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Out of nowhere, Charlotte says, “I feel like I should mention I’ve never stolen anything in my life before taking that duffel bag. Not even a pack of gum.”
“Congratulations.” I scoff. “Why were you even on that flight in the first place? By then, you knew what Mr. DiMarco is, right?”
Charlotte audibly shrugs. “Mr. DiMarco always requested me for his chartered flights, even after Carlo and I broke up; so what was I supposed to do—tell the boss manno? I’m not stupid. I plastered a smile on my face and worked my ass off for him and his entire entourage. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, right? Plus, the man’s generous. He was always giving the crew Broadway tickets to use during our layover or telling us to grab dinner at such and such restaurant, on him. He was always really sweet like that.”
“Yeah, he seems like a real sweetheart.”
“To me, he always was. That’s what makes what I did even worse. I can only blame it on that text I got from my friend in HR. That’s my only defense. I was temporarily insane.”
I think about the penis puppetry I’ve been doing to pay that tuition invoice—something I’d never have imagined myself doing under any circumstances, not in a million years. And the thought makes it possible to relate to what Charlotte is saying.
“How’d you finally find out the truth about Mr. DiMarco?”
“One of my co-workers, another flight attendant, came across an article about those charges against him. I went straight to Carlo with the article and asked him for the truth about his boss and his job, and to his credit, Carlo didn’t deny Mr. DiMarco was involved in some shady shit. He also admitted he did some stuff for work he couldn’t talk to me about.”
“Weren’t you afraid breaking up with Carlo would put a target on your back?”
“Nah. Carlo is a sweetheart.”
“Who kills people for a living.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Charlotte.”
“Either way, Carlo’s not violent in his personal life. He’s got a job to do, so he does it. In his personal life, he’s actually very sweet. Calm and gentle. Everybody loves Carlo.”
“Well, gosh, why’d you break up with him, if he’s so fucking wonderful?”
Charlotte flashes me a snarky look. “Wow. Jealous much?”
“No,appalledmuch. You dated a fucking hitman for the mob, Charlotte. And now you’ve put a target onmyback. I think I’m entitled to a little outrage and panic here.”
“You’re the one who put the target on your own back. I tried, desperately, to get it takenoff,remember?”
I exhale. She’s right. I’m such a fucking idiot.
“Speaking of which, why thefuckdid you tell Carlo we’re engaged? What on earth got into you?”
“I was trying to protect you!” I boom. “You were obviously freaking out about Carlo showing up, so I acted on instinct and said something I thought would make him think twice about hurting you. A friend or boyfriendmighttry to protect you, but only to a point. But afiancé? That’s a guy who’ll doanythingto protect the woman he loves.”
It’s all lies, lies, lies, meant to deflect from the real reason I said that stupid, dumb, catastrophically idiotic thing. In actuality, when Charlotte tried to lure Carlo to go somewhere else to talkoutsideof my presence, my Spidey senses started zapping me. Clearly, Charlotte didn’t want me hearing about whatever juicy thing needed fixing, and that, in turn, only made me want to hear it all the more.
If my hunch was right and Charlotte trulyhaswitnessed my biggest secret through that peephole in her bedroom wall, if she knows my worst, most shameful secret and plans to blackmail me with it, then I figured I’d sure as shit better get some dirt on her, too, in order to protect myself. Obviously, if I’d known Carlo had sprung to life right out of fuckingGoodfellas,I never would have said what I did. But hindsight is twenty-twenty.
“Well, that was kind of you,” Charlotte says, glancing out the passenger window at passing traffic. “Thank you for trying to protect me. That was noble and brave.”
My heart pangs. I don’t feel good about lying to Charlotte. But on the other hand, I’m in a truly horrific situation now, thanks to her, so I think it’s fair. Granted, my own flagrant jackassery threw fuel onto the fire, but Charlotte lit the match.
The bottom line is I still don’t completely trust Charlotte. Did she tell me the full truth about what she saw through that peephole? If not, then what is she planning to do with whatever secret information she now knows about me?
I shift my hands on the steering wheel and exhale. “You were noble and brave, too, when it counted most. Like you said, you tried your best to keep me out of it. I’m grateful to you for that, at least.”
“A lot of good it did us,” she mutters.
She’s right. “Yeah, if we don’t somehow come up with sixty grand before that fucking birthday party, I’m gonna become fish food. When’s the party?”
Charlotte tells me the date, and I practically shit myself. I’m already killing myself to come up with the tuition money I need in the same basic timeframe. How could I possibly make enough, on top of that, to help pay off Charlotte’s debt, too?
