And Everything Nice Read online

  AND

  EVERYTHING

  NICE

  KIM MORITSUGU

  Copyright © 2011 Kim Moritsugu

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Moritsugu, Kim, 1954-

  And everything nice / Kim Moritsugu.

  (Rapid reads)

  Issued also in electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-55469-838-7

  I. Title. II. Series: Rapid reads

  PS8576.O72A64 2011 C813'.54 C2010-908116-1

  First published in the United States, 2011

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2010942253

  Summary: After joining a community choir, Stephanie helps a new friend recover her personal journal from a blackmailer. (RL 4.6)

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on paper certified by the Forest Stewardship Council.

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Design by Teresa Bubela

  Cover photography by Getty Images

  ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS

  PO BOX 5626, Stn. B PO BOX 468

  Victoria, BC Canada Custer, WA USA

  V8R 6S4 98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  14 13 12 11 • 4 3 2 1

  To my fellow choirists

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  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

  PROLOGUE

  One day, a few years ago, I found a wallet in the parking lot of the mall where I worked. It was sitting on the ground, open, right under the driver’s door of a bmw. Like it fell from the driver’s lap when he got out of the car and he didn’t notice.

  The wallet bulged with cash. Four hundred dollars’ worth. And credit cards, a bank card, a driver’s license. Everything.

  I picked it up and looked around. Was anyone running back to the car in a panic? Nope. The parking lot was empty of pedestrians. And the spot where I stood was out of sight of the mall’s outdoor video cameras. No one would see if I slipped the wallet into my bag and kept walking. Or if I removed the cash and dropped the wallet back on the ground.

  I stood there for a minute and considered those options. And others. I could leave the wallet where I found it, money and all. Or I could write a note, stick it under the windshield wiper, and turn the wallet into mall security. But I didn’t trust some of the guards who worked there.

  In the end, I left a note with my name and my cell number. I took the wallet into work. An hour later, I handed it—contents intact—to a relieved man who matched the picture on the driver’s license. As soon as he got it, he pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and gave it to me.

  “Thanks for your honesty,” he said.

  I took the fifty. Who wouldn’t?

  CHAPTER ONE

  My mom, Joanne, heard about the community rock choir from her teacher friend, Wendy. I heard about it from Joanne. So no wonder I wasn’t interested. Not that I didn’t get along with my mom. I did. I mean, I was twenty-four and working full-time as manager of the Gap store in Fairview Mall. But I still lived with her in the townhouse where I grew up.

  Joanne liked my company. I liked not paying rent while I was saving to buy a car. For a fifty-five-year-old mom, she was pretty chill. And I was pretty easygoing. I always have been. Except for when I was nineteen and dropped out of university after one semester. And refused to ever go back.

  We were over that, and things were all good between us. But I didn’t want to join a choir that met on Tuesday nights in a church and sang rock music. I didn’t even like rock music. I was more into pop and urban, top-40-type tunes.

  “There are pop tunes on the playlist,” Joanne said. This was one night in September after the choir’s first practice. She came home, warmed up the Thai food I’d ordered in, sat down to eat it and raved about the fun she’d had. “‘I Gotta Feeling’ by the Black Eyed Peas, for instance. You like that song, don’t you?”

  “I liked it when it was current.”

  “And there’s a Pointer Sisters song. Talk about music from my era.”

  “Who the hell are the Pointer Sisters?”

  “And there’s something by Journey on the list, and ‘Honesty’ by Billy Joel. I love that song.”

  “Billy Joel? Are you kidding me? Next you’ll say the choir’s singing Elton John.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Look, I’m glad you found something to do that you like. A bunch of people your age singing classic rock just doesn’t sound like my scene. At all. No offense.”

  She sagged in her chair. “Oh, Stephanie.”

  I hated when she said my name like that. Like I’d disappointed her. “What?”

  “You were such a good singer when you were little, such a born performer. I think you’d like the choir.”

  She also thought that by working in retail, I was throwing away some bright future I could have had. The kind of future university grads have.

  “I’m not a good singer,” I said. “I never was. You just thought I was good because you’re my mom.”

  “How about if you come to choir practice next week and try it, one time? The choir members aren’t all my age. Some are in their twenties and thirties. And Wendy and I are in the soprano section. You wouldn’t have to hang out with us, or even talk to us. You’d be an alto or a tenor with your raspy voice.”

  I picked up my phone from the coffee table and pretended it had vibrated. “I missed a call from Nathan. I should call him back. I’m working twelve to nine tomorrow, so I’m staying at his place tonight.”

  “Say you’ll at least think about the choir.

  I’ll pay the fee if you join.”

  She had that right.

  “I’ll think about it. I promise.”

  “Good. Could you pass me my wallet?

  It’s in my purse, on the floor. I want to give you money for the Thai food.”

  I fished out the wallet and waited while she picked through the receipts, ticket stubs and dollar bills she had stuffed into it.

  She said, “That’s weird. I thought I had more cash than this. Did you take some out of here already?”

  “How could I have done that? I just handed you the wallet two seconds ago.”

  “I meant before I went to choir practice.”

  Was she losing her mind? “I wasn’t here before your practice, remember? I got home from work after you left. And ordered the Thai food. As you instructed.”

  She shook her head. “So you did. I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Here.” She handed me a ten and a twenty. “I
thought I had more cash on me. I must have spent it somewhere.”

  “I love how your first thought when money is missing is that I took it.”

  “I said I was sorry.” She smiled up at me. “I used to take money from my mother’s wallet all the time when I was a teenager— a five here, a few singles there. She never noticed.”

  “Well, I’m not a teenager. And I guess I’m more trustworthy than you were.”

  So far I was anyway.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Nathan was the bar manager at an upscale gourmet restaurant downtown called Sterling. It was the kind of place where rich food snobs spent hundreds of dollars on dinner for two with wine. He got off work at eleven thirty, so I met him at his apartment at midnight. When I saw him on his work nights, we usually stayed up for a few hours after he got home. We’d talk and watch tv while he wound down.

  That night we drank some good white wine, left over from the restaurant. And we shared an extra dessert Nathan had brought home, a molten chocolate cake. He told me about a table of bankers who had come to Sterling to celebrate a deal and run up a big tab. They’d had cocktails before dinner, four bottles of wine with, and cognac after. And they’d tipped in cash.

  “What about you?” he asked. “How was your day? Did you have any problem customers? Anybody who asked for the manager and tried to start a fight?”

  “Someone asked for me, but not to complain. The regional director came by on a store visit and I showed her around. She wanted to know what was selling well, and how the merchandising was working out.”

  “And?”

  “She liked me. She said I was a natural.”

  “A natural what?”

  Good question. I thought at first she meant I was a natural at retail, which Joanne would say was no compliment. But when I asked her to explain, she said I was a natural speaker—clear, smooth and relaxed. “You should see about doing some Gap training videos,” she’d said. “They mostly hire actors, but they like to use real employees if they can find someone who’s good on camera. Email me your contact info and I’ll pass it on. If you’re interested.”

  I told Nathan this, and that I planned to send her an email the next day. To say sure, I was interested. But I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting to hear back.

  “That’s my Steph.” Nathan patted my knee. “Future star of training videos.”

  Was he making fun of me? Because he’d made me sound a little pathetic.

  He said, “You’ll be trying out for American Idol next.”

  Wrong. I didn’t mind the idea of making a training video as a break from my routine. When I was little, I told everyone I wanted to be on tv. So it would be kind of like that. But I was no entertainer.

  And by the way, this story is not about how I joined the choir and became a singing star, in case you were wondering. That’s not what happened.

  “You sound like Joanne,” I said. “She’s all enthused about this rock choir she’s in. She wants me to come with her next Tuesday night and try it out.”

  “Is it seniors singing Lou Reed songs and shit? I saw something about that on tv once.”

  “She claims the choir members aren’t that old. And the songs are by artists like Elton John and Billy Joel. And Journey, for god’s sake.”

  “Journey’s awesome. Don’t knock Journey.”

  “What, you think I should be in the choir too?”

  “Only if you want to. Though what else have you got going on a Tuesday night? It’s not like you’re taking a course.” Nathan took online college courses part-time in business management. So that one day he could open his own bar. As if that would ever happen.

  I said, “I do things. I work out, I watch TV, I go clubbing with the girls.”

  “Exactly. What have you got going on that’s interesting? Not much on the nights you don’t see me.”

  I fake-swung at him and he ducked. “Yeah, well, I’ll think about trying the choir. And thanks for ganging up on me with Joanne about it. Thanks a lot.”

  He turned on the tv with the remote and put his arm around me. “I’m not ganging up. I’m on your side. I want you to enjoy yourself on the nights I’m working. And I know you’ve been feeling a bit same-old, same-old lately. So why not change it up? Do something new and exciting?”

  “The choir would be new, yeah,” I said. “But exciting? I don’t think so.”

  It was like I was asking to be proved wrong.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Joanne and I drove to the next choir practice together in her car, me at the wheel. On the way, she said, “So you know, the choir is big. A hundred and ten people this season, someone said last week. Everyone from teachers, lawyers and media types to young moms, cab drivers and students.”

  “Sounds like I’ll fit right in.”

  “Are you being sarcastic?”

  “Duh.”

  “You’ll be fine. As long as you’re prepared for warm-up exercises at the beginning, when we sing scales. And at the end, everyone stands up, joins hands, forms a huge circle inside the church and sings a circle song. It’s corny, but it’s nice.”

  “A circle song? Like in preschool?”

  “I said it was corny.”

  “How about if I drop you off right now and drive away? Fast.”

  “Oh, Stephanie.”

  “I’m kidding.”

  “Well, ha-ha. And that’s all I wanted to warn you about.”

  I said, “Why are there so many people in the choir? What do they get out of it?”

  “Some people just love to perform. And some are wannabe rock stars, I suppose. Or failed rock stars.”

  “But not you. Those aren’t your reasons. Are they?”

  “No. I get to perform every day for the surly teenagers in my classes at school. And I never wanted to be in a band.” She didn’t say anything else for a minute. Then, “There’s something about making music in a group that’s more fulfilling than singing alone can ever be. The whole really is greater than the sum of its parts. If you know what I mean.”

  I didn’t, but I was about to find out.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The nave of the church buzzed with the voices of a hundred-plus people talking when I walked in. A middle-aged woman greeted me at the door. She had me fill out a form and a name-tag sticker, and she handed me a file folder full of sheet music. She said, “You’re welcome to try us out tonight for free and see what you think. If you like it, you can come back next week and pay the hundred-and-fifty-dollar fee!”

  Yeah, yeah.

  “Now smile,” she said and took my picture with a digital camera. “For the choir list.”

  I took a seat in the tenor section that started five rows back from the front. Around me, assorted tenors—male and female, older and younger—stood and sat, talking to each other like old friends. A woman with wild, curly gray hair, wearing a long hippie-ish dress, hugged a younger woman in jeans and a flannel shirt. Down the aisle, a skinny guy in his late twenties, wearing a white silk scarf around his neck, was talking to another guy his age. I heard him say something about a musical he’d seen onstage. Or was it a musical he’d been in?

  In front of the tenors were four rows of women—the altos. Next to them and across the aisle: more women. They had to be the sopranos. Joanne and Wendy were over there, chatting away.

  Behind the sopranos sat about twenty men, mostly gray-haired, who made up the bass section. They weren’t talking as much as the women. They weren’t hugging either. Though at least one man laughed way too loudly at something another said.

  I checked my phone. The practice was supposed to start at seven thirty. It was seven twenty-six. I took out some lip balm from my bag, applied it and tuned in to a conversation between two women seated behind me.

  Woman #1: “There’d better be more singing this time, and less talking. Those announcements last week went on forever.”

  Woman #2: “I know. That killed me. And I hope that tattooed biker guy doesn’t sit near us this time
. His singing really threw me off.”

  Woman #1: “Now, now. Not everyone can be as good a singer as you are.”

  Woman #2: “I have been singing for years.”

  Woman #1: “And your voice is amazing.”

  There was a pause, during which Woman #2 might have taken a bow. Then she said, “Hey, isn’t that Anna Rai coming in the door? She wasn’t here last week, was she?”

  Woman #1 said, “Is it her? I’m not sure. Yes! It is. Good spotting. And hey, a celebrity.”

  The tall woman getting the welcome treatment at the door was Anna Rai, a local tv personality. She wasn’t superfamous, but most people in the city would recognize her. It helped that she looked the same standing at the front of the church as she did on tv. Her long, shiny dark hair was expertly styled. Her flawless eye makeup made her big green eyes look even bigger. And the clothes she wore were tv-worthy—a fitted jacket, a silk shell, two-hundred-dollar jeans over heels. Accessorized with a statement necklace and a designer handbag.

  Woman #2: “Is she still on the six o’clock news?”

  “No, she hosts a show called Noontime now. I caught it last week when I took a sick day. She does these lifestyle segments called ‘And Everything Nice.’ The one I saw was about how she had her fabulous friends over to her fabulous house to eat fabulous food.”

  “Who does she think she is, Martha Stewart?”

  “She wishes. She should have called the segments, ‘Don’t You Just Love Me?’ Or ‘Aren’t I Perfect?’”

  “Or, ‘I’m Fabulous and You’re Not.’” And they both laughed.

  Could they have gone more quickly from being glad to see Anna Rai to dissing her? Just because she was trying to do something different. And because she was about ten times better-looking than them, was my guess. I was about to turn around and check them out, when Woman #2 said, “Shush, here she comes.”

  On her way up the aisle, Anna said hi and waved to a few people. Then she stopped right by me and flashed a wide smile.