Page 26 of The False Flat

“Mother, can we talk about this later? Chad’s waiting, and he looks like he’s getting impatient.”

Chad sat up and whispered, “Why did you tell her that? I want her to like me.”

I covered the mouthpiece. “Oh, stop. You’re so far up her ass, I can smell your cologne when she talks.”

His mouth dropped open, and he reddened slightly.

Was it wrong to take pleasure in using them against each other?

“Of course,” Aurora said. “You two have fun. I can’t wait to see you. Make it soon.”

“Soon. Yes. We’ll talk soon.”

“Kiss, kiss.”

I ended the call and attempted to inhale. My phone rang again in my hands, and I gripped it so hard the plastic case started to crackle. But when I looked at the screen, it wasn’t my mother. An unknown caller from Minnesota.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Pen, thank God I got you.” A woman, but whoever it was, was whispering. I couldn’t place the voice.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s Erin. I need to talk to you.”

“Erin?” As in Houston’s secretary Erin? I didn’t know anyone else by that name.

“Yeah. From Twin Cities. I can’t talk now, but there’s some shady stuff going on here, and I think you should know about it.”

“What?” I pushed the phone harder against my ear, waiting.

“They’re in the conference room now. I excused myself to go to the bathroom, but I had to call you, give you a heads-up. Houston’s in there with—”

The phone went silent.

Who? Who is in the conference room? Why is she at the office on a Saturday night?

“Shit! They’re coming out now. I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

Later? No. I needed to know now, or my whole evening would be ruined.

“Erin? Erin?” I frantically tried to make sure she was still there.

But she was gone.

CHAPTER 11

THE DANCE NUMBER

The Wildhorse Saloon was huge, with multiple open levels, a stage, and fancy lighting shaped like rays of the sun. Even though the room was large, it appeared intimate, which was almost enough to take my mind off that phone call.

After Deanna had excitedly shaken Chad’s hand, she introduced us to her two best friends, who were already seated at a long, polished wood table.

“This is Meredith; she goes by Mere. And this is Keyondra. Please don’t call her Kiki; she stopped responding to that years ago, when she decided she wanted to be taken seriously.”

I already knew Mere was married, liked cats and red wine, and taught kickboxing on weekends, and that Keyondra, who incidentally hated cats (or at least was allergic to them), liked fruity cocktails, had an African art collection, and spent her time being followed around by her “skinny-ass White boyfriend.” Her words, not mine. That’s literally how she’d introduced him, because what self-respecting 180-pound proud-to-be-Black woman fell for a tall, lanky White guy with no ass?

Keyondra (an eighteen) helped Deanna with party organization and decoration, and Mere (a fourteen) did the accounting. I only occasionally envisioned people as double digits past ten, but sometimes it fit. The three women were like a well-oiled machine in business and friendship. They made sense. They all liked the same books, which they discussed in an official book club along with three others, including the elusive Chuck’s sister and Grant’s girlfriend, Elaine, the newest member of their club. Though she’d been mentioned the least, and what did that say about their relationship? Surely that meant . . . of course I didn’t care.