Liars Like Us

3

Partly hidden by the bobbing arch of balloons, he’s standing still outside the entrance of ValUBooks. A head taller than everyone else, he ignores the crowd and the blaring band as he stares in the direction of my shop.

His arms are folded across his broad chest. Despite the July heat, he’s dressed all in black, including a leather jacket and cowboy boots. His mirrored sunglasses reflect the morning light.

He’s too far away for me to see his face clearly, but there’s something familiar about him. His stance, maybe, or his height. I think I’ve seen him somewhere before but can’t place where.

Narrowing my eyes, I look closer.

The man in black turns and vanishes into the crowd.

Two

S

everal weeks later, I’m sitting across a desk from a nice lady at the Small Business Administration office, listening to her list all the reasons why my business doesn’t qualify for a loan.

I’ve already heard the same thing from my bank.

And my credit union.

And the only rich person I know, my childless, elderly neighbor Maude, who still lives like a pauper despite winning millions in the lottery a few years ago. I have no idea what she does with all the money, but, like everyone else, she’s not interested in giving any of it to me.

I thank the SBA lady for her time and leave the office in a daze. Then I drive to the beach, park, and walk out to the sand, where I sit and stare blankly out at the shimmering blue Pacific, trying to figure out how the hell I’m going to save Lit Happens.

I’ve already looked all over the city for a new space to lease. I didn’t find anything I could afford. Besides, I’d need first, last, and a security deposit to get into a new place, which might as well be a billion dollars for how out of reach that amount is.

Unless a ten-year-old VW Jetta counts, I have no assets I can sell to scrounge up some cash. I lease my apartment, which takes over half my salary because LA is an expensive place to live. Dad left me a little money when he died, but most of it went to funeral expenses and a rainy-day fund for the store.

Which has now been depleted.

A seagull lands near my feet. I say sadly to it, “I’m screwed, birdie.”

It stares back at me with zero sympathy before waddling off in search of someone less depressed.

After another hour of racking my brain for possible solutions, I give up. Using the app on my cell phone, I check the business bank account.

There’s enough in it to make payroll, plus about a thousand dollars left over.

I get up from the sand and walk back to my car. My head is spinning with thoughts, but one thing is clear: I need to tell my employees as soon as possible that Lit Happens is closing its doors.

Jameson’s in Beverly Hills is the kind of swanky steakhouse where a sixounce steak with no sides costs eighty bucks and every server looks like a cover model.

If I have to fire these people I love, at least I can give them a beautiful meal and surroundings while I’m doing it.

That grand left in my bank account should just about cover the cost.

Seated around the table are Harper, Vivienne, Taylor, Sabine, and Mr. Murphy.

Dressed in heels and a slinky red dress that had everyone’s head swiveling when we walked in, Sabine is acting as if she can’t see the group of middle-aged businessmen at the bar salivating in her direction.

Next to her, Taylor restlessly taps out a staccato beat on the tablecloth as she looks around.

Murph examines the leather-bound menu with his eyebrows raised.

Harper, meanwhile, is twirling a lock of hair and batting her lashes at the big blond stud seated at a nearby table.

And to my left sits Viv, who just rested her hand on my jittering knee and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

A handsome young waiter walks up to the table and beams me an insincere smile. “Can I get some cocktails started for everyone?”

“Murph, will you order a few bottles of wine for the table, please? Maybe a red and a white.”

He glances up at me. “There’s nothing on the list under three hundred dollars.”

Taylor whistles. I try not to fall off my chair.

Seeing my stunned expression, Viv says brightly, “I’ll just have a sparkling water.”

“And I’ll have a vodka martini,” says Murph, snapping shut the menu and setting it aside.

“Make it two,” says Harper.

“Three,” chimes in Sabine.

“I might as well have one, too,” says Taylor, leaning back in her chair. With her choppy black hair flopping over one eye and the silver rings in her left nostril and brow winking in the light, she glares at the waiter, daring him to ask for her ID.

Surely disappointing her, the waiter simply says, “Very good, miss. And for you?”

“The same. Thank you.”

When he leaves, we all look at each other. The sound of other guests talking in the dining room and the elegant piano music piped in through the hidden speakers overhead seems very loud.

I take a deep breath, gather my courage, and begin.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering what this dinner is about. As you know, Lit Happens has been struggling. ValUBooks has taken all the foot traffic we had. And they have the Starbucks. And the floral section. And the incredible breakfast café. And that amazing selection of books. Their inventory is just so huge…”

I glance down at my clammy hands, which I’m wringing together in my lap. Inside my chest, my heart is shriveling. I clear my throat and continue.

“When my dad started the company decades ago, it was a different time. There was no internet to buy books from. There were no giant retail chains. There weren’t any tablets or cell phones to read on. And though I had faith that a small local store with real people who loved books more than anything would be something that customers would always want, it turns out I was wrong.”

I glance up to find everyone staring at me silently. I see sadness and resignation in their faces. Except for Harper, who looks panicked.

They already know.

My throat closes. Water wells in my eyes. Of course they’d know, they’re not stupid.