Ch. 16: Jack's Place
September 2 | Day
I hurried home to get dressed. When I stepped inside, the television was on, but the studio was empty. By this point, my parents had been at work for hours. A weather report flickered across the vacant faces of relatives on the wall. I overheard the meteorologist segue to another reporter.
"Letty Chandler," I muttered in dry recognition. Stepping into a fresh pair of slacks from the fancy wardrobe Mal had bought me, I half-watched the news.
"It was right here at this four-star hotel where tragedy struck last month." Letty walked aimlessly toward the camera. Behind her was Century Luxe. "The nineteen-year-old daughter of famed Hollywood director Nannette Baudelaire was run down by an unknown assailant."
I arched an eyebrow at the photograph of a young woman. "One of the girls who crashed Mr. Cyprian's party?"
"Aurelia and Haley Edison were just two carefree teens looking for excitement. They snuck into an exclusive event together on August 9th, but witnesses say the girls were somehow separated. Now their family has been changed forever. Police are asking for the public's help identifying the owner of this vehicle." Letty cut to a grainy security clip of an SUV escaping the scene.
Suddenly invested in the segment, I lowered myself to the couch. It blew my mind that a deadly accident had happened the same night as Cyprian's event. I wracked my brain to remember any details of my transition from the luxury hotel to Mal's country estate, but I couldn't recall a thing. Definitely not the ambulances and cop presence that would have followed a hit-and-run.
I fastened my belt and turned my back on the television. Sunny was likely done getting dressed, already waiting for me. But none other than Zyr Ravani's voice slowed my haste to leave. "If you have any information, we're asking you to call our tip line and let us know." He spoke soberly from a split-screen with an interview of him on one side and the tip line toll free number on the other.
Jaw tightening, I shoved my foot into a stiff, new wingtip. "So they have New Orleans's finest on the case. Girl's killer is probably never gonna be found if that asshole's doing the investigating." I slapped the power button, and the screen blacked.
"Ready to go?" Mal chirped from the door.
A smile cracked through the dark mood trying to form. Her surprise visit was working its usual magic. "Yeah, but I need to stop by the manager's office and pay the rent before we take off," I replied. We strode to the car at the same time Sunny stepped from his unit.
"I'm all set," he said.
"Adorable," Mal gibed. He was impeccable, par for the course, in twill pants and a comfy t-shirt. I noticed the way her gaze lingered on his exquisite form. "Jack, I'm glad to see your parents taking advantage of your good fortune." She plopped into the driver's seat and caught me shaking my head. "Not so much?"
"Pfft, they turn down my offers to drive them to work. Dad's still wasting time with that busted truck, and Mom says she's content with the bus route. I have to sneak to aid them. It's maddening." I fought to keep the smile on my face despite the cloudy thoughts rolling in. She must've sensed I didn't want to talk. She snapped on the radio.
The 'good fortune,' as Mal put it, was moving faster than I could've imagined upon signing that deal with Mr. Cyprian. Barely a month had passed, and I already had more money, a better vehicle, and this sudden opportunity to have my own place. Ironically, I didn't feel like my personal growth was matching the pace of the changes around me.
My shirt was wrinkled. I didn't have a closet in the studio, and the high-dollar clothes my friends had helped me pick out were suffering for it. Every thrilling venture into the billionaire's world of indulgence left me feeling like an outcast in a smart costume. Mal had called me Cinderella. The nightmare of failing to convince the courts I was the rightful Ravani heir and the clock striking twelve scared me, but there was no backing away from the challenge. I was in too deep.
Meanwhile, my neighbors made sure to keep me humble. We rode around to the manager's office, and Denise peeked from her cubicle as I ran inside to cover next month's tab. Suspicion scrunched her face as she followed me with her eyes back to the car. Sunny spotted her and waved. "Did you know she's putting up flyers to announce the free haircuts your dad offered? That's nice of her, isn't it?" he asked.
Ambivalent, I grunted a non-response, and Mal cranked up the volume, watching me peripherally. Sunny studied me from the side mirror. I wasn't adept enough to explain to him why his well-meaning advice to smile more, make small talk, and act friendlier to win over the hold-outs made me feel as much of a fraud as Mal's glam upgrades.
Sometimes I laid awake at night and relived the agonizing years in prison. The song of plates clattering in the dining hall, the riffs of inmate arguments, the call of the prison guards, familiar but hated lullabies. I wondered if assimilation with wider society was on my dance card.
Both Mal and Sunny played sounding board when the struggle to fit in got too overwhelming. They listened to gripes about my inability to bring honor back to my family, whimsical visions of how I wanted my future to unfold. They were each on a mission to transform me but only into the person they thought I wanted to be. I told myself it was enough that, beyond that, they seemed to like me for who I was. Two out of eight billion people on the planet wasn't bad.
"Here we are," Mal announced, jolting me to reality. "Welcome home, darling."
***
The size of the split-level penthouse condo was insane.
"A doorman, concierge at the front desk, maid service," Mal ticked away the amenities. "Residential pool and gym, a courtyard with walking trails and dogpark. What am I missing? Do you like it? A place like this simply screams, 'Never leave.'"
"Sounds like a threat," Sunny mumbled.
"You can go whenever you want, Little Light."
I spun around the expansive living room. Crammed in a studio apartment for months, crowded in a cellblock prior, the luxury of open spaces had eluded me for longer than I cared to remember. The ceiling loomed too high to touch, and the marble floors went on for what felt like miles until they reached the textured walls. Adding to the very real massive dimensions, there were mirrors artfully positioned to create the illusion of even more space. Doors opened onto rooms to explore.
"It's...perfect," I breathed in awe. A faint echo resounded. I couldn't hear a peep from neighboring condos.
"Eh." Sunny shrugged. "Don't you think it's a bit fllat and devoid of character? Where's the warmth? Where are the handcarved pieces lovingly crafted by a master, the colorful textiles toiled over by artisans?"
I surveyed the chrome and white leather furniture. Fingers skimmed a bold, stark console table hugging the back of the sofa. "It's perfect," I repeated as I stopped between the squat conversation table and rectangular fireplace, the wall behind which was accented in charcoal matte. "Guys like me don't wind up in places like this."
"There are no guys like you. You're one of a kind, and the universe is conspiring to make you realize that." Mal's heels dug into the stone, loud and present. I exited a pivot hinge glass door to private patio, and the din of the city exploded around me. She ambled to my side and rested her arms on the cinderblock halfwall. "But you don't look happy."
"I am! I'm blown away. This is–Mr. Cyprian has outdone himself, but..." I peered over my shoulder at Sunny traversing the open-concept kitchen. "I need to speak with you in private, Mal."
"Black, white, gray. Was the interior decorator raised in a world absent rainbows?" Sunny lamented. I had never seen him so disillusioned.
"Don't worry. He can't hear a word over his petulant whining," Mal smiled. "Talk to me."
"When am I going to see a doctor? The side effects are damn near non-stop lately."
"Mr. Cyprian is arranging everything, but I'm afraid he's been tied up recently with an unfortunate liability that occurred during his party."
I turned from watching a bird lazily float on an updraft. "The girl who got hit outside Century Luxe?"
"How do you know about that?"
"It's been all over the news. What do you mean 'liability'? I hope Mr. Cyprian didn't have anything to do with the accident." I reflected on Dad's inquiry as to what else the billionaire was into.
"No, of course not, but you know Detective Ravani, always sniffing around the wrong guy. He's been trying to pin something on Darcy for ages. The biggest difference between you and him is I don't do pro bono for billionaires... You shouldn't worry yourself, Jack. Perhaps anxiety is amplifying your perception of the side effects," Mal said quietly.
"The other night I almost attacked my own mother. I'd say more than my perception is out of whack." I glared at the traffic down below.
Mal laid a hand to my cheek, and I flinched, closing my eyes. My lips grazed the surface of her palm. "Let's get through this dinner party with the boss tonight, and I'll see to it, personally, that you get a full check-up if you still feel the need," she promised.
"Another thing–what exactly is it Mr. Cyprian plans to do with me after I collect the Ravani inheritance?"
"I know what it is," Sunny interjected behind us. "This place is void of life. Not a single plant." I opened my eyes and caught the way Mal stiffened at my last question, but Sunny stopped on the threshold because of the intimate tableau of her touching my face. "What am I interrupting?"
"I could've asked the same earlier, but I didn't." I chuckled. His cheeks went rosy. Reentering the condo, I shelfed my concerns and counted my blessings. "So, what else do we have? Let's see the rest of this castle."
"The master suite." Mal rushed up spiral stairs to open the doors on the main bedroom. My jaw dropped. Windows gaped wide to swallow copious light.The bleached fabric and floors reflected it throughout the room. Sunny's dress shoes whispered through lushly piled grey carpet. I threw my body onto an oversized bed topped with sumptuous fabrics and pillows.
Staring, dazed, at the skylight, the annoying thought of Zyr Ravani again poked its ugly head into my revelry. He probably had a place as striking. I envisioned him hosting friends and family, showing off the fruits of his misplaced labor, an entourage of boot-licking groupies and yes-men hanging onto his every word.
With telepathic intrusiveness, Sunny broke in, "You should do a housewarming party and invite all the new people in your life. Something about seeing yourself surrounded by a support system does wonders for the mental health."
"Oh, great. I'll bring the absinthe. If you're to be forced to socialize, Jack, a mild hallucinogenic added to the mix is what I call proper mental health care."
I smiled at Mal perched at the foot of my bed. Her sundress inched up her crossed legs to reveal a shapely calf, and I had the trippy notion Victorian-era men were onto something regarding the sex appeal of a flash of ankle. I glanced at Sunny, intrigued at where his errant line of sight went–to her plush breasts.
Back at the apartment, upon catching the two of them wedged together in a tense interlude, my suspicions had been confirmed. There was something going on between them. I rooted around in the more primal trenches of my mind for how I felt about that. Brazen fantasies of menage a trois lurked in the shadows. I didn't try to shake the mental image.
I could see myself with them. The upmarket locale was apropos for a woman of Mal's caliber. I pictured her soaking in rays on the patio chaise lounge. I pictured Sunny fussing over the plants he said the place needed. A charcuterie board on the table between us, expensive wine gleaming in fragile glasses. Great sex, great food, sensuality.
I knew how it would work in theory, but in practice? The power attorney wasn't familiar with not getting her way. Hence, the use of wealth to splurge for my attention. And the bodyguard was a closet soft boi trying to win my affection with poetic words and tenderness. I wasn't used to being fought over. Yet, the catty back-and-forth they'd kept up this morning definitely spelled competition. Funny. I wasn't egoistic enough to see myself as a major catch.
"Daydreaming of spending the night?" Mal put the question to Sunny.
He jerked his gaze to her face with a fiercer blush. "Are you? You picked the two-bedroom."
She laughed as she pushed to her feet. "Ah, cherub, you're so innocent. If I intended to sleep over, why would I need a separate bed?"
"We can make the spare into a dojang." I grinned as I followed her downstairs.
"Best not." Sunny replied. "It's one thing to showcase martial arts in public, an entirely different matter to run a formal class from your private residence."
"Yes, and we know how the locals distrust you. Care for a drink?" Mal drew attention to my own personal bar tucked in an alcove lined with premium spirits. The gauzy glow of red pendulum lights washed her in passion as I asked for a double-shot of vodka.
Sunny declined alcohol. "The locals are coming around."
"Are they?" She handed him a lemon-lime soda. "Anyway, with your running list of unmet standards–-no kitschy folkart for character, no candles for warmth, no plants for vitality–I should expect you'll never visit."
"I bet the decor will absolutely come alive the moment you leave," he retorted.
I cut into their bickering, "Okay, if this gets any hotter, the fire alarms will go off. Seriously, fuck already."
Mal raised an eyebrow at Sunny who went silent and sulked. She turned back to me. "I had concierge arrange a late brunch for us. The caterers should be popping by any minute. In the meantime, feel free to get acclimated to your new property. I'll be outside on the patio enjoying my freedom."
Sunny watched her saunter out. I took another gander at the glamorous layout of the townhouse and contemplated the underlying reason for Mr. Cyprian and Mal's largesse. Ultimately, it was a fleeting fantasy that the lawyer was interested in me purely for my sake. I could see what she saw in the bodyguard, but I didn't have Sunny's accolades. She still hadn't answered my question about what came after the inheritance, either.
I didnt' know how long this fairytale would last, but with two bedrooms, I had a strong urge to call my parents and tell them to pack their bags. Having my own condo seemed like the right way to give them their space, but I couldn't imagine living like a king while they remained in that tiny apartment. Frustration surged at the idea of trying to convince them to join me. Thus far, my parents hadn't so much as accepted a cent from me.
"I think you should know that what you're intuiting between Mal and I isn't sexual," Sunny broke the stillness.
"Would you know? If it was?" I looked at him, and he studied the matte black wall of the fireplace.
"Just...be careful with her."