Young and Scambitious (A short story)

Young and Scambitious

A short story
by Mina V. Esguerra

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © Mina V. Esguerra, 2013. All rights reserved.

Contact the author:

[email protected]

http://minavesguerra.com

Cover designed by Tania Arpa

Photography by
Nio Manzano, featuring Alexandra Lapa

For Sheila and Mache, but this isn't exactly that yet.

Kevin, thank you for answering my strange and sudden questions.

JANE

"Superhero names? Like in the movies? If we had powers and stuff?"

"
Yeah. If we could do anything."

"
Fine. What would yours be?"

"
Wendy first."

Wendy sighed just a little.
"Agent Ginger. No supernatural stuff, just really really good at like a dozen martial arts."

"
Fast Finger Man. Really fast—"

"
I get it," Jane raised an eyebrow at the two other people sharing the backseat of the car with her. "You've talked about this before."

"
Agent Ginger" smirked, and gave the guy between them a friendly swat on the arm. "Alexander likes to recycle this conversation topic, yes."

"
It's always fun," Fast Finger Man himself said.

"
Give me a sec then."

A large part of what Wendy, Alexander, and Jane did was this
—give themselves names. Jane took it seriously. Also, giving yourself a superhero name meant admitting to a power, or at least an awareness of what made you special, what you lorded over the common man. This was a revelation not to be made lightly.

"
Princess Midas," Jane said, coughing lightly into her hand. She suddenly hoped that she wasn't getting the flu or something.

Alexander whistled.
"Fancy."

"
Classic reference," Wendy added.

"
Thanks."

A silence fell over the car, parked discreetly behind an SUV at the far end of the makeshift lot behind the Asylum Rose
, what used to be the trendiest club in the city. They had been there, in the car, in the backseat specifically, for an hour. They needed to do this sometimes, just sit and wait.

It didn
't need to be this cramped. Alexander had driven them over, and Wendy rode shotgun, but they eventually moved to the back. Less conspicuous that way, they said. Alexander apologized for the smell of the vehicle, just a little too lemony, but didn't apologize for the claustrophobia.

"So, we're clear, yes?" asked Wendy. "You have the rings?"

Jane nodded.

"You know what to say?"

Sure she did.

"You know how much the copy should be?"

"Yes, I do," said Jane.

"Margaux says the buyer could be ready tomorrow, if we close this tonight. Are we closing this tonight, Jane?"

"I sure hope so."

"Go, team," Alexander
piped in. "Home stretch, people. Let's sell this bling so I can take my ten percent and go home."

She almost smiled at this.
"Next topic," Jane said instead. "Worst meal you've ever had?"

FROM THE
SAUCY SOCIALS
BLOG

Who the fuck is Elizabeth Madrid?

And shut up, you know-it-alls, those of you just waiting to be the first five to comment on this post. You're going to say that she's the brat from one of those rich families in the south that your mom was related to. That she was educated abroad. That she used to be a model until that unfortunate relationship with the druggie actor that got her shipped off overseas again. I know this, bitch posers. But I want to know WHY I know her.

Because none of you bitch posers knew her last Christmas, admit it. This blog had zero entries on her. And now that she's the BFF of the day of our favorite trainwreck Chrysalis Magnolia,  formerly engaged to the Walking Dick, now a day doesn't go by without me getting tips about this person I don't know if I should care about. We wouldn't be doing this if she weren't friends with our Chrysalis now, would we? She's not a celeb really. She's not dating one. She's vaguely pretty in that Eurasian way and she's got long and silky hair and that she's at least a size heavier than the club princesses we usually tear to shreds with glee over here. She could be an heiress but she's boring as fuck and please tell me why I should care.

When do Chrysalis Magnolia BFFs expire again? Because the last one stole from her right, and that was five months into forever friendship? 

What I need is an actual person who knows Elizabeth fucking Madrid. Did you go to daycare with her? Were you boarding school classmates? Were you in her dorm in NYU or Berkeley or wherever the fuck you say she's from? Because if you're not, and you can't even give me a picture, then screw you, I don't need you, bitch poser.

Internet, do your worst. Or maybe we shouldn't bother, because seriously, if Chrysalis will drop her tomorrow then why even.

Anonymous Comment (15 mins ago)

The Madrid family is part owner of a dozen or so small but upscale jewelry stores. I don
't know Elizabeth but they have a daughter and they sent her abroad to study jewelry design. She was never a model.

JANE

Jane agreed to the job because she needed money, but she did warn Margaux that she couldn't do it for long.

"
You don't need to do it forever," her mother's former "dearest friend" had said. "But I need you for this one. Several weeks at least."

Margaux was in the middle of something and needed an
"inside man." Ironically her mother had performed the very same role for Margaux back in the day, when they did this and various other scams together, but now Jane's mom wouldn't have been able to insert herself into the club scene if she tried.

Also, Jane
's mom and Margaux weren't on speaking terms. Going on a decade.

So
of course Elizabeth Madrid did not really exist. On a certain level, none of these socialites ever really did. To know them in person, meaning to actually shake their hand, or say hello, or serve them food they never ate—that meant nothing, really. They were barely there, and in fact perpetuated the persona. Maybe you were a real person thinking you were interacting with another real person, but you were no different from the tabloid photographer, the gossip blogger, the club spectator. You were an audience, that was all.

It Girl Elizabeth Madrid was just a tiny bit more fake than the rest, though, sinc
e she was actually a twenty-three-year-old named Jane, was not really from a "wealthy southern family," and was in fact a con artist. Scammer. Somewhat-professional liar. But if things went well tonight, she wasn't going to be Elizabeth Madrid for very long, so the society groupies need not bother, indeed.

Someone
's phone got a text message and it temporarily lit up the inside of the car.

"
It's Caloy," Alexander said, referring to the bouncer at the entrance. "Chrysalis just got in."

Jane checked her phone. Wendy did as well.

"Eighteen minutes," Jane said. "Let her settle in."

"
Enough time for another topic," Alexander said, rubbing his hands together. "Ever fall in love while on the job?"

"
Wendy first."

Wendy rolled her eyes.
"Hmm, Alexander's other favorite topic."

The car lit up again, this time from an email coming into Jane
's phone. She dismissed it by dropping it into her clutch. "But do tell, Wendy. I want to hear all about this. For seventeen minutes."

Technically this was Jane
's first job, but the answer to the question was yes, everyone fell for someone while on a job.

She could fall for Alexander, if she wanted to. He was fit, nicely shaped, kept himself mobile because of the shadiness of what he usually had to do. She just didn
't like that his dark sideburns were a bit long, although he said it was because of the job, and the rest of his hair was always in a hat anyway. Whatever, Sideburns. The weird thing was that she would probably never trust him completely with her things, because he liberated precious items from their owners really quickly. Hence the Fast Fingers.

But she wouldn
't do that, because there seemed to be something going on, or starting, between Alexander and Wendy anyway. She knew that Wendy and Alexander had been friends for longer, and throughout the job she noticed a comfortable flirtation going on between them. Wendy was petite, hair dyed a deep and dark red (for the job, she said too), with dark eyes very nearly hidden all the time by her too-long bangs. Well, as long as she didn't mind the sideburns, then they should be having fun together soon.

Jane did have a
story though. It was just six weeks old. It was all she was thinking about lately, to be honest, and good thing she wasn't expected to be truthful most of the time. 

--O--

Six weeks ago, she went to a library. She liked to do that, when she visited a place.

She had never worked with other people on a scam before, but she noticed that they liked to wing it in their own way. Margaux, especially, who was old school and went with rumor and gossip rather than hit
the books. Wendy was all about the internet. Alexander would talk his way out of a jail cell if he could, and he apparently already did, but there was no substance to the form.

Jane liked to go to libraries. She spent a lot of time in them growing up, and she had had to grow up in several places. Later she started seeing how each building was different. In one place, old and regal; in another, shabby and musty.

So since the preparation for the Chrysalis Magnolia job had her visit Singapore, a city with a (shiny and modern) public library, she naturally had to go there on her only day free. The first thing she did was purchase a keychain from the gift shop, because she couldn't help but get souvenirs, another problem given this questionable hobby of hers. Then she went browsing. The books felt new, another odd experience. Was no different from shopping at a store.

Diamonds are for Everyone: Selection, Evaluation and Care

The Best Traveler
's Guide to Jewelry and Diamonds

The Insider
's Tips for Buying the Right Diamond

She saw him when she wandered over to the general fiction floor, because she usually picked up a mystery or thriller to dip into between the research. He was wearing the strangest shade of rusty red for a shirt, paired with ridiculous cargo shorts that made her notice his strong calves. Her eye sort of moved up from there, over to his profile, up to his head of dark hair, just long enough for the curls to start coming in. She leaned a little closer to the stacks and allowed her gaze to linger a little longer on his eye, the clean curve of his jaw.

And then he turned toward her completely and she quickly
turned away.

Yeah, that was stealthy
, she thought, and in her mind she gave herself a swift kick.

He made his selection and then left the stacks, passing directly behind her.

Jane sighed. He was probably over six feet tall. She was five-eight herself, couldn't help noticing height when she looked at guys. But she knew what it was that made her really look. That thing about him.

He looked Asian but not quite, not enough to be clearly labeled from one country or another based on the stereotypes. Which meant, as she knew, that he fell under another one entirely. The half-something, like her. She actually found that fascinating, not surprisingly because of her own history with it.

It wasn't a crime, to look. She did that all the time, "on the job" or not. Looking was as innocent as ogling a magazine cover boy. Jane admired, and then assessed, and then moved on her merry way.

That night, the merry way happened to be toward a quaint organic/vegan cafe a few blocks from the library. She walked all the way, enjoying the night air and that for once she was appropriately dressed for the tropical weather: nondescript white tee, a lovely print skirt that came down just to her knees, canvas walking shoes.

There was a glass case of vegan desserts and she was about to choose a strawberry cake when a flash of odd rusty red reflected in the glass and she nearly jumped.

He was expecting this reaction and motioned for her to join him at his outdoor table, a small and round one that didn
't match any of the other tables outside. None of the tables or chairs matched. It was that kind of place.

"
Why are you following me?" he said, smiling, but not really joking.

His accent was vaguely American, vaguely
New England, which revealed certain things about him at least in her mind. If that was his actual accent, because it seemed like he was neutralizing.

Just like she was.

"How would I know that you'd be craving vegan cake after a book?" she teased.

"
No one does that," he answered. "Except you and me, apparently."

They did this for about an hour. They talked about the library, the books they
looked at, the awesome building, the well-intentioned cafe. He was a tourist, which explained the cargo shorts, spending a week in the city before heading back home.

"
Home where?" she asked, innocently.

"
Graduate school," he said, not answering the question. He did the same to a bunch of other questions that would have pinned him down to a region, a country, a city, an age. He looked older than her, but not by much. Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, tops.

Jane was, of course, lying through all of it too. Suddenly she was a recent college grad (which she would have been in June last year if she had stayed), enjoying a month of idle travel before settling down to find a job.

"A job where?" he asked.

"In a hotel, or something," was her non-answer.

So it was actually just like a date, which was a scam of another sort. Jane was suddenly a sweet and smiley person, who said "yes please" when offered coffee. She smoothed down her skirt sweetly, not suggestively, when he asked about her day and complimented her fresh look despite the humidity.

He was a handsome scholarly type just passing through, in this part of the world to
"visit a friend," and "tour campuses," his knees not at all intentionally brushing against hers under the table.

All the words were meaningless to her. Jane had learned not to trust them anyway, so instead she kept track of the passing of time. His coffee cup drained down to a tiny puddle. Her slice of cake went from a thick wedge to a tiny rectangle that she continued to poke without actually consuming. The occupants of the four surrounding tables began to change.

They talked about music, books, movies, and current events. She made up band names and authors on the spot when he asked for recommendations, playing off the slightly bohemian vibe of her skirt and giving him what he possibly expected. He looked interested, not guessing she was playing him, or maybe just too polite to say so.

"…
boring, the pace was all wrong. I normally like my thrillers with more cliffhangers," he was saying.

"
Ugh, cliffhangers," she said, figuring that the college student would think that. "Cliffhangers are manipulative."

"Who does it manipulate?"

"Me. The general public. People who can't help but turn the page even when they don't care about the characters anymore."

"
I like it when a book knows my weakness," he said. "I happen to like turning a page against my will."

W
ere they talking about books? Jane pretended she didn't just think that.

She also paid attention to how his body moved. And when she did, she had a hard time believing that he was in grad school, studying and touring. When did he have time to work on those shoulders? Did typing and reading produce those forearms? And why, unlike other grad school students she
'd had the privilege of sitting at a table with for a night of lying, did he ask so much about her? And not go on and on about his fascinating field of study? Why did his hair look like it had product, on a random day?

Briefly she wondered if it was a trap, if Margaux was somehow testing her. But she seriously doubted that Margaux had access to this guy, all smooth and scholarly sounding, and would still hunt Jane down for
"looking rich." 

Don't be crazy
,
Jane told herself. It was a big city, a tourist hub. People came and went by the thousands.

"
Walk me to my hotel," she said.

"
It's the gentlemanly thing to do," he said.

Later as they walked the eight blocks to her hotel, passing the library again, she wondered how he defined gentlemanly conduct. He didn
't touch her at all in those eight blocks, not deliberately at least.

They talked about how easy it was to blend in, being somewhat Asian looking in an Asian city, and he likened the experience to being a
"giraffe in the background—they don't see me until they see me, and then they wonder why a giraffe's there." She laughed at that. It made sense to her.

He had a way of looking at her, almost tentative, like he was checking if she would put a stop to this at any time, that made her just want him all the more. She gave him similarly tentative smiles, because the smiley college grad would do that. She hadn
't decided yet what the smiley college grad would do once they got to her hotel room, though, if she would play hard to get, or let him take the lead. Maybe she would kiss him first, at least, because she
was
supposed to be on a last-hurrah-before-the-real-world-called trip and a fling wouldn't be out of character.

Then his mouth was on hers, as soon as the hotel room door clicked shut behind them, and she threw the seven different seduction approaches she was planning out the window and just grabbed fistfuls of that hair. He didn't expect this and she may have pulled a little too close to painful. He moaned into her mouth and it went right through her body. She responded by half giggling into his.

Oh god.

His jaw was smooth. She knew it, could see it, looked enough at it, but the contact his skin made against hers was a surprise nonetheless. She thought she was more into scruffy but this set off a chain of fireworks in her anyway.