Learning to Trust: Changing Places (3 page)

My dad and I picked
one out for my mom and waited until it was old enough to leave the litter. We put the puppy in a box with a blanket and my dad did a really haphazard wrapping job, mostly because we didn't want to leave it in there more than a couple of minutes. Anyhow, the plan was to, you know,
surprise her
with the puppy. She'd open the box and it would jump out and lick her face. It would be like the typical feel-good family movie and she'd be so thankful.

Everything was in place—I didn't remember this
perfectly
, but I've
relived it through my parents' words
on more than one occasion—and I took the puppy in the box and carried it toward my mom, clad in the cutest pink dress I had. She was sitting in our living room, totally oblivious to what was going on.

At that age, I tried pretty hard to keep secrets, but I really wasn't very good at it. When warm yellow liquid started streaming from one of the corners of the
box, I started screaming, unable to contain myself. No, I wouldn't be able to keep
this
secret.

My mother had jumped up and run toward me, terrified of what was going on. Honestly, she didn't know that we had been arranging any of this. To her, I looked like a victim of chemical warfare, her daughter dosed with anthrax and about to die and—

"Hon, what's the matter?" she had
shouted,
yanking the box out of my hands and tossing it onto the floor. Her
expression of fear was the
thing that I remembered
most
about the event.

"The puppy peed on me!" I had screamed. And that folks, was the death of the surprise.

My mom just about had a
second
heart attack after realizing she had thrown a box with a puppy in it onto the floor
immediately following what she thought was a terrorist attack on her daughter
. It was
a similar experience
for my dad. He later told me about how everything went into
slow motion
, how he just froze up
,
unable to make a decision. He could spoil the surprise and protect his daughter, or just try to keep quiet. Inaction had won
in the end
.

Thankfully, the puppy was just fine. We had padded the box so much that the puppy barely had any space to move. The fall was fully cushioned. When my mom opened the box, the puppy did jump out, but we had to give it a bath after its accident.
Things could have turned out a hell of a lot worse.

That dog survived until I graduated college, a beagle that had been everything my family could have wanted.
It was strange that I had re-invoked the memory of the dog right before I had to keep a secret again. Only this time, the secret was a million times greater and the repercussions a million times more serious.

A test of loyalty
. What could that possibly mean? I know I had only been a child during the puppy incident, but it still seemed so fresh in my mind. If faced with a ton of stress and discomfort, could I possibly keep myself together? What would I do if he made me do something questionable or illegal? Could I really keep my lips sealed under duress?

I wiped my face clean of any expression just before Roland returned to the kitchen.
Neutral
. "Here you are, pet," he said.
I took a big sip and smiled. Nostalgia washed over me as the warmth and sweetness of the drink danced along my taste buds.

"This is so good," I said. I could barely contain myself. Oh yes, I was excited for the alcohol to kick in.

"I always loved that look of enjoyment on your face when you took the first sip," Roland said. "The
virgin
sip." He smiled, revealing the slight wrinkles in his face. Still no noticeable grey in his hair. Honestly, since I arrived, he looked like he had aged at least a tiny amount. I guess this sort of business did that to you. I wonder if I looked any different...

I sipped quietly while Roland chatted aimlessly, his thoughts wandering from art, to music, to business, to old family vacations. I added what I could, but sometimes it was tough to relate to such luxury and privilege. Roland's tale about wrecking his sports car during high school was no different than if he said he'd spent his childhood on the moon—I just had no basis to compare my own life to that at all.

Sure, I'd gotten in a car accident shortly after getting my license.
It had been traumatic and something that had made me car-less for most of high school.
I think most kids dealt with something like that growing up.
The only difference was, I—and the majority of the planet's kids—
didn't get an even better c
ar after crashi
ng the first one. Most folks got a verbal spanking that stuck with them for a long time—and hopefully served as a valuable lesson about responsibility. The only slap Roland got was a
high-five
from his father. The story told volumes to me about
him.

All of that aside, he still had smidge of childish innocence to him, one that hadn't been forcibly extracted by the pressures of the
real world
. Money had solved all of Roland's problems—well, and power. Stress was certainly something he dealt with on a daily basis, but his stress was also very different than what most people dealt with. He was apparently deciding where/how to ship drugs and
people
to different places. Who to silence, and who to promote. When I first started my career, it was questions like
how do I pay my rent this month
, and
how am I going to eat?

Roland suddenly being nicer and wanting to trust me with more inevitably triggered feelings of happiness and satisfaction, even though I was working to bring his empire down. I had to fight the urge to really like him, to keep things as artificial and manipulative as possible. I needed to proudly wear my
false
face.

The rest of that night was pretty positive, and despite the fact that I was certain that we'd get interrupted—I was hoping for it actually, hoping
someone would walk in and say "H
ere's the evidence you need!
Go home and enjoy yourself!
" loud and clear—nothing actually happened. We had a good meal and got a little tipsy on wine I'd never be able to afford again in my life.

After Roland had left me for the evening, I went upstairs and scribbled in my journal. I wanted to capture my feelings about
his
past in the pages, to try and remember all of this in the future. Yes, and I was thankful that he hadn't busted me immediately after I had come from meeting with an FBI agent. I wrote about that in the vaguest detail possible, just in case my journal was discovered.

Ramón
had told me that this whole process could take weeks, months even. I had no idea how deep I'd have to go, how far into my character's mind I'd have to dig. It was obvious to me that if Roland was going to allow me inside, I'd have to evolve with the scenario. He trusted me for some reason, at least as far as I could tell. I mean, he blatantly said that, so hopefully it wasn't just another manipulative move in his real-life chess game.

Working became very difficult for the few days after my meeting with
Ramón
. My mind was working in overtime, assuming that any
inconsistency was exactly what
I was looking for, the missing piece of the puzzle, the key that would unlock all of the doors.
Suddenly I had become sort of a bitch, the office manager that no one could stand. I was double-checking everything and asking people for answers they couldn't possibly give. It didn't last long, however.

"Marisa," came Frederic's voice from behind me. I hadn't seen him much since the day I met with
Ramón
.

I spun around in my chair to face him. "Hi, Frederic," I said.

"Listen," he whispered. Before continuing he turned and closed the door, grabbing it before it slammed and gently closing it. His voice regain its volume. "People here aren't very happy with how aggressive you've been. Is everything all right?"

Frankly, I was
floored
at first because I had more or less lost my mind, I guess. I was in that determined state of mind, the one where I wouldn't stop for anything. It was the old Marisa rearing its ugly head and causing problems.

"I'm...sorry," I said. "I guess I got carried away.

"It's okay," he said, obviously noticing he had startled me. "This is a team that's been assembled for a long time. They have a code, a way of doing things that supersedes anything that you've been taught. Technically, you're in charge. However, the
way they do things
is above your authority, all right?"

"Yeah," I muttered, feeling depressed. I was just glad it was Frederic scolding me and not Roland.
He didn't punish, he
taught
.

The more I talked to Frederic, the more I wondered if he was actually lying to me. When I had told him about the murder stuff, he had been surprised. Was that fake? Just a put-on? He apparently knew about at least some Roland's illicit activities—did he really know the full extent of his business? For some unexplainable reason, I trusted him over Roland. It was just a vibe, nothing else. I liked the way it felt.

"Things are going to change around here," he said. "I'll tell you more about it later."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "Business stuff?"
I realized that I might be living one of the most significant moments of my life.

"It's an evolution of business," Frederic said. "Some loose ends will be tied, and then it's time
to move on
."

"Do I need to do something for this?" I wasn't sure if I should tell him about Roland's offer to bring me inside after
a test of loyalty
. I decided I wouldn't say anything just yet.

"No, Marisa. Just relax for now. I'll keep you informed of the details."
Frederic looked like a man that was weighed down by something heavy, a secret the size of the world.

As much as
I assumed this was all about Roland, the fact that he hadn't actually been mentioned at all raised my alerts. Was I in the middle of something and didn't realize it? I wanted to run screaming to
Ramón
, but it wasn't time for that yet. It had only been four days since I'd met with him and there were still a couple more to go. Honestly, there wasn't that much to say yet. My information would arrive soon, though.

That night when I arrived home, Roland informed me that I'd be taking tomorrow off—but that it wouldn't be to relax.

"We have a dear
friend
to meet with," he said.

"A friend?"

"Yes," he said. "I have a gift for him and you'll be the sexy little woman that delivers it."

"What?" I asked, mildly taken aback.

"This is your test of loyalty," he said. "It takes place tomorrow. It won't necessarily be easy.
Hard
doesn't seem like the right word either. I have a relationship with this fellow, but it's not the best. I hope that an offering will clear things up."
He smiled at me. "You just need to be strong, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," I said. Confidence seemed to be escaping me, probably because he had caught me off-guard.
"Do I have to
do something
or just drop something off?"

"He'll probably pressure you to do something, but you're just there to leave him with my gift of the
financial
variety." He pulled out a cigar from his robe pocket and lit it up. I always found it amusing that he had a robe with pockets—and actually used the pockets.

"Okay," I said quietly.
Was this the big event
Ramón
had prompted me about?
All I could think about was calling him somehow, even from inside the mansion.

"Will you join me for dinner?" he said with sincerity.

"Uh, I'd like to exercise first," I said.

"Sure, have at it." He smiled and kissed my cheek. "I'll be in my office."

I fought to contain my nervous excitement as I climbed the stairs. When I got into my room, I pulled my phone out and tossed my purse on the floor. In the recently called list was
Ramón
's number, sitting there with no name attached, just a lonely series of digits floating amongst the rest of my contacts. My finger sat on the call button like it was the trigger on a gun, my body ready to fire—

"No!" I said to myself.
I had to be smarter than this
. At the very least, I needed to assume that my room was bugged, that Roland could somehow listen to me. Even if it wasn't the case, I needed to be more cautious. However, I
had
to make this call. There was no way I could just let this all happen tomorrow without
Ramón
's input.

I decided that I needed to create a distraction. Dressed in my workout clothes, I went into the mini-gym area and turned on the stereo loud enough that it would create background noise, yet permit me to talk on the phone.
I had to do this, yes, there was no debate about it
.