The Set Piece (2 page)

“You have a shift at Starbucks?” Simon appeared in the door of his bedroom in shorts only, a guitar slung over his shoulder on a Union Jack strap. The small apartment they shared around the corner from the bar didn’t have air conditioning, and during heatwaves, like the one they were having now, they wore as little as possible when they were home.

“Yes. I have two jobs, and I still can’t afford to fill up my car at the gas station. So I’m doing well.” Her tone was light despite her words.

“You could change that, you know.” Simon shifted the guitar to his hip and fixed her with a hard gaze.

“What, get a third job?”

“No, Amy, I’m serious. That man at the pub last week was right. You’re smart. You’ve got a head for business and a college degree. You shouldn’t be frothing coffees or pulling drafts.”

“You work at that same bar, you know.” Amy raised her eyebrows to make the point.

“Yeah, but I have this.” Simon grabbed the guitar by its neck. “It probably won’t go anywhere, but at least I’m working towards something. What are you working towards?”

“Gee, I don’t know, Dad. I’ll have to think about that. Meanwhile, can I borrow your bike or what?”

Simon nodded, and Amy grabbed his bike lock keys from the next hook. “Thanks.”

“Wait. Man U plays Liverpool tonight. Reggie wants us in an hour early.”

Amy blew out a long breath. The tension of her ridiculous life burned its way through her shoulders. “Shit, yeah. I forgot. I’ll be there.”

“Oh, and, Ames?”

“Yes?” Her tone was perfunctory; she’d had more than enough parenting for one afternoon.

“I don’t really know what I’m talking about.” He looked apologetic.

“No. You do.” She gave him a soft smile. “That’s the problem. Si, you’re my best friend, the closet thing I have to family. I should thank you for caring and not jump all over you when you do.”

“Yes, you should.” Simon took a step toward her, his arms stretching out for a hug.

Amy put a hand up to stop him. “I’m late. I gotta get to work.”

Simon’s words rattled around in her head all the way to Starbucks. True to the joke about a Starbucks on every corner, the ride wasn’t far. Just long enough for the stagnant state of her life to become increasingly clear. Two crappy jobs, no relationships other than Simon, and he wanted more than she could give, even if he didn’t admit it. Not long ago, she had been going places. At Penn she had been fast-tracked by eager English professors into a masters in modern British literature. She had been the darling of the department. Her parents’ death and the debt they left as a parting gift had almost pulled her under. When she surfaced in LA, three thousand miles from the problem, she had jumped on the treadmill of just getting by.

She rolled into the Starbucks parking lot, depressed and preoccupied, and was startled when Paul Knight bounded out of his late-model Jaguar toward her.

“Amy Kimball, you’re a hard woman to find,” he called out to her.

Amy recognized him from the pub. “What the hell?” She raised the bike lock menacingly in her hand.

“No. No. It’s all good.” Knight stopped in his tracks. “I just got a proposition for you.”

“Get away from me, you perv.” She swung the bike lock in his direction.

“Not that kind of proposition. Just hear me out.” He took a quick step back.

“No thanks.”

“Look, I’m Paul Knight. I’m Diego Torres’s manager. Get out your phone. Look me up.”

Amy didn’t move.

He reached into his back pocket for his billfold and pulled out a crisp one-hundred dollar bill. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks if you Google me.”

“So it
is
that kind of proposition.”

Knight chuckled, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. “The money’s easier earned out here than it is in there.” He tipped his head to the busy Starbucks and the line that went out the door. “You want it or not?”

He had her there. “All I gotta do is look you up?”

“Yep,” he said, popping the “p” at the end of the word.

She’d be foolish not to take the money. He was buying her on some level, but what was the real difference between this and discovering a hundred bucks on the sidewalk? It was still found money. And besides, this could be the tip he hadn’t given her last week. Amy slipped the bike lock between her legs, ready for a quick grab if she needed it, and pulled out her phone from her purse slung across her back.

“That’s K-n-i-g-h-t,” he said.

She typed his name into Safari, and up popped his picture. He and Diego Torres, standing with their arms around each other, with shit-eating grins all over their faces. She looked from her phone to the man in front of her. They were one and the same. She stepped just close enough to snatch the bill from his outstretched hand and then backed up.

“Okay, you got my attention,” she said.

“Good. Because this is where it gets a little crazy.”

Amy leveled a look at him. “We passed crazy five minutes ago.”

“No, seriously. I do have a proposition for you. But you need to hear it at our lawyers’ office, and you need to sign a confidential non-disclosure agreement before we go any further.”

“This is getting too weird for me. I’m not interested.” She locked the bike and moved toward the coffee house.

“Look. I’ll give you five hundred bucks more. A hundred now in good faith and four hundred just for hearing me out tomorrow.”

Amy skittered to a halt. Her mind vaulted over,
Careful, once he’s bought you, you’re done, to six hundred dollars! I could get new running shoes and dinner at that new up-scale Mexican restaurant, or be responsible and put gas in my tank and plunk down a couple of Benjamins on my student loans.
She turned back and looked him straight in the eye.

“How’d you find me?” she asked.

“The Internet and a good private investigator.”

“That’s not creepy at all.”

“You’re just what we’re looking for.” He dug another crisp bill out of his billfold and held it out for her.

“You’re only proving my point here.”

“Just take this now, and decide later if you want to come.”

“I guess it couldn’t hurt.” But the alarm bells in her head rang loudly. Even though Amy didn’t like the look of him or the deals he offered so slickly, she walked over and snatched the second bill out of his hand.

He grabbed a folder from his car. It had the names
Horowitz and Kane
in gold letters embossed across it.

“Here’s the paperwork. This is the law firm; their address is here.” He flicked it open to show her. “All my info is in there, too. The appointment’s at ten in the morning.” He snapped the folder shut and handed it to her. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but this is a great opportunity for you. It’s only going to come around once. If you don’t take it, we’ll pass it on to someone else. So give it some real thought.”

“Okay,” Amy said through tight lips.

“Oh, and it will be much easier for you later if you don’t tell anyone about this.”

“That doesn’t sound suspicious at all.”

“You would be stupid not to think so. And we already know you’re smart. If at any time you don’t feel right about it, you can just walk away.”

“Like right now,” Amy said, turning her back on him and finally making her way into work.

CHAPTER 2

“Ta.” The Manchester United supporter
smelled of sour sweat. He thanked Amy for the pint of Guinness and doubled his thanks by slapping her behind. Her skirt was so short that he caught her cheek and cupped it for an instant.

“I’ll have another one of these, duckie.” He pointed to the Guinness. “And those.” He pointed to her behind and then spat in his hands and rubbed them briskly together. The whole table roared with laughter.

Amy could barely choke down her disgust. That was the second time tonight. She quickly found Reggie carousing in the back with his buddies, letting Simon and Amy do all the heavy lifting, as usual.

“Your friend at table three keeps grabbing my ass.” She spat the words out.

“Don’t worry. It’s good for business.” His Manchester accent was made thicker by the four empty pint glasses in front of him.

“Well, it’s not good for my ass, Reggie. And if he does it again, I’m kicking him out.”

He exchanged pointed looks with the men at his table. “You can’t kick anyone out of the Arms, love. It’s my pub.” He slid the empty glasses toward her. “Relax. It’s all good fun. Clear the table, would ya?”

Amy reached out for the glasses. Her hand hovered over the first one, shaking slightly.

“They’re not going to clear themselves,” Reggie said.

Anger at Reggie and the state of her life boiled over. Suddenly, she knew exactly what she could buy for Knight’s six hundred bucks.

“You know, Reggie, you’re wrong. I can kick someone out of your pub.” She tipped the glass over so the dregs ran out. “Me! I quit!”

She would have given anything to storm out, slamming the door behind her. But those kind of dramatics only worked in the movies. Aware that everyone’s eyes were now on her, she grabbed her purse from behind the bar with a flourish and downed a quick shot of Reggie’s best Scotch. The alcohol burned her throat on the way down, but its warmth hit her immediately.

This is what freedom must feel like.

Simon stood before her open-mouthed. She gave him a quick squeeze on his arm, and had her hand on the door when Reggie’s voice boomed out, “Oi! That uniform’s not yours, missy!”

She stopped in her tracks, her back to him and the entire, expectant pub. Then the devil took her. With a simple shrug the black jacket fell to the floor. The Union Jack bra top was another matter, though. She shimmied and twisted, trying to get it over her head without looking foolish. Finally, with one arm over her naked front, she flung the bra top over her shoulder back into pub.

The place erupted with cheers.

“Take it all off!” someone shouted.

“You wish.” Her heart pounding with excitement and embarrassment, Amy pushed through the door. “Sleep tight, ya morons!”

Outside the warm night air hit her like a tonic. Her shoulders dropped what felt like a foot, and for the first time in ages the deep breath she sucked in actually made it to the bottom of her lungs. Walking out of the back door of the Valley Arms free and clear was the best thing that had happened to her in a long while. She even managed to hold her head high and her arm around her chest as she passed two men getting out of a car. They whistled appreciatively as she passed, and she was thankful that she still had the tartan skirt on. A symbolic gesture only went so far.

Her high only lasted until she slipped the Atoms promotional shirt, conveniently sitting on the backseat of her car, over her head. Once fully clothed she took stock of her situation. Despite her victorious exit, it wasn’t good. Reggie was a racist, misogynistic asshole, and probably a hundred other horrible things as well, but he was the devil she knew. Now, if she wanted to eat, she would have to metaphorically get into bed with Paul Knight, the devil she didn’t know. And do it tomorrow morning at 10 a.m. exactly. Anxiety curled in whips in her stomach. What exactly had she gotten herself into?

The appointment was on her before she knew it. She had gotten up early to run before it got too hot, and to work off the nervous energy that was now coursing through her body. At the end of the run, she stopped by Blinkies, Simon’s favorite donut shop, for two of the apple fritters he loved. She owed him big for dumping a ton of extra work on him with her dramatic exit. She didn’t want to talk, though, so she sneaked in and left a note with the fritters on the kitchen counter, then jumped into the shower. At 9:20 a.m., she made her escape, and by 9:55 a.m., she stood in her one good dress—its straps cutting into her shoulders—in the shining lobby of the Horowitz and Kane law firm.

The receptionist tossed her thick blonde curls out her of eyes as she got up to take Amy to Franklin Horowitz’s office.

Amy was sure that the casual motion had been perfected in front of a mirror since it simultaneously thrust the receptionist’s large breasts forward. She might have enjoyed the show if her stomach wasn’t turning cartwheels.

“My name’s Jenna,” the receptionist said, as they walked toward the elevator. “Please let me know if there’s anything else I can help you with.”

The elevator doors opened several floors up. Jenna passed Amy on to Horowitz’s personal secretary, Rachel, a thin, crisp lady who stood waiting for them in a bright outer office.

“We’ve been expecting you, Ms. Kimball. Come with me, please.” There was no tossing of hair or thrusting of breasts on the rarefied atmosphere of the top floor. Rachel escorted Amy to a corner office suite.

Behind the glass doors, Paul Knight lolled on a couch, and a thick-set man in a very expensive suit sat behind a huge desk; both were waiting on her arrival.

Amy took a look at the exit. This was her last chance to bail. So far everything seemed on the up and up. Rachel tapped on the glass door and opened it. After taking a deep breath, Amy strode through.

Knight bounced up from the gray plush couch and rushed to meet her. “Amy, so good to see you. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

“Neither was I,” she said, and took his outstretched hand. His shake was firm, but his hands were much too soft. And there was that weird vibe with him again.

“This is Franklin Horowitz,” he said.

They shook hands, and she was directed to a chair that matched the couches. She sank into it, and her eyes widened. It was by far the most comfortable thing she had ever sat on. She ran her hand over the soft fabric, then sat up straight to gather her wits about her; she couldn’t be seduced by the first piece of flashy furniture to come her way.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here,” Horowitz said. His voice was smooth and deep and very reassuring.

“It did cross my mind.”

“Before we get to that, you need to sign this.” He handed her a contract that had
Confidentiality Agreement
in big bold letters written across the top of the first page.

She flipped through the rest to see a long list of numbers with several bullet points after each one. “I would like to read it first.”

“Of course,” Horowitz said. “Can Rachel get you anything while you do so?”

“A coffee, please.”

Rachel came back in to offer a choice between a regular coffee, a latte, or a cappuccino.

Amy asked for a latte and for half a second savored being the costumer and not the barista. She turned her attention to the contract in her hands. One pre-law class at Penn was not enough for her to truly comprehend what she was reading, but she read every word and underlined key phrases with her finger. Basically the agreement said that the three of them would have a conversation, and subsequently, she could not let a word or even an inference leave this room. If she did, all sorts of terrible things would happen, not the least of which would be lawsuits, court cases, and debt up to her eyeballs. In short, her life would be over.

Rachel returned with a latte, which she placed before her on a Horowitz and Kane coaster. Amy took one sip and knew that the coffee was a South American blend and that the firm had a very expensive coffee machine. The fact that she knew more about the latte than her reading material sent her back to the contract with a renewed focus.

She finished reading and paused, her pen hovering over the line with her name printed under it. She resisted the urge to run her fingers through her hair. Should she sign? Should she just get up and walk out? The remaining four hundred dollars had appeared at the other end of the coffee table while she read. It was a clear draw, but what finally put her over the edge was simple curiosity. There was no way that she could live the rest of her life not knowing what all this was about. Probably the conversation would be a huge disappointment. She might very well end up behind bars, but at least she would know.

She signed. The expensive pen moved smoothly over the thick paper.

Paul Knight licked his lips as if he were about to devour something very tasty. Horowitz picked up the money and handed it to her in a slick trade for the contract. “Okay. Down to business. Rachel, can you step in here one last time. Ms. Kimball, just to make sure that you’re on the up and up, we would like Rachel to pat you down to make sure that you’re not wearing a recording device.”

“Are you kidding me?” When he didn’t react, she said. “I just signed the agreement.”

“You can never be too careful.”

Amy stretched her arms out as an answer. Rachel patted her down without making eye contact. “Nothing there.” She nodded at Horowitz.

Amy wondered if patting down women was in her job description. She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head at the men. “Well?”

“Remember, what we’re about to tell you is completely confidential,” Knight began. Amy nodded for the umpteenth time.

Knight thrust his head forward. “We want to offer you a job. It pays very well. Fifteen hundred dollars a week plus room and board.”

Amy couldn’t believe her ears. They knew how to get a girl’s attention, all right.

“Doing what?” she asked. Her mind was already whirling into high gear. She could do a lot with that kind of money, like get new running shoes and pay off student loans and maybe even make a dent in the debt her parents left.

“We want you to date one of our clients,” Paul Knight stated.

Her stomach dropped, and a slow flush crept up her throat into her cheeks. “Christ. I’m a bartender, not a prostitute.”

“Nobody said you were,” Horowitz jumped in, raising a palm to Knight who was already opening his mouth. “You’re going about this all wrong, Paul. Sit down. Let me do the talking.”

Knight’s jaw jutted, but he sat down and shut up.

“We have a client. A famous client, who, shall we say, has certain proclivities that if they were to come to light would destroy his career. Not his main career, you understand, but the only one that matters. His endorsement deals are worth multi-millions. We want to protect those deals by creating a diversion, and you would be that diversion.”

“What are the proclivities? I’m not getting involved with drugs or anything illegal.”

“No. It’s nothing like that,” Horowitz said. “Our client prefers the company of men.”

“He’s gay?” Amy asked.

“Yes,” Knight said, and looked as if the admission had personally wounded him.

Amy’s mind whirled, putting the puzzle pieces together as fast as she could. “How’s that a problem? This is LA, after all. And Diego Torres would be the second person to come out in the league this year. What’s the big deal?” She took a calculated risk by naming Torres. Of course, she didn’t know for sure that the conversation was about him, but Knight was his manager and concern over these “certain proclivities” going public would go a long way to explain what was troubling his game lately. More important, if she was right, she might get a leg up on these men and this situation.

“I told you she was smart,” Knight threw at Horowitz.

“No matter. It’s better to have it all out in the open.” Horowitz focused all his attention back on Amy. “But you couldn’t be more wrong, Ms. Kimball. If Torres came out, it would be a very big deal. So big, it might ruin his entire career. Most people aren’t as liberal as the ones in this office.”

“Is Torres with someone? Is that why you guys are so worried?” Amy asked.

“No. He says there’s no one,” Knight said, “Just the fear of being found out is killing Diego and his game.”

“To put it in simple terms, Ms. Kimball,” Horowitz said, “we would like to pay you real money to have a fake relationship with Diego Torres.”

“So you need a beard. Torres and I would date?” She settled deeper into the chair. The possibility was intriguing. Tell a little lie here and there. The money was great, and it might even be fun, and best of all, she wouldn’t have to go crawling back to Reggie. “Why me?”

“You met all the criteria when we did the background search,” Knight said. “You’re smart. You graduated summa cum laude from an Ivy League School. I saw you in action at the Valley bar, so I know it’s not just academic smarts. You played soccer at a competitive level at Penn, and you were a starter every year, except for your junior year out in London where, I believe, you played on a coed team for King’s College?”

Amy nodded. They had clearly done all their homework.