CON MAN Page 6

  I couldn’t help but smile at her “confession.” I’d been gearing up to hear the worst, but of course this sweet girl wouldn’t have anything truly negative to say. “I know my official title is ‘Image Consultant’ but yes, I’m more of a life coach. I help people find their confidence which in turn boosts their self-esteem, makes them more outgoing, better conversationalists...”

  “And you really do all that in eight weeks?”

  “I can do it in a lot less time than that, considering our starting point.”

  “Starting point?”

  “You’re already a knockout.”

  Ainsley had been so engaged with our conversation that she’d forgotten to be shy. Until now. Her eyes dropped again as she said, “I don’t… Thank you, but you don’t need to…”

  “Look, Ainsley. Most of my program is geared toward helping a woman recognize her strengths, and we may as well get started on that right now. In just the few days since we started talking, I can already tell that you’re sweet, and modest, and very brave, if you want the truth. A huge part of my job is to help you develop those qualities, highlight them for their fullest impact out in the real world.” I took a sip of my water before continuing. “So, yeah. While I don’t ignore the potential when it comes to internal beauty, my clients have always found the most success when I devote my resources to accentuating their external beauty, for no other reason than when a woman looks good, she feels good.” I’d had attractive clients before. Hell, I wouldn’t be doing my job right if every one of them weren’t stunners by the end of my program. But none of them had started out with as much natural beauty as Ainsley Carrington. “The fact of the matter is that I don’t think you realize how truly gorgeous you are already. I’ll be working backwards this time.”

  There was no reason not to be completely honest with her. After all, it was my Number One rule, and she should be made aware of the power she already possessed. As crazy about her as I was, my attraction needed to place second behind her triumph.

  Ainsley’s lips tightened as she tried to restrain her smile. “I’ve… I’ve been told that I’m pretty. I guess I never saw what all the fuss was about.” The most alluring flush crept up her cheeks as she met my eyes to add, “I mean, you must understand. You’re essentially what people would call handsome, yet you don’t seem to flaunt it.”

  “That’s because I don’t care about it.” Yes I do. “I make the most of what I have to work with, but I can’t really take credit for good genes.” Yes I can.

  “Being good-looking is hardly an accomplishment, you mean?”

  “Exactly.” Unless you count the years I spent at the gym.

  “And besides, it shouldn’t matter what a person looks like, right?”

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Ainsley was trying to reprimand me. I’d been drooling over this girl from the first moment I met her, almost entirely due to her looks. As much as I tried to tell myself I was above surface beauty, it was a futile attempt to avoid acknowledging that I was full of shit.

  Hell, I knew what a hypocrite I could be. I was just surprised to find that maybe she knew it, too.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Week Two was all about observation. When Mia made that crack about the piano player at The Blue Bar, she had unknowingly had her first session with me without even realizing it. That incident is what made me think to go see that shitty band.

  It was like she knew exactly how to do this; she just needed me to guide her in the right direction. There was no adjustment period for her. She just dove in. She just got it.

  Mia Cruz was shaping up to be the easiest client I ever had.

  I’d spent a couple days fine-tuning a program just for her: Intensive diet and workout schedule, maybe a crash course at Toastmasters, some trust-building exercises. She was great one-on-one; it was the crowds she wasn’t comfortable with. So, a few tasks in some populated settings would surely play in down the line.

  To start with, however, I figured the easiest outings would simply be in a relaxed atmosphere where she could remain fairly anonymous, which is why we were headed over to The North Meadow Rec Center to watch the guys play some pickup basketball. Talk about guys with confidence.

  The courts were only a short distance from Mia’s apartment, and it was a breezy Saturday afternoon. Perfect conditions for a good walk.

  I nabbed a good spot out front of Mia’s building, a glass-and-steel, rent-controlled monolith in the low nineties. I buzzed the button marked CRUZ and was immediately met with her intercom-garbled voice. “Coming!”

  She must have flown down the stairs or something because I’d barely locked my car by the time she appeared at the lobby doors. Told you she was quick.

  I shot her an impressive smirk, remarking, “Wow, you’re fast.”

  She threw her hands out to her sides and exclaimed, “That’s what they used to say about me in high school!” We both laughed until she added, “I would’ve invited you up but my place is a shithole.”

  From the looks of the exterior, I doubted it.

  “Well, why don’t you escape this ‘shithole’ for a little while and move into the hotel?”

  Mia tied her hair into a knot as we crossed the street, saying, “Why? Luke, we’ve been through this. I live in the city, for crying out loud.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “So why bother with the expense of moving a few blocks away?”

  Mia lived more than “a few blocks away.” Native New Yorkers avoided Times Square like a guy in an Elmo costume avoids a shower, but for me, it provided the most convenient spot to set up a base of operations. Most of my clients were out-of-towners, so they were into the tourist thing anyway. Mia’s apartment was fifty blocks and a world away. “Because I like to contain my victims. It helps instill full immersion in the program.”

  “Well, considering I’m only doing a half program, it makes more sense to save money where I can.”

  Oh yeah. That was another stipulation. I had to readjust my entire course to accommodate Mia’s unique circumstances. Since she already had social skills, we were only going to work on her business acumen. Do some trust exercises. Get her used to being in front of a crowd.

  She insisted she needed to take part in the spa day, though.

  The rec center had a huge, twelve-court, outdoor facility where a person could normally find an unoccupied blacktop. Jared and his new buddies were already mid-game by the time Mia and I showed up. I’d brought him here last month during his second week, too, and he wound up becoming friendly with a couple of the guys. It’s just who Jared was. He had the kind of personality that drew people to him. I’d been trying to convince him of that since the first day we met. Lately, he’d finally started to believe it about himself.

  Mia and I took a seat on a nearby bench as I pointed to the copper-haired maniac who’d just stolen the ball. “That’s Jared. He’s one of my clients.”

  “Oh yeah?” Mia asked. “Cheaping out on me, Taggart?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She gave a huff before shooting me a side-eye. “Is it two-for-one day in Swan World?”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle. “I guess it is.”

  The fact is, I loved when there was crossover between my clients. The shared experience allowed them to bond and made for an unofficial little support group where they could bitch about me behind my back. Most importantly, of course, is that it allowed them to up their social skills.

  Mia sat at attention as she watched the frantic blur of four very competitive guys trash-talking their way across the court. “So, I’m just supposed to sit here and watch these guys play basketball?”

  “That was the general idea, yes.”

  “I’d rather be out there.”

  What? Was she serious? “With these guys?” I asked incredulously. “They’re pretty tough, you know.”

  She cocked her head to the side and sassed, “So am I.” When all I did was stare at her in stunned silence, sh
e explained, “I have three older brothers. We play basketball.”

  The two of us were caught in a staredown until finally, I surrendered. “Alright, crazy. You wanna take on the big boys? Be my guest. It’s your funeral.”

  Mia stood and put her hands on her hips. “You really don’t think I can play, do you?” she asked.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “What, you think I can’t hold my own with those jockstraps?”

  I raised an eyebrow and shot back, “I don’t believe in using the word ‘can’t’ with my clients.”

  She knew I was testing her, and it didn’t take more than that for her to rise to the challenge. “Prepare to eat your words, Taggart,” she said, pulling off her shoes and tossing them onto the bench next to me.

  “Whoa. You’re going barefoot? Your feet are going to get creamed!”

  “Well if my life coach had mentioned what we’d be doing today, I’d have been better prepared with a pair of sneakers. I can’t run in those!” she snarked, flipping a hand toward her abandoned sandals.

  I was still laughing as she slipped through the chain link gate and into the court. “Got room for one more?” she asked, much to the surprise of the four men on the blacktop.

  The guys halted their playing but immediately launched into razzing her for having the audacity to step foot on their turf. Mia was lucky that we weren’t down at 4th Street. The games at The Cage were taken way more seriously and she wouldn’t have been as welcome. These guys were merely screwing around.

  You wouldn’t know it by the hoots and hollers that greeted her from the first second she entered their realm, however.

  The guy with the ball stepped right up to her, leered at her from head to toe, and offered, “You can play with me anytime, mamacita!”

  Mia stepped even closer. “That’s so romantic! I can’t wait to tell our grandchildren how we met.” Then she grabbed the ball from his hands and sank a three-pointer.

  The guys just went nuts.

  Jared waved me in. “Taggart! She can only play if you do. We’ll get a three-on-three going. Come on!”

  I wasn’t very athletic when it came to most other sports, but my father and I had spent countless hours shooting hoops on our private court. I knew my way around a net enough to pass myself off as a decent player.

  Mia, however, was killing it. She was quick. And her defense was harsh, man. All the guys were having a tough time getting around her. She wasn’t afraid of a little rough-housing, either. Let’s just say that if there was a ref officiating this game, Mia would’ve fouled out by now.

  She was a force to be reckoned with. I mean, the guys were practically career pickup game professionals. The fact that she was able to hold her own was surprising, to say the least. Even more impressive when you consider she was barefoot.

  Needless to say, the game got pretty heated. At one point, Jared went up for a shot, Mia was a bit overenthusiastic with her defense... and they both collided in mid-air. We all froze in shock as Mia was thrown to the pavement.

  Jared was the first to snap out of it. “Oh shit I’m sorry!”

  He crouched down next to her as I ran over in a panic. “Are you okay?” I asked, holding her head in my hands to check her pupils. What if she were really hurt? What if she had a concussion?

  She sat up and inspected her elbow, waving us off with her free hand. “I’m fine.”

  I ran my fingers down her arm to make sure nothing was broken. “You sure?” I asked, still not convinced, but helping to haul her to her feet.

  Mia dusted herself off, saying, “Positive. If you think a cara mierda like this is going to take me down, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  Neither Jared nor I knew what the hell she just called him, but we both figured it was nothing good. We shared a shrug before I threw an arm around Mia’s shoulders, busting her chops when I said, “Come on, Kareem. Let’s get you out of here.”

  Thank God she was okay.

  WEEK THREE: ASSURANCE

  Etiquette training

  Trust exercises

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Even though my primary physician had sent my entire file ahead of me, Dr. Mandelbaum insisted we redo all my tests anyway. It had been about a year since my last full-round, and the doc wanted to see if there had been any changes in that time.

  I was led into the first of multiple examination rooms, then subjected to an entire afternoon’s worth of vivisection from there: MRI, PET scan, SPECT scan, blood work... not to mention the written forms thick enough to rival my personality assessment booklets. I was poked, prodded, examined. I was stuck with needles more times than a pincushion.

  As bad as it sucked, it’s not like I didn’t know what to expect. I’ve done this numerous times before. I’ve been looked at, talked about, and passed off to so many “specialists” that today’s visit barely registered. Nothing new to see here.

  After every inch of my body had been scrutinized inside and out, I was ushered into a small office and asked to sit in a green leather chair until the doctor could come in and discuss my results. Take a tip from an old pro here and make sure you’ve planned ahead of time for this moment. Charge your phone, pack a snack, or hell, bring a book. Because you’ll be able to get through the entirety of War and Peace in the time it takes for the doctor to step foot into that office.

  “Mr. Taggart. Pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Dr. Mandelbaum.” The doc breezed into the room, so I stood to shake his hand. He was about the same age as my father, which was weird, because he sounded a lot older on the phone. He was tall and fit, with a slight dusting of gray hair and clear blue eyes.

  “Nice to meet you too, Doc.”

  “Thank you for waiting.” I sat back down as he perched a hip on the corner of his desk and opened the large manila folder in his hand. He pulled a pair of glasses out of the front pocket of his white coat and put them on before speaking. “I’ve been looking over your stuff, specifically your SPECT scan. It’s showing a profound lack of blood flow to the right temple and frontal lobe—”

  “Where long-term memory is stored,” I cut in. “Sorry for interrupting you, but I’ve heard it plenty before today. I already know there’s no chance that my memory will return.”

  “Little to no chance.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “No. You said ‘no chance.’ It’s that ‘little’ I’d like to explore.”

  I’d been offered “solutions” before. I wasn’t holding onto any delusions that he held the key to the right one. “Dr. Mandelbaum? I need to be honest, here. I only kept our appointment today to appease my old man. He’s the one that’s obsessed with getting my brain straight. I’m happy enough living for the future. I don’t need to recapture my past.”

  “Now, son, if everyone had that type of attitude, I’d be out of a job. I’ve spent my entire career researching every possible way there is to treat my patients, and a handful of them have either trusted me enough or been just desperate enough to try them.”

  “If you’re talking radical surgery here, I’ve already had about two dozen doctors tell me it won’t do any good.”

  He smiled and crossed his arms. “What if I told you I’ve been experimenting with some non-surgical options for PRA?”

  “I’d say I’ve already tried acupuncture, herbal teas are disgusting, and I’m not a praying man.”

  His lips pursed on a repressed smile as he explained, “You said you experience vivid dreams. That’s a good indicator of effective neuro-activity. Your already existing lucidity will be an asset. I’d like to help you develop the part of your brain responsible for your dreams, give you some mental exercises to strengthen that ability.”

  “Mental exercises?” I asked, confused. “Isn’t that like asking a one-legged man to spend some more time on the treadmill? I’m only working with a partial deck, here.”

  That made him chuckle. “No worries. What is there should be enough to get the job done,” he said on a wink.

&
nbsp; He picked up the phone on his desk and arranged for me to meet “Gia,” the resident meditation guru on staff. As skeptical as I was, I was also intrigued by this guy’s methods. I didn’t meet too many doctors who placed much stock in alternative medicine.

  Dr. Mandelbaum ushered me down the hall to a decent-sized room with earthy paintings and colorful fabrics covering the walls. Very hip, very new-age. Large windows that looked out onto a rolling lawn with a large fountain at its focal point. The lulling sound of Muzak merged with the unmistakable scent of patchouli incense, creating an environment of deliberate calm. It felt like church.

  Gia herself wasn’t at all what I expected. I was prepared to meet some wacked-out hippie but she looked... completely normal. Mid-thirties. Dark hair. Nice smile.

  She had me lay down on the couch before walking me through some relaxation exercises. She told me the idea was to put my body to sleep in a way that would ensure my brain remained wide awake. She said it was kind of a self-hypnosis, the same technique used by method actors to prepare for a scene.

  I was kind of afraid of “the scene” that awaited me.

  You can’t really blame me for being hesitant about delving into my brain. The nightmare of the accident’s aftermath was bad enough without inviting the memory of the actual accident itself. Not being able to even recognize my own father—hell, not even recognizing myself—tended to incite a crystal clear panic, even if the cause behind it was a little fuzzy. The terror of not knowing where—or who—I was had always transmitted itself perfectly.

  And now here was Gia, teaching me how to fight through the haze in an attempt to make everything even clearer.

  I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to regain what I’d lost.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN