Don't Talk About Mickey

28 - Set Up

Carly rapped at the intricately carved oak door of the Slade's Victorian-style home and waited. Why were her palms so sweaty? Was it nerves? Because, really, she had nothing to be nervous about. It wasn't as if she were committing a crime...yet. Cody had gone over the plan with her at least a dozen times, which she felt ready and brave about at the time. Now her courage had fled her and she felt like a lost puppy on a doorstep. She'd guessed it had to do with the fact that Cody's dad, Jack Slade, was incredibly austere and intimidating. Even Cody agreed with her about that.

According to the plan, Cody was supposed to answer the door, but she should've known it wouldn't go perfectly. When it opened Jack Slade himself stood in front of her, sporting a smile so similar to his son's. "Well, hello!" he greeted with overt friendliness. "Here to see Cody?"

She nodded, unable to swallow the lump in her throat. She was even more terrified than she was five seconds ago. Get a grip, she told herself. But there was absolutely nothing to grip onto.

"He should be around here somewhere," Jack said. Just then Cody appeared behind him, eyeing Carly conspicuously.

This wasn't part of the plan, she tried willing the thought to him. If it had worked, he completely ignored it. She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. "Actually, Mr. Slade..."

"Please," he said warmly, "call me Jack."

"Okay... Jack" It sounded odd rolling off her tongue. "I came here to see you."

The tall and handsome man flashed a look of surprise. "Is that so?"

"Yes," she said, her voice nearly cracking. "Cody told me about a book you have—a very rare and priceless first edition of Jane Eyre."

"Did he?" Jack looked back at his son, but Carly couldn't see his expression. Did he look suspicious? Was he angry with Cody for telling her? She started to think this was a very bad idea.

"I did," Cody said, breaking the thick but short silence between the three of them. "She mentioned how it was one of her favorite books, so I thought she'd want to come take a look at it."

"Well," the stern man said, looking back at Carly, "I suppose I couldn't turn down a close friend of the family, or a lover of fantastic literature, could I?"

He moved aside so Carly could step in. It wasn't the first time she'd seen Cody's house, but it might as well have been. Apparently, Mrs. Slade had a knack for rearranging things quite often, she assumed as she eyed her surroundings. The foyer seemed like a completely different room from the last time she'd seen it. To her right, where a bookcase used to sit, was an antique teacart against the perfectly red-painted wall. Carly stepped around it for fear of it collapsing into meaningless pieces of wood. On the left side of the foyer, a mirror hung above a small marble-top table, similar to the one her mother had at home. She wondered if Eliza and Mrs. Slade were trading decorative secrets.

"The book is in my office," Jack said, leading them around the corner past the sitting room and down a dark hallway. He stopped at a door, taking out a set of keys. Both Carly and Cody watched intently as he unlocked it and let them in. "I keep the book in a glass case for obvious reasons, but I'll take it out just this once."

Now this room, Carly had never seen before. The first thing it reminded her of was something straight out of Jay Gatsby's great mansion, or Mr. Rochester's Thornfield Hall. Opposite of her were the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows Cody had told her about, with long and red velvet curtains draped at the sides. The walls to her left and right were built-in bookcases, completely filled with colorful hardbacks—encyclopedias, collector's editions, and so much more. A true librarian would've had a field day. And in the middle of the room sat a bearskin rug between Jack Slade's large, mahogany desk and a finely upholstered chaise lounge. There was no question that Carly's family seemed like the lower class compared to the Slade's. This room alone must've cost more than half of the house she lived in. She couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of envy.