The Profile Match, page 15
Hey, Grace. I was just noticing how it’s December 7. 😊 I hope you’re doing okay. I think about you a lot. Pray for you too. I haven’t had any new dreams or anything, so don’t worry.
Your friend, Spencer
She didn’t reply. I shouldn’t have been surprised.
REPORT NUMBER: 16
REPORT TITLE: Lunch with Spencer’s Girl
SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Grace Thomas
LOCATION: Cecconi’s, 8764 Melrose Avenue, West Hollywood, California, USA
DATE AND TIME: Sunday, December 9, 1:12 p.m.
Brittany left Valeria at the gym, then drove to Cecconi’s to meet Spencer’s girlfriend. Grace had approached her at Spencer’s basketball game. The girl had been nice enough and had asked lots of questions about the Free Light Youth, so when she asked for Brittany’s number, Brittany figured it might be a good opportunity to learn more about Spencer for Ving.
She parked in the lot, then walked across the street, past the thick hedges that gave Cecconi’s privacy from the busy road, and into the tiny valet drop-off area. She spotted two paparazzi lurking in the bushes but pretended not to see them. Likely they’d followed her here from the gym.
“Hey, Brittany,” one called out, “looking hot today.”
Oh, yes. She looked amazing in a grey hoodie, black yoga pants, sneakers, and sunglasses. What creeps. She almost wished one would do something stupid so she could apply for a restraining order. She angled her path toward the entrance, hoping to save time.
“How is Dennis?” the other said. “Are you guys back on?”
She hadn’t been “on” with Dennis, ever. Ving had made them attend several events together to insinuate they’d been dating. It had all been for publicity. Dennis was so not her type.
Brittany slipped between two shiny black BMWs and through the front doors of the restaurant. She passed a cart holding two platters of pastries and entered the narrow atrium. Square tables with cushy blue and white patterned leather chairs and cushioned booths stretched out on both sides, lining the windowed outer walls. Tiles cut in asymmetrical black and white stripes covered the floor, the black twice as wide as the white.
A young Asian hostess with incredible skin stood behind a curved dark wooden half wall. “Welcome to Cecconi’s, Ms. Holmes. I have the butterfly room ready for you.”
“Thank you,” Brittany said, following the woman through the restaurant. There were several places in LA that were safe for celebrities to eat. Cecconi’s was one of them. Still, she always had Davy book the private room to keep people from staring.
The hostess led her through an open set of double doors and into the narrow banquet room. A massive orange heart covered the end wall and had little butterflies on it, hence this room’s name: the Butterfly Room.
The hostess pulled out the chair in the middle of the long side of the table so that Brittany’s back faced the entrance. Another server arrived with her iced tea. They knew what she liked here, and she appreciated that they took the extra effort not to ask unnecessary questions or make her wait.
Grace, however, didn’t have their courtesy. It was almost twenty past when the hostess brought her into the room. The girl looked awful, like she’d just run a marathon. She was practically limping.
Brittany stretched an arm toward her and beckoned Grace over with her fingers. The gold bracelets on her arm jangled. “Glad you found the place. Come sit.” Without getting up, she pulled out the chair beside hers.
As Grace was settling into the seat, the hostess asked what she’d like to drink.
“Can you take her order now?” Brittany asked, then said to Grace, “The vegan pizza is amazing. That’s what I’m having. But I also like the quinoa salad.”
“That sounds good.” Grace looked to the hostess. “Can I get chicken in the quinoa salad? And some lemon water?”
“Absolutely,” the hostess said, then departed.
Brittany again took in Grace’s disheveled appearance. “You look exhausted,” she said. “Doesn’t your car have air conditioning?”
“I don’t have a car,” Grace said.
“Then how’d you get here?” Brittany asked. “Don’t tell me you walked!”
“Not all the way. I took the bus from Pilot Point to Universal City, then took the subway down to Hollywood and Highland. Then I had to take another bus to Melrose, and it dropped me off a couple blocks from here. They were longer blocks than I realized when looking at the map. Every ten steps I kept checking my phone to make sure I hadn’t missed the place.”
The very idea of riding a city bus horrified Brittany. “My gosh! I had no idea. I could have sent a car for you. At least let me call a car to take you home.”
“That’s okay,” Grace said. “You don’t need to do that.”
“It’s nothing, really. I can’t believe you did all that to get here. How long did it take?”
Grace glanced at her phone. “I left my house at eleven.”
“That’s unbelievable,” Brittany said. “I really wish you would have said something. You must be exhausted!”
“My feet are a little sore. I would have totally missed the restaurant if I hadn’t seen two guys with cameras lurking on the sidewalk. Then I saw that tiny little wooden sign sitting on the ground in front of that hedge. They really hide the place, don’t they?”
“That’s why so many celebrities eat here,” Brittany said. “Going out in public can be so draining.”
“I have to admit, I’m a bit star struck,” Grace said. “How do you say the name of this place?”
“Cecconi’s,” Brittany said, pronouncing it: Check-ony’s.
Grace laughed. “Wow, I was way off.”
Time to get this lunch date moving. “So what did you think of the Passage Party?” Brittany asked. “I saw that you went.”
“How?” Grace asked.
Because Brittany had had Davy check on the girl, and he’d found a trail. “Party hosts submit a list of attendees so we can follow up,” she said. “You’ll be getting some emails soon.”
“I already did,” Grace said.
“So, how do we get Spencer to come to a party?” Brittany asked.
“Oh, well, I’m sure he’s curious,” Grace said, “but he’s busy with basketball. And that means so much to him, you know? But this is important too. I want to support him, but I also don’t want him to miss out on something great.”
“You are so wise,” Brittany said. “And I agree with you one hundred percent. We need to get Spencer to a party.”
“Do you like him?” Grace blurted out.
What an odd thing to say. “What’s not to like? He’s adorable.”
The girl’s cheeks flushed pink. “I mean . . . romantically.”
Brittany chuckled, delighted by this. “Oh my gosh, no. Spencer is like my baby brother. He’s sweet, though. Talks about you a lot. What’s happening there? Aren’t you guys together?”
Grace frowned. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
Grace sighed. “I don’t know. I love him, but I’m scared.”
She loved him. How adorable was that? Brittany had never gotten to do the whole high school dating thing. “Grace, honey, life is too short to be afraid of anything. Enjoy that boy while you can. Once he’s playing college ball, it’ll be nearly impossible to keep ahold of him then.”
Grace’s eyes flashed at that comment. “You don’t know Spencer like I do. He’s loyal.”
“He’s a nice guy,” Brittany said, “and he’s crazy about you. I’m just saying he won’t wait forever. Someone will snap him up. In fact, Meg Farland is pretty into him. So if you want to keep him, you’d better uncomplicate things between the two of you before she moves in.”
Grace stated at Brittany, her blue eyes seeming to lose focus. “Meg Farland likes Spencer?” she almost whispered.
Brittany took a sip of iced tea though the straw. “She texts him all the time.” Because when Brittany had told Ving that Spencer and Meg had gotten chummy, Ving had insisted Meg go after Spencer. When Meg had protested, Ving hadn’t cared a bit about Meg’s high ideals.
Served her right.
Grace blinked rapidly, like she was trying not to cry.
My gosh. Brittany hadn’t meant to upset the poor girl. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just that my mom doesn’t want us together right now,” Grace said. “I told Spencer that it didn’t change how I feel about him. I told him we could still hang out—just not to tell my mom. But Spencer . . . he thinks we need to honor my mom’s decision.”
“Oh my gosh. That’s adorable. And so like Spencer.”
“It’s annoying,” Grace said. “I just want to be with him, you know? He makes me feel safe.”
“Adorable. Your story could bring back chick flicks to mainstream cinema.”
A waiter brought in a tray holding their food. Soon they were munching on their meals.
“So,” Brittany said. “What do you want to know about the Free Light Youth? Ask me anything.”
Grace took a sip of water, then removed a little notepad from her purse. “I brought a list of questions, if that’s okay. I just really want to learn everything I can.”
“I think that’s awesome,” Brittany said. “The Free Light Youth could use more people who are excited about membership.”
And if she could get Grace to become a member, Brittany bet Spencer wouldn’t be far behind.
REPORT NUMBER: 17
REPORT TITLE: I Pick a Fight with the Wrong Guy
SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond
LOCATION: Pilot Point Christian School Gym, Pilot Point, California
DATE AND TIME: Friday, December 21, 8:12 p.m.
People were always telling me that my senior year would feel different. And it did. I think that was mainly because I’d be eighteen in two months. Almost a grown up. No more high school. No more being a kid. Part of that was exciting, but another part kind of freaked me out. To be honest, I liked being a kid. I liked that I didn’t have to pay rent or my own car insurance or cell phone bill. I didn’t have to worry about what I was going to eat. And the idea of getting a job and working eight hours a day was depressing. Who wanted to do that?
I think that’s why I felt so nostalgic every time I donned my Pilot Point Christian School basketball uniform and ran out onto a court to the cheers of the audience. But when we played a home game against Santa Clara the following Friday night, and I looked out into the crowd during warmups and saw MacCormack, Diane, Brittany, and Meg in the audience, that wasn’t nostalgia. That was just bizarre.
It was a great game. Santa Clara put up a good fight, but we won 74-66. Our team was playing exceptionally well this year. We were ten and one for the season so far.
MacCormack and his crew were waiting for me when I came out of the locker room after the game. We did the whole “kiss, kiss” thing, all around, and I couldn’t help noticing that Meg Farland smelled like spicy flowers.
“Did I invite you to my New Year’s party yet, Spencer?” MacCormack asked.
“No,” I said.
“I insist you come. It’s black tie, of course, but if you can handle a few hours of stuffy old people, I’m sure you’ll enjoy what comes after. Brittany will take the younger crowd back to her suite.”
Brittany had a suite at MacCormack place’s too? I wondered if it was near the one he gave me. “Sure, I’ll come,” I said. “If my grandma says it’s okay.”
“Aren’t you eighteen yet?” Diane asked.
“Not yet,” I said, “and even if I was, as long as I live with Grandma, it’s her rules.” I spotted her then, watching from a few yards away, bangled arms crossed. I was glad I’d answered like I did. No doubt it was what had brought that little smile to her lips.
Another round of “kiss, kiss” and the famous people had to run, though Meg had kiss-kissed me twice, then looked back three times before she made it out the door. I stood there watching them go, kind of in shock. I mean, recruiting coaches and reporters, I was used to. Movie stars and a director coming to my game? That was still new.
“I suppose I should let you go to that party just for how you answered her,” Grandma said, coming to stand beside me.
“It’s just part of my investigation to bring them all down, Grandma.” I patted her cheek. “Don’t you worry about me.”
She grunted and gave me a look that said she wasn’t buying what I was selling.
“Spencer Garmond, hello.”
I cringed a little at the sound of that voice, and turned to meet Sue Adams, my most non-favorite sports reporter. The same one who ran the article in the Pilot Point Bulletin that lost me my Arizona offer.
She didn’t wait for me to speak. Reporters rarely did. “I’m doing a story on your comeback and have a few questions. Irving MacCormack paid for the surgery on your knee, is that correct?”
How’d she find out about that? “He’s a friend of mine.”
“With friends like that, why do you need a scholarship? Is he refusing to pay your way to college?”
“Uh . . . I would never ask him to pay for my college.”
“MacCormack got his doctorate from UCLA. Did he introduce you to their coach?”
“No.”
“Did he offer to?”
“No.”
“Has he offered to introduce you to any NBA agents?”
That stopped me. She was insinuating that MacCormack was bribing me to go to UCLA. “If you want to know who MacCormack knows and doesn’t know, why don’t you ask him?”
“I’m just wondering what the NCAA would think about MacCormack paying for your knee surgery. I’d hate to think you’ve been accepting bribes.”
Heat ran up my back. “My knee surgery wasn’t a bribe.”
“A $300,000 surgery for a torn ACL from one of the most sought-after sports doctors currently practicing medicine? Sure sounds like a bribe to me. Everyone knows MacCormack is a UCLA man. Is that why you’re so interested in playing for the Bruins?”
Grandma stepped between me and Sue Adams. “This interview is over, Ms. Adams. And if you continue to harass my grandson, I’ll file for a restraining order.”
“I meant no offense, ma’am,” she said.
“Sure you didn’t.” Grandma strode past Sue, bumping shoulders as she went. I hurried after her, not wanting to be there if Sue got a second wind.
“Thanks, Grandma,” I said as we walked out of the gym.
“That woman is a menace,” Grandma said.
“Can’t argue with you there.”
When we reached the lobby, Coach called me over to meet a recruiter from Azusa Pacific. The three of us had a nice chat, but I left feeling heavy. I didn’t want to play D2. I was D1 material—at least I thought I was. Maybe I was just in denial. Maybe I should take a D2 school. Maybe it was time to stop living in a dream world and face facts.
When I got home that night I recorded a video for my YouTube channel and talked about how hard it was to be stuck in this place of uncertainty and waiting. I didn’t know what was going to happen. I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t know what my options would be. I told my viewers that I was trying to be kind and respectful to any recruiting coach that wanted to talk to me, because I was thankful for any interest at all.
It was a good video. I almost believed it.
● ● ●
School was out for Christmas break, but that didn’t mean we were on a hiatus from basketball practice. As I exited the gym Saturday afternoon, someone yelled my name.
“Spencer!”
I paused on the sidewalk and followed the voice to a black sedan parked in the loading zone. I figured it was my detail, but as I approached the car, I glanced at the Banana out in the parking lot. The sedan was still where Mystery Sloan had parked it. The driver’s side door was opened, and Mystery Sloan was standing behind it, arms folded on top of the door, watching me. He shook his head slightly.
I stopped walking. Who was in car number two?
Its driver’s side door opened, and Kimbal got out. “Hey, kid. Brought you your Christmas present.” He set a red paper gift bag on the hood of his car and pushed it to the center.
I reached the car, my chest tight. I tried to keep my face normal—to not let my pent-up anger show. “Why not bring it by the house?”
“Don’t know when I’ll have time. Got a lot going on these days. I was passing by the school and remembered you’d be out about now. Figured I’d save myself a trip.”
Because he lived so far away. I reached over the hood and snagged the bag, peeked inside. It was a pair of Beats wireless headphones. “Wow. Thanks,” I said.
“Yeah, Merry Christmas.” He looked nervous. Couldn’t seem to keep his eyes on mine. “Listen, Spencer. You might have noticed I haven’t been on your detail lately. Moreland wasn’t happy with the way things went down in Alaska. That’s why you haven’t seen me around much. I’ve been working other cases.”
Had he? “Job harder now?”
“A little, yeah. It’s actually been a nice change, but I . . . it’s a bummer not seeing you.”
“Aww, I miss you too, man.” It was a lie, but when the words came out, emotion swelled in my chest. It wasn’t as easy to hate him as I wanted it to be.
Kimbal laughed, ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well, have a nice Christmas, kid.”
“You could come over for Christmas dinner, you know.” I don’t know why I said that. What was wrong with me? This guy was likely responsible for my mom’s death.
I so wanted to ask him about it.
“Thanks,” Kimbal said. “That means a lot. But I’m scheduled to work that day, so . . .”
I decided to tell him about my prophecy. I’m sure Prière would have told me not to, but I couldn’t help it. “I’ve been having a dream about you. It’s not a good one.”
His face went slack. “What do you mean?”
“You’re in some fancy apartment. It’s on the upper floor of a pretty tall building because I got a glimpse out the window. You come running in through the door. You yell, ‘Stop! Don’t hurt him!’ And you’ve got a gun in your hand. Before you can use it, someone shoots you. I didn’t see who. I didn’t see anyone else in the room. Just you getting shot and falling down.”
