Miss Adventure (24 page)

“That’s where it all started, Jack. With us. And we could survive this, if you gave us the chance.”

“Are you even listening to me? I’m losing Into the Wild, and I’m about to be indicted!”

“Will you get a grip!” I shout back. “I’m not mentally impaired, Jack! Remember? There is NOTHING to indict you for. It’s all just what everyone thinks. Which I guess counts now when it’s about you and Into the Wild. Now, all of a sudden, what people think matters.”

“I can’t talk to you.”

He stomps back to his truck.

“You WON’T talk to me. All you do is yell. Or ignore me. And I never did ANYTHING to hurt you!”

But he’s back in his truck, pulling away from me.

Jack Fucking Hawkins. The hero with issues. I could see it way back in the beginning. I could. That first day I chased him up the mountain, I knew he was just a guy. But still I blundered forward. As if
Romeo and Juliet
might end differently this time. Every time, I hope it will end differently.

* * * * *

The cops are there when I get to HEYA, guarding the place from the TV and magazine worms burrowing in and out between cars and vans near the gated entrance to the parking lot. It takes me a sec before I remember I’ve already thought of this. Since the meltdown with Jack, though, I can’t think of anything except what an unbelievably unfair cretin he’s morphed into. He sucks. He sucks. He sucks.

I circle the Lincoln around the block, park it near the front of the tall white apartment building that sits on top of HEYA. There is only one cop near the door, and no reporters that I can see. I hop out of the car with no stealth at all, lope up the sidewalk to the entrance, flash the cop my HEYA ID, and waltz into the apartment building.

I take the elevator to the basement and find a small window on the far side of the murky storage space. I wedge myself out. I’m covered in spider webs, but I emerge on the other side of the building,
inside the HEYA grounds
. I’ve bypassed the Media completely. I brush off my jeans then walk across to the front door of HEYA. No one is at the reception counter. Weird, but I don’t stop to care as I high-tail it to my office. I pick up the phone. In five seconds, Crispin Joyner picks up.

“Crispin, it’s Lisa Flyte.” I’m cool, collected, and professional. Terrified. Will Crispin listen? Will he be confused? Worried? Demanding explanations?

“Well, well, well.” He sounds like Heat Miser taunting Jingle and Jangle.

“Crispin.”

“Not even a minute after the segment, Lisa. Classic. Really, I’m impressed with the sheer balls.”

Segment? Like, on a TV show? About
me
? “Crispin, I don’t care what people are saying about me. It’s all just—”

“So you called to officially deny all of it?” Downright glacial.

Stay calm. “Yes, Crispin.” I keep my voice smooth and sure. “You’ve
met
me. You know I’m not mentally impaired. And I’ve never given a cent to Jack Hawkins. This can all be cleared up soon.”

But then it hits me.

Jack is the only one who can clear it up. Only Jack can explain about the helmet and the mouth guard, the need for secrecy, the party in Orange County. It would help, too, if Edna confessed her part in the misunderstanding.

I am so dead. I grip the phone and press it hard into my temple.

“Oh, really?” Sarcastic, unyielding. “Well, just answer one question. Were you fucking him the whole time?”

Crispin's demand poleaxes me. “
What?
”

His voice turns vicious. “This innocent act doesn’t fly, Lisa. After what Stewart said, I can’t believe you think you can still get away with it.”

“Stewart?” I echo. Who the hell is Stewart?

“You were giving it to Hawkins the whole time you were flirting with me!”

“You asked
me
out. And I said ‘No.’”

“Just stop with the lies. I know I was the first investor you got. Everyone else came on board after me. Now, let me be the first to jump ship. And believe me, in half an hour, I’ll have every other investor following me.”

“What? No! Why would you do that? Please, just—”

“I’m doing this to shut you down once and for all. It’s a disgrace just to be talking to you. You’re a menace.”

The line goes dead in my hand. I can barely breathe as I swivel my chair to the computer screen and strike a few keys frantically. It’s already on the net. Streaming video of Alan Stewart on
L.A. in the Morning
with Nikki Novy. Alan Stewart. The guy with the pencil thin tie who caught me in Jack's office just after the seaweed scare.

“
It was obvious from the first she was his lover
…
walked in on them
…
half-dressed
…
wrapped up in each other’s
…
just a bra and skirt
…”

While Nikki Novy gets clarification on each point, ace reporter that she is, I try to breathe. Okay. So what? People think I’m sleeping with Jack. Is that so bad? Surely the other HEYA investors I’ve got lined up won’t hold it against me.

“Isn’t it evident?”

Alan’s cocky smarm makes me shiver.

Nikki peers intently at him. “Tell, us Alan. What is going on?”

“It seems clear to me that the two of them are trying to scam Hawkins United. This is all a play for the sympathy of Edna Hawkins. Bad boy Jack and his little mentally impaired friend. They’ll lube up Edna Hawkins by getting the money to save HEYA, and Jack will use the nobility of it all to ease his way back into the Hawkins clan without losing face.”

Nikki’s face, big and earnest. “So this is all just one big con?”

“A multi-million dollar con.”

No!

I push back from the computer. I can go no more than a few inches. How can this happen? How can a TV show just let that dickhead go on and say whatever he feels like saying?

My God. As Jack and I were going at it this weekend, Alan was prepping to damn us. And to damn HEYA. And people like Crispin believe him—hook, line, and club on the head.

Suddenly, I feel hot, molten steel surge through me. He’s not going to get me. He’s not! Damn all the Alan Stewarts and Crispin Joyners of the world. I'm going to—

“What are you doing here?”

I look up. Mr. Bennett stands in the door to my office, security guards hovering behind him. Lupe, Jimmy, and Edgar cluster in as well. “I’m here to save HEYA.” I don’t know where I found the strength to speak, but I did.

“Save HEYA? You and Jack Hawkins have destroyed any chance we might have had.
Any
chance, Lisa.”

“Jack Hawkins has nothing to do with HEYA,” I say through my stiff jaw. “Nothing. Neither does his mother.” I pick up the big green binder on my desk. “Here’s my plan to save HEYA, right here. We’re going to sign everything tomorrow. Hawkins United isn’t a part of it. At all. They’re not even an L.A. company.”

Edgar steps forward and takes the binder out of my hands. He holds it like it’s a baby or a puppy. “I know, Lisa. But it’s over.” He touches my hair. “All anyone has is your word that this is the real plan. The Media could claim the investors pledged a tenth of what you have in here, and Hawkins United was to be the silent partner all along. Only the investors could contradict a story like that, but not one of them will affiliate themselves with HEYA in any way. Not now.”

Fear shoots through me, and I lick my lips before I speak. “Edgar? Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because you have to go,” he says. “I know how hard you tried. But you have to go.”

I open my mouth. But what can I say?

“And you better sneak out of here the same way you snuck in.” Mr. Bennett rumbles with the quiet menace of approaching thunder. “No one can know you’re here. Especially not today. Not this morning.”

“But none of it is true,” I finally manage. “I didn’t do anything.”

“It doesn’t matter.” His voice is final, mournful. “I, personally, don’t believe for one second that you managed to seduce Jack Hawkins into doing whatever it is they think you’ve done. But everyone else believes it, and that’s what matters.”

* * * * *

I pull into my driveway, not even caring about avoiding the cameras. I’ve
destroyed
HEYA.

Me and my stupid media curse. I look into the rear view mirror and see them all at the end of the driveway, filming me, waiting to pounce, gearing up to fabricate the next destructive story.

Fuck them.

Before I can stop to reconsider, I reach up and whip off my shirt. Next, I slide the front seat back as far as it will go, unbutton my jeans and shimmy out of them, taking off my undies, shoes and socks in the process. Finally, my bra. I bundle all of the clothes onto the front passenger seat, then I get out of the car. Naked to the world, I walk to my front door and let myself in.

I shut the front door and lean my bare butt against the gouged wood. “Yow-ha!” Damn, that’s cold. And my feet are freezing, too. I push off the door. “No!”

But the dogs jump on me anyway, oblivious to the fact that I’m naked.

“Ow! Down! Ow!” I run to the bedroom where they all ignore me in favor of leaping onto the bed. I let out a pent up burst of laughter. What did I just do?

I flop onto the bed, into a mass of squirming dogs.

If in times of great stress, one reverts to one’s most basic, essential self, what does this say about me?

Last winter, when I couldn’t find a wedding dress, I chose to pig out. Then, when the restaurant fell on me, I went into a coma. Now, when I lose Jack and HEYA, I strip.

As far as progress goes, this isn’t so bad.

I hop off the bed and put on some clothes. I’ve got a lot to do.

* * * * *

Wow. Less than two hours. That was easier than I thought. I switch off the computer and head to the shower.

Twenty minutes later, I’m ready. I stride out of the house in my most classic sandstone Dolce and Gabbana, holding my head high as if I’m leading an Armada.

I ignore the shouts and flashes as I head to the Lincoln. I return it to Ruth’s house, then get into Dalton and take off. I drive straight to the WNC building on the corner of La Brea and Wilshire. I know the World News Channel won’t send me away or pretend they don’t know me.

After passing through the metal detector and security check just inside the front door, I step into the World News headquarters. The lobby is quiet, pristine, somber. A crescent shaped reception desk is ensconced in the back of the cavernous space. A bank of TV monitors flashes behind it, each one showing a different news story. Three security guards man the desk.

“Hello,” I say, stepping up to one of them. “My name is Lisa Flyte. I want to be on
Garry Minor On Call
tonight.”

The guard cocks an eyebrow and I think he reaches toward his gun. “Uh, ma’am—”

“I know what you’re thinking.” I keep my voice quiet and even. “Why would Garry Minor be interested in me? Well, because every night he does a show featuring the hottest stories in the news, and whether I like it or not, my story is hot.”

The guard doesn’t even blink. “Ma’am—”

“Look,” I say, pointing to a monitor running video of my naked walk into the house. My body is pixilated at the private places, making me look fat. “That’s me.”

He turns to look. Then he looks back at me, eyes now fixated on my boobs.

“I just want to tell my story.”

A guard a few feet down the desk puts down a phone and looks up at me. “Ms. Flyte,” he says. “Wait here. Someone from
Garry Minor
will be right down for you.”

I swallow. This is really happening. Jesus. I turn to the guard. “Thank you.” Stepping back from the desk to wait, I glance at the door opening onto Wilshire Boulevard.

“Lisa Flyte!”

I turn around. Oh. My. God. It’s Garry Minor himself, striding right at me from the elevator. He wears a lavender shirt, a dark blue tie, and pants, I guess. He must be wearing pants, right? But all I can focus on is his larger than life face bearing down on me.

He reaches out both arms and pumps my hand in both of his. “Come upstairs. We have a lot to talk about.” As the elevator doors close us in, he looks at me. He up and down checks me out. “Nice suit,” he says, grinning.

“Thanks.” I bet he got to see the unpixilated version.

When we get off the elevator, he hustles me into a wide conference room where three other people wait for us. Suddenly, everyone’s talking at once, shooting questions at me.

“Hold on.” I put up my hands to show that even though I am loud, I am also calm and rational. “Can I
please
talk?”

Garry stands back, nods.

“I need to go on your show to try to save HEYA. Helping Everyone Young Achieve. It’s a ghetto rec center I work for and it’s being shut down. I had this plan to save it, but this week, all the negative publicity ruined it. I didn’t do anything wrong. Not fraud, not conning, not sex for money. But HEYA is the one to suffer. So I need to set the record straight.”

The four of them stare intently at me.

“
Quid pro quo
, Lisa,” Garry finally says to me. “I’ll let you talk about your HEYA plans, but you have to answer some of my questions. About the dance, Jack Hawkins, Stewart’s accusations.”

“Deal!” I grab his hand and shake it before he can rescind the offer.

* * * * *

It’s been almost two hours, and not much has happened since my initial debriefing by Garry Minor. Since then, I’ve just been sitting in this room, thinking about my upcoming public flogging. But it will save HEYA.

Jennifer with the headset and acne scars rushes in. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“To the set.”

“Already?”

“There’s not much time for hair and make-up. Let’s go.”

* * * * *

“Hello, Mrs. Flyte.”

“Good evening, Garry.” My mother smiles, though she seems confused by the whole talking-to-a-monitor thing. “Hello.”

My parents.

I’ve been snookered by Garry Minor into confronting my parents on national television. He must have set it up while he kept me in that stupid conference room for hours. What else does he have in store for me?

I sit up straighter. After all, I was the one who walked into the fiery pit of hell.

“Well,” Garry says to the giant screen of my parents, “there’s a lot to talk about, so let’s get right to it.”

The pixilated video of my getting out of the car plays to Adam Ant’s “Strip.” I
love
that song.

Back to Garry, addressing my parents. “Impressions?”

“That’s Lisa,” my mother sighs, doing her Put-Upon Mother Act to a T. “Always looking for attention. But this is a little much.” She and my father nod in unison.

“So that’s it?” Garry asks. “Just a stunt? Do you think she could be under the spell of Jack Hawkins?”

My Dad folds his arms and shakes his head. “It wouldn’t surprise us, Garry. Lisa has never had good judgment when it comes to boyfriends.”

“Her boyfriend in college.” My mother sighs. “Then Keith. Plus all the men in between.”

“They took advantage of her?” Garry asks.

My Dad raises his brows, shrugs with one shoulder, as though the point is moot. “I don’t know about that. But they weren’t going to stick around. That was always obvious from the first.”

Garry consults the cards in front of him. “But wasn’t she with her college boyfriend for three years, and Keith for five? They stuck around for a little while.”

“But they didn’t stay,” my mom points out. “They were always the ones to leave her.”

“Garry,” my Dad says. “She’s thirty-four and not married.”

This is a Pronouncement.

“Okay,” Garry says with his trademark grin that means nothing. “Let’s talk about HEYA for a minute. What, if anything, can you tell us about that?”

“Lisa can have all the big ideas she wants,” my mother says. “But she can’t get her head out of the clouds.”

“Meaning what?” Garry asks.

“Follow-through.” My father jumps right in. “Lisa never finishes anything she starts.”

Hey
! I want to shout.
Don’t write me off yet
. Don’t they all get that the only reason I’m here is to save HEYA?

Garry picks up a copy of
People
from the desk in front of him.
The
copy of
People
.

Great.

“A few months ago,” he says, nodding toward the magazine, “your daughter was a figure garnering the nation’s sympathy. Now she’s made herself, at best, a laughing stock, at worst, a con artist. Could you ever have imagined such a turn of events?”

I hate Garry Minor. I really, really hate him.

“Her dreams and schemes never turn out the way she expects,” my mother says with truly doleful intonation, as if she cares.

“I’m sure there’s some explanation to all this,” my father adds. “That only makes sense to Lisa.”

“And who better,” Garry says,” to go to for this ‘explanation’ than to Lisa herself.” He turns to me, and the cameras aim straight at me.

“Garry,” I say. Calm, level.

“So,” he says, “Lisa Flyte. What do you have to say?”

The world watches. Garry watches. My parents watch. My parents. Why on earth do I still let them get to me?

I pick up the magazine from in front of Garry.

I look at the camera. “All kids,” I say. “And by kids I mean anyone who has a parent or parents. All kids know what it’s like to be embarrassed by their parents.”

I chuckle as I hold the magazine up. “Look at this picture. Double chin because no one propped my head up. Drool coming out of my mouth because nobody bothered to wipe it away. Nobody washed my hair.”

I run one finger across the front cover. “And my name, in big, bold letters, for the world to see.
This
—” I slap the magazine cover with the back of my hand. “This takes the cake when it comes to being embarrassed by your parents.”

I toss the magazine down and smile. “And having them come on national television to say I never picked a good boyfriend? That’s pretty harsh, too. But you know what?” I pause, sigh, and fold my hands. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t?” This from Garry, who I think was salivating over the promise of a catty family fight on air.

“Not really,” I say. “Would you rather a parent who’s been in jail all your life, but you don’t know why? How about a parent you never see because she works three jobs? A mother you haven’t seen since INS deported her, after she carried you all that way from Guatemala? A mother and father you can only dream of having because you’ve been in foster care your entire life?”

I look at Garry, then my parents on the monitor. They look rigid, desperate not to show any sign of confusion.

“Kids with parents like these,” I say, “these are the kids I’m trying to help at HEYA. Not to belittle anyone’s problems with their parents, but for me, it’s time to step up and look at the big picture.”

“You’ve been working at HEYA for a little over a month,” Garry says. “Helping Everyone Young Achieve. A community center in a lower income section of Los Angeles.”

“Yes,” I confirm. “HEYA lost their corporate funding recently when their dot com backer went bankrupt. My job was to financially stabilize the center.”

“Let me remind everyone,” Garry says, “that Lisa has been here, at the WNC studios, for the past three hours. She’s been sequestered in our green room with no television, radio, cell phone, or internet, while waiting to come on the air.”

Huh
?

Garry turns back to me. “So why didn’t you just give the center some of your Burger Barn fortune?”

“My fortune is not nearly so big as most people think,” I explain. “Saving HEYA would take all of it. Then it would be gone in a year or two, and where would they be? Instead, I came up with a sound financial plan to get HEYA to generate and maintain its own working budget.”

“It was your job to save HEYA, but you haven’t been able to pull it off yet. Correct? And it seems very unlikely that you will, now with all this recent speculation into your activities.”

He doesn’t even ask about my plan.

“Yes,” I answer.

“Then, I have some very good news for you.”

I just blink at him.

“Watch this, from earlier today.” He swivels his chair toward another monitor behind him. Edna Hawkins pops onto the screen. She stands at a podium, blue velvet curtains behind her. She held a press conference? While I was locked in the green room?

“Hawkins United,” her videotaped head says, “has just bought the building across the street from HEYA.”

The building whose renovation almost got Pacquito killed? Edna bought them out?

“This will be the new home of HEYA, and it will be signed over to the Community-Based HEYA Trust. My name and Hawkins United’s name will never be a part of it. This is a donation, free and clear. Furthermore, this check—” she holds aloft a check in her right hand, “—will be the seed money for the Community-Based HEYA Trust, which will be an internally run operation that will no longer be dependent on sponsorship. The Trust will keep the center open and running as long as there are devoted individuals like these…” The camera pulls back to reveal Mr. Bennett, Lupe, Edgar and Jimmy flanking the podium. “…who care about the community.”

Edna turns to Mr. Bennet and hands him the check. “Thank you.” She looks around to Lupe, Jimmy and Edgar. “Thank you all, for everything you do.”

The monitor goes dark. That’s it. Not a word about me. Or my plan. Or all my hard work.

“When did this happen?” I ask Garry.

“Ninety minutes ago.”

I look right at him. He kept me in that room, kept me from the news, so he could spring this on me live. He kept it from me just to get me on the show, when he knew all the time that the only reason I wanted to be on was to save HEYA.

To save HEYA.
My eyes fill with tears.

“HEYA,” I say. “Gabriel and all the kids. Everyone. They’re all saved.”

“You knew nothing about this?” Garry asks.

I shake my head and sniffle. “No.”

“Do you know why she did it?”

“No.”

“If that’s the case, why did you want to be on the show tonight, if not to be a tandem piece to her announcement?”

“I didn’t know. I was still trying to save HEYA myself,” I explain. “I wanted to come on the show to encourage the people of Los Angeles to reach out and help.” I look at the camera. “And I still do. But I want to encourage everyone, not just people in L.A. So many people, everywhere, need help. Please, find the help centers in your community, and be a part of the helping, even if it's only a very small part. That’s something. Donate time, money, books, clothes, blankets, diapers. Whatever your community needs. Just think of how amazing it would be if we all did just one thing to help.”

“You want to save the world,” Garry observes.

“Don’t make that sound like a bad thing,” I admonish. “And I’m not after the whole world all at once, Garry. I’m after one starfish at a time.”