Page 22 of How To Plot a Payback

Surely . . . I zoom in on the Bernards as a faint memory of the bins at the party comes to mind. Surely . . .

“And how exactly did he come into all of these dogs?”

She shrugs. “All I know is Lavender Rhodes had them this weekend and then handed them off to him this morning.”

Lavender Rhodes. Of course.

Had a nice little feel-good moment, did she, taking in a bunch of needy dogs at a charity? Enjoyed being the center of attention while people snapped photographs and whispered rubbish like, “God doesn’t make ’em like her anymore,” and “In my opinion, she is the loveliest person in the world.”

Right.

And yet where are the cameras now? Who’s watching now that she’s dumped the problem on someone else without any thought or any care for who faces the consequences in her wake?

The people left clinging to buoys, bobbing as she flies by in her gargantuan yacht, adjusting her shiny cat-eye sunglasses. Sun ever shining on her, while her monstrosity of a boat casts a shadow on everyone else.

But I’m doing it again.

I’m digressing from real life to have another one of my Lavender Rhodes mental rants.

I check my watch: 9:22.

Now a whole twenty-two minutes past the top of the hour.

I glance over at Maggie, who has decided to take the one-on-one approach and is making a feeble attempt to persuade a lady at the front of the line. Pointless, of course. The woman is sitting in a camp chair. There’s a rolled-up sleeping bag beside her, and from the size of the hiking backpack at her feet and slight scent of body odor, it’s clear she’s spent several days camped out to claim her place.

No offer of a mad Basset Hound is going to make her give it up.

I clench my fist.

Drop my head.

Five years ago, after Lavender had caused the third—but far from last—major disruption to my life, I promised myself never to speak her name aloud.

I have, in fact, a list I wrote several years ago, written in a moment of utter disbelief at just how incredibly impossible it was that she, Lavender Rhodes, of all people, could cause so much irreparable harm to my life. I wrote it during a moment of calculated fury, after the latest in a long line of disasters had struck. I wrote it because deep down I really am a writer, and more often than not the best way I process something is by untangling words. And that day, what I concluded was this: Never, Ever, Ever Be Anywhere Near Lavender Rhodes. Or She Absolutely Will Ruin Your Life. Again.

Some people carry around a rabbit’s foot in their pocket. Press a four-leaf clover into a book. Blow on a dandelion or candle and make a wish.

Me? I have the list.

And somewhere, if you go into my closet and dig through my boxes, you will find a list that goes like this:

TRANSGRESSIONS AGAINST FINN MASTERS

Age 17: Transgressor causes broken ankle. Finn Masters forced to step down from leading role. Transgressor seizes leading role. Agent in audience. Agent impressed by transgressor. Transgressor offered representation. Transgressor moves to Hollywood to pursue acting career. Meanwhile Finn Masters endures multiple surgeries, two screws, and four months in physical therapy. No opportunity for agent.

Age 20: Finn Masters makes it to final round of casting calls for Neighbors. Dropped from opportunity after transgressor sabotages casting call to get Kye Walker hired instead. Career destroyed.

Age 24: Transgressor stops traffic to do photo shoot in crosswalk, because apparently Photoshop is capable of erasing wrinkles and chin fat but incapable of adding stoplights. Finn Masters is late for important meeting. During important meeting, employer offers job opportunity with salary raise to somebody else.

Age 25: Transgressor swipes meticulously planned dinner reservation at L’Appart with first date Finn Masters is particularly keen on. Finn Masters ends up at Shrimp Barrel. Sharing the coleslaw special. No second date.

Age 28: Finn Masters honored as Welling School graduation speaker for alma mater. Scrapes together vacation days and money for plane ticket. Purchases plane ticket. Mum sends out Christmas card informing every family member down to third cousins of the news. Mum plans surprise party with every person Finn Masters has ever met to celebrate post-event. Finn Masters boards flight to said event. Finn Masters is informed via email somewhere over the Atlantic that transgressor has decided to attend, and consequently, Finn’s services are no longer required. Mum still throws party, because “Auntie Agatha drove three hours for cake, and we can’t eat it all ourselves.” Party becomes the most pathetic four hours of Finn Masters’s life.

Age 29: Transgressor destroys three-year relationship two weeks before Finn Masters’s planned marriage proposal. Finn Masters loses love of his life.

Call me superstitious. But I do not speak her name, have not spoken her name since the fateful day I wrote the list.

And yet.