Manipulation (Shadows) Read online

  I stifle a giggle. Sometimes I really love what I can do.

  Uncle Mac shakes his head and sits back in his chair. “God help the man who marries you, Addison.” I can’t imagine that Uncle Mac knows about my little gift of persuading people to do things for me, but he does know I have a knack for getting what I want.

  “Thanks, Uncle Mac.” I grin.

  “Let’s see about getting you out of here.”

  “Sounds perfect.” I take a deep breath for the first time since the ticket agent called security.

  * * *

  “Addison!” Dad calls from the living room just as his phone rings. He mutters under his breath, and I’m not sure if I should still follow his voice from my room, or wait for his phone call to be over.

  “Senator Michaels!” Dad’s voice booms. “How the hell are you?”

  I decide to walk into the living room. Dad and Senator Michaels talk a lot so I don’t think I’ll be interrupting anything major.

  The pause is long enough that I try and see Dad’s face from the side to know if it’s good or bad news he’s listening for. Bad news will mean that he comes down even harder on me.

  “I understand.” Dad’s voice is quiet. “We’ll start setting up here. I’m assuming there are agents on the case?”

  Another long pause. I never know what Dad’s discussing. He’s an attorney, but has his hands in so many different kinds of businesses, there’s no way to keep track. I do know that Senator Michaels is one of his Middle Men business partners. Whatever that means.

  “Okay, Senator. Thanks for the call. Maybe we’ll be seeing you in New York for a bit then in a few weeks?” Dad shifts in his seat. “They’re planning on leaving as soon as school finishes…? If you think it will be a problem, why not contain it there…? I understand. School runs longer here, so I’ll have more time on this end. We’ll have a couple weeks to prepare for your issue anyway. Thanks for the heads-up.”

  I bite my lower lip and try to look as contrite as possible as I sit on one of the outside circle of chairs in our beige and black living room. The room is huge, nothing but windows across the front wall, but I can’t enjoy the view of New York. Not from this room. I can’t even cross my legs. I’m too tense. This is the room that is used solely for the purpose of brief conversations with Ellie or I, generally when we’re in trouble or simply need a good talking to. I hate this room. I live in mine and getting back there is all I can think about.

  Dad drops his phone on the coffee table and meets my eyes with his deep, brown ones.

  “I don’t get it, Bunny.” Dad looks ten years older when he sits like this—all hunched over, elbows on knees. Unlike Uncle Mac, Dad does look like he belongs on the cover of GQ—well, maybe if he was a few years younger.

  Our hair is the same super dark shade of brown. His is perfectly combed back and his face is perfectly shaved. The dress shirt he wore all day is rolled in just the right way, exposing his strong forearms and fifty-thousand-dollar watch.

  “Where’s Mom?” I tighten my arms in front of me. Nothing like Dad being disappointed makes me feel this crappy. I really don’t want a lecture from Dad, and another one from Mom. Though, having them in the same room, both mad at me, also doesn’t sound fun.

  “The gym. She’ll be home in a bit.”

  I glance toward the blackening windows. The lights from the city come in, but the black sky still takes over.

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  “Not really.” What am I supposed to tell him? I’m sleeping with your best friend’s son. You know, the one who’s four years older than me? Almost 22? And it’s the only way I can see him. And because I rarely see him, I don’t even know who he spends his days with. What he does when I’m not around, and I really want to know those things. I can’t imagine that going over very well.

  “Mac said that best case scenario is you’ll be taking a class and paying restitution.” He stands up, and I’m craning my neck at his well over six-foot height.

  “I’ll take care of the restitution, Dad. And he has some papers for you to sign…” I reach out and touch his arm just briefly. Please don’t be mad at me.

  Dad’s jaw clenches, but there’s no way for me to tell if he’s just angry or if part of him does hear my suggestion and he finds it irritating. Not that I’ve ever had any indication from him that he knows what I do.

  “So you can do private therapy or something instead of the class. They’re on my desk. I’ll sign them and get them out soon. Your Uncle Mac seems to be pretty confident of the deal he can get you with the prosecutor.” He scratches his forehead in frustration.

  I sigh. Touching Dad has never worked. “Don’t forget, Dad. Please?”

  “You are not in a position to ask for favors right now!” His voice booms out of nowhere, echoes and begins to pierce at the relaxed façade I’ve been holding on to so well.

  My body jumps in response. I don’t want to cry over this, so I suck in a breath, afraid to keep breathing.

  “I was interrupted from two meetings today.” He’s pointing at me now—that’s not good. Well, that’s never good. “One of which took a long time to set up online. Senator Michaels is expecting more from me than I think I can do, and it seems he might be headed to town within the month. To top it all off, I now have a juvenile delinquent for a daughter. You are not on my good list right now.”

  When am I ever? But I sit silent. Dad’s outbursts used to bother me, but he generally forgets in a day or so. “Sorry, Dad. I have an early day tomorrow and Marla hasn’t been hanging my school uniforms.” I’ll need to talk or touch her about that.

  “That’s between you and Marla. I don’t need any other bullshit thing to deal with right now.” He turns and strides toward his room—on the opposite side of the house from mine and Ellie’s.

  I start to shrink away. “‘Kay.”

  Marla does only what my mom asks her to do, or my dad asks her to do. She won’t start doing something for me because I ask her. She probably doesn’t care I’ve almost been late to school twice because I had to press my own uniform. Marla knows just as well as Ellie and I how little our parents are home.

  As I step back into the hallway, which feels bigger since we have such tall ceilings, the shadows along the darkly painted walls seem to stretch. I flip the switch, but the light is out, and something moves in the darkness by the window at the far end making my heart skip. “Ellie?” I call.

  Nothing. I blink again. The lights from the window sometimes put strange patterns on the wall, but my heart’s still pounding a little louder as I squint.

  Nothing.

  Okay. I’m crazy.

  I pause at Ellie’s door but look down to the end of the hallway again. The floor to ceiling window looks straight onto Park Avenue. It was such a thing of pride when we moved in. Now I think it’s ridiculous. Just something else my dad can mark on his checklist that shows how important he is. Daughters in private school, check. Gorgeous wife who is also successful, check. More cars than parking spaces, check. Don’t actually drive anywhere, check.

  I can feel myself getting all agitated again. I need Ellie. “Can I come in?” I whisper. My guess is that she’s awake, especially after Dad’s outburst.

  “Yeah.” Her voice barely travels through the door.

  “You’re not crying are you?” I can be nothing but my vulnerable self around Ellie. Everything from her affects me. I don’t want that to change. She’s my only real connection in this house.

  “Dad’s angry.” She frowns as she sits up.

  “He’s mad at me, not you.” I sit on the edge of her bed.

  Ellie’s room is almost as large as mine. Just more pink. She’s eleven, and I’m sure will be growing out of the pink any day.

  “What did you do, Addie?” She’s the only one who calls me this, and I love it. It makes me feel more connected to her in some way, Addie and Ellie. Her straight brown hair hangs off to the side. It’s probably the color of Mom�
�s hair but only Mom’s hairdresser knows her real color. And maybe not even her. The fake blonde that doesn’t look fake, sort of takes over.

  “I messed up, that’s all.” I try to keep my voice relaxed. Maybe if I can pretend for a few minutes in Ellie’s room, it’ll be easier to pretend life is all good when I get back to mine.

  “You’re not going away, are you?” Her forehead pulls together in worry. Ellie is so good. I hope this world Mom and Dad are raising her in doesn’t destroy that about her. I’ve seen people turn from nice to snob in a week.

  “I’m not going away.”

  She asks because Dad threatens boarding school at least twice a month. My guess is that it has more to do with his status than what’s best for me and since I’m about to graduate, it also seems a bit silly.

  She sighs, unconvinced.

  “Nothing’s changing,” I promise.

  “You’re sure?” Her doe eyes open wider.

  “I’m sure.” We slide our pinkies together.

  Relax. It’ll all be fine. I promise. Go to sleep. I send the thought to her loud and clear.

  Ellie takes a deep breath in and lies back onto her pillow before her brow furrows. “Did you do that thing on me again?”

  “What thing?” I ask innocently. She’s the only one who knows what I can do, but she cares a lot more about where it came from and what I plan on doing with it than I do. For me it’s simply a convenience.

  She shakes her head.

  “But you feel better, right?”

  She closes her eyes. “I feel better,” she concedes. “I’m doing more research on you, you know.”

  “Okay,” I say to appease her, even though I don’t really want to know where my little gift comes from, but Ellie loves the search for information.

  She swears she’s too old for snuggles and kisses, but I give her a hug before leaving her room and wave one last time as I close her door.

  I shuffle into my room but can’t imagine spending any time sleeping. Not after this day of insanity—getting arrested for the first time ever. Uncle Mac bailing me out. The disapproval seeping from my father and the anticipation of what I might or might not hear from Mom. It all depends on if she can find time to give me a good lecture over the next week or so.

  I relax as I settle into the idea of being in my room and the fact that my day is over. My bedroom feels like more of an apartment than a room. My bed is on a large loft, and I have a practical living room of furniture in the purples and grays I love so much. The lights from the city come through my tall windows, but I’m not into ‘ambience’ from the city tonight. I pull the deep purple curtains closed for darkness. Feeling sad, or frustrated or scared isn’t an option for me. It makes me feel weak. I need to get myself back into Addison. Back to normal thinking.

  I turn back and forth in front of my full-length mirror. Not too bad for having spent a good portion of the day under the watchful eye of the NYPD. But these clothes are so going in the trash. They would have been the first thing I took off when I got home, if Dad hadn’t interrupted. I’ve rubbed hand sanitizer up and down my arms, but still feel dirty. I slide off my size four jeans and one of my favorite Gucci tanks and drop them in the garbage. I feel better already, and it’ll give me an excuse to go shopping sometime over the next few days.

  I check the mirror again. I’m grateful for my body, I really am, but I wish I’d known that 5’9” and lithe would mean I’d get almost no boobs. I’ve wished for Mom’s height since I was a kid. I got it, but probably Ellie will get her boobs. Or Mom’s chest could be as fake as her hair. It’s something I’ll never know because I know better than to ask.

  The front door opens and I hear dad. Hey sweetie, and some muffled somethings. Without meaning to I lean toward my door to see if I can hear any more. I’m tempted to walk out and talk to Mom, but by the sound of things they don’t want company.

  I think it’s great my parents have this close relationship, but when you never see your own kids, it seems like you could turn it off once in a while. Though, tonight I probably shouldn’t hope to see her. It’s late and she’s just walking in. This means that today was another “rough day.”

  After a scalding shower and three shampoos, my body’s finally relaxing enough that I feel like I might be able to sleep tonight.

  My favorite T-shirt is on the top of the stack of clean clothes that our housekeeper, Marla, didn’t see the need to fold. It’s worn on the edges, but it’s from the summer Chase and I first got together. I slide it over my head and crawl up the ladder to my bed. I hope Uncle Mac gets me in court soon. I want this whole mess over with so I can spend more time with Chase. I wonder how on earth I’ll get up to the Hamptons if I’m not riding the train for free anymore. Or at all, since they’ve banished me.

  I slide the phone out of my bag to see if he’s called. He hasn’t. It’s weird because we were supposed to be together, and I was a no-show. He must’ve heard, and is trying to keep his distance, anything else would mean… Well. I push away the ache in my chest at that thought. He just must have heard. That’s all. Or maybe something’s wrong with his phone. Maybe.

  TWO

  Dean

  It’s rare I’m caught. It’s even more rare I end up in court, pleading guilty and bargaining down my charge with whatever twenty-something NYU just turned into a public defender.

  “You have quite list of convictions, Mr. Courser.” The judge is flipping though my file, his grey hair like a thinning halo around his head.

  “I’m aware, your Honor.” This is when I get to explain my way out of it, again.

  “Why do we continue to see you?” He drops the corner of the paper to catch my eye.

  “If your Honor would look at the dates, the majority of the cases were when I was between twelve and fourteen.” When I was living with my mother and just trying to survive. But I keep that part to myself.

  “I see that.” He pauses in his flipping to rest his arms over my file.

  “And the past few years have only been because I continue to be denied visitation with my brother.” It hurts to just say it out loud, which flashes quickly to anger. I really should be used to it after three years, but I’m not. The “system” may have found me a good home with odd-ball hippie foster parents, but they’ve totally screwed me where my real family’s concerned. Not that I give a shit about seeing my mom, but I haven’t seen my brother, Jeremy, since the night she was arrested.

  “That is not a matter to be decided by this court.” His voice is full of impatience.

  “I understand.” I clench my jaw to keep from saying more. I don’t understand because somebody should be able to do something. The helplessness over the situation just fuels my frustration.

  “Mr. Courser, the only reason your sentence is so light is because of your age, and because, as much as I disapprove of your actions, there is no malicious intent and you still fall under the juvenile justice system.” He glances at me over his glasses. “But just barely.”

  “I understand, sir.” I nod once next to my attorney who looks more nervous than I am. He can’t leave the file alone and continually shifts in his seat. It’s making me crazy. All the noise sounds like scraping, scratching, fingernails on a chalkboard... It all grates on my spine.

  “And because we haven’t seen much of you in the last couple years,” the judge continues.

  “Yes, sir.” I know this is the safe thing to say. I know that if I can force myself to say yes sir, and sound actually sorry, life will be a lot easier.

  “You will pay restitution in the amount of twelve hundred dollars. Forty hours of community work service and you will take and complete the life skills class. Your attorney will give you the details. These are the conditions that the attorneys have agreed upon?” He looks one last time from my attorney to the prosecutor.

  “Yes, your Honor.” The prosecutor nods.

  My defense attorney stammers something that sounds like a yes, your Honor before sitting back down and nearly
falling off his chair. A few good ass-kickings might help him not be afraid of some pansy-ass old man in a black dress behind a huge, raised desk.

  “Very well. I don’t want to see you again, Mr. Courser. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, your Honor.” I nod. I sit back down next to my attorney. “So can I get out of here, now?” I whisper.

  “I need you to sign a few things for me.” He starts to stand up, dropping two files in the process.

  An attorney in something that looks like Armani stands at the edge of the table, waiting for us to vacate.

  “Excuse us.” My PD practically bows in front of this guy who looks a little too sleek for simple changes of plea in district court.

  I follow the PD onto the bench behind the Defense table and run into someone’s shoulder on my way back through the door.

  “Excuse you.” Her face scowls straight into mine. She’s tall, gorgeous, and dark, thick shiny hair falls straight around her face. “What?” Her blue eyes narrow.

  I ignore her scowl and sit next to my PD. Pretty girls don’t normally make me nervous, but I have to take a breath to slow down my heart. I’m a moron. Being here must have put me more on edge than I thought.

  She takes the chair next to the slick attorney we just passed.

  “Addison Prince?” the judge asks.

  I watch as her attorney stands to talk. I gather from the back and forth between her, her attorney, and the judge, that she found a way to print off boarding passes and has been riding the train all over New York State.

  I’m impressed. I sit back and rest an ankle on my knee, my T-shirt, button up and jeans look a little shabbier than they did this morning. I realize my old-school Adidas are in need of replacing. It’s all I can wear. Most shoes make weird noises when I walk. I’d bet my whole outfit didn’t cost as much as her shoes. I absently sign in the two spots my signature is needed on the public defender’s paperwork.

  “So, your Honor. Because her mother’s family comprises most of the board as well as the CEO of the railroad, and Addison’s tickets would have only cost about ten dollars apiece, her total restitution comes out just under five hundred dollars. All of which she’s ready to take care of.”