I must have been staring at him with a stupid look on my face because he shot me a coy glance that said I told you so.
All right, fine. So he brought in a lot of money. Now that the shock had worn off that the geeky, emo teenager had done well for himself, I started wondering exactly how much money he was bringing in.
And if he’d miss it if any of it disappeared.
The buzzing of the needle snapped me out of my musings. It was crazy, anyway. I told myself I was going legit and I needed to stick to it. More than that, I’d done enough to the poor man all those years ago. On the other hand, he didn’t seem to be any worse for wear. He looked like a hot, successful, lady killer. Maybe the past didn’t matter if you were making a killing in the present. Living well was the best revenge, wasn’t it?
And just like that, I let all the guilt over what I had done to him go. Javier once told me I wore my guilt like a badge of honor, because it meant someone else was suffering the same as I was, or worse. But it was obvious that Camden wasn’t suffering anymore. And I was.
“Are you leaving, Ellie?” Camden asked me. I looked over to him, his eyes on the needle as it buzzed along Audrey’s arm. She was watching me expectantly, her face a little pale and shiny. Pain sweats.
I had somehow moved closer to the door and now I was standing in the middle of the Technicolor store like I was caught in limbo. I could go. I could go and leave Palm Valley and try to find a new life somewhere else. But I was down to my last $200. I couldn’t afford a place to stay for very long or food to eat if I were to leave Uncle Jim. I needed a job. I needed money.
When I couldn’t find a job, I was known to create my own.
I realized they were still staring at me, waiting for my response. The needle’s buzz was hypnotizing me into a drug-like state. Christ, I really needed to eat something.
“I…uh…”
You need to go, I yelled at myself in my head. You need to walk out that door, tell him it was nice seeing him again, wish him the best of luck, and disappear. You need to go. Go before you do something stupid. Go before this gets complicated.
“I’m playing a show tonight in Palm Springs,” Camden said while taking the gun off her and peering at it. “How about I pick you up at six?”
I blinked. “Sorry, what? You’re playing a show?”
I looked at Audrey who was nearly pouting at our exchange. Was Camden asking me out on a date? The idea was equal parts thrilling and nerve-wracking.
“Yes. I told you, I’m a guitarist. It’s a Cramps cover band called Kettle Black.”
Well, that was intriguing.
“Do you remember where my uncle lives?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” he said and flashed me that smile of his. I swear Audrey melted into a puddle at his feet. “So I’ll pick you up at six.”
Before I knew what I was doing, I was nodding and saying, “Yes, see you then.”
Then I was out on his porch and making my way to Jose in a daze. It was too hot outside, the sun was too bright, and I felt totally off balance. I opened the car door and let the stale blast of hot air flow out. While I waited for the interior to cool, I stared at the bright shop and wondered what the hell was wrong with me.
I didn’t have many friends. Friends are dangerous liabilities when you’re a grifter. They’re dangerous liabilities, period. I never really had them as a child. In high school, there was Camden, then the fake friends I traded him in for. After I graduated, I decided to do the only thing I knew how and that was grifting. The word rhymes with drifting for a reason. I floated like a dead leaf from state to state, and until I met Javier, my ties to people were superficial at best. That’s not to say I didn’t have some buddies—usually socially unsavory types—I could call up and chat. I did. I got by. But I never had anyone I could depend on. And aside from my uncle, I never had anyone who knew me back when I was “innocent.”
And so there I was, standing outside the house of a guy who knew me when I was still redeemable. Someone who had known me and my parents. Knew exactly what I was and where I came from. Someone who was asking me out on a date to see his show. And I was thinking two things: one, I couldn’t afford to befriend anyone, let alone someone I wouldn’t mind seeing naked, and two, how much cash could I take from him before I hated myself?
***
It was almost six o’ clock and Uncle Jim’s kitchen was succumbing to monochrome as the sun lowered itself behind the San Jacinto Mountains. He was leaning against the dishwasher, arms folded across his aging flannel shirt, and eying me as I applied my makeup.
I glanced at him over my compact. “What?”
He shrugged. “What nothing. I thought you said this wasn’t a date.”