it’s going to suck if Beck’s pissed at me, but oh well. He’ll get over it eventually.
JT’s home is beautiful, but I expected no less given his spending habits. It’s three levels done in a dark gray plank siding with brown trim. The driveway is paved in cobblestone and curves past a raised garden bed filled with bushes and small flowering trees that provide privacy. I can glimpse the bay between his house and the one next to it.
Sucking in a lungful of oxygen, I turn the car off and exhale slowly before exiting. I grab my purse, hitch it over my shoulder, and nervously tuck my hair behind my ears. My pulse is thundering, not at the prospect of seeing JT, but of him possibly recognizing me, and I suppose that will happen within the first few moments of him seeing me.
I step onto the front porch, but before I can even raise my hand to ring the bell, the massive carved wooden door opens and I’m standing face to face with JT. Although Beck described his appearance to me, I’m still shocked by his appearance. Deep purple with tinges of green covers most of his face, and his jaw is swollen and bruised. A cut is sutured on one cheek and his lower lip is scabbed. His left arm is in a cast, which he gingerly supports against his ribs.
I take all of this in even as I watch JT examining my new hair color. His eyebrows raise a tad in surprise, but otherwise he doesn’t seem to recognize the girl he once raped all those years ago. In fact, he doesn’t comment about my appearance and merely steps back while motioning me inside.
“Thanks for coming,” he says by way of greeting, but it sounds hollow and wooden.
I step into his house, which immediately opens up into a great room that overlooks the bay with peaked ceilings and large windows. The floors are covered in blond wood polished to a high sheen. His furniture is contemporary, done in silver, mauve, and black with chrome accents.
JT turns his back on me and veers off a short hall to the right. “Let’s go back in my den. The furniture’s more comfortable in there.”
Clutching my purse a bit tighter to me, I follow JT. He moves slowly and there’s no doubt he’s in pain from his beating. Even as nervous as I am to be here, seeing him like this brings me a small measure of joy.
He enters another large room that sits at the back of the house, also with large windows to take in the beauty of the bay and the San Francisco skyline, but here the furniture is a bit more transitional and definitely more comfortable looking. JT’s clearly been spending time on the sumptuous-looking couch because there’s a pillow and a blanket lying there.
As I take in my surroundings, JT walks over to a bar and pours himself a glass of what appears to be bourbon. He doesn’t look at me but asks, “Want something to drink?”
“I’m good,” I say, pleased that my voice sounds strong and calm, even as my heart is thumping hard over being in such close proximity to him. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”
JT tilts the glass back, slugs down the liquor he just poured, and pours another two fingers. When he turns back to look at me, he merely leans back against the bar and says, “Did Beck tell you everything?”
There’s no sense in lying, but no need for details either. “Just that you lost a bet and needed money fast. Judging by the look of you, I’m guessing that’s true.”
JT grimaces and nods, cutting right to the chase. His voice is bitter when he says, “I can’t give up The Sugar Bowl, Sela. It’s all I have. I called Beck’s dad last night and asked him for the money, but he declined. I’m out of options and you’re sort of my last resort. I’m hoping you could talk to Beck on my behalf.”
This is interesting news . . . that JT went to Mr. North. Even more relieving that he kept his word and turned down JT.
JT looks at me with hopeful eyes and I find it utterly ironic that he’s coming to me for help. I try to keep my tone neutral when I say, “Beck’s mind seemed made up. I’m not sure what I could do.”