Page 45 of The Love Scam
“Forhours.”
“Fine. The others help me when they can. We’ve all got our own side projects.”
“Sorella Teresa’s!” he nearly shouted. “That’s your Teresa. She runs a shelter for kids like the pickpocket.”For kids like you used to be, but I won’t press you on that. Yet.“No wonder she’s so bossy. Like nun-at-a-Catholic-school bossy. My mother bossy. My grandmother bossy.”
“It’s an off-the-books shelter. But it’s not much of one.”
“‘Off-the—’”
“Less paperwork that way, and they don’t have to answer to city regs or explain where they get their money, and there’s not a shake-up every time there’s an election. When I’m in town, we get together and handle what needs to be handled. But it’s way too small and way too underfunded and there’s only one of them and we’d like several around the world. Which takes—well, a lot.”
Rake could imagine. Not just money, though that was important. But time and research and commitment and any number of things causing any number of complications. It was a dream they’d had since they were kids stuck in what probably seemed like an impersonal and uncaring system. Their dream. A Big Pipe Dream, in fact.
“You have this cool-yet-irritating way of answering questions that just raise more questions. ‘Handle what needs to be handled,’ are youtryingto be sexily mysterious?”
“No.”
Her matter-of-fact response made him laugh. “Well, youare. So you and Teresa work together, but what about the others? They’ve all got day jobs, right?”
“Yes.”
Argh. Like pulling teeth. “Like…”
“That’s their business, Rake” came the firm reply, “not yours. You want their secrets, you ask them yourself.”
“Here’s something weird about you—something else weird, I mean—asking what someone does for a living or where they live isn’t me on a hunt for all the deep dark secrets of your heart. It’s asking what you do. It’s small talk at parties.”
“Not the ones we go to,” she retorted. “D’you want your phone or not?”
“FedEx doesn’t sell phones. In fact, what are we even doing here? Why am I only realizing this now? Is this a trick? Are you having me shipped somewhere?”
“Ha! Like it’d be that easy.” Which made Lillith, who was still irritated with him, look up and laugh.
He glanced around the busy shipping area, marveling that some things—warehouses, loading docks, cafeterias—looked exactly the same no matter where you were. “Are you going to rent-slash-steal one of their trucks to deliver eighteen thousand Christmas stockings in eight months?”
“No, you chatty idiot.”
“Please,” he said, offended. “I prefer ‘gabby dumbass.’”
They’d gotten in line and Rake saw she had a call slip in her hand. “This is where your phone was shipped, dope,” she said, clearly not tired of insulting him.
“No one ever gets tired of insulting me,” he lamented out loud. Then her words sank in. “Wait, it is? Why didn’t they ship it to the hotel?”
“I thought you’d want it ASAP. It wouldn’t have shown up at the hotel for a few more hours.”
“Oh. Thanks.” He was touched, he’d admit it. “So, while we’re waiting in line—”
She closed her eyes, rubbed them. “Oh God.”
“—we can get to know each other a little better!”
“I already know everything about you I will ever, ever need to know.”
“Pshaw! Not even close. There’s loads of great stuff about me you don’t have a clue about. Lillith, you can stop giggling anytime now. Anyway, so the others—they help you with your charity work, and—”
“God, you’re tenacious. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Why would you?” The line was moving steadily, which was ironic. On the one hand: phone, phone! On the other, Delaney was stuck in this line with him, and (kind of) answering all his questions. Some of his questions. “So you kind of live all over, and you do charity work, except when you don’t, and the girls help you, except when they don’t.”
