by my own obsession for what I couldn’t have and yet wanted so much. I never suspected a thing. I just let Samuel come in and take over everything—my money, my clients, my books. Everything. I was clueless and blind, believing that he loved me enough to never hurt me. I never doubted him for a second.

  “For two years though? Seems kind of long for a con artist to stick around,” I point out, reaching for anything that might lessen the blow—that might make me feel better about this deception.

  “Well God, Leah, I don’t hate you or anything,” Samuel says. “Like I said, it was easy. I was just buying my time until I got too bored or caught. Sometimes you can be fun—not exactly a pistol in the sack—but good enough for a bit.”

  Shaking my head, I feel the tears start welling in my eyes. “Was this Christine in on it all along?” I ask, not even really caring what the answer is.

  “Nah, just met her, but I’m thinking of keeping her around for a bit… now talk about a pistol—”

  “What makes you think I’m not going to call the police the second I kick your ass out of my house?” I threaten with no real threat in my voice.

  “First of all, they’ll freeze all of your assets. You’ll be broke while it all goes through court. You won’t be able to run the gallery. You won’t even be able to get that money out of the bank for your sister’s insemination,” Samuel gloats, turning around to close his laptop.

  “Secondly, if you try to get this money back, then I’m going straight to Chet O’Donnell to tell him all about your dirty little scandal,” Samuel says, gathering up his paperwork. “And finally, I just know you won’t. Like I said, you never stood a chance against me. You can’t make a treasure out of trash. You’re a lying, cheating, thief Leah. You got what was coming to you.”