Ch. 11 – Jax
C onditions? He had conditions?
Sitting cross-legged on the end of her bed, Jax scowled at the phone. She should have known better than to request a favor from a smug bastard like Rico Torres. What, would he request she show up to the interview in a string bikini? She lifted her hand, intent on hitting the disconnect button on her earbuds.
“If you really want to understand me, you need to see me in action,” Rico said on the other end of the line. “Come down to the station tomorrow. Shadow me for the day. See what being a reporter is all about.”
Jax’s hand paused in midair. Spend a day at an actual news station? She practically drooled like Pavlov’s dog. Her professors were just reviewing material for their finals in both classes tomorrow, so she could feasibly skip them.
It was an offer too good to refuse.
“ . . . and if you want to stick around, I’d love to take you out to dinner and tell you all about my many reporterly exploits.” Rico’s voice turned silky .
Make that an offer very tempting to refuse. Maybe Hopkins’s final really wasn’t so bad. Jax glanced at the AP Stylebook sitting atop a pile of other books on her nightstand. Somehow, the massive tome seemed to have grown by a hundred pages overnight.
“My shift at the winery starts at five tomorrow,” she told him.
“Oh.” Disappointment laced his voice before he recovered. “Then can you try and get to the station by eight a.m.?”
“Fine. Tomorrow morning at eight.” She regretted the words as they left her mouth.
“Excellent.” He sounded so damn pleased with himself. Jax imagined him on the other end of the line lounging in an office chair, feet up on his desk, sexy-as-sin smile on his face.
“I’ll let my station know you’re coming,” he said after providing the address. “Just give the guard your name when you drive in, and he’ll let you onto the lot. The receptionist will have a visitor’s badge for you.”
“Okay. Thanks.” She fiddled with the ends of her hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then, I guess.”
“Jacklyn?” His voice was smooth, dangerous.
“What?”
“You won’t be disappointed.”
He hung up. Jax laughed as she pulled the buds from her ears. “The ego of that man,” she said to the furry creature sitting on the bed next to her. “You’d think he was God’s personal gift to vaginas everywhere.”
She reached out and stroked Styles. The kitten closed his eyes and turned his head toward her so she could scratch his ears within the plastic cone. He was doing much better today. He’d eaten his food with gusto this morning and seemed steadier on his feet. The antibiotics and pain meds seemed to be doing their work .
“Four more days in the cone of shame, my man,” she said to him. A soft, smooth rumble started in the kitten’s chest.
“You purring for me, handsome boy?” she asked, surprised and delighted as he pressed his cheek into her hand. Layla had mentioned that Bengals were known for their friendliness. What else had Layla told her? Oh, right. That Bengals often developed strong attachments to their owners.
But I’m not your owner, Jax thought, her delight fizzling. In two months, Haley would swoop in and reclaim her pet, which she would alternately dote on like a child, then forget to feed an hour later. The thought that Styles’s care would soon rest in Haley’s unsteady hands hovered over Jax like an ominous storm cloud.
“No matter what, I’ll watch out for you, Styles,” she promised the purring kitten.
*
That evening, Jax climbed the bleachers of her old high school. That ever-present tinge of wet socks hung in the air as she took a seat. Ironic how she’d spent a formidable part of her life dreaming of escaping this place. Yet, here she was, back of her own volition. Gawd , how many interminable pep rallies had she been forced to endure in this gym?
A smattering of people sat in small clumps around her as a few latecomers half jogged to the bleachers, their shoes squeaking on the basketball court. Three folding tables draped in cloth stood in the middle of the court. A large man in a cowboy hat walked along the tables, aggressively tapping each of three microphones in turn. Speakers set up around the gym responded with heavy thuds.
Jax scanned the crowd. Thin as usual. City council meetings weren’t exactly top-notch entertainment. Her gaze noted plenty of gray hair, glasses, and knitting among the attendees. Jax recognized a handful of people. Madam Hardgrove, owner of the local knitting store and city council meeting regular, sat in her usual spot surrounded by several members of the town’s knitting club. The two Bruces were already glaring at each other from opposite sides of the bleachers. Earl had his arms crossed over his chest and seemed to be nodding off.
These were the town’s elders (well, except for New Bruce), the ones who had presided over Yucca Hills for as long as Jax could remember. Some of them threw uneasy glances across the bleachers at what Jax secretly dubbed “The Newcomers.” It was easy to tell apart the town’s old guard and newcomers.
Old guard = real battered jeans, real scuffed shoes, real tans.
Newcomers = fake battered jeans, fake scuffed shoes, fake tans.
Each group kept to themselves, the younger, trendier newcomers sitting on the right side of the bleachers, the Yucca Hills homegrowns lounging on the left.
Over the past decade, Jax had gotten a front-row seat as her sleepy, backwater town was dragged into the ever-widening current of the San Diego exurbs. As home prices skyrocketed in the city and on the coast, more and more people found their way to Yucca Hills, desperate for affordable housing.
Most of the newcomers landed on the north side of town. Nearly undeveloped just two decades ago, North Yucca Hills was now sprouting Starbucks like pimples on a pre-teen. Every year seemed to herald the announcement of a fancy housing development, a luxury condo complex build, or a new strip mall.
With each new development, the old-timer contingent grumbled about changing the “feel” of Yucca Hills while the newcomers chirped about “growth,” “jobs,” and “progress.”
Personally, Jax was a big fan of the Target that’d opened three years ago, though she’d take a cuppa joe at the local place, Buzz + Brew, over a Starbucks any day of the week. Yucca Hills couldn’t stay hidden forever. Change was normal as far as she was concerned. But it needed to be managed with an eye for balancing growth and quality of life.
Too bad this city council and its leader, Mayor Douche, seemed to have a permanent hard-on for growth, growth, growth. Throw enough money at them, and they’d probably let you put an Applebee’s inside another Applebee’s.
Speaking of the devil, Mayor Bishop took a seat at the middle table, flanked by his lackeys . . . er, city council members.
He cleared his throat, then spoke into a microphone on the table. “Welcome to this month’s city council meeting,” he began. “Joanne, do we have a quorum tonight?”
Jax hit the record button on her phone and pressed the space bar to wake her laptop. She wasn’t an overly cynical high school student anymore. She was an overly cynical unpaid reporter now, and it was her job to inform her readers of the gloriously boring, gloriously important work of local government for the East County Caller .
Just as the city council voted to start the meeting, the doors to the gym squeaked open. A large, red-faced, and impressively sweaty man in a navy suit huffed his way across the floor. He plopped himself down in the corner of the bottom bleacher and immediately pulled a phone from his pocket. The gym doors clanged shut.
Mayor Bishop gave a short nod to Sweaty Suit and resumed the meeting. It plodded along with the usual litany of local complaints, rule requests, business disagreements, and other minutiae. As a man named Frank waxed poetic about the need for a stop sign at the corner of Lovelace and Browder Street, Jax couldn’t help but appreciate the simple beauty of the city council meeting. Here was a platform where everyday citizens could actually be heard. Where the potholes came to be fixed and citizens debated the rules and regulations of their town .
Of course, the process wasn’t perfect. During the open comment section, a plump woman with curly gray hair and Mrs. Claus glasses once again accused the town council of putting LSD into the water system.
Good ole Rita, Jax thought as the woman finished her rant, took her seat, and returned to her knitting.
Rita was followed by Old Bruce, owner of Pie in the Sky Pizzeria, who loudly accused New Bruce, owner of Deep Dish Delight Pizza Shop, of violating the city’s sign regulations with his new neon welcome sign.
New Bruce lumbered to his feet, the bleachers creaking under his weight, and began an impassioned defense. Arms waved. Voices rose. Dueling measurements were thrown back and forth. The heads of the council members swung side to side as if they were spectating an Olympic ping-pong matchup.
Jax’s fingers flew over her keyboard, trying to keep up with the accusations. The sign was a “neon monstrosity,” according to Old Bruce. It was “innovative, even revolutionary” according to New Bruce. Inevitably, the battle turned, as it always did, to pizza.
“You wouldn’t know good pizza if it banged your mother!” screamed Old Bruce.
“Your pizza is so radioactive you have to chain it up at night so it doesn’t crawl out of your shop!” New Bruce countered.
Mercifully, Old Bruce’s time concluded, and the city council agreed to send a representative to measure the sign in question. Both men sat down, grumbling under their breaths.
Sometime in the second hour of the meeting, as a guy named Tony requested a permit for a weed and mud-wrestling festival on Chapparal Drive, delightfully named the High ’N’ Muddy , a message pinged on Jax’s phone. The council took less than a minute to deny the permit request. A second message pinged on Jax’s phone. Then another. Concern jabbed at her rib cage. Were her mothers okay? Had something happened to her little brother, Bobby?
Jax jumped into her messaging app. She released a relieved breath. It was only the Crazy Cat Ladies blowing up her phone. She quickly scanned the messages.
Alanna: I hate this book! [Angry face emoji], [Knife emoji], [Fire emoji]
Layla: What? Why??????
Tess: Are you at the sex scene? Yeah, his penis CANNOT be that big. It’d cause Naomie serious tissue damage.
Alanna: How is Naomie the owner of a huge Chicago law firm at age 27?
Layla: You owned your own PR firm
Alanna: I didn’t have to go to law school! And how does Vince have washboard abs? All he does is drink. Alcohol is basically blocks of carbs in liquid form.
Everly: That sex scene was so [fire emoji]. I was dying. [Zombie emoji.] I read it twice. [Winky face emoji.]
Alanna: Not 1 scene of Vince @ gym.
Everly: Sign me up for some serious tissue damage.
Layla: It’s a romance book. Just go with it.
Alanna: And how is Naomie so skinny? I don’t see her getting her ass up for daily morning runs like me. [Running shoes emoji]
Willow: She did have to run when that corrupt cop was chasing her through the woods.
Tess: SPOILERS!!!
Everly: I just read the sex scene again. [Happy face emoji] [Eggplant emoji]
Willow: Sorry.
Everly: I’ m kinda drunk. Still filling my shattered soup w/ alcohol. Shit. Autocorrect. Shattered soul.
Alanna: Don’t put alcohol in your soup. That’s a waste of perfectly good booze.
Jax rolled her eyes and flipped her phone to silent. She couldn’t help a small smile, though, as she refocused on the meeting. This late in the game, most of the crowd had filtered out. The noise ordinance people and the angry schoolboard dad were gone. Rita the crackpot serenely knitted. A few other old-timers had stuck around, probably because the Padres weren’t playing today. Shoulders hunched. More than a few people glanced at their phones.
Interestingly, Sweaty Suit was still in attendance, though Jax could clearly see he was watching some kind of house-flipping show on mute on his phone.
Mayor Bishop leaned forward into the microphone in front of him. “Folks, I know we’re all eager to go home, but we have one more thing to discuss. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time to put it on the agenda, but it should be quick.”
What was this, now? Jax re-opened her laptop and pulled up her notes. Around her, a few people continued their slow process of packing up, but most sat back down.
“I’d like to propose terminating the special dual-purpose permit for parcel forty-two,” Bishop continued. “I believe the council is ready to vote.”
A soft murmur rippled through the crowd.
“Parcel forty-two? Where is that?” Madam Hardgrove called.
“What’s the address?” Rita asked.
God bless you, Rita, Jax thought.
Bishop cleared his throat. “I, uh, believe it’s One Vineyard Way. Are we ready to vote? ”
Shards of ice spun through Jax’s veins. Her fingers froze over her keyboard.
“That’s The Rose and Thorn!” hollered Earl. “Whaddya doing to The Rose and Thorn?”
“This will, uh, simply change the available uses of the land,” Mayor Bishop said.
Voices interrupted him, all talking over each other.
“Does Theo know what you’re doing?”
“Is Theo here?”
“No, I haven’t seen him. He never goes to these things.”
“What kind of uses?”
Without making a conscious decision, Jax stood. She opened her mouth with no plan for the words she was going to speak. And yet, they came. Clear and loud, ringing across the floor of the gymnasium.
“Jax Costas, East County Caller ,” she said. “Mayor Bishop, are you seeking to pass a proposal that wasn’t listed on the agenda and that would affect one of the oldest, most beloved businesses in town?”
“I, uh, look.” Mayor Bishop smiled. The expression looked like a grimace. “This is such a small matter. A technicality, really.”
“You haven’t provided any explanation on this permit change or how it would affect the town,” Jax continued. Sweat gathered in her armpits. Her hands were beginning to shake, but she held her ground. “Shouldn’t you give members of our community time to review something like that before voting on it?”
Several attendees nodded.
“Yes, he should!” Madam Hardgrove declared.
One person clapped.
Several city council members looked to the mayor. An older council member at the end of the table shook his head in disgust .
“Well, young lady, you simply didn’t allow me time to finish before interrupting me,” Mayor Bishop said, his voice tight as he glared at Jax. “Of course we want input from the community. I was just going to suggest before the vote that we submit the permit for public comment on the city website.”
“With an explanation of the change?” Janet demanded.
“Of course,” Mayor Bishop growled. “We’ll review all comments carefully and then vote on the permit at our next meeting. But again, it’s a small matter.”
“Not to Theo!” Earl shouted.
“Okay, motion to adjourn,” the council president said quickly.
Ten minutes later, the last of the meeting attendees slowly shambled out of the gym. The guy in the cowboy hat moved down the plastic table unplugging the microphones. A few council members chatted, but the gym was nearly empty. Jax stood in the shadow of the bleachers near the door and watched as Sweaty Suit stomped over to Mayor Bishop and started a frantically whispered conversation. Sweaty Suit was quite the gesticulator. His hand flew up and down, his face growing redder as he hissed and pointed at Bishop. Jax thought she even saw spit fly from his mouth.
Bishop’s face was tight. He responded in short, gruff sentences. Jax couldn’t hear their words, but she could guess the subject. The permit. Sweaty Suit had to be connected. Why else would a stranger in an expensive suit drop in on a piddly city council meeting? Mayor Bishop was up to some shady shit, and his sights were set on The Rose and Thorn.
Theo hadn’t told Jax much about Bishop’s recent visit to the winery, except that he was trying to close the place down. This permit had to be connected. Jax needed to find out more. But how ?
She grabbed a lollipop from her pocket, unwrapped it, and stuck it into her mouth as she watched Sweaty Suit stomp out of the gym.
After counting to three, she followed him, hanging back with a few stragglers from the meeting. In the large parking lot, Sweaty Suit made a beeline for a silver Tesla. Should Jax jump in her VW bug and follow him?
She almost laughed at herself. First, she wasn’t the rail-thin, Botoxed star of some midweek detective procedural show. Second, Sweaty Suit would probably just head home, not to his office or evil lair. What was she supposed to do? Sit at his house and watch him diddle himself to a Property Brothers marathon all night?
She didn’t have that kind of time. She had a meeting with a smug reporter tomorrow, after all.
Rico. His name pinged through Jax’s brain. What would Rico Torres do in this situation? Besides check his hair in the nearest side mirror.
As much as Jax hated to admit it, Rico was a good reporter. He wouldn’t let Sweaty Suit get away. She watched as Sweaty Suit moved closer to the Tesla. If he got in that car, she’d lose her chance for answers.
Jax walked toward the Tesla without a clue as to what she was going to do. Flirt with him? Fake a seizure? Simply ask if he could describe his evil takeover plan of The Rose and Thorn, pretty please?
Her shoelaces tapped against the parking lot. They’d come undone again. And there it was. A plan. Messy. Half-formed. But she was out of time.
Sweaty Suit pulled open the driver’s side door and tossed his phone into the passenger seat. Jax approached the back of the car and pretended to stagger. She squeaked and fell, practically throwing herself onto the Tesla for balance. Her messenger bag swung around her shoulder and thumped against the bumper.
“Shit!” Sweaty Suit craned his head toward her. He moved surprisingly quickly around the car.
“Sorry! Sorry!” Jax pitched her voice high. “My shoelaces.” They both looked down at her untied boots. “I tripped,” she said innocently. “Did I hurt your car?”
“You better not have.” The man’s small eyes zipped back and forth in his head as he studied his bumper with intense focus. He moved around the car, forcing Jax to step back.
“Oh my God and this is a Tesla, too. Those are expensive,” she said, pushing out her lower lip.
“You're damn right they’re expensive.” He spread out his plump hands as if trying to soothe his vehicle. “Did you scratch it?”
“Oh. Did I?” Jax had barely touched the car, but fear shot through her. She already had a kitten nut removal on her credit card for the month. She couldn’t afford whatever insane bill a Tesla shop would charge for buffing out a hairline scratch.
“I was just coming over to introduce myself,” she said, forcing down the flutter of anxiety in her voice. “I don’t recognize you from town.”
“Brad. I don’t live here.” Brad only had eyes for his Tesla. He carefully ran his hand over the car, looking to each side where Jax clearly hadn’t touched.
“I hope I didn’t scratch it, but if I did, let me give you my number,” she said. “Can I get yours? I hope we don’t need to get insurance involved.”
“I don’t see any damage,” Brad grumbled, finally stepping away from the car. “Be more careful next time. You know, I park away from other cars for a reason. ”
And I’m fine, thanks. Jax thought. Out loud, she said, “Let’s exchange information, just in case. The light in the lot isn’t very good. You might see something tomorrow morning.” Without waiting for a reply, she dug into her bag and tore a piece of paper from a notebook. She scribbled her name and number on the paper and held it out to him.
Brad, who, by the way, could not have looked less like a Brad, stared at the paper for a second. “Whatever.” He grabbed it, reached into his jacket, and handed her a business card printed on thick, vanilla cardstock.
“Well, sorry again. Have a good night.” Jax gave him a little wave and the most innocent look she could muster.
Brad huffed a non-word, turned away from her, and got into his car. Twenty seconds later, he careened out of the lot as Jax retreated to her VW, the business card practically burning a hole in her hand.
When she slid behind the wheel of her car, she took a moment to release a long breath. Adrenaline shakes crested through her body like ocean waves, but she smiled triumphantly as she clutched her prize. The smile dropped off her face as she read the business card.
Brad Hogan
Regional Vice President of Operations
Porter Development Co.
Building Commercial Property Dreams, One Brick at a Time