Chapter 42
I may not be a sensitive, introspective, artist type, but I’m smart enough to know when something is off. There’s distance between me and Mike that wasn’t there before. I’m not going to poke a bear, but I do wonder if we’re both pulling away because he was on to something.
Walking dogs and cat sitting for a living means I have a lot of time to think and lots of sweet, adorable listeners to talk through whatever is on my mind. And two things become clear.
The first: I love Mike.
The second: I’m not going to just stand here and watch our moon shot fall apart.
But things do fall apart. Thursday night, I get a frantic phone call from my brother at ten p.m.
“What the heck did you do to Mike? He’s unhinged.”
I put Mike’s volume of Much Ado About Nothing down, not liking the urgency in Adam’s tone. “He plays a villainous psycho. I thought that was the point.”
“I’ve had two birthday parties end in tears after the guests went to his room tonight. And not because he was scary. Heartbreaking, I think I heard through the sobs.”
I’m scrambling to find my keys and shoes.
“Can you get down here? We’re closing up and comping tickets, but I think he could use a friendly face.”
“I’m leaving now. Tell Mike, yeah?”
My heart is racing the entire drive over. Adam’s waiting for me outside the escape room. “I’ll park your car and text you a photo. Your keys will be on the counter. Just make sure the door locks when you leave.”
“If this is some kind of prank—”
“I’m not pulling anything,” Adam says. “I swear on Mom’s tarot cards.”
I head into the quiet escape room. “Mike?” I call.
I hear laughing from Malum Escape. “My Lady Cactus! Come to play with me again at last.”
Mike sits with his back slumped against the wall of his cell. He’s in his full cosplay, including heavy pancake makeup.
“Mike…” He doesn’t even look like himself. “What happened?”
“I leaned into King Lear tonight. Might have taken it a little too far.”
“Why?”
“Because, my Lady Beatrice. I’ve lost everything.
I’ve lost the house. I’ve lost my livelihood.
And now that you’re here, I’m bound to lose the girl.
” He laughs his deranged psycho laugh. “Not so sexy now, am I?” He throws an empty water bottle at the video camera in the corner.
“You want to kiss me? You want me to read poetry to you? No. Of course not. I wouldn’t either. ”
“Mike, back up. What do you mean you lost the house?”
“I have a gambling problem. I bet it on a horse race.” He laughs. “I sold it to buy a Ferrari. I traded it for a vineyard that burned to the ground last summer. I used it as collateral for a business venture that went belly up.”
“Mike.” I slide the bars open.
“Careful, Beatrice. You look so pretty, and I’m feeling very foolish.” He pats the floor. “‘Let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories.’”
I take a seat next to him on the floor. “What is going on?”
Mike turns his attention away from me to the floor. “My uncle’s ex-wife. I got a letter from her attorney this morning saying she’s entitled to half of Grandma’s estate. I either buy her out, which I can’t do—I don’t have millions—or we sell.”
“What? That can’t be right.”
“It gets worse.” Some of his strained, teasing singsong voice comes back. “You want to hear?” He sighs. “I failed to defend my thesis this morning.”
“Are you serious? I didn’t even know that was happening.”
“Because I didn’t either. I missed a scheduling change in all this merry madness. No matter. I know what they'd say, 'Revise, resubmit. Revise, resubmit.' At some point, you just let sleeping dogs lie.”
No. You don’t. “Are you inebriated?”
“Heck no. I’m sleep-deprived. It’s worse, but not nearly as much fun.” Mike slouches closer to me and lets out a shaky laugh.
“Needing to revise and resubmit a master’s thesis is not the same as failing, and it isn’t at all equivalent to losing your livelihood.”
“Oh no, that’s coming. You remember my conversation with Princess Kitty 2000?”
“How could I forget? You’re a legend. A freaking hero. Because of that conversation, Princess Kitty has a kitty sister now. The internet is flooded with sentimental tribute videos.”
“Well, my director saw the video and decided I was all wrong for The Winter’s Tale. They need a serious actor, not some hack who talks to cats on YouTube. I am officially out of the production.”
“Mike, that’s awful.”
“Oh, it get’s better. While I am now a joke in all of the professional circles I aspire to, I am much in demand elsewhere.”
I don’t even want to ask, but I don’t have to.
“I don’t know if you remember that afternoon we spent with Monique at the contemporary art museum. I told her I was doing some voice acting.”
“I remember.”
Mike’s psycho laughter returns, except he attempts to repress it.
Which is worse. Far worse. “I stupidly let them record my voice for the company’s AI engine.
Now, for a low monthly subscription, anyone can use my voice to narrate whatever the heck they want.
” He drops his head into his hands. “I thought I was just finding a way to pay for the unplanned expense of a bigger front window.” He looks up sharply.
“Not that I’m blaming you. Only a fool wouldn’t have thought to capitalize on that view. And I’m such a fool…”
“Mike, focus.”
He inhales. “Because of Princess Kitty, many, many people have decided that they want me to narrate their unpolished manuscripts. Their commercials for schlepping seaweed cleanses. Their safety manuals for farming equipment. And my favorite, Shakespeare. Yes, but not with any of the feeling or insight that I would bring to the performances. Just me rattling it off like it was Chaucer, or Milton, or the ever-loving King James Bible.”
“Did you know they were harvesting your voice to use for AI?”
“Nope. Serves me right for not reading the fine print.”
“That’s not how that works.”
“Doesn’t matter. I should have known better.
And now, for a nominal fee, Princess Kitty Fanboy at MikeBenedickTXCA can be the voice of your YouTube channel, your TikToks, your everything.
” Mike stretches his hands out wide. “So here I am. Becoming better acquainted with my future. Because unless I want to pursue more Princess Kitty videos, which I don’t, the only Shakespeare I’ll ever get to perform is in this cell. ”
He laughs. “Now comes the pièce de résistance. The part where we part ways and I lose you too.” His tone becomes sober.
“Your cottage is on the same parcel of land as the beach house. That means uncle’s ex-wifey is entitled to half of it too.
If I could subdivide the lot and save your cottage, I would.
But I can’t. I have to sell it along with everything else, which means you have to vacate. I’m so sorry.”
“Mike…”
He grabs my hands. “I can’t give you the life you deserve.
I saw it that day when you tried the boyfriend label on me for size.
I knew I’d be a lucky son of a gun to make it work then.
But that was before my life imploded to the size of this cell.
I’m a sinking ship, Bea. I can’t take you down with me. ”
“Give me thirty-six hours.” I hold Mike by the shoulders. “Can you do that? Thirty-six hours before we decide how any of this is going to end. Thirty-six hours where you don’t forecast, tempt fate, or catastrophize.”
“There’s nothing that can be done.”
“Maybe. But at least let me try.” I pull out my phone and start jotting some notes.
“I need the emails, contracts, whatever you got for the voice-acting gig as soon as possible. I’ll stop by your place Saturday morning, and we’ll talk then.
” I kiss Mike’s cheek and hold him close, savoring the smell of eucalyptus and thyme.
“Sure, why don’t I just give you my email and password, and you can dive headfirst into the dumpster fire.”
“Do it. I like dumpster fires.” I rise and grab my bag. “Need a ride home?”
“Nah, I drove.”
“Good, because I have work to do.”
Mike looks at me. “Sometimes I love you.”
“I’ve always loved you.” I wink at him and head out.
I dial my dad as I’m walking to my car. “Who do we know who practices estate planning?”
“In La Jolla? Lorraine Sharp. Harry Masterson, too, but he’s more of a probate guy.”
“Why do those names sound familiar?”
“What’s going on Bea?”
I explain the situation with Mike. Dad whistles. “That’s a rough Thursday. I take it you have some reading to do tonight. Reviewing cases for precedent?”
My phone pings with a text from Mike containing his email and password. “Among other things.”
“I’ll call Lorraine in the morning, see if she can make time for some old friends. In the meantime, send me a copy of any trusts or wills you come across. I’m happy to look over any of his contracts, too, but you have a sharper eye than I do for those.” Dad pauses. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I know it is. I’m going to make sure of it.”
Dad laughs. “I’ll text in the morning. Night, kiddo.”
I go through an entire case of ginger ale that night.
Happily, Mike keeps a tidy inbox. Around two a.m., I see a message go out to his faculty adviser and thesis committee, apologizing for missing the appointment, citing a personal emergency, and requesting to reschedule.
He must be awake and emailing from his phone.
If I didn’t have more work to do, I’d walk over and hug him, because I know what it takes to put out a dumpster fire, but I have a pile of cases to review for precedent, and I want to get at least a few hours of sleep before any potential meetings tomorrow.
I’m up at six a.m., reviewing more relevant cases that Mom sent my way an hour ago, along with the note, Who’s glad her mom insisted she keep her license active now?
When Dad texts me at eight asking if I can meet at Lorraine’s home office in a half hour, I’m ready to go.
I drive to a familiar address off of Cardeno Street. Dad isn’t here yet, and for a moment, I think I’ve got it wrong.
Lorraine answers the door. “Beatrice! Dog walker and attorney extraordinaire. Come on in. Your dad texted and said he was running late. Morning traffic on the 5 is terrible.”
“I’m sorry. You are Heraldo the golden doodle pitsky's grandma, and you know my dad?”
“George, Molly, and I go way back. Congratulations, by the by. I hear we have you to thank for finally getting her back to law school.”
It was a setup. My mom sent her to me as a client. I take a seat on Lorraine’s sofa. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“They told all of us we weren’t allowed to.”
“All of us?”
“It’s silly, isn’t it? But they wanted to make sure you had a healthy pool of clients for your FroggoDoggo empire. And truth be told, I think they wanted a way of keeping tabs on their baby girl. Don’t be mad at them, dear.”
A few weeks ago, I would have been livid. But now I laugh. It’s sweet and ridiculous, but then again, so is retiring from law to become a dog walker.
“Lorraine.” Dad brings in a box of oranges. “Thanks for meeting with us on such short notice.”
“Happy to! I had a look at the trust over my espresso this morning.” Lorraine winks at me.
“And what this woman is doing is completely predatory,” she says.
“Grandma knew her mind, and her trust is clear and irrevocable.” She puts on her glasses.
“She included a disinheritance clause for spouses of her heirs. If Grandma’s son and this ex-wife had had children, things would be different.
But they didn’t. Michael Benedick is the only beneficiary.
No judge would give this two minutes of their time, but not every young man knows that.
I’m sure the Honorable Dewey Cheatem and Howes are, as we speak, preparing a letter offering their services to Mike.
They’ll be more than happy to represent both parties and settle this family squabble out of court.
” Lorraine shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “Lucky for Mike, that won’t happen.”
“So I send a letter, and they back off.”
“They’ll run with their tail between their legs if you put it on your father’s letterhead.
But a letter, a phone call, and your insistence that all correspondence regarding Mike’s estate and Grandma’s trust go through you, his attorney, should do it.
Sometimes you have to bare your teeth, beat your chest, and hiss a little to get these types to listen, but that’s nothing you can’t handle.
I like to think that I’m on an errand of angels whenever things get particularly nasty and I have to pull out the big guns.
” Lorraine smiles sweetly and pats my hand.
“That isn’t going to be the case here. Praise be to Grandma. Cake, anyone?”
“Who says no to cake?” Dad cheerfully accepts a slice.
I turn to him. “When were you going to tell me you asked all your friends to hire me to walk their dogs?”
“It wasn’t just me. Portia dug up half your list. Julie wrote the nondisclosure agreement, though.”
I laugh. “Who found Cheryl and Princess Kitty?”
“That lead was all you, dear.” Dad pats my shoulder.
We thank Lorraine for her time, and I promise to bring her a slice of Mike’s grandma’s Swiss black forest cake when this is all over.
“You want to talk about the AI case over pancakes?” Dad asks outside.
My phone pings with a new email notification.
My heart starts beating faster than it has any right to.
“Actually, I need to take a rain check. Something just came up.” Something big.
“Plus, I’ve got a pile of documents to draft before I meet with Mike tomorrow.
Why don’t we meet up for pancakes next week, and we can talk then? ”
“Glitter blackberry pancakes?” Dad asks, pulling me in for a hug.
“Is it worth eating any other kind?”
“It’s a deal.”