Page 40 of A Deal with the Devil

I’ve just reached Beverly Hills and found a parking spot when Charlotte’s psychologist calls. I blow out a quick, frustrated breath. I don’t know why she’d call me instead of my mother, and also…I just want to see Hayes.

“Is this a bad time?” she asks.

“I’m about to meet my boss,” I tell her, omitting that I’m meeting him at a bar. “But I have a minute.”

I climb out and don’t bother locking the door. No one’s stealing this car. Even criminals feel sorry for me.

“I’ll keep it short,” she says as I begin walking down the street. “Your mother is not doing well. She was drinking during the last family therapy session and isn’t treating Charlotte’s issues with the care they deserve. I think some changes are necessary.”

I release a small breath, thinking what now? At the rate we’re going, I will owe the Fairfield Center a million dollars by the time this is done.

“What kind of changes?” I ask.

“Your mother needs to attend AA, and you or your sister will need to assume supervision of Charlotte when she’s released.”

I step into the intersection, ignoring the blare of a horn as I cross. “But...we both live out of state,” I argue.

“Charlotte said you were coming home when she gets out,” Dr. Shriner says.

I laugh unhappily. “For a week.”

I walk faster, bracing myself for what’s coming. I’m pretty sure I already know.

“Well, unless something changes, I can’t, in good conscience, release your sister to your mother’s care.”

The argumentative side of me wants to ask what legal grounds she has to hold Charlotte somewhere that costs me seven grand a month. But it’s sort of beside the point. If my sister needs more than my mother can give her, someone else needs to be there, and I already know who it will be. I’m the one with the flexibility to move home, not Liddie. I’m the one who’s single and about to be jobless. What can I even claim is holding me here? I have Jonathan, an unrequited crush on my boss, and little else.

I take a deep breath, silently assuring myself it won’t come to that. I’ll talk to my mother and convince her to get her shit together.

Because if she doesn’t, it means I’m leaving LA, and Hayes, for good. How strange that leaving Hayes is what bothers me most.

* * *

He has a drink waiting for me when I walk in. I toss back half of it the second I sit down.

He leans back in his seat. “You’re drinking like me tonight,” he says. “And while I greatly admire this change, I suppose I should ask if there’s something wrong.”

I shake my head. The last thing I want to discuss is the bullshit with Dr. Shriner, and for some reason, I particularly don’t want to discuss it with him. “Just a call from home. What’s this project you want me to work on?”

His gaze snags on me over the rim of his glass. “What’s wrong at home?”

“My mom’s been drinking a lot,” I reply, waving a dismissive hand in the air, “and the psychologist treating my sister has some concerns. It’ll be fine. Really. So, what’s this project? I assume it involves women and liquor, so I’ll go ahead and write those two things down.”

He hesitates before ceding to my wishes. “I’d like you to host a luncheon. So yes, both women and liquor should remain at the top of your list.”

The word host throws me off entirely.

“Just a light, catered meal on the terrace,” he adds. “I’ll set up some aesthetic services inside. It’s good for business.”

I’m guessing his “just a light, catered meal” actually means extravaganza for five hundred wealthy women with high expectations.

“I’m not asking this because I don’t want to do that much work, although I totally don’t want to do that much work,” I say, running my fingertip over the salt on my glass’s rim, “but why? House calls stress you out, and you don’t seem to get any satisfaction from it. You already earn more than you could ever spend, and you only seem to spend on food and alcohol, which I’m guessing you could afford on a surgeon’s paltry salary.”

“Perhaps,” he replies. “But it might not pay for you to take care of everything so I can enjoy my food and alcohol without the tedium of acquiring it.”

I take a sip of my drink and discover I’m down to ice. “Get a wife then. She’ll perform all your menial tasks for free.”

“I don’t know how many marriages you’ve seen,” he says, looking tired suddenly, “but believe me, there’s a price to be paid there too.”