Wicked White

  Besides, my relationship with Ace changes things too. I won’t run back to New York immediately like I planned . . . at least not until Ace figures out what he’s going to do. By sticking around here a little longer, I might have a real shot at saving my home.

  I pull myself out of my thoughts to stare down at Tanner. “Thank you, Tanner. I really appreciate that.”

  Tanner gives me a sad smile, making one of his dimples stand out prominently. “It was no trouble at all. I’d like to believe we’re still friends. I know I did you wrong, and you’ve got every right to hate me, so I figured using what little bit of power I have to help you is the least I can do. I’m sorry I was such an asshole while we were together, Iris.”

  For the first time since we broke up nearly two years ago, I finally believe Tanner’s apology. But it’s not enough to erase the hurt and humiliation he caused me, so the second chance he’s begged me for over the last couple years still isn’t going to happen.

  I sigh as I stare down at him and smile. “I forgive you, but this doesn’t change anything between us. It’s still over.”

  He picks at a knot in the handrail. “Who was the guy, anyway? I haven’t seen him around here before.”

  I stiffen, not wanting to answer any questions about who Ace is. “He’s new in town.”

  “That’s what I figured. Where’s he from and what’s he doing here? It’s not like there are jobs around here or anything. No one chooses to just up and move to Sarahsville.”

  After a second of quick thinking, I make up the very first thing that pops into mind to help throw him off wanting to find out anything else about Ace. “He was Sadie Hill’s nephew. He moved into her old place since he was one of the heirs in her will.”

  Tanner narrows his blue eyes at the trailer next to mine. “I didn’t know Sadie had any family. I always thought it was just her.” He turns back to me. “Well, be careful. You don’t know him, and I would hate to have to beat the shit out of him for hurting you.”

  I open my mouth to say thanks again, but is that really something I want to thank him for? Instead, I give him a half smile. “Thanks for the tax extension, Tanner. I’ll try my hardest to get enough money to you by the end of the sixty days.”

  He nods. “Okay. I’ll see you around, Iris. Call me if you need me.” His eyes flick to Ace’s place, then back to me. “I mean it, anything you need, get in touch with me.”

  After Tanner leaves, I hurry into the shower. A brilliant idea occurs to me and I can’t wait to get it set in motion. I dry off and then rush into the kitchen and dial Birdie’s work number.

  “Angel’s,” a rough man’s voice answers after two rings.

  “Hi. May I speak with Birdie, please? It’s Iris,” I reply.

  “Hold on.” There’s a distinct sound of the receiver hitting the counter before the man yells across the room, “Birdie, phone’s for you.”

  “Who is it?” I hear my friend ask from a distance, making her voice barely audible.

  “That hot friend of yours that you had in here the other night, Flower or something,” the guy replies, and I roll my eyes at his description of me.

  “You mean Iris, dickwad.” Birdie’s voice is so much closer now, like she’s coming to it, and then she picks up the phone. “What’s up, girlie?”

  “Hey. Sorry to bother you at work, but I wanted to ask you if Angel was hiring?”

  “Um, not sure. I know we had a girl quit last week because she’s pregnant and starting to show. Her tips were for shit. The asshole male species apparently have some moral code about flirting with a pregnant chick and always asked to be seated in a different section, giving her no choice but to quit. So yeah, we might. Let me ask.” She lowers the phone. “Angel, you filled Megan’s spot yet? You know you’ll need the extra help once I start second shift later this week.”

  The same guy who answered the phone mumbles something about the size of my chest, and I raise my eyebrows, thinking of how he just called me hot moments ago. I didn’t know Angel himself was so crude.

  I hear the two of them talking back and forth, but her hand must be over the phone because I can barely make out what they’re saying.

  “You’re hired!” Birdie says into the phone, and I can feel the excitement in her voice. “Be ready at nine in the morning, I’ll pick you up and train you tomorrow.”

  “Wow,” I say, completely flabbergasted at how easy that was. “Thank you so much, Birdie. I owe you one.”

  She laughs. “Big-time. I’ll see you after I get off tonight. I haven’t seen you much lately, and we need to totally catch up.”

  “Sounds good. See you then.” I hang up after telling her good-bye and am hopeful that I’ll be able to gather enough money if I save every penny I can to keep this place without becoming Ace’s charity case. I don’t want him to think I’m using him for money.

  When Birdie walks in my door later that evening, she stops dead in her tracks the moment she spots Ace and me cozied up on the couch together. Her eyes widen and then she gives me a sly grin. “Is he the reason you’ve been MIA on me all week?”

  I bite my lip and blush as I flick my line of sight from Birdie to Ace and then back. I shrug a little. “Yes.”

  As if that’s his cue, Ace leans over and kisses my cheek. “I’ll let you guys have some time.”

  I turn and kiss his lips. “I’ll come over in a bit.”

  He smiles and then pushes himself up off the couch and heads out the door.

  As soon as the door shuts behind Ace, Birdie folds her arms across her chest and gives me a pointed look—a look she gives whenever she’s pissed that someone’s been holding out on her.

  I hold my hands up defensively. “I was going to tell you.”

  She quirks an eyebrow. “When? After you ran off with him and had a bunch of adorable little mini-Aces?”

  I twist my lips. “I deserve that. You’re my best friend. I should’ve told you.”

  “You’re damn straight, because what if he kidnapped you or something and I had no information to give the cops. What kind of best friend would that make me?”

  “A fantastic one?” I say with a hopeful voice, trying to dig myself out of a hole, but it doesn’t seem to be working with her, so I shove myself off the couch and hold my arms out. “I’m sorry. Can we hug it out if I promise to fill you in now?”

  She tries hard to force a scowl, but eventually it turns into a smile and she rolls her eyes before stepping into my embrace. “Okay, tell me everything, and don’t leave out any of the juiciness.”

  I laugh and pull her down on the couch with me and tell her everything I can about Ace and our time together, only leaving out the part where he’s the missing rock star everyone is going gaga over trying to find. That would totally warp her mind.

  It’s not that I don’t trust Birdie with Ace’s secret, because I totally would—I’d trust her with my own life—but the truth is, it’s not my secret to tell. I hope if the truth comes out, she can respect that.

  When I finish telling her everything, Birdie turns toward me and props her head up against her arm that is resting against the back of the couch. “Wow. Shakespeare? Really? Him? I would’ve never pictured that.”

  I nod and giggle. “He’s a true romantic.”

  She bites her lip, and I know from the expression on her face that something’s weighing on her mind.

  “Okay, out with it,” I say.

  Birdie sighs and flips her blond hair over her shoulder. “I don’t want you to think that I’m not happy for you, because I totally am. I mean, he sounds perfect, and I can tell you’re really falling for the guy.”

  “But . . .” I prod, sensing the hesitation in her voice.

  “But, we still don’t know much about him, and that scares me for you. I know how sensitive you are when it comes to your heart. You’re an all-or-nothing girl, Iris. When you love, you love hard and deep. I just hope he’s as serious about you as you are about him.”

  I want to arg
ue with her—tell her that she’s wrong and that she has absolutely nothing to worry about because I know Ace. I know he’s got a good heart and his intentions with me are pure, but when I see the concern in Birdie’s eyes, it just makes me love her that much more.

  I wrap my arms around her and squeeze her tight. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

  It’s an easy promise to make because I know deep down that I don’t have anything to worry about.

  Right on schedule, Birdie’s at my house bright and early the next day to keep me on time for my first day on the job.

  “Here.” She tosses me a T-shirt as soon as she steps through my door. “Angel will give you a few of your own, so just return it to me when he does.”

  I stare down at a bright red shirt that’s identical to the one Birdie’s wearing, with the words “Angel’s Girl” stretched across her chest, before yanking the shirt I have on off and replacing it with this too-small shirt. “Are all the shirts supposed to be this tight?”

  My best friend laughs as she double-checks the lipstick she’s applying in the reflection of the gold cap of the tube. “They are if you want good tips.” Her eyes roam over me, appraising my outfit. “You look good. You might even make tips on your very first day.”

  It’s going to be hard for me to gain enough courage to use my body as a tip magnet like Birdie does. She’s got the body for it. She’s voluptuous, while my appeal is more athletic. I never had to flaunt myself at any of the waitressing jobs I’ve had before.

  On the way to Cambridge, Birdie does an excellent job of filling me in on all the workplace drama that I’m about to walk into, telling me who to make friends with and who to avoid. She runs down the list of pointers, and I suddenly wish I had brought a notepad to write them all down on. I’ll never remember everything she’s telling me.

  Birdie hasn’t worked at Angel’s long, but she’s managed to use her looks, wit, and good work ethic to move pretty high up on Angel’s favorite waitresses list. She thinks I will do the same and we’ll eventually work the night shift together, where all the real tip money is to be made.

  A few hours into the job, I’m handling tables on my own like I’d been there for years. Having a ton of waitressing experience helped me pick things up quickly. It’ll take me awhile to learn everything on the menu as well as my way around the kitchen, but soon I hope to have all that mastered.

  Birdie nudges my hip with hers as she steps up to the bar. “How’s it going?”

  I smile at her. “It’s going great! Thank you so much for getting me this job. I need to make money any way I can to get the taxes paid since Tanner got me an extension to save Willow Acres. Everyone’s depending on me.”

  She frowns. “I know, and that’s totally not fair, but I respect the hell out of you for taking on the responsibility.”

  The rest of the day goes on pretty much the same, and I become a little more confident, which helps me breeze through my first day. When Birdie drops me off at home, I pull the money out of my pocket and lay it on the kitchen table so that I can count my tips.

  It’s not much, but I’ve managed to make sixty bucks on my very first day. If I can somehow manage to bring in one hundred dollars a day, and everyone in the park pays their rent on time for the next two months, I might have a shot at coming up with enough to pacify the state. Hopefully if I can give them half the money, they’ll give me another extension to come up with the rest because they’ll see how much I’m trying.

  I guess only time will tell if I’ll make it there or not.

  ACE

  Iris and I make the quick drive to the small town center of Sarahsville for an appointment with her grandmother’s attorney. I’m glad Iris has the day off to come with me. I don’t get to spend every waking minute with her anymore since she’s gotten a job. It’s amazing how lonely the trailer park can be now that I have to find things to fill my days.

  I’ve busied myself doing odd jobs for the elderly residents around me. Earlier today I repaired a window that had been broken in Adele’s trailer for the better part of six years. In exchange, Adele made me a home-cooked meatloaf for lunch.

  I miss Iris like crazy when she’s gone, but I respect her like crazy for working hard to save her childhood home, and I’m glad I’ve been able to be helpful to the people she cares about.

  Iris points out the attorney’s office, an old blue two-story house set in a historic-looking neighborhood. It’s just down the street from the small grocery store I first stopped at when I got into town. I’ve been waiting all week for Mr. Stern to have time to sit down with me to go over my contract, and I’m hoping he has some good news for me.

  When I put the car in park, Iris says, “I have to warn you about Mr. Stern’s secretary. You lucked out when she wasn’t here when we dropped the contract off.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “Okay . . .”

  “She’s a talker. The less said, the easier it’ll be for you to get away.”

  I chuckle. “So be polite, but don’t talk much. Got it. Anything else?”

  “Nope.” Iris smiles, and I can’t resist leaning in and stealing a small kiss before we get out of the car.

  The moment we walk into the old house that’s been turned into an office, the secretary with a long, brown braid smiles at us. The front of her hair is teased sky-high like we’re about to shoot a retro eighties rock video, and I fight the urge to raise my eyebrows at her appearance. “There you two are. I was looking forward to seeing you again, Iris.”

  “Hi, Melody,” Iris says and then politely asks, “Is Mr. Stern ready to see us?”

  Melody’s lips are covered in a shade of orange and they make an O shape as she leans back in her chair while peering into the next room through the open door. “Bill? You ready for Mr. White?”

  “It’s Johnson, actually,” I correct her.

  Melody stares up at me and winks. “Right. I forgot.” She returns to her leaning position and glances back into the room before returning her gaze to me. “Go on in.”

  “Thank you.” I place my hand on the small of Iris’s back and usher her into the room where Mr. Stern sits at his desk, waiting for us.

  We’re met with a pair of kind gray eyes beneath a set of bushy white eyebrows as unruly as the gray hair on his head. The suit he’s got on looks vintage, but I’m sure it’s the same style he’s been wearing for the better part of fifty years and he’s not trying to go retro. Like most people around here, Mr. Stern has some age on him, I’m guessing close to seventy years, and seems as nice as they come.

  There’s no computer on his desk, but every inch of it is covered with stacks and stacks of files and loose paperwork. The man is definitely old-school.

  He stands, giving Iris a friendly hug before giving my hand a nice firm handshake. “How are you, young man?”

  “Fine, sir. Yourself?”

  He eases back down in his seat and gestures for us to sit in the brown chairs in front of his desk. “Oh, can’t complain too much.” He sighs. “Let’s get on down to it, shall we?” Mr. Stern grabs a file out of one of the stacks to his left and lays it in front of him. “I’ve had a chance to read over the contract you brought in, and while I must say that I don’t have a lot of experience dealing with matters such as yours, I am well versed in reading legally binding documents.”

  “Did you find anything in there that will help me?” I ask eagerly.

  He frowns. “I didn’t find anything other than a debilitating injury or death clause that will release you from your contract, so I’m afraid unless you want to fight a huge company like Mopar Records, you’ll have to fulfill your contract—completing three full albums with them and the tours that have been scheduled.”

  My shoulders slump. This was exactly what I feared. “That’s not good news.”

  “However, I did find a loophole that may satisfy your biggest complaint with the record label.”

  My hope rises again. “What is it?”

  “I remembered how you said you
were unhappy with your contract because you weren’t able to have creative control over your brand and the song choices . . . well, there’s a part in the contract that says you are able to exercise artistic rights to help enhance your brand, meaning if you feel something portrays you in a light that you don’t want to be in, you can refuse.”

  “Like song choices for the new album?” I grab Iris’s hand and squeeze excitedly.

  He nods slowly. “Yes, but you’ll still be required to do shows, and ultimately you’ll still have to perform the songs that you hate right now until you produce more new material. But remember, just because you refuse to go along with their ideas, it doesn’t mean that they have to accept your new vision for your brand either.”

  “That’s fantastic news!”

  Mr. Stern holds up his hand to cut off my excitement. “You’re not out of the woods yet. You said you’ve not shown for how many shows now?”

  I frown as I try to recall how many concerts I’ve missed since being here two months. “Counting the one I walked out on . . . seven, I think.”

  He grimaces. “They can still sue you over that, and I’m afraid that suit can go into the millions, based on what I imagine a tour like yours to be worth.”

  “Shit,” I mutter. “So it’s possible that they can take back everything I’ve earned up until this point.”

  “And then some,” he adds.

  “So, I still can’t go back—not now. I can’t afford it.”

  “Son,” Mr. Stern says, “if you don’t go back, you could make things worse for yourself. We can protest that you had a mental breakdown over the loss of your foster mother and you snapped. Any judge may take that into consideration and . . .”

  “No,” I say. “I won’t use my foster mother for an excuse for something I did. I refuse to do that.”

  He sighs. “Well, I’m afraid it could be rough on you once they do catch up to you.”