Gypped (12 page)

“There’s no cable, either, which is really annoying. This week I haven’t been able to watch any of my favorite shows.”

“This place was a real bargain,” Regan commented. “I can’t stop wondering who the owners are.”

Norman hurried over to the counter by the back door and rifled through his leather bag that contained mostly sheet music. “Zelda asked me to go to her apartment this morning and get the paperwork she received from the charity about this palace to show you. You want to take a look at it?”

“I more than want to take a look at it,” Regan said. “Everything about this ‘palace’ is so curious.”

W
hen Zelda awoke, she stared at the ceiling, feeling groggy and overwhelmed with anxiety. She hated canceling sessions with her clients. Her father and Bobby Jo were arriving sometime tonight, and the meeting with Rich left her unnerved. She resented the condescending way he referred to her charitable donations and the help she gave her students. Who is he to tell me what to do with my money? What did he say about investing in a vitamin company? And what did I sign?

She reached for her cell phone, which she had silenced earlier, and tried to call Rich. It went straight to voice mail.

“Rich, this is Zelda. Could you give me a call, please? Thanks.”

Then she checked her text messages. The first was from one of her students, urging her to feel better. “I wanted to tell you in person, but I can’t wait, and it might cheer you up—I booked a commercial! Thanks for all your help. See you soon.” The second text was from another student who told her to get well and that he was looking forward to seeing her next week. The final text was from a client she had seen just the day before. He wasn’t feeling well either and said he’d be happy to reschedule at her convenience.

Griff isn’t feeling well! She’d had lunch with him at the mall yesterday. Could they blame their stomach problems on the restaurant? Zelda dialed his number.

“Hey, Zelda,” he said. His voice sounded so weak.

“Griff, you’re sick too?” she croaked.

“Am I ever! Oh, man.”

“I was trying to figure out what I ate that made me sick and was wondering if it was the cheesesteak I had for lunch at the mall. But you were the healthy one and had a salad.”

Griff groaned. “You think it was the cheesesteak? It probably was.”

“What do you mean? I watched you eat your salad.”

“When I was at the counter getting our food, the cook made fun of me when he realized I was the one having the salad. There was some extra cheesesteak on the grill and he gave me a sample. I scarfed it down. It was delicious. Ohhhh boy.”

“I’m so relieved!”

“You’re relieved that I’m sick?”

“No! Of course not. I just was hoping that I didn’t serve any food last night that was tainted.”

“Gotcha. How was your party?”

“It was fun.” Zelda glanced at the shopping bags she’d brought up to the room yesterday. “I guess you don’t need your new clothes today.”

“No.” He said. “That’s definite. I can’t move.”

“Give a call if you want to stop by over the weekend. Otherwise I’ll see you next week.”

“Okay. Thanks again for everything. I promise I’ll pay you back.”

Zelda smiled. “I know you will.”

“I’m really lucky I met you. You’ve made such a difference in my life.”

“Thanks, Griff. I appreciate that.”

“Ciao.”

“Don’t say that!” Zelda cried. “Chow made us sick!”

They both chuckled as they hung up.

You see, Rich, Zelda thought, that’s why I help people. Griff is truly grateful for what I do for him. And he’s going to make it as an actor, I just know it. She checked her voice mail and found a message from her father. As she listened, she wrinkled her nose. Bobby Jo’s the one who wants to go out to dinner when they get here, not Dad. Maybe by then I’ll feel better. I have to. It’s going to take fortitude to make it through the weekend.

She started to sit up, then noticed a piece of paper on the bed. Regan is here! Of course she is, it’s nearly 1:00. Zelda called Regan’s phone.

“Zelda!” Regan answered. “You’re awake.”

“Yes, but I feel light-headed. Are you here at the house?”

“In the kitchen with Norman. I’ll be right up.”

I
n an abandoned warehouse north of Los Angeles, a production crew was building sets for four nonunion commercials that would start filming at 6:00 P.M. The commercials were all for one product. Victorious Vitamins.

The director was tense and bedraggled. “How do you expect to make these commercials with so little money?” he’d asked the producers more than once in the last two days. There was something about them that he didn’t trust.

But at the moment the director had a more pressing problem. Two actors had called to cancel this morning. One of them had landed an audition with Steven Spielberg for late this afternoon and the other was in a play downtown and realized that she’d never make it back to the theater in time. Sitting at his computer, looking at headshots, he knew there was no time to audition anyone. He’d have to hire actors based on their photos. And how many times do these actors look nothing like their picture?

He scrolled through the photos. He needed an older woman and a girl in her twenties. A snapshot of a petite white-haired woman with a great smile caught his eye. There was something about her expression that made him think she’d be exactly right
for this commercial, even though she obviously wasn’t a professional. “My name is Ava, but please get in touch with Maggie Keene at this number.”

He picked up his phone and dialed.

A young woman answered. “Hello, this is Maggie.”

“Hi, Maggie. My name is Frank Bird. I’m directing a commercial for a vitamin company and I was sent a picture of a woman named Ava.”

“Yes,” Maggie answered, excited but not surprised that Gladys was getting a call for an audition before she did. She had given Gladys an alias just in case Gladys wasn’t thrilled that Maggie had sent her picture to God knows who.

“Are you her agent?”

“No.” Maggie tried not to sound dejected. “Actually, I’m Ava’s friend but I’m an actress as well. I sent in both our photos for your commercial.”

“Really. What is your name?”

“Maggie Keene.”

“Can you send me your photo again this minute?”

“Of course.”

A moment later Frank was looking at Maggie’s smiling face. She’s not exactly the type I was looking for. “You have an interesting look,” he said, his voice neutral.

Interesting look, Maggie thought. I hate that. “Uh-huh,” she answered.

“To be truthful,” he began.

Here we go, Maggie mused. He’s going to tell me I’m not right and ask if Ava’s available.

“I put that casting notice in this morning as a just-in-case. The parts had already been cast, but now they’re open again.”

Must be some project, Maggie thought.

“If you and Ava are available tonight, we can use you both. The studio is off the 405 about thirty miles north of LA.”

“Tonight? You could use us both?”

“Yes. It’s a vitamin for all ages. The fact that you know each other and have a relationship is great.”

“I can definitely do it. Let me get in touch with Ava. If you give me your number, I’ll call you right back.”

“Sure.”

Maggie took the number, then dialed her old friend Gladys as fast as she could. Gladys was working at her home in Burbank.

“Hello. Gladys Books Bookkeeping.”

“Gladys, hi, it’s Maggie from last night.”

“Oh, hello, Maggie. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

“I felt like we connected. What are you doing tonight?”

“No particular plans.” She laughed. “It’s actually my birthday. A friend was going to take me to dinner but her husband doesn’t feel well. He’s a hypochondriac if you ask me. He should just take his vitamins and stop complaining! Oh, I shouldn’t say that.”

Perfect!, Maggie thought. “How about if I take you out to dinner?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. We’ll celebrate your birthday and talk about acting.”

“I don’t think I’d be any good,” Gladys said humbly.

“Yes, you would. Please let me take you out. My life is so unpredictable, spur of the moment plans work better for me. Come on. You can’t be alone on your birthday.”

“Well, sure. Why not? Where do you want to go?”

“I have a place in mind but I want it to be a surprise. How about if I pick you up at five?”

Gladys laughed. “If you insist.”

“I insist. What’s your address?” Maggie jotted it down. “See you at five.” Quickly she called back the director. “Frank? This is Maggie Keene. Ava and I are all set for tonight.”

“Great. Can you both wear something red?”

“Something red?” Maggie stammered.

“Yes. I want the scene to be vibrant, energetic.”

“Right.”

“These vitamins release energy.”

“They sound wonderful.”

“Yes, they are. I’d also like you to bring a very pale outfit. Something that looks washed out. I want to show the transformation you make after you take these vitamins.”

“Of course you do. No problem. See you tonight.” Maggie hung up. This is getting expensive, she thought. But I can’t risk telling Gladys and having her say no. Maggie dialed her again.

“Maggie?”

“Yes, it’s me. It’s not your birthday if you don’t open a present.”

“I don’t want you to get me any present,” Gladys protested. “Taking me out to dinner is enough.”

“No, I thought of something you’re going to love. It’s not expensive, but it’s so cute.”

“No, Maggie.”

“Gladys, what size are you?”

“Petite four.”

P
etunia was bent over, applying polish to a client’s toenails. Usually Imogene liked to gossip but today she was wrapped up in a romance novel. She’d been sniffling and blowing her nose for the last twenty minutes. I hope she washes her hands before I do her manicure.

“Yes, run to him,” Imogene whispered, as she turned a page and read the final paragraph. Shaking her head, she closed the book and held it over her heart.

“Did it end nice?” Petunia asked, never looking up.

“Well,” Imogene began, her voice choked with emotion. She paused and dabbed her eyes. “The heroine fell in love with a rich, handsome man. But he turned out to be a terrible, terrible cheat. What he put her through!”

“Aw, he ran around with other women, huh? What a shame.”

“No! He cheated on his taxes!”

No big deal, Petunia thought. The IRS must think my clients are cheapskates. If I declare half my tips, they should consider themselves lucky. “It would be difficult,” she said slowly, “but I’d do my best to forgive my husband if he did such a terrible thing.” Concentrating hard, she inspected each toe for wayward polish. Any she found was wiped away with a sharpened
stick that could easily cause pain. “I’d try to find forgiveness in my heart.”

“He didn’t just cheat on his taxes! He set up phony businesses all over the country. He was a scam artist. That’s how he made his money.”

Petunia’s ears perked up. “What kind of scams?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Can I borrow the book?”

“Certainly.” Imogene unzipped her large pocketbook. “A lot of his shenanigans took place on the Internet. I won’t tell you the ending.”