. . .
A little over an hour later, I was sitting in Nicky’s office, telling him that I was sorry for everything I had said the last time we talked and how truly grateful I was for every single thing that he had ever done for me, including keeping me away from drugs, drinks, and actors.
My extreme sincerity alarmed him. He asked me straight out if this was a ploy to get back my job, because he had already made a verbal agreement with Chloe.
I assured him it wasn’t. Then I confessed that I had never really, truly valued the job. It was fun, and I liked what I did, but I didn’t love it and had never wanted to go further with it. I told him I was now grateful he had fired me, because I would have stayed in the same holding pattern forever if he hadn’t forced me to do something new.
But the words “holding pattern” and “something new” only furthered his suspicions. His eyes narrowed. “You about to ask for a loan, ain’t you?”
“No, but if you haven’t filled Chloe’s waitress position yet, I could use the job while I do my atonement.”
“Your a-what-ment?”
“I need a job while I make things right with everyone I hurt.”
Nicky sucked on his teeth. “I see you on that New Age shit. I should’ve known. You going to start wearing muumuus and carrying around crystals, too?”
I felt my newfound appreciation for Nicky rapidly disintegrating. “Can I have the job or not?”
Nicky finally smiled. There was truly nothing he loved more than pushing people to the limits of their patience. “Sure,” he said, picking up his clipboard and checking “Fill Chloe’s position” off his list. He grinned. “All you had to do was ask.”
TWENTY-FIVE
My atonement list had enough names on it that I had to write them all down on the back of an envelope to keep track. And I felt pretty bad when I put my pen down.
First up was Corey Mays. I tracked down his private cell phone number through another waiter, who knew an assistant in the sports division at William Morris. As it turned out, Corey had recently retired from football with a bad knee at the age of thirty-four and was now living in Los Angeles, where he had gotten a gig with FOX Sports as a commentator. Was everybody from high school going to eventually end up in Los Angeles, I wondered, or was this God’s way of letting me know I was on the right path?
When he picked up the phone, I said, “Corey Mays, this is Davie Jones. I need ten minutes. And before you hang up, please remember that you wouldn’t have made it through chemistry without me.”
“You abandoned me right before finals. I only ended up with a C,” Corey said. But he didn’t hang up, which was a start. “How’d you get this number?”
“Same way I got those pictures. Through scheming and determination.”
Corey chuckled. “I guess you good at that now, huh?”
“I was good at it back then, too, I just didn’t talk about it.”
“No, you sure didn’t. It’s still real freaky to hear you talking now, to tell you the truth.” There was a silence on the line for a bit. Then: “Okay, say what you got to say.”
“What I did was heinous and wrong. And I know how it is to want a Farrell more than anything, but, Corey, Veronica was a bad match for you. You weren’t happy, and I probably saved you from a divorce later on down the line. Surely this must have occurred to you in the years after ya’ll broke up, or you wouldn’t even be talking to me now.”