The Tell-Tale Con (15 page)

Ugh.  Seriously? 

Isn't anything more exciting going on at this school?  We're not dating.

Are you best friends now?  Because there's no other excuse for how much time you guys have been spending together. 

I sighed.  There was no escaping it.  Harrison and I were either going to have to pretend to be friends, pretend to be dating, or admit we were investigating the potential that someone was trying to kill him.  Those were the only options.  I went for the most innocuous. 

I guess we are friends now.
 
I was helping him before, but we have a lot in common.  But we're not dating.

It was something to appease Sam, but in a way it was true.  For all the things we didn't share, Harrison and I had a lot in common.  And now everyone would have it in their heads that we were the best of friends.  BFF's.  So much for not having any friends.  I sighed, gave Sam a pointed look that I hoped said I wanted her to stop texting me, and picked up my sandwich. 

Before we finished eating, we were joined at the table by Yvonne, who was making doe eyes at Hector, something that I wasn't sure whether or not to admire or be disgusted by.

It was science class before I got the chance to talk to Harrison again, and it was hard to talk about serious issues when suited up in big plastic glasses and rubber gloves, hovering over a dead squid. 

“So, what's behind Kanako's animosity towards you?  I mean, really?” 

He shrugged, prodding the piece of flesh in front of us.  “I don't know exactly.  I think she's just annoyed that I exist.  She's been on my case since I met her the first time.  I think she'd rather it was her and Dad, and instead there's me.”

“But you're not there most of the time,” I argued.

“I guess it was still too much.”  He spoke quietly, and I wasn't sure if it was to insure that no one heard us or because he didn't want to talk about it. 

“Has she told you that?” 

“No, but she's told me that I'm not good enough.  I'm not trying hard enough, doing enough.  I should be somewhere else all the time…that I'm such a waste.”

Sometimes I thought it was better that my parents ignored me.  “But do you think she'd resort to murder?  I mean, wouldn't your dad be upset?  Doesn't she want your dad to be happy?”

“I don't know, you know?  I don't know what she wants.  And frankly, I can't imagine anyone wanting to kill me.  So we aren't going to get anywhere with that line of questioning.”

I sighed.  “You can't think of anyone else who might hate you?”

His lips twitched.  “Contrary to what seems to be your overall belief in my ability to incite loathing, most people find me fairly acceptable.”

“I like to cover my bases.”

He nodded, still restraining a smile.  “I appreciate that, thank you.”

“I'll come over.  Maybe I'll talk to her.”  Not that I wanted to.  I didn't like meeting people's parents.  It was too creepy and high pressure.  But I was fully capable of doing it and making them enjoy it.  Just because I could, didn't mean I wanted to.  However, I'd been bred to be charming, because charming made the money. 

“Okay, but don't be surprised if Dad is too busy to talk to you.  Or if they're…well, maybe you won't be able to talk to them.  I want you to see them.  You know, try to get a feel.”

“What will you tell them?”

“I don't know.  They probably won't ask what we're doing there.”

“Well, Sam told me that people are talking about us.  It's kind of weird.  I don't see why anyone would care.  This wouldn't be a problem if you had a glamorous, beautiful girlfriend.”

He laughed, and a few eyes turned our way, so I lowered my head and studied a limp spleen with interest.  “Yeah, well, don't pin all the blame on me.  It
really
wouldn't be a topic of conversation about us if
you
had a glamorous, beautiful girlfriend.”

I nodded.  “You know that's right.”

“Seriously, though.  We're marginally attractive people with no apparent hideous flaws.  Why are we not dating anyone?  This is the real mystery.” 

Actually, that was a mystery.  At least in his case.  I knew why I wasn't dating anyone.  First of all, that would require me getting close to someone.  Also, there was the matter of Gray.  That was something I still hadn't gotten over yet.  But the last thing in the world I wanted to do was talk about, or even think about, Peter Gray. 

“Well, Harry, I'll tell you what.  Once we stop you from getting dead, I'll find you a girlfriend.”  He looked about to hurl, which told me that I'd done my job with my pithy little comment.  Though whether it was from my offer or from the shortening of his name, I wasn't sure.  “Can I call you Harry?”

He flinched again.  Yeah, it was definitely the nickname.  “Yeah, sure.  If I can call you Tallulah.”

It was my turn to flinch.  “Yeah, okay.  I get it.  It's a deal.”

“How'd you end up with a name like Tallulah anyway?”

Well, at least the subject was changed.  Sigh.  “Would you not say it so loud?”  I glanced around, but no one seemed interested in our conversation.  Most people weren't paying attention to their own projects, let alone the other groups.  Even the teacher was reading a magazine.  High-quality education at its finest. 

“It was my great aunt's name.  She was on her way out right when I was born.  I guess my parents thought that if they named me after her, she'd leave them some money.”

Harrison seemed to find the idea amusing.  No doubt that was because he hadn't spent the last seventeen years of his life being named Tallulah.  “Did she?”

“She left me her extensive collection of monogrammed hankies.”

“That is so awesome.”

“Don't make me punch you in the face.”

Harrison howled with laughter, which definitely did get attention.  From the teacher, who lowered his
Lego Club
magazine.  “Would you like to share the joke with the rest of the class?”  Mr. Watson asked, though his boredom-laced voice told me he was just going through the teacher motions.

“Dissection jokes.  They're hilarious.”  Harrison gave him a winning grin.  Mr. Watson rolled his eyes and went back to reading about Ninjago or some crap. 

“Listen, we better work.  But meet me out in the parking lot after school, and we'll head over to the set.  Maybe you'll find it interesting.”

The set was, I assumed, the set of Van Poe's action television show that he shot here in Albuquerque during the fall and winter.  He saved his big budget films for the spring and summer.  I only knew that because everyone was always talking about it. 
Covert
was a huge hit, and New Mexico was raking in the dough as a benefit.  Van Poe was nothing short of a hero.  Except to those people who loathed the fact that New Mexico was giving tax breaks to movie companies to bring them here to film.  But the people who had an extra tank of gas or more food on the table from their jobs with the movie industry weren't complaining. 

Either way, I knew that Van had a show and that he filmed it somewhere in town.  Beyond that I had no clue.  So after school when Harrison directed me onto the highway, I had no idea where we were headed.  But it was still a surprise to find ourselves in the South Valley, not the best neighborhood by pretty much anyone's standards, in a new subdivision that had run out of money at some point during the building process.  At the end of a cul-de-sac the four houses on the inside of the circle had been completed, though everything else on the road was boarded up, half constructed or just plain falling down. 

Frankly, it was creepy as all get-out to have these four shiny, gleaming, perfectly manicured stucco homes looking like models for Stepford Wives, New Mexico Edition, while everything around us was in total disrepair.  Something about the contrast between the two gave me the willies. 

The cul-de-sac was filled with people, vans, tables, cameras and various other equipment.  Caterers stood under a tent holding a long, white table set with mountains of food that was probably going to go to waste at the end of the day.  Especially since it was clear from a glance that people in this cast sustained life through bottled water, caffeine and alcohol alone.  All three of the women standing near Van weighed about thirteen pounds cumulative.  On one of them, I could see the outline of her bones through her elegant sheer blouse, disguised only by a thin layer of skin.  Hoark.  I had never seen the show, but I was hoping it was true that the camera put on ten pounds.  Or twenty.  Or, like, fifty. 

A large, good-looking man in a blue tracksuit stepped in my direction, and I had the distinct feeling that he was going to throw my butt spectacularly off the set. 

“Hey, Mark.”  Harrison's greeting stopped the tank in his tracks.  He appeared confused for a second, like mentally switching gears was difficult for him.  Finally, brow furrowed, he nodded and stepped back into the shadows. 

When we'd passed, Harrison whispered, “That's Mark Mason.  He used to be a stuntman for one of my dad's shows and some movies, but he hurt himself, so Dad made him the head of security.”

I nodded like I would remember any of that.  I moved my gaze to the people all over the set, constantly in motion.  No one stayed still for more than a second or two, like hummingbirds, incapable of being still.  I couldn't believe how many people it took to film a single show.  There had to be six-dozen people here, and only a handful of them looked like actors. 

“Do they always film here?”

Harrison shook his head.  “Only the scenes where the agents are pretending to be a normal husband and wife instead of feuding spies forced to work together.  Look, there they are.” 

For a second, I thought he meant the feuding agents, but the tense squinting of his eyes suggested someone who upset him, maybe his parents.  He gritted his teeth for a moment, pulling up to his full height.  Then he started in that direction.  “Well, come on Talia.  Prepare to be charming.”

 

 

 

 

 

Rules of the Scam #11

Competition keeps the blood pumping.  Don't be afraid of another con man, but don't be afraid to smash them either…

 

Harrison led us through the crowd, and everyone parted for us without noticing what they were doing.  They were so used to him being there, I supposed.  They certainly had little reaction to him crossing through and snatching a pile of cookies off the catering table.  The girl behind the table didn't acknowledge he was there. 

Harrison pointed to the skeleton in the sheer blouse.  “That's Trina Watson.  She's the heroine of the show.  Ever seen it?”

“Nope.”  I tried grabbing a croissant sandwich to see what would happen.  No one reacted.  Word up. 

“She and her partner are spies who have to pretend to live a suburban existence.  It's actually pretty funny.  The girl she's talking to is Mandy Hubbard.  She plays Trina's next door neighbor.”

I wondered what we were waiting for since we were now only about half way to Van and Kanako.  Van was talking to a small group of men, and Kanako was examining the contents of a manila folder critically.  Up close she looked even more like Yoko Ono. 

When the group moved away from Van, Harrison immediately moved in, dragging me behind him, ham and croissant hanging out of my mouth like a dog.  And that was how I met one of the hottest directors in America.  I sucked the rest into my mouth right as Van Poe turned his washed-out blue eyes my way. 

I tried to chew inconspicuously, but that wasn't possible, so I ended up looking like a deranged chipmunk instead.  Kanako seemed perplexed, either by my presence or by my behavior, I wasn't sure which.  Van turned away from me and back to the actors.

“Take five, everyone.  Then we're going to take it from the beginning of scene six.  I want to see some sincerity this time.  Like you're the professionals I'm paying your asses to be.  You guys are a joke.  I could fire all of you and hire a middle school drama club.”

Jeez.  That seemed a little harsh.  Maybe they did suck, who knew?  But he'd hired them in the first place.  To my surprise, however, there was little to no response to his outburst.  Most people ignored him.  Like no reaction at all.  Trina the walking skeleton rolled her eyes and then flipped him off on her way off the set.  I wondered if he went on the same kinds of rampages with Harrison. 

He finally turned our way.  “What are you doing up here?” he asked. 

 “I came to show Talia the set.”  He gestured to me.  “This is Talia.  She lives across the street.”

Van's eyebrows did a vague lift, like he might have been interested in this information, or he might have had a twitch.  Either way.  Kanako's stare, on the other hand, was laser sharp, penetrating through my skin like an evil step-mother robot.  “I've seen you before.”

“Really?”  Other than my Google search I'd never seen her before, but I wasn't about to give her that piece of information. 

“You work for the Wongs.”

Okay, she had seen me before.  Weird.  Did she watch through her living room windows and examine people on the street?  I mean, not that I didn't do that too.  But the people I was watching weren't me, and that seemed to make a big difference in my mind. 

“I don't work for them.  They're family friends.”

If she had an opinion on this information she didn't give it to me.  She just continued to stare at me with those large, dark eyes behind slightly tinted sunglasses. 

“Interesting.” 

I didn't know how it was interesting, and she didn't elaborate.