Claim Me(56)

“So when do you get the money?” she asks.

“It’s already mine. But I need to tell Damien where to transfer it.”

“Uh, yeah,” Jamie says.

I shrug. The truth is, I’m oddly hesitant to invest it. There’s so much riding on that money, and after seeing how my mother’s horrible investments went spiraling down the drain, I’m nervous about making my own choices. Of course, Mother’s failure was about her craptastic running of the family business and her ridiculous over-the-top spending habits, but knowing that I am not my mother and believing that I am not my mother are two entirely different things.

“I’ve been talking with brokers,” I say, which is sort of true. I’ve talked with two receptionists to make appointments to talk with brokers. From the way Jamie eyes me, I’m pretty sure she’s cluing in to my deception. “And enough about the money,” I say, as the bartender returns with our drinks. I lift my water. “To you. Today a commercial, tomorrow an Oscar.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“You’ll drink to anything.”

“True,” she says, and polishes off half the martini. “Would you have believed it?” she asks.

I don’t know what she means. “Believe what?”

“When we were in high school and you were doing all those damned Miss Corner Gas Station pageants and I was auditioning for community theater. Would you have believed we’d be in Los Angeles and I’d have a commercial and you’d be on the cusp of starting your own business? Not to mention lassoing the town’s most eligible bachelor.”

“No,” I say. “I never would have believed it.”

“So this is for both of us,” Jamie says as she holds out her fist, waiting for me to bump it. I do eagerly. “For two Texas girls who moved to LA on their own, we’re not doing half bad.”


Since Jamie walked to the bar, I drive us both back to the condo. It takes longer than I anticipate since my Honda keeps stalling out at the lights.

“Face it, Nik,” Jamie says. “You can’t do LA in this car.”

I’m afraid she’s right, but the truth is bittersweet. The car is the first thing I bought on my own. I’m proud of what it represents, and I can’t help but feel a little bit superstitious about the fact that she’s starting to die right now when I’m starting to take off.

“I’ll take her in for a tune-up soon,” I decide. “It’s probably just something like spark plugs or a gunked up carburetor.”

“Do you even know what a carburetor is?”

“No,” I admit. “But presumably the mechanic does.”

“Open your eyes and observe the reality, Nik. She’s been a great little car, but she’s going to stall out on the highway one day, and you’re going to be the lead story on the eleven o’clock news. ‘Billionaire’s girlfriend squashed like a bug in fifteen-car pileup.’ Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

I roll my eyes, but I don’t argue. The truth is, she may have a point.

“Speaking of the billionaire boyfriend,” Jamie continues, “who all’s coming to the party tomorrow? I’ll finally get to meet Evelyn, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” I say. “And Blaine, of course. And you and me. We’re the only ones who know it’s me on that wall, so we’re keeping it intimate—”

Jamie interrupts me with a snort, and I curse my choice of words.

“We’re keeping it small,” I begin again, “until eight. That’s when the regular guests arrive to see all of Blaine’s paintings and do the mingling thing.”