Twist of Fate by Louise, Tia (free ebook reader for ipad .txt) 📗

“It’s pretty simple, really. Mostly leftovers.”

Luis says a quick prayer, and we dig in, chatting as we eat the savory mixture of shredded turkey, tortillas, rice, and beans with cheese on top. Lucinda tells me she grew up in Long Beach and moved to the Valley after she had her son. They’ve been here almost three years.

“We’ve seen a lot of actors in and out of this place.” She collects Luis’s plate and exchanges it for a cup of what looks like custard.

“Anybody I’d know?” I smile and wave away her offer to give me some.

“Maybe you’ll be a big star, and I can say we were neighbors.” Luis swings his feet as he eats. “I can say you played football with me.”

“That’d be cool.” I stand, carrying my plate to the small kitchen. “I can help with the dishes.”

Lucinda waves me away. “I’ll load the dishwasher, don’t worry about it.”

“Well, thanks for dinner.” I take a step towards the door. “Open audition in the morning. I’ll have to get an early start.”

She waves and walks with me to the door. “Good luck, and thanks for helping with Lucho.”

“It’s no problem. I got started playing football, too.”

Out on the landing, I walk around the balcony overlooking the swimming pool below to where our apartment is located. Lucinda watches me, a wistful smile on her face. It’s comforting and encouraging, and my stomach is full.

It feels like another good omen for tomorrow.

Big changes are coming, and they’re going to be great. I can almost see my star outside Grauman’s.

Thirteen

Daisy

“Newcomb College.” Spencer stands beside a ceramic plaque an elderly woman has in a frame. “They didn’t make many of these large plaques with the Spanish moss and the trees. It’s extremely rare. Fifteen thousand dollars.”

The old woman’s eyes widen, and she gasps. “It was in my grandmother’s attic in New Orleans, sitting against the wall gathering dust.”

A smile splits my cheeks. “Sounds like it’s time to dust it off and hang it on the wall.”

“Oh, my land.” She turns to me, and I give her a hug.

“Take this to the register, and they’ll draw up a certificate.” Spencer’s expression never changes.

He makes notes on a pad and rips the top sheet off before turning to the next person in line. I imagine the day will come when I’m bored by the process as well, but I hope not. I love watching the joy burst across people’s faces when we tell them how much their treasures are worth.

“Even if it was ten dollars, I’d still love it.” The next woman says about a massive, seven-thousand-page dictionary she hauls out of a box. “My friends ask me how many words are in it, and I say all of them.”

She laughs, but I’m in awe, opening the cover to the copyright page. “1914 Floor Dictionary,” I read. “It must’ve been an experimental copy. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Spencer lifts his chin as I take the lead. We’ve been traveling to these road shows for three weeks now, and he’s been slowly passing the reins to me. Eventually, I’ll go out on my own, which suits me fine. He’s also been asking me to dinner more each trip then lingering outside my hotel room longer each night.

We’ve always had a good, professional relationship, and I don’t want the lines getting blurred between us.

“I’d estimate twelve hundred dollars?” My eyes go to his, and the corner of his mouth lifts ever so slightly.

He gives me a small nod. “You are correct. Depending on the market, it could fetch more.”

It’s my turn to write out the appraisal sheet. We both sign in Miles Klaut’s name and Antiques Today.

We pass another hour, first inspecting a dress one woman claims was owned by Marilyn Monroe. She has a letter of authenticity, but clothing isn’t my area. Spencer takes the lead and explains the different values, depending on whether it was worn, if there are pictures of Marilyn in the outfit, and the year she owned it. Ultimately, we can’t give her an appraisal slip without more information.

A man brings a ninety-five-year-old, mohair teddy bear named Ted, and I clasp my hands under my chin. He’s so worn and well-loved.

“It’s a Steif,” Spencer notes, examining the bear’s ear before quickly scribbling on the pad. “Two thousand.”

“Well, I’ll be dog.” The man smiles, turning wide eyes to me. “He’s worth more than that to us, but thank you.”

“Of course, he is.” I squeeze the man’s arm warmly. “You’re welcome.”

The man takes the bear and leaves, and Spencer turns to face me, lifting his chin and simpering. “Must you coddle them so, Daisy? You’d think we were social workers.”

“It was his grandfather’s teddy bear.”

“With the stuffing spilling out of one foot. In five more years, it won’t be worth eight hundred dollars.”

“That doesn’t matter.” I smile, watching the fellow showing his son. “They’re so proud of Ted, and they have so many memories with him.”

“If you spend an hour talking to every one of them, you’ll never get through the line. We’ll take these last three and call it a day. I’m famished.”

“Excuse me, Miss?” Teddy Bear man returns. “Can we take a picture with you and my son holding Ted?”

“Of course!” I reach down to put my arm around the boy. Spencer exhales a sharp noise, and I narrow my eyes at him, handing him my phone. “Take one for me, too.”

Later that evening, I’m curled up in my hotel-room bed when I text the photo to Scout. Two-thousand-dollar bear.

It doesn’t take long for him to reply. No shit! Where do I find one of those?

Search Gran’s attic. Saw a 7,000-page dictionary today.

It has ALL the words.

I giggle as I text my reply. That’s what she said.

A laugh-crying emoji comes next.

Warmth shimmers in my insides, and I know this is a bad practice. I’ll never get over him if I keep sending texts and pictures all the time, hanging on his every