The Fabulist Read online

  The Fabulist

  Copyright © 2016 by Dawn L. Chiletz

  Cover Design: Murphy Rae

  Editing: Murphy Rae, LS King

  www.murphyrae.net

  Formatting: JT Formatting

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, bands, and/or restaurants referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  To everyone who lies for the right reasons.

  P.S. If you lie for the wrong reasons,

  you’re an asshole and this book is NOT for you.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Dawn

  THE PING OF a new text temporarily distracts me from The Real Housewives of New York and my bag of puffy Cheetos. With orange fingers, I lift my phone and glance at the notification. Vance, the guy I started chatting with on an online dating site last week, apparently decided sending me a picture of his hairy balls and mushroom-head penis would send me running to accept his date request.

  I cover my mouth as a bad Cheeto burp, coupled with thoughts of mushrooms, almost causes me to hurl. I hate mushrooms.

  Did he really think sending me dick pics was going to make me race to call him? I think for a moment before my fingers begin to fly over my phone. Dear Vance, Thank you for making this decision so easy for me. Now that I've seen your tadpole wiener, umbrella head, and lack of manscaping skills, I’m even more certain you're not worth my time. Sent and blocked.

  Fucking idiot. I roll my eyes as I toss my phone on the part of the couch cushion not currently occupied by my body. Doesn’t anyone court anymore? It’s all wham bam, thank you, ma’am. Sex first, dating later. I’m getting too old for this shit. I mean, I’m all for hot sex, but it only goes so far if you don’t even know if you like the other person. I’ve done that. Looks aren’t everything.

  Yes, I would agree attraction is the first step, but rarely do men attempt to see what’s inside the shell of inherited good looks I received from genetics. Vance is just another loser in a long string of losers. Who names a kid Vance, anyway? His parents probably thought they were being original. Maybe there's a story behind it.

  I slide down and fold the pillow under my head as I ponder the origin of his name. I guess I shouldn't talk. My mom named me after a TV character from a show she watched re-runs of called Bewitched. She always said, “Samantha, crinkle your nose and see if you can turn Daddy into a puppy.” She thought it was a fun party game with her friends. I think she enjoyed making me look stupid. Still does to this day. People would laugh at me and shake their heads when I’d try to use my powers on them. It ruined my self-esteem at an early age. Living with constant ridicule hardens you. I bounced back after finally figuring out trying to redeem myself in my mother’s eyes was a monumental waste of time. The only magical power I will ever have is the uncanny ability to pick losers within a fifty-mile radius and somehow convince them I'm the girl of their dreams.

  If I could perform magic, I wouldn't have just lost my job, been kicked out of my crappy apartment, and be relying on my childhood best friend Carmen to feed me and let me sleep on her couch. Oh, and I also wouldn't be single with zero decent prospects.

  A meow from the window reminds me Carmen's cat, Boris, seems to fancy me. I guess I have him, although I’m not sure he thinks I’m good enough for him yet.

  Even though I haven’t washed my long blonde hair in two days, my pink sweatpants have orange Cheetos dust in the shape of my hands on them, and I've gained five pounds from not moving off Carmen's couch, I’m not all bad. My years working in retail gave me an uncanny ability to speculate and infer. It’s come in handy with all the shows I’ve been watching. I can usually pick up where a story is headed very quickly, and I can spot a fib from a mile away. Maybe it’s the years of practice I had watching my mother lie to impress people. She’s the best liar I’ve ever known. Plus, I've heard every excuse for returns of merchandise you can possibly imagine. My lie-dar has developed well over the years. Carmen likes to ask random strangers to tell me a lie and a truth. It’s a fun bar game, although the more I drink, the harder it becomes. Good thing I can handle my liquor.

  I curl my legs into a ball and relish in the comfort of free-moving clothes. Having to dress up every day for the past ten years makes me enjoy the pleasure of my sweats that much more.

  Her keys jingle in the door, and I glance at the clock on the wall. Shit. I promised I’d throw a load of towels in the washer today, but I’ve only moved from the couch to pee and get more snacks. How did eight hours go by so fast?

  The door opens, and I immediately feel her sunshine aura enter the room. Boris jumps from the window ledge and runs to Carmen, swirling around her legs and meowing loudly. Someone should tell that cat he’s not a dog. He doesn’t have to move. There are no expectations for cats. Hmm, maybe I’d be a better cat than human.

  “How’s my wittle Borry Borry? Did you miss your momma, Mr. Becker?”

  I roll off the couch to help Carmen with the bags of groceries she’s struggling with at the door.

  She greets me with her typical megawatt smile. “Hi, Sammy. How was your day?”

  “Meh,” I say with my typical non-enthusiasm. “I binge-watched The Real Housewives of New York.”

  “That sounds fun!” Carmen replies joyfully.

  “I forgot to do the towels,” I tell her, crinkling my brow.

  �
��It’s no biggie. I can put them in later.” Carmen places the bags on the counter and then picks up Boris, kissing him repeatedly.

  “I didn’t move from the couch at all,” I tell her.

  “I’m sure you needed your rest.”

  I sigh. No matter how hard I try to get a rise out of her, I can never get her to be anything but positive. It’s become a sick goal of mine to see if I can break her. I’ve known her since second grade, and she has never said a mean word to anyone in her entire life. She was even nice to the girls who bullied her for her weight. I think it’s one of the reasons I like her as much as I do. Her ever-present optimism balances out my unyielding pessimism.

  Still, I continue in my quest. “Boris is named after that tennis player, right?”

  “Uh-huh. Boris Becker is dreamy.” Carmen sighs, sets Boris down on the counter, and begins unpacking her bags.

  “You’re telling me Danny Bonaduce’s clone is dreamy? Ewww.” I cringe, but she simply grins at me.

  “I never thought of the similarity. I did love watching The Partridge Family. Maybe I have a thing for redheads and don’t even know it,” she says with a giggle.

  I decide to give up trying to crack her for now. All that TV made me sleepy, and my game is weak. “I don’t know why I thought you named Boris after Boris Yeltsin.” I stretch my arms above my head.

  “Who’s that?” Carmen asks. “Is he hot?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Carmen! Are you telling me you don’t know who Boris Yeltsin is?”

  I see the wheels in her head turning, so I stand, staring at her with my hands on my hips.

  “Is he an actor?”

  “Some people might say that.”

  “Was he on The Voice?”

  I shake my head and slide onto a barstool at the breakfast bar. “He was the former President of Russia.”

  “Oh. Yeah, you know I don’t watch real TV like you. I only like the reality shows. I don’t know how you stomach watching the news for hours. It’s all so sad.”

  “I like the reality shows too, but they’re all the same. They’re staged. The news is real. So are sports.” I rub my hands together. Baseball should be starting soon and I’m a huge Yankees fan. Huge.

  Carmen stops midway to the fridge and turns with a half-gallon of chocolate milk in her hands. “Reality shows are not staged. Andee from accounting said her friend Jaiden’s cousin Matt’s friend Claire was on The Bachelor and it was totes real!”

  I lean over the bar and take the chocolate milk from her hands. I’m thirsty from all the Cheetos. Carmen hands me a glass with a smile. She loves taking care of me. She’s really the only person I trust in the entire world.

  “I know you want to believe that, but I think they set up the drama on purpose. They look for contestants that make the show interesting—excitement over intelligence.”

  Carmen glances at the clock and picks up the pace at putting the groceries away. I know she doesn’t want to miss Survivor, and she likes to take a hot bath after being on her feet all day, planning other people’s weddings and events. She’s amazing at her job and others are naturally drawn to her and her can-do attitude.

  I stand and move around the counter. “Go, get your bath. You have thirty minutes. I’ll put the rest away.”

  She grabs me from behind and squeezes me tightly. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you, Sammy! How did I ever function around here without you? Having you here is like a fabulous, continuous slumber party. I’m so lucky.”

  I tap her hands lightly and laugh. “Hurry up.”

  As she scurries quickly to her bedroom, I catch a glimpse of Boris out of the corner of my eye. His long outstretched neck and stare make me think he’s pleased with me for not being selfish for once. I nod at him knowingly. “That’s right. I was nice. Your eyes aren’t playing tricks on you. I know you love me because I’m a bitch, but sometimes Carmen makes me want to be better. Sometimes.”

  Boris walks across the bar and rubs his head against my shoulder. I kiss him on the head and he purrs. “Boris, if you were a man, I’d be all over you.”

  I finish putting the lettuce, turkey, and tomatoes into the fridge. Just as my hand leaves the last package, I pull it all out and decide to make sandwiches for dinner. Carmen acts like I’m doing her some kind of favor by living here, but the truth is, I don’t know where I’d be without her. She saved my sorry butt when my company laid me off two weeks ago. I was already behind on my rent because my car broke down and needed repairs, so when the money stopped coming in, my landlord was quick to kick me out.

  I could have gone home. My father would have loved having me, but my mom, not so much. She and I have never gotten along. It’s probably because I’m the opposite of her in every way. Dad and I were always two peas in a pod, but he wants to make my mom happy, and that’s put a strain on our relationship the last few years. It’s killing me not to tell him, but he’d want to help me, and I need to figure this out on my own. I’m twenty-seven and I can’t run to him every time my life falls apart. This time I need to save myself.

  My older brother, Alex, is another story. Alex can do no wrong in our mother’s eyes. He was named after Alex P. Keaton from the TV show Family Ties. Mom really loved her TV. It may be the only thing we’ve ever had in common. Alex loved to walk around in a tie and talk politics, just like his TV namesake. Mom has always bragged about how smart he is. He’s a real heartthrob, a good brother, and an ambitious doctor to boot, but he’s great at giving me unsolicited advice, and right now I don’t want to hear any I-told-you-so’s.

  Imagine my mother’s disdain when I graduated college and continued to work at a Bingham’s Department Store instead of getting a “real job,” as she put it. It didn’t matter that I was an assistant manager and had worked my ass off to get to that point. I was still mediocre in her eyes. If she knew I’d been laid off, she’d love rubbing my “poor choices” in my face. That’s why no one knows but Carmen.

  Something must be wrong with me. I stare at the sandwiches I’ve made and have no desire to eat anymore. Seems thinking of my mom is a great way to curb my appetite.

  I take the plates to my bed, a.k.a. the couch. I place Carmen’s sandwich on the table just as she comes flying out the bedroom door in her robe, with her hair in a towel.

  “Did it start? Do I have much time?”

  I peer at the time. “Nine more minutes. You’re good.”

  She claps and jumps up and down briefly before spinning back to get dressed.

  I love that girl. Maybe my being here will be good for the both of us. She makes me think there’s hope for me and I keep her grounded in reality. I think she likes reality shows because she wants to believe people are good-hearted and true love is out there waiting. She’s still hoping for the perfect guy, whereas I don’t think he exists. Plus expectations are the root of all evil. Putting anyone on a pedestal just means eventually they’re going to fall off and you’ll be crushed by the weight of their truth.

  I haven’t been in a serious relationship since college and that only lasted a year. Guys don’t seem to get my sick, twisted humor and I will never be one of those girls who’ll change for a man. Yes, I can drink you under the table and swear like a truck driver. I’ll tell you you’re full of shit to your face, but I don’t give a flying fuck what you think of me and no, I don’t have many friends because of it. I do have Carmen, and I’ll be damned if I ever let anyone hurt her on my watch.

  “Did it start?” Carmen asks, plopping next to me on the sofa in her yoga pants and oversized sweatshirt.

  “Not yet.”

  “Aww, you made me a sandwich. No mayo, right?”

  “No mayo.”

  “Good. That stuff is filled with unnecessary calories.”

  “A little mayo really wouldn’t hurt.”

  “You know I’m trying to lose weight. Every calorie counts.”

  “Carmen, you’re fine the way you are. You’re beautiful.”

  “Thanks, Sammy, but if
I’m ever gonna win myself a husband, I’m going to need to draw him in somehow. I need to lose, like, fifty pounds. Then I can turn heads like you do.”

  “You won’t win anything. He’ll be the lucky one and you don’t need to change anything about yourself unless you’re doing it for you. You are perfect and any man who doesn’t see that isn’t worth shit.”

  Carmen’s eyes begin to water and she gives me “the look.” I roll my eyes in anticipation.

  “Do you know how much I love you, Sammy? You’re seriously the bestest person in the entire universe. I don’t know how I would have made it through high school, or middle school for that matter, without you always encouraging me, sticking up for me, and telling meanies to F off.”

  “It’s fuck off, Carmen, and you’re not going to go to hell if you say it out loud.”

  She scoots closer and pulls me into a one-sided hug. Just as I’m about to push away, the theme music for Survivor begins and she’s instantly drawn to a new target.

  We watch the recap and the show’s introduction. The theme music makes everything better. It’s like an old friend giving you a hug and welcoming you home. Right after the first clip, some dark, heavy-metal music plays with flashes of a man, but you can’t see his face. As the music fades, the words, The Fabulist, appear on the screen, followed by the website for auditions.

  Survivor’s host breaks in with an announcement. “Do you have a way with people that no one else seems to understand? Can you read others better than anyone you know? Have you always wanted to be on a reality show but haven’t been able to find the right fit? If you said yes to any of these questions, we might be looking for you. A multi-million dollar business owner is searching for someone to be his new right hand. Auditions are taking place right now in cities all over the country. The winner will receive the job offer of a lifetime and a shot at the $100,000 signing bonus. Follow us on Twitter and check Facebook for rules and regulations. If it sounds too good to be true, maybe it is. But only he knows that for sure. After all, he is The Fabulist.”

  Dark music plays while a faceless man in a suit crosses his fingers behind him. I huff loudly and shift back, taking a large bite of my sandwich. Carmen shrieks and causes both Boris and me to jump a foot.