Page 22 of Concerted Chaos

“Why are you helping me?” I ask. I still don’t even know why he came over.

He laughs. “Baking is my stress release. But since I don’t have a kitchen, I don’t have the opportunity to do it often. Besides, I couldn’t let you get away with what you were trying to do, especially if you intend to make other people eat that ... creation. Nobody would tell you to your face, but it would have been terrible.”

“That’s not true,” I protest, but I know he’s right. They would have eaten every crumb with fake smiles on their faces. Or pretended to, while wrapping bits in their napkins and smuggling them into the nearest garbage receptacle. My value as a board member is in my connections to wealthy potential donors. The others wouldn’t dare offend me by insulting my food offerings. I guarantee they would talk about me behind my back though.

“You were joking earlier, right? You weren’t seriously planning on just pouring in those cherries, were you?” he asks as he digs through the pantry, coming out with sugar, cornstarch, and almond extract. Intriguing. I’m getting excited to try this pie myself.

“But that’s what the recipe said.” I point to my tablet on its stand. He wipes flour off the surface and starts skimming. Alarm bells go off in my head. Paparazzo looking at my tablet. Who knows what he could do? Plant a tracking program? I snatch it from him before he can start poking through my private files and installing his bugs.

“It said to use canned cherry piefilling, which has already been prepped. Not plain cherries. I guess literacy isn’t a requirement for the wealthy.”

That is totally uncalled for.

“You don’t have to be a jerk. You still haven’t told me why you’re here, and all you’ve done is insult me.” I cross my arms. “I can call security. Or I can toss you over the fence and let the coyotes deal with you. Or worse, I can tell Eduardo you aren’t welcome near Powell and cut off his access until he fires you.”

“Who’s being a jerk now?” Tanner responds. Then he casts his eyes downwards and sighs. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Let me finish with this, and then I’ll explain my business proposition.”

When the properly augmented filling is nicely bubbling on the stove, he turns back to me and wipes his palms on his jeans. “Okay, here’s my idea. You own Star Fitness, correct?”

Oh, this is related to my gym. Now I’m curious. I nod.

“I’ve seen your social media. You can do better. You need better photography.”

“And what would that consist of?”

“I think you need ten photos a month, professional ones, carefully selected to really sell your gym. Inspire potential customers, make them want to come in and get buff and have the full Star Fitness experience. Also, your website needs to be updated. The pics online right now are old. You should showcase attractive athletes in the latest workout clothes, outfits that you also sell.” So this guy follows athletic fashion trends? And has already checked out the boutique in my gym?

“Interesting idea, but where would I find a photographer?” I ask, though I can guess where he’s going with this self-serving idea.

“Me, of course.” If he were wearing suspenders, this would be the moment to hook his thumbs under them and puff his chest out. “You’ve seen my work. I do excellent portraits.”

“And how much would this cost me?” He’s after money. They always are.

“You’ll like this part. I’ll do it in exchange for a membership.”

“Why?”

“A couple of reasons.” He ticks them off on his fingers. “One, your gym is expensive, and has really high-end equipment. Two, I like all that stuff on your social media about building community. I haven’t found anything like that out here yet. Three, I’m broke and I need a place to shower daily.”

“Your apartment doesn’t have a kitchen or a shower?”

“I live in my van.” His eyes dart away as he says it, and there is a subtle shift in his body language. Embarrassment? Or is he lying? There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. When Mom and I were homeless, we lived in a car, so I’m not in a position to judge him. His van is probably nicer than our old station wagon was. Of course, I’m not going to tell him about that, either.

“You clearly showered and shaved today,” I point out.

“Yeah, I went to a bar last night and met this woman ...”

“And exchanged sex for a shower? You are a repellent person, Tanner.” Although really he’s just matching my expectations for a man in his profession.

“For your information, we cuddled on the couch and ate Chinese food until we fell asleep, and she let me use her shower this morning. So no, I did not pay with sexual favors.”

“You’re lying. Nobody eats Chinese food after the bars. If you had said burritos, I might have believed you.”

“She lives next door to a Chinese restaurant and had a fridge full of leftovers. Wait, why am I defending myself to you? What she and I may or may not have done is none of your business.”

“True. But I also know how much you got paid for a certain photo of Powell, so you can’t be broke.”

“My agency pays out after sixty days. Plus, after my agent’s cut and taxes and paying off some debts, it’s not as much money as you might think. But since I won’t see it for a couple of months anyway, it doesn’t matter. I can’t move into a real place until I can pay for it.”

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