“Sure. Whatever you’re making smells delicious, and I’m famished,” he says, giving my shoulder a firm squeeze and then going into the living room to talk to Dad. I can still feel the pressure of his hand on me as I throw together a salad to go with the lasagne.
In the far corner of the kitchen is my dressmaking station, with my old sewing machine and all my fabrics. I eye it longingly, looking forward to finishing the evening gown I’m currently working on when I’m done with dinner. Dad and Jay’s conversation drifts in from the living room as they talk animatedly about Jay’s defamation case. I can tell Jay’s still set on convincing Dad to take him on as a client, and it baffles me. I just don’t get why he wants Dad to represent him so badly.
Setting the food on plates, I call them both in to sit at the table. As he takes the seat across from me, I notice Jay eyeing my T-shirt with a look on his face like he finds it amusing.
“Is that some kind of a euphemism?” he asks, and I can tell he’s trying to embarrass me.
Dad’s phone buzzes and he picks it up, typing out a message as he eats his food, not paying us any attention. So much for him taking a night off work.
“No,” I reply, annoyed. “It’s from a TV show I like.”
“Is it a pornography show?” His smirk grows into a full-on smile, and I can only be thankful that Dad’s engrossed in his phone right now.
My cheeks flush while Jay shovels a forkful of lasagne in his mouth, because there is quite a bit of sex in it. “There’s no such thing as a pornography show.” I scowl.
“Oh, I beg to differ.”
“Dick!” says Dad loudly as he answers his phone, picking up his plate and walking into the next room to take the call. “How are you? I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that meeting we had last week.”
There’s a long, long stretch of silence. That was hilarious, but I’m not going to laugh. Not. Going. To. Laugh. Unfortunately, the second I make eye contact with Jay, we both burst into a fit of laughter.
“Talk about perfect comedic timing,” I mutter.
“Yeah.” Jay grins. “And about the T-shirt, I was only pulling your leg, Watson. Winter is coming and all that jazz.”
“You’re cruel!”
“Only when it makes you blush.”
And now I’m blushing even harder. I start eating my dinner with gusto so that I don’t have to talk. When I regain the ability to speak, I ask, “So why did you leave that card on my phone?”
He looks up at me as he swallows. “Who in the what now?”
“My phone. I found it in the office with a six of hearts on top.”
His smile brings out his dimples again. “Well, that’s interesting.”
“Yeah, so why did you do it?” I dig my fork into the salad.
“I didn’t do anything.”
Furrowing my brow, I try to backtrack through my day. Just before lunch I’d put my phone in my bag, and then I’d brought the bag with me into the bathroom. As I was leaving the bathroom, Jay showed up in the office and we left. At no point would he have had the chance to swipe the phone.
“Wow. You’re good,” I breathe. “I know you took it — I just can’t figure out when or how.”
His smile grows wider as he chews on his food. Then his voice deepens as he replies, “You don’t know the half of how good I am.”
Okay, no way am I touching that one. “So, uh, has your show been completely cancelled, then?”
He shrugs. “It’s all up in the air at the moment. They haven’t said it’s cancelled, but they haven’t said it isn’t cancelled, either. I have a meeting tomorrow, but I doubt I’ll be given any real answers. It all depends on the case. If I can clear my name, then I’m hoping we can get back to filming. But that’s going to take forever, and even if I am in the clear, there’s still a chance it won’t go ahead. Accusations stain your rep even after you’re found innocent, ya know?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I think I can convince your Dad to take the case, though,” he says then, voice low.
I sigh. “Why are you so determined for him to do it?”
He stares at me for a long time, so long I don’t think he’s going to answer. Then he asks randomly, “Do you know that I was raised by my uncle for a couple of years after my parents died?”
“What does this have to do with…?”
“He was a behavioural science professor,” Jay interrupts before I have the chance to finish. “Brought me to live with him over in the States when I was twelve. Up until then I’d actually lived here in Ireland, if you can believe it. Long story short, he was a fucking nut and would make me study college-level textbooks day in and day out. If I didn’t or couldn’t understand something, he’d punish me in various ways until I did — not letting me eat, not letting me go to the bathroom. It’s one of the main reasons why I ran away and became a street kid. But despite all the abuse, the endless studying taught me techniques on how to read people. When I look at your old man, I see the guy who’s gonna help me win this case. I don’t care about the hot shots. I want your dad, and I’ll stop at nothing until I convince him.”
“Oh,” I say, hushed. “I’m sorry about your parents…and your crazy uncle.”
Jay waves away my apologies. “It’s all in the past, Watson. So, you gonna help me win the old guy over?”
I eat the final bite of my lasagne before answering, “I don’t think you need any help from me. But I won’t get in your way, either. Promise. Still, you’ll probably have to move out if he does agree. Living with your solicitor could be seen as a conflict of interest.”
Jay gives me a thoughtful look. Getting up from the table, I go to make a start on the dishes. When I look back to where Jay was sitting, he’s gone.
Once I’ve gotten everything loaded in the dishwasher, I go to sit down by my sewing machine to make a start on the evening gown. I turn the machine on and wince at the unhealthy sound it makes. I’ve been saving up for a new one, but it’s going to be a while before I have enough money.
The dress I’m making at the moment is an order from one of my regular online customers. I sit down and get right to work on it, hoping the machine at least holds out until I’m finished. I’ve been going at it for almost an hour when Jay re-enters the room, taking a big bite out of an apple.
“Yo, Watson, your old jalopy doesn’t sound too healthy,” he comments, leaning against the doorframe.
I frown as I run the last of the hem through. “I know. I’m hoping it’ll last until I can afford a new one.”
“You saving up?”
Sitting back to take a break, I nod. “Yeah.”
“How much you got?”
“Not much. About a hundred and fifty, but I need eight hundred for the machine I want to buy.”
Jay chews on his bite of apple and mulls over what I’ve said. “What if I told you I could turn your one-fifty into eight hundred in a night?”
“I’d say you were having me on,” I answer warily.
“Well, I’m not. You come out with me tomorrow, and we’ll have your eight hundred by the early hours of Wednesday morning.”
“Okay. But how?”
A wicked gleam comes into his eyes. “Blackjack, Watson. Blackjack.”
I give him a hesitant look. “Like in a casino?”
“Yeah. Where else?”
“I’ve never been to a casino before.”
“I’ll admit Dublin’s got nothing on Vegas, but there are a few good places here. I’ll show you the ropes.”
Looking back at my nearly broken sewing machine, I let out a sigh. I know I need a new one badly. Otherwise, I’ll have to stop taking orders for however many weeks it takes me to save. Jay’s proposal is certainly an attractive one.
“And I’ll be placing the bets? I have no clue about playing blackjack, Jay.”
“Can you count to twenty-one?”
I shoot him a cynical look. “Of course.”
“Then we’re off to a good start.” He
walks over to throw the core of his apple in the bin. “We’ll leave here at eight. And wear something nice.”
With that, he exits the room again.
Four
As luck would have it, my machine sputters its last breath just as I’ve finished the dress. I put everything away and then head upstairs to bed, hopeful that come Thursday evening I’ll have a brand-new machine sitting on my table.
Settling myself under the covers, I pick my phone up off the nightstand to check my messages. There’s just one from Michelle.
Michelle: How was your day? Xxx.
She always puts kisses at the end of a message, no matter what, and ninety-nine percent of the time they aren’t necessary.
Matilda: Quite eventful, actually. How was yours? P.S. Stop kissy kissing me. I’m not one of your boyfriends :-P
Michelle: You think I don’t know that, lol? You give me far more affection than any of those arseholes. Mine was boring to the max. So, yours was eventful, eh? Do tell.
Matilda: Dad finally found someone to rent the spare room to…
Michelle: Those dots look ominous. Anyone I know? God, it’s not Larry with the big nose, is it? We put a stop to the whole friends with benefits thing a while back. He got clingy.
I go on Google for a second to search for images of Jay. As it happens, there are quite a few. The best one is of him standing on a stage in Vegas wearing jeans and a Sex Pistols T-shirt, the gun show well on display. I save it to my phone and then send it so Michelle.
Matilda: Him.
Michelle: OMFG! You’re joking me!
Matilda: No joke.
Michelle: I read about him in the news last week. So hot. I refuse to believe anyone that good looking could be evil.
Matilda: Eh, Justin Bieber?
Michelle: Bieber doesn’t count. He’s more like a semi-pretty lesbian.
Matilda: Thanks for that. Now I’m creeped out. Jay seems like a nice guy, though. You know the press is full of lies.
Michelle: Yeah, you’re right. But how did this come about?
Matilda: He came to the office looking for a solicitor and left with a landlord instead.
Michelle: Lol. Funny how often that happens. So, when can I come over and meet him? I’ll be all like, TOLO come over here and impregnate me with your sexy magician babies.
Matilda: TOLO…?
Michelle: Tits out, legs open.
Matilda: Okay. Sorry I asked.
Michelle: Seriously, I want to meet him. I promise I’ll behave.
Matilda: I believe that about as much as I believed Crossing Over with John Edwards.
Michelle: Hey, that was a good night out!
Matilda: Biggest waste of sixty euros I ever spent.
Michelle: Such a sceptic. Please let me meet him? I’ve never met anyone famous before.
Matilda: Famous is stretching it a little, but okay. I’ll ask if he wants to come for drinks with us on Friday.
Friday is mine and Michelle’s regular night out. It usually ends with her going off with some lucky fellow and me going home alone. Unsurprisingly, I’ve never managed to perfect the art of the one-night stand. I should invite her to this whole casino thing tomorrow, but selfishly I kind of want to keep Jay to myself for a while.
Michelle: Yay! Now I just need to figure out what to wear.
Matilda: Lol. Wear the black Chanel dress. That’s always a winner.
Michelle: I will. You never steer me wrong.
Matilda: Sleep tight. Talk to you tomorrow.
Michelle: You too. Xxx.
As I go to shut down the search page, I notice a link to a YouTube video, and I can’t help but to let my clicky finger do the walking. The title to the video is “Jay Fields: Freaking people out, making people hate him, and making people love him.” Bit of a mouthful.
I press “play,” and it goes to a street scene, a shopping district in Boston. Someone’s walking behind Jay, filming him as he strolls down the street in beige chinos and a grey T-shirt that shows off his tats. He’s got this confident swagger that gives me tingles in my chest. He’s one of those people that you can’t tell if you want to be with him or you just want to be him.
Two women approach, chatting and carrying shopping bags. They don’t notice him until he walks by them with one of those big takeaway Cokes. He knocks into the blonde by mistake, spilling the brown liquid all over her white top.
“Oh, Jesus, I’m so sorry,” says Jay as the woman gasps and gives him a death look.
“Fucking hell!” she exclaims as her friend stares on in surprise.
“I said I’m sorry. Hey, I can fix this, just give me a sec,” he says, and then starts circling his hand over the stain. The two women eye him like he’s a lunatic, and the camera zooms in on her top. Quite miraculously, the brown stain begins to shrink until it’s completely disappeared, like he drained it from the fabric by sheer force of will.
“What the….” the blonde breathes, staring at her previously destroyed garment, which is now as good as new.
Her friend has a big smile on her face as she spots the person with the camera behind Jay. “How did you do that? Come on, tell us! Are you guys filming for a show?”
The video cuts to another scene, this one inside a nightclub. It pans over crowds of people on the dance floor, above which is a massive screen flashing dozens of coloured lights. An epileptic’s nightmare. Jay walks through the crowd and approaches a girl with short red hair wearing a silver top. He’s got a deck of cards in his hands, doing this fancy shuffle that sends them sailing through the air from one hand into the other. People eye him up as he walks by, the women in particular.
He holds out the deck to the girl. “Pick a card.”
“What?” she shouts over the music.
“Go on, pick a card, but make sure you don’t let me see it.”
The girl looks slightly confused. “Oh, okay.” She picks a card and looks at it. Jay hands her a Sharpie.
“I want you to write down the names of your favourite song, your favourite colour, and your favourite animal.”
She nods, thinking for a second before scribbling onto the card, then looks up. “What now?”
“Put it in your pocket.”
Sliding it into her tight hot pants, she giggles and asks, “Is this some kind of magic trick?”
Jay steps closer to her and grins. “I bet I can guess what card you’ve got.”
The girl beams. “No way. There’s no way you could know.”
He eyes her, like he’s thinking really hard about it. “Eight of diamonds.”
Her smile grows wide with triumph. “Nope.”
“Shoot! How about queen of hearts?”
“Wrong again. I think you should buy me a drink.”
Jay steps back and rubs either side of his forehead. “Nah, nah, wait. I can do this.” He pauses and looks up, then points at the screen behind them, now displaying a gigantic, flashing two of clubs.
“Hey…is that your card?”
“Oh, my God!” the girl squeals as she turns around.
The music playing stops midway through a song, switching over to “Single Ladies” by Beyoncé.
“No way!”
“What?” Jay asks.
“This is the song I wrote down!”
That’s her favourite song? Talk about crap taste.
“It is?”
“Yes! How did you know?”
“Lucky guess.” He grins. “But hold your horses. I still gotta figure out your favourite colour and animal.”
All of a sudden every light in the place turns purple, and the two of clubs vanishes from the big screen, being replaced with the outline of a turtle. The redhead stares in awe.
“Fuck,” she gasps.
“Did I guess right?” Jay asks. “Let me see your card so I can check.”
Slack-jawed, the girl reaches inside her pocket but comes up empty. Her brow furrows. “It’s gone.” She looks around as though checking to see if anyone could have go
tten close enough to steal it.
“Wait a sec, what’s that?” says Jay, pointing in the direction of the screen again, a good fifteen feet away. The camera follows. It’s flashing trippy colours like before, but right in the centre it looks like there’s something stuck to it. The girl squints at the screen, shaking her head and laughing like she doesn’t believe it.
“Fuck off, that can’t be my card.”
“Go get it and see,” Jay replies, gesturing for her to go forward.
After hesitating for only a moment, the girl starts to walk through the club. She climbs onto the stage where the DJ’s booth is and goes to the screen, grabbing the card that’s been stuck to it. She stares down at it in her hand as she walks back, her mouth open in disbelief.
“It’s my card,” she says, lifting it up to the camera to show her writing. There in a list it reads: Beyoncé “Single Ladies,” purple, and turtle. “I’m freaking out right now,” she goes on, running her hand through her hair.
You can hear whoever’s holding the camera chuckling, and Jay turns to smile at them. He really does have a gorgeous smile. Jay goes to the girl and throws his arm around her shoulder. “Come on, let’s go get you that drink.”
The next clip is during the daytime, in a beer garden where there are a bunch of men and women wearing football jerseys watching a game. Jay stumbles through to a group of burly-looking men holding pints of beer. He’s unsteady on his feet and looks drunk off his face. Going to one of the men (the biggest and burliest of them all, by the way), he grabs the beer right out of his hand and brings it to his own mouth before downing the entire thing in one go.
The big guy looks at Jay like he can’t believe he just had the balls to do that. Then his expression turns angry.
“You fucking shithead, you just robbed my beer,” says the man, looking to his friends for support. “This fuck just took the beer right out of my hand.”
Seeming pleased with himself, Jay sets the empty glass primly down on a table just as one of the friends grabs his shoulder. “That’s not okay, dude.”
I was thirsty,” says Jay with a casual shrug, almost as though goading the man to hit him. No more than a second later he does, swinging his fist through the air, aiming straight for Jay’s face. Jay ducks and sidesteps out of the way before he’s hit. “Hey, no need to get violent. I have every intention of replacing it.”