CHAPTER THREE
Caitlyn
That was definitely the craziest thing that ever happened to me. It took a fair bit of time to recover brain function after looking at the amount of money he left. The asshole gave me a fifteen-thousand-dollar tip. What kind of insane madman does that? I didn’t care how much money you had, you don’t just give it to a complete stranger like that. I’d read stories on Facebook that were similar. There was one I remembered about a kindhearted patron who had left a woman with a bunch of kids and a great backstory a hefty amount. That guy was a hero. Their story deserved to go viral cause it made everyone fuzzy and gushy and restored their faith in humanity. But this guy… this guy nearly propositioned me, and I verbally bitch-slapped his inappropriate ass back into its place, then he gave me an ungodly amount of money. This was not Upworthy compatible.
After the delirious haze of shock had settled around me, I realized I actually had to do something, like move, or talk to all of the shocked and surprised faces surrounding me. The first person to pierce my bubble, of course, was Ma.
“Well, I can’t cash that out tonight, hope you’re not expectin’ it right away!” she growled in her usual Ma manner.
“No, of course not, Ma.”
I could tell she was irate with jealousy. I understood, I certainly would have been. I had to think fast. Even though I desperately needed the money, it wasn’t mine. I’d done nothing admirable to get it and frankly, it felt wrong to take it. Someone who clearly had more than they needed dangled a morsel in front of a person they assumed was starving, what a petty little game. While I wanted to be righteous and incensed, I had to admit that his gesture had my imagination fired up. The way his eyes looked at mine and then that crazy unspoken connection… it was hard to ignore.
I was smart enough to know I wasn’t falling for him exactly, no matter how devastatingly gorgeous he was, but I was going down hook, line and sinker for the fairy tale. The idea that someone waltzed in, swept you off of your feet, and made your life happily ever after. That idea was hard to resist. Happily ever after was a free pass forever, inspiring a lifelong motto of “no worries… always be happy.”
“What makes you happy?” he’d asked.
Seeing people filled with joy made me happy, it was still love, but a different kind. I could have given all the money to Gran, but it wouldn’t have made her happy. She never put much value on money, which was why she always just had enough. She would have made me give it back or possibly done something stupid with it like buy a collection of ugly dolls on QVC, just to prove money was momentary. I absolutely needed the money for school, but did I want to earn it this way? It wasn’t enough to change my life forever. I was going to share with Linda, but again… that was just two of us. As I looked at all those shocked and jealous faces, I realized that this money would only bring me their scorn and envy, so I did what made me happy.
“Since there were seven of us working tonight, not just me, I want to split the money. Two thousand for each of us, and then we can donate the last thousand in the restaurant’s name to the Youth Center for the Arts. Okay? That way it’s fair for everyone.”
The shocked and astonished faces slowly morphed into joyful looks of wonder. See, that was happiness.
When I got home, it was nearly three in the morning. Gran had fallen asleep to the TV. An episode of Locked Up was blaring a jarring story about a man’s meth addiction causing him to have an altercation with a prison guard. Bless Gran’s heart. She had a few pen pals in prison, people who the church referred before our scandalous disbarring. She had a massive heart, and I think she watched shows like these to dig a little deeper into humanity, trying to sieve out the infinite truth of existence, especially for those who struggled.
“I don’t know how you can sleep to that, Gran,” I whispered in her ear as I tried to rouse her.
“Hmmm,” she said in a sleep-glazed grog.
“You have to go to bed,” I told her more loudly.
“Right, right. Just making sure you got home okay.” She stood up and headed to her bedroom down the hall. “You have a good night, kiddo?” she asked as an afterthought.
“Better than most. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Sweet dreams.”
“Night, dear heart.”
I was too wired to sleep. Ironically, I understood why the star of My Fair Lady sang about wanting to dance all night. I shouldn’t have been feeling the way I did about my Professor Higgins because he was nothing more than a moneyed bully. Well, to be fair to ol’ Eliza Doolittle, her Professor Higgins wasn’t too different than mine. He was simply a rich player who liked to toy with people. Despite this fact, everyone at the diner tonight night went home with a tiny piece of happiness.
Michael, the thirty-five-year-old dishwasher with five kids, burst into tears when we told him the news. I got a hug from Linda, and even more shocking, from Ma as well. It felt amazing. So, in addition to his virtuosity as a flirt and an indecent proposer, the rich dude tonight made magic. And despite my wanting to hate him for everything he stood for, I found myself fascinated too. Why me? As I stared at the TV, all I could think of was that man. I didn’t even know who he was. I remembered how soft and subtle his lips looked but didn’t even bother to find out his name.
I remembered his signature. KP. Just two initials. Who could possibly be rich enough to be only known by two letters? Like the ultimate researcher, I googled “KP and millionaire” to see what that dredged up. I was fully aware of how lame I was being, but it was oh-my-god o’clock, who cared? Two significant hits came up as top search results. A rapper named KP Million and Kembrough Preston, head of production and owner of Lakeshore Pictures. After looking at my search results, I was pretty sure… like one hundred percent sure that KP from Ma’s Diner was not a rapper. No way. I clicked on Kembrough Preston. The named oozed pretense, this had to be my man.
Boom! There he was, one of the most successful movie producers in New York. My first thought was, why not Hollywood? New York for movies was like pork being “the other white meat.” Maybe he was a hack with family money and his film biz was a side gig. A quick IMBD search shut me up. The man was a god. Well, my mind rambled, there was always bacon. Pork was bacon anyway. Okay, dammit, now I wanted the bastard. I didn’t think I would take him up on his offer, but in my head, I revisited our exchange at the diner.
“You know what, Kembrough Preston,” — paused to cough at such a ridiculously pretentious name — “I think I’ll take you up on that fuck after all.”
Go to bed, Caitlyn Marie Ashcroft. You’re starting to sound like a wanton, money-grubbing wanna be.
I liked teasing myself, cause I was teetering on the edge of sanity, and I needed to keep myself grounded. While I slightly regretted that I would never see KP, the dashingly inappropriate and sadly named billionaire, at least I had my moment. It would be a fine name-dropping moment in years to come — when I was lonely and poor, still working at the diner with Linda, for the rest of my life.
Remember that time when KP, the famous billionaire, wanted to fuck you? And you turned him down.