Page 16 of House of Deceit

“Understood. While you’re on the show, you will have no contact with the outside world. I would suggest setting up a power of attorney so someone you trust can make decisions on your behalf. This also helps with things like paying your bills or talking to someone about your accounts. It’s not typically a big deal nowadays with auto payment, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

He pulls another form from his desk and goes about explaining it. After over two hours, I have signed more paperwork than I care to ever again. I have a thick folder tucked under my arm as I make my way back to where Courtney is waiting. When I come out, she is lounging on the couch, her nose buried in a magazine. On the table next to her sits an empty mug and a candy wrapper.

“Hey,” I call to her. She jumps from her spot, holding in the scream I can see she almost unleashed. She is the easiest person to scare in the world. “Are you ready?”

“Oh, yes.” She puts the magazine on the coffee table and brings her mug up to the reception desk. “Just tell Susan she’s right and you’re wrong and you love her. Good luck,” she says to him.

“Thanks, Court! Have a great day, ladies.”

“What the hell was that?” I ask as we climb into Courtney’s car. Mine did not have enough gas for the trip.

“What? He was having a very tense conversation and I could tell it was personal. I asked him if he wanted to talk. You were gone a long time.”

“I’m so sorry that signing my life away and agreeing to let someone torture me took so long. Next time, I’ll just say ‘fuck it’ and sign.”

“I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

She backs out of the space, and I watch the crumbling building with the well-appointed office disappear into the distance, much like any thoughts about a pre-planned course for my life.

The sunlight is bright in my room, but I make no move to close the curtains. Sleep was scarce with the strange series of events over the past twenty-four hours. It feels like forever ago that I was considering moving in with my parents, and now I’m mere weeks from my bank account being flush. Still, my financial worries aren’t completely wiped away.

I think about the half a million dollars. With that kind of money, I could buy myself a home in cash and not have to worry about paying rent ever again. The picture forms in my mind of me sipping coffee on my outdoor couch in early fall, my favorite cream sweater on, watching the sunrise over the lake. Birds would call as they woke and greeted the day. My elderly neighbors would invite me out on their boat on the weekends. Their handsome grandson would visit and we would fall in love with the wind in our hair as we cruise around the lake.

A horn honks, and my daydream dissipates like the mist on the lake I want to live beside. I roll over and look out my actual window and mentally prepare myself to tell my parents. Deciding to bite the bullet, I get out of bed and make my way to the bathroom.

My red hair is in absolute disarray. Half has fallen out of my ponytail and the crown is standing straight up. I take out the band that’s barely holding on and try to brush my hair for a moment. Soon, it’s nothing but a tangled rat’s nest on top of my head, and I decide not to struggle further. Only washing will do. Turning on the water to warm, I strip out of my clothes, dumping them in the laundry hamper.

My one-woman concert brings the crowd to their feet and has erased my anxiety temporarily. Calls for encores convince me to give my fans what they want; I wouldn’t have my career without them. I step off the stage and back into my bathroom. Cheers fade in my ears while I swipe the condensation from my mirror before brushing my formerly tangled hair as I move to my closet, throwing on the first clothes my hands touch.

My hallway is empty as I lock the door behind me. I punch the button, calling the elevator to my floor, ecstatic that I’ll be able to fill my gas tank to the top on my way to my parents’ house. My favorite song starts up on the radio as I turn on my car. With the smallest piece of hope blooming in my chest, I sing.

“Do you want some pie?” My mom bustles around the kitchen.

“What kind?”

“Apple with some vanilla ice cream.”

“Oh, yeah. I need some of that, please,” I say.

She nods and grabs a plate from the cabinet, moving to the counter and uncovering the pie. She sets the plate in front of me and kisses the top of my head.

“Thank you, Mommy,” I tell her as I dig in.

Dad works on the Sunday crossword with his favorite pen.

“How’s the crossword going, Pops?”

“This week is a little hard, Lottie Lou.”

“Do you need any help?”

“Now, you know I don’t take help.” He winks at me and gets back to it. My mom sits down and kisses him on the cheek.

“So, I wanted to tell you about a real opportunity that has come up and it’ll help me with my lack of income issue,” I tell my parents.

“Oh, that’s so great, Charlotte!” My mom reaches across the table. “What will you be doing? Did a newspaper hire you?”

“Not exactly.”

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