Chapter 8
Dear Diary,
I’m 18 today.
CeeCee
Although I had no idea what she had in mind, I let myself be talked into skipping school the afternoon of my birthday. I was a little nervous about it, never having done anything like that before, but Felicia said she had a surprise birthday present for me. She, however, absolutely refused to give me a hint as to what she had planned.
The day had definitely gotten off to a good start. About to head out the door for my morning run, Mark called to wish me happy birthday. I explained about Felicia’s surprise, and told him I would call him later that night when I got the chance, not knowing what my schedule would be.
On the way to school, she warned me to be at the car as soon as the lunch bell rang.
Butterflies flitted around in my stomach all morning. I might as well have called the whole day a loss, because I didn’t catch anything in any of my classes.
As soon as the bell rang for lunch, I practically sprinted to the car. I beat Felicia by fifteen seconds—she never ran anywhere if she could help it—and I heard her hit the button on her remote keyless entry when she was still fifty feet away, the unexpected sound scaring me to death.
“Get in,” she called out as she approached, as close to running as I had ever seen her.
I managed to squeeze myself into the Cooper just in the nick of time. Felicia threw herself in, and we were off. Once we were clear of the parking lot, we glanced at each other, and burst into peals of laughter…the hint of danger making us light-headed.
“So, where are we going?” I asked curiously.
“You’ll see,” was all she would say.
After a few minutes, I figured out where we were heading.
“What’s at your house?”
“Parts one and two of your surprise.”
“How many parts are there?”
“Three. Now, no more questions; All shall soon be revealed,” she said mysteriously.
I decided to give her a break, and stop asking questions.
We pulled into the garage, presumably to hide the car from any curious neighbors, and went into the house. Mrs. Blanton, the Howell’s housekeeper, was in the kitchen putting dishes in the dishwasher.
“There you are,” she smiled at us. “Everything is ready in the Media Room. Have fun!”
“Thanks for your help,” Felicia returned gratefully.
“My pleasure,” she replied, then added, “And happy birthday, CeeCee,”
I added my thanks, and turned to follow Felicia.
“Media Room…you have a Media Room?” I asked dazedly. “I don’t remember that.”
“It’s new. We had men working on it while we were away on vacation. They just finished up this week. Come on, let’s get started.”
“What…?”
“Come on,” she interrupted and grabbed my arm to pull me along.
The Media Room was awesome—there was no other word for it—even to someone as theatrically challenged as I was. Basically, it was a mini-movie theater. The seats were even stair-stepped, and the projection screen was huge.
Felicia motioned me over to one of the two recliners in the very back. In between those two chairs was a table, and on that table, there was all manner of food: Pizza, popcorn, cookies, brownies, potato chips, dip, hoagies…it was truly amazing.
I was about to ask about drinks, when I noticed Felicia pointing at something against the wall…fountain drinks with six different choices and an ice dispenser in the middle, just like in a fast food joint.
I was speechless.
“You like?” Felicia asked smugly.
I found my voice at last, “What’s not to like?” I asked incredulously, adding, “Your parents must be some kind of talented to be able to afford everything you’ve done to this house.”
For a moment, Felicia looked confused and then I could see a light bulb go on in her head.
“I didn’t realize you didn’t know,” she looked thoughtful as she continued, “since you didn’t grow up around here, there was really no way you would know unless someone told you, and with you being the type that doesn’t gossip…”
She was rambling and I was bewildered.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded.
“Ok, ok…” she hesitated for a moment, “let me think a minute, I’ve never had to explain this before, so I honestly don’t know where to begin.”
Giving her a chance to collect her thoughts, my own began to run rampant. What was it that everyone else knew? Surely her parents weren’t like well-known criminals or anything, maybe so good at concealing evidence that people could only suspect, but not prove…nah, that was just ridiculous… but maybe…
Felicia’s question interrupted my wild imaginings and quickly brought me back down to earth.
“Have you ever heard of Vance Industries?”
“No, should I have?” I asked wondering what that had to do with anything.
“Vance Industries was this big, well…gigantic actually, anyways…it was a corporation back in the ‘70s. I don’t know a lot of details, but basically they manufactured a lot of things. The company was sold in the late ‘80s, and has changed names since then, but the former owners made tons of money off the deal. Not quite a billion, but very close.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, Felicia, Economics is next semester,” I teased as she paused again, presumably to decide how best to proceed.
“My mom’s maiden name was Melissa Vance,” she finished, watching me intently.
My reaction was all she could have hoped for as, mouth open, I gaped at her. After a few minutes, I recovered enough to stammer out a question.
“You…you’re telling me that you’re like multimillionaire rich?”
I mean, they had a nice house and all, but it was more like a doctor or lawyer’s house would be, not like an ‘I could buy a yacht, five cars, a couple of mansions, and do nothing but sail around the world for the rest of my life’ kind of house.
“Well…yeah. My mom was an only child, and when both of her parents were killed in a yachting accident,” ah hah…I knew there was a yacht in there somewhere, “she inherited it all.”
“Then why the dog didn’t you hire a hit man to take out Craig the jerk face Telson? You could have afforded the best.”
What I really meant to ask was why she hadn’t used her “resources” to do something to the jerk to pay him back for his treatment of her since they obviously had more money than the Telsons, but she knew what I meant.
“CeeCee,” her tone was reproachful, she was definitely too good to be my best friend, but then she rather spoiled that impression by giggling and saying, “Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind at the time. You wouldn’t believe the ideas I had. But you know, I’m actually glad I didn’t do anything to him because he brought us together.”
“Speaking of which, since today seems to be the day for revelations, there is something I’ve been dying to ask you, but I suppose I was afraid of the answer.” Taking a deep breath, I plunged right in, “Why in the world did you pick me as your best friend? I mean, even with the rumors circulating about you and practically every guy in school,” I teased to lighten the moment, “you could have had your pick of girls to be friends with…why me? Were you just feeling sorry for me?”
“Sorry for you?” Felicia repeated incredulously. “You are the last person I would feel sorry for. Sympathy—yes, pity—no. I admired you. You not only stood up to Craig, you punched him out! Even when everyone in school was talking about you behind your back and calling you names, you held your head high. I, on the other hand, skulked around trying to be invisible, cringing at the whispering I knew was going on, seriously thinking about making my parents move so I could switch schools, but all the time hoping, I am now ashamed to admit, that another gossip target would show up to take the spotlight off of me…and you
did. I watched you for a few days, knowing how you were feeling, debating about what to do. I wanted to introduce myself, but wasn’t sure if you would reject me. Your strength is what finally gave me the courage to approach you that day in the cafeteria. You faced everything and everybody head-on, looking people in the eye until they broke eye contact. I had to meet you. You give me the courage I lack.” Pausing, trying to lighten the mood, she finished dramatically, “And the rest, as they say, is history.”
Silently, I tried to digest all that information.
Ever since we’d met, I’d felt like our relationship was all lop-sided, that Felicia was doing all of the giving, and I was doing all of the taking.
Apparently, she’d been feeling the same thing but reversed. I wasn’t sure I could explain how much she had given me, I wasn’t as good at verbalizing my feelings out loud as she was, but I knew I had to try.
“I had no idea you…I thought…oh, how do I say this?”
I had to find a way. I began again.
“You make me a better person. When we’re together I feel like the sun is always shining. Of course, in Texas it usually is,” I joked, feeling a little embarrassed. “You give me…” I searched frantically for the right word for how I felt whenever Felicia was around, it was more than just happiness, suddenly a song from my childhood popped into my head, that was the right word, “…joy. Yeah, that’s it!” I exulted, that was exactly it. “When we moved here, I had no joy. You gave that back to me.”
Well, I would never win a Pulitzer, that was for sure, but I’d managed to get my point across.
We sat silently for a minute, each pondering the other’s revelation.
“I have another question,” I stated gravely.
“Okay.”
I could tell she was wondering what other serious topic I was about to bring up.
“Is this food just to look at, or are we planning on eating it any time in the near future?”
Laughing in relief, we grabbed a couple of paper plates and starting pigging out.
A thought occurred to me a little while later and, in between bites, I asked, “So your parents really aren’t an author and an artist? Is that just a cover or what?”
I thought Felicia was going to choke on her pizza. About to stand and administer the Heimlich maneuver, it took me a moment to realize that she was laughing with her mouth full and was attempting not to spit food on me.
Waiting patiently, well as patiently as I was able, for her to calm down so she could finish chewing and swallowing her food, I wondered if she was going to need a straightjacket and a padded cell as she continued laughing so hard tears were streaming down her cheeks.
A couple of minutes later, wiping the wetness from her eyes, she was finally coherent enough to attempt an explanation of her merriment.
“Sorry, you side-tracked me with your question and I totally forgot to tell you what I consider the best part of the story,” she began, still having a little trouble controlling herself.
“So you’re telling me there is something better than discovering you’re filthy rich?” I asked disbelievingly.
“Money doesn’t mean all that much to my parents. See, Mom, who would have been a starving artist if her parents hadn’t been filthy rich, had fallen in love and married my dad, a poor, broke writer wannabe working at a coffee shop to make ends meet, against her parents’ wishes, I might add.”
From the little I knew about her parents, I could certainly believe that.
“My grandparents swore they would disown her, and they meant to, but never got around to writing a will. With her being their only child, when they were killed in the yachting accident, she got everything. She didn’t expect it, but wasn’t about to turn it down. She wanted to paint; Dad wanted to travel—he’d never been out of Texas—and write about it. Mom couldn’t seem to sell a painting, and Dad’s travel books were getting rejection slips on a regular basis, so they decided, since they had this huge windfall, to make their dreams come true.”
She paused to make sure I was listening. I was on the edge of my seat.
“Go on, what did they do?” I asked impatiently.
“They bought an art gallery and a publishing house,” she finished triumphantly biting off a huge chunk of pizza with great satisfaction.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I exclaimed.
“Nope,” she assured me, talking around the pizza in her mouth. “Oh man, we’re going to run late if we don’t start the first movie now.”
“First movie,” I repeated in a daze.
“Oh yeah, did I forget to mention…this is a movie marathon birthday surprise. I can’t believe you haven’t ever seen an Agent Jack Knight movie. That is just nuts! They are the absolute best! So we’re going to watch movies one and two here, then tonight I am taking you to the movie theater for the third one that came out during the summer,” she said smugly.
“Of course you are.”
I was completely shell shocked. I thought nothing else could surprise me at that point. I was wrong.
“Oh, by the way,” Felicia mentioned with feigned casualness, “Did I tell you that my parents’ publishing company is the one that publishes the Agent Jack Knight books?”
“Of course they do,” I murmured dazedly.
“I don’t know the author’s real name, but I do know that I. M. Donne is just his penname,” she tacked on.
“Of course it is,” I said numbly.
Felicia took a long look at me and, without another word, turned down the lights, and started the movie.