Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“Obviously not, but how about your laptop? Or your tablet? Or—”
“You know what? If he was that desperate for money, he’d be welcome to those things.”
My best friend sighed dramatically. A moment later, the clerk told me the total, and I handed over my credit card. Ginny overheard and exclaimed, “What kind of supplies are you buying him?”
“A pen and some notebooks.”
“Now how in the hell did you spend eleven hundred dollars on a pen, and some notebooks? Are the pages made of twenty dollar bills?”
“It’s a nice pen.”
“What kind is it?”
“I don’t know. It’s blue and silver.”
“What does it say on the box?”
I bent over and searched the display case. “It says Montblanc.”
“Well shit, no wonder! Sounds like you went for the top of the line, too. If that boy’s looking for a sugar daddy, I guess he found one.”
“He’s hardly looking for a sugar daddy. He doesn’t even know I’m here, and he didn’t ask for any of this stuff.”
I signed the receipt and returned the card to my wallet as Ginny pointed out, “You could have marched your ass down to CVS, picked out a perfectly functional spiral-bound notebook and a whole fistful of Bics, and gotten change back from your twenty.”
I thanked the sales clerk as she handed me the bag and receipt, and as I left the store I asked, “Where’s the fun in that? If he has nice supplies, maybe it’ll inspire him. And not to sound snobby, but I can afford it.”
“Of course you can. That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
“The fact that you met that boy less than twenty-four hours ago, Mal, and you’re not making good decisions! You’ve already let him spend the night with you, and now you’re throwing your money around.”
“Please stop calling him a boy. He’s twenty-eight.”
“He’s your son’s age.”
“Technically, he’s a year older.”
“Plus, he committed a felony to get to you,” she said. “What if he’s dangerous?”
“Oh, come on! You met him. Did he seem dangerous to you? And what felony did he allegedly commit?”
“Trespassing. He climbed over a fence and entered Whit’s home without permission. And no, he doesn’t seem dangerous, but maybe that’s his angle—the baby-faced felon.” I sighed, and she exclaimed, “Well, I don’t know! It all just seems suspect, don’t you think? This guy could be working some angle.”
“Even if he was, I wouldn’t care. He’s good for me, Gin. Do you know what I did last night?”
“Yes, I do,” she said flatly. “You got some fine, twenty-eight-year-old booty, and now you’ve lost your damn mind.”
“I played the piano, for the first time in months.”
“You did?”
“Not only that, I started to compose a new song! It’s only a fragment of an idea bouncing around in my head right now, but it’s there. Do you know how huge this is? After almost three years of the worst writer’s block, or burn-out, whatever you want to call it, I’ve started to hear the music again.”
“I’m happy for you, Mal. I know you’ve been struggling, and this is great news. But maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
“This is absolutely related to Daniel. He stirred up something in me. I think I might have finally found my muse.”
“But why him? He’s not even your type.”
“I think that’s what I like about him. I always go for people who are a lot like me—safe and predictable. But that’s boring! Daniel is totally different than anyone I’ve ever been involved with, and it’s completely refreshing.”
“What if your muse turns out to be a con man, or a gold digger?”
I paused at a stoplight. All around me, San Francisco was slowly coming awake on this Saturday morning. “All I’m doing is spending a little time with him, not running off to Vegas to marry the guy. But I really don’t think he’s either of those things,” I told her. “He pitched the idea of spending two weeks together, while he has some time off. That’s it. A con man or a gold digger would be playing a longer game than that.”
“Two weeks? Is that what he said?”
“Yes. Why?”
As the light turned green and I stepped off the curb, Ginny reminded me, “Your sister’s wedding is two weeks from today, Mal.”
“And?”
“Maybe that’s his angle, trying to use you to get into that wedding. We already know he’s someone who’ll crash high-society events, and your sister’s wedding is being called the social event of the season.”
“He hasn’t said a word about it.”
“Of course not, because he would know it was too soon to bring it up. But once he feels the timing is right, I wouldn’t be surprised if he started angling to be your date to that wedding.”
I asked, “But what would he gain from that?”
“It could be any number of things. Maybe he’s looking to land himself a husband who’s even more obscenely rich than you are. Or maybe he’s a social climber and wants to get in with the jet-set crowd. Your sister and her fiancé have invited socialites, movie stars, politicians…” She paused, and then she exclaimed, “Hold up! Are Barack and Michelle going to be there? What if he’s a nut job who’s using you to get close to them? You better not be putting Michelle in jeopardy!”