Nine Digits

By Jay Duret

Nine Digits tells the story of Nee-Nee Marcus, a headstrong 15 year old girl from Philadelphia, who despises her family: her clueless parents, her nasty brothers, her evil sister. She would do anything to be free of them. When she hears about a new reality television program that will award a prize of $100 million, she decides she'll do whatever it takes to win. Money may not be everything, but with $100 million she is pretty sure that she will never have to deal with her family again...

"Nine Digits is the best book since The Phantom Tollbooth."
-Tim Grose

"Daniel Pinkwater, move over. Here comes Jay Duret. If you have ever been or ever will be a teenager wanting to dump your family, read this wildly funny, page-turner of a book."
-Mally Cox-Chapman, author Baggywrinkle

• Language: English
• Publisher: Indigo Sea Press
• Release date: Nov 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781938101793

Book preview

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 Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Published by Second Wind Publishing at Smashwords

Nine Digits

By

Jay Duret

Scoundrel Books

Published by Second Wind Publishing, LLC.

Kernersville

Scoundrel Books

Second Wind Publishing, LLC

931-B South Main Street, Box 145

Kernersville, NC 27284

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations and events are either a product of the author’s imagination, fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any event, locale or person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2014 by Jay Duret

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or part in any format.

First Scoundrel Books edition published

November 2014.

Scoundrel Books, Running Angel, and all production design are trademarks of Second Wind Publishing, used under license.

For information regarding bulk purchases of this book, digital purchase and special discounts, please contact the publisher at www.secondwindpublishing.com

Cover artwork by Martha Slaughter

Cover Design by Lily Tidhar

Manufactured in the United States of America

ISBN 978-1-93810-179-3

Illustrated by Martha Slaughter

Dedication

For my father,

who believed there was a Marcus in

each of us,

and for Delilah, Eli, Ajax and Emmy,

who have proven it.

Acknowledgements

I have been blessed with family and friends who have helped and encouraged me as I wrote Nine Digits and built the related website.

Not one, but two, Marianis had my back as I worked on this book. Erin and Tricia are among those rare people you encounter in life who find joy in helping others accomplish their goals, no matter how pedestrian. I have been fortunate to have had their help as I tried to accomplish mine. Alex Fortunato, digiterati and master of software, suffered through my attempts to learn the programs I needed to build the Nine Digits website. Julie Gratz animated the Nine Digits book trailer and Lily Tidhar designed the cover. My thanks to both of them. Michael Bamberger answered my every question about life in the typing business. My God Boy, Robert Hass, solved mysteries for me. Tom Banse gave me sound advice—well beyond his years—on characters, pacing and plot. My friend Nicky Lentz wisely encouraged me to ignore Ajax’s criticism. Sam Slaughter proved, once again, that even though it was expensive to buy him from his family, it was one of the best purchases ever.

Nothing is a bigger boost to a writer than hearing brilliant actors read his or her writing out loud. I thank Susan and David Morse, and my friend Jay Leach, for bringing my words to life and, in the process, making me think that that if my words could sound that good when spoken, maybe they were not so bad on the page. Susan also helped me navigate through the world of publishing and inspired me with her relentless energy and drive.

Karen Strupczewski and I have worked as a team to meet deadlines and handle crises for more than 15 years. She began as an assistant and long ago became a friend. Her work on the Nine Digits manuscript was marinated with her knowledge that the world is filled with Marcuses.

Every writer should be lucky enough to have regular writers’ conferences with a writer and illustrator as talented as Martha Slaughter.

All of my children pitched in to get me through the project. Delilah was my first reader and made me keep going. Eli helped build my first website and taught me how to populate it. Ajax listened to an out loud reading as we traveled through Japan and Hong Kong, frequently demanding that I fix improbable logistics, poorly named characters and slow moving sections. Many of his suggestions appear in the final manuscript though I hereby apologize for refusing to change Skunky’s name, despite having promised to so. Emmy listened to the book at three different stages and each time encouraged me to keep at it. No one has been a more solid supporter.

My bride, Marty, endured the writing of Nine Digits with her usual grace and good humor, and accepted my failure to implement some of her suggestions with the same quizzical but loving support she has given me throughout our married life. I am a lucky man.

—Jay Duret

1

Nee-Nee’s 15th Birthday

On her 15th birthday, Nee-Nee was struck by an intense realization; she had been born into the wrong family. There was just no way she was actually a Marcus. No one with half a brain could think that she belonged with the other members of the Marcus family.

The more she considered it, the more clear it was to her that there had been some type of colossal mix up. Like one of those Greek tragedies. The daughter of Zeus or Apollo or someone like that was a victim of intrigue and unknowingly sent to live among the loud, brutish and nasty people on earth, never knowing that she was actually an Olympian, and only gradually realizing that she was different—braver, smarter, better—than all those around her. That was Nee-Nee’s situation in a nutshell. She’d been wrongly cast out to live among the Marcuses.

Now that she focused on it, the insight was obvious. She wasn’t like them in any way. She was cute and tall with long chestnut hair and big white teeth. She was smart and funny and popular, so different than the losers in her family.

Prominent among those losers were her three brothers—Golden Boy, Marticus and fat little Skunky—each problematic in their own way, and a sister, Barkus, who was pure evil. Nee-Nee was the oldest and age alone ought to have earned her some measure of respect from her siblings, but their jealousy was too overpowering. Maybe things would have been different if her parents had done their job, but they hadn’t come close.

Funny, she’d always known she was different, but it wasn’t until her 15th birthday party that she really put it all together.

That night there was a family dinner to celebrate her birthday. The family assembled in the dining room of Blisters, the big old falling down house where the Marcuses lived. They were all there, sitting at the oversized dining table. Her father, was at one end, reading his papers. His name was Ardley, Ardley Marcus, but they called him Airball. Her mother—they called her Saint Marcus—was bustling about making sure that everyone got their dinner and trying to restrain the children from kicking each other and throwing food at Skunky, the youngest.

Come on people, come on, Nee-Nee said, it is time for my presents.

Nee-Nee’s 13 year old brother, Golden Boy, was admiring himself in the reflection of his spoon across the table. Marticus and Barkus, as usual, were side-by-side, heads together, whispering and snorting with laughter. Marticus was eleven years old but completely in the power of his younger sister, Barkus, already at nine a force of wickedness and doom in the world. Skunky made lopsided circles around the dining room table on his one-pedaled tricycle.

Come on!! Bring in the cake! Come on!! Nee-Nee yelled again.

Nee-Nee Marcus had looked forward to her 15th Birthday for a long time. She had seen a brilliant gold necklace with a little ruby colored dove on it at the jeweler in their neighborhood and she had made sure that Saint Marcus knew she wanted it. Nee-Nee found a copy of an ad for the necklace and she slipped it under Saint Marcus’ door. Several times. To make sure that Saint Marcus got the point. And to seal the deal, Nee-Nee was on her best behavior. She had to be getting the necklace because she was the oldest of the Marcus children and 15 was a very important birthday. Everyone said so. Almost as important as 16. She just couldn’t wait.

LET’S GO!! She shouted. What was with these people? Why couldn’t they ever do anything without being yelled at?

Saint Marcus brought a large birthday cake to the table. There were 15 candles on the cake and when it was lit, for one short moment, Nee-Nee felt something like warmth for her family. She even overlooked that someone had stuck a jumbo green olive into the white icing. Saint Marcus didn’t even notice. Must have been Golden Boy, the infantile wit gave it away, but Nee-Nee let it go. Who cared about the cake when she was about to get the necklace?

There were two presents. One was small and beautifully wrapped and the other was not. She went for the good one first. It was surely the gold necklace. She was sure of it. She ripped off the ribbon. She could not wait to get to the present. She ripped open the box. And there it was. A beautiful, a gorgeous, a pen…a pen? What? Her fifteenth birthday and she got a pen?

She looked up at Saint Marcus and Airball. They were smiling, although Saint Marcus had a questioning tilt to her head as if she suspected that the pen was not going over as well as she’d have liked. Airball had put down his papers for the moment and he was beaming, just beaming. Clearly a pen was his idea of what a good birthday was all about.

Golden Boy was hysterical. He fell right out of his chair and down onto the floor when he saw the pen. Oh, wow, he gasped, "It’s a pen. It’s just what Hee-Haw has been dying for. She has wanted a pen for years. Oh my God, you shouldn’t have." Nee-Nee’s eyes narrowed to slits and her lips began to quiver and quake.

Barkus shoved the other present into her hands. Nee-Nee had to choose between crying in front of her wretched brothers and sister or opening their stupid present. It was a bad choice. But she decided not to give in; she would never give in to these people. She pulled herself together and opened the other box.

Barkus gave Nee-Nee her usual, irritating, all-knowing smile. It’s from all of us, she said, from me and all of your loving brothers.

Nee-Nee did not understand their present. It was a piece of fabric. Sort of like a scarf, but the fabric was not silk. Not nearly silk. More like canvas. Like a sail on a boat. When she had it completely laid out on the dining room table it was a square piece of fabric. And in the middle there was a bright yellow circle. And in the middle of the circle there was a large letter R in script.

Nee-Nee looked at her sister, What is it?

But Barkus did not answer. She just smiled her maddening 9 year old smile as if she knew more than anyone around her.

Come on, Barkus. What is it?

Yes. What is it? Saint Marcus chimed in, It is very nice, I think. It looks like a moon with an R in the middle?"

Golden Boy started to laugh. Exactly. A moon with an R in the middle.

Nee-Nee looked at them, her four siblings, hyenas. Golden Boy, flush with sarcastic laughter. Marticus, skinny, scared, not even able to look at Nee-Nee but laughing up his sleeve. Nasty Barkus. Nastiest of them all. Even nastier than Golden Boy and twice as smart. And little Skunky. Five years old and even he was in on it.

Skunky started to dance his little boy dance around the dining room, calling in a high sing song voice: I know what the present is. I know what the present is.

Nee-Nee thought about it for a minute. A MOON with an R in the middle was…a MORON. This was their idea of a 15th Birthday present? Who were these people? They didn’t even know how to celebrate a birthday.

Nee-Nee reached for the cake. In one swift swooping scoop, she dug the big olive out of the icing and threw it directly at Golden Boy. He was too quick. He ducked and the olive caught Skunky flush in the forehead. The olive bounced wildly away leaving a tattoo of white icing. Skunky went down like he had been shot. Saint Marcus screamed and ran to his side and soon the birthday party had dissolved into pandemonium. Some way to start her 15th year. She hated the big old falling down house where they lived. She hated her brothers and her sister. She hated her parents. What a lie that they were her family. They’d never been her family. She had to do something about it.

2

The Flyer

Her chance came sooner than she could have expected. On the day after her birthday, Nee-Nee was on the way home from school. She was tired from walking and was not paying much attention. She was shuffling down the sidewalk thinking of things when a brightly colored newspaper flyer blew down the street in the wind and with a slight slap blew directly into her face, as if planning to paste itself on her.

Uggh, she said in a muffled way, the flyer over her mouth. She reached up and grabbed the flyer and peeled it off her face. She started to throw it away but then she looked at it. There was a figure of an elegant man in tails wearing a top hat. He had a cane and an aloof expression. Next to his figure there was a teaser:

The details on the reverse side had very small print and went on and on with rules and sub-rules that said you were supposed to make a 10 minute home video about yourself and your life at home with your family. The videos that most captured the judges’ fancy entitled the makers to become contestants on a television contest that was going to be filmed this summer in Hollywood. And the winner of the contest would take home big prize money. The nature of the contest was a secret—that was part of its allure—but the judges were looking for talented contestants. Contestants with a flair, with something special. And big money—cash prizes!—would be awarded.

Nee-Nee sat down right there, right in the middle of the sidewalk, to study the flyer. She could make a video. She could compete in a contest. She was smart. She had the look. She had talent. She would like to win big money. Oh yes. She would. She was made to be a winner.

She sat there on the sidewalk for ten minutes imagining how excellent it would be to have lots of money. She pictured the swanky hotel where she would live. She pictured her brothers and sisters crawling on their bellies—Like snakehead fish, she thought, just like snakehead fish—and begging her for scraps. How great would that be? Barkus and Marticus. Not snickering. Giving her the B’s: Begging her. Beseeching her. Bootlicking. That would be nice. Very nice.

And the best and biggest bootlicker of all would be Golden Boy.

Golden Boy had long golden hair that he sometimes wore loose and sometimes in a ponytail. The hair was not blond it was actually golden and it was filled with bright lustrous lights so that when he moved his head from side to side it was like the beam from a lighthouse. He lifted weights in endless repetitions. He had a six pack for a stomach and was so ripped that he even looked good when he turned 13 and grew six inches overnight. He was buff, and boy did he know it. He made Nee-Nee nauseous. And worse he was constantly commenting on the way Nee-Nee looked. He’d say, Nice jeans No-No, how’d you get your butt in them? You use a winch to button them up?

She imagined Golden Boy knocking on the door of her hotel suite.

Yes? Who is it?

Hey Nee-Nee. It’s me. Open up.

Sorry. I can’t place the voice.

It’s me. Golden Boy. You know. Your brother. Open up.

I don’t think so.

Golden Boy wheedled, I just want to show you something I made for you.

No thanks.

Now he shouted, Come on! Let me in! I have got to talk to you.

Is it about money?

A short silence. No.

Oh no? It’s not about money?

Damnit, Nee-Nee. Open the damn door.

I don’t think I will.

Golden Boy banged the door with both hands. With his big buff muscles it made a deep drumming sound.

Suddenly the door yanked open from the inside. There in front of Golden Boy was not Nee-Nee but a man with a neck as thick as Golden Boy’s thigh. He was totally bald and had tattoos of the most fearsome sort engraved on his face. Serious tattoos. He was wearing spandex pants and no shirt so his ripped and rippling muscles rose from his chest like the map of a mountain chain—topography formed by millions of hours of lifting and swinging and hitting and smashing.

WHO ARE YOU?? Golden Boy shouted directly into the silence of the tattooed face. I SAID, WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?

Nothing but the dead stare from the dead black eyes sunk in the tattooed face.

Golden Boy tried to push past. "Nee-Nee, come on, I have got to talk to you. It’s urgent."

But when he pushed into the large slab of tattooed muscle, Golden Boy suddenly got taller. He was in the air. His feet were 12 inches off the ground. The tattooed man had grabbed Golden Boy’s arms and lifted him straight up into the air. The man didn’t even strain. He held Golden Boy at arm’s length, feet floating over the floor.

Golden Boy was so surprised that he didn’t even say anything. His face was red and his cheeks swollen like he had had air pumped into him, but he did not say anything. He kicked a bit, his feet ineffectually treading air.

Oh very well.’ Nee-Nee called from the other room. If you really want to come in. And then she said to the man with the tattooed face, Bring him here, will you? I have just the spot…"

The tattooed man carried Golden Boy into the living room of Nee-Nee’s gorgeous suite. The couches, the long and glorious drapes. The crystal on the table. The carved wood. The deep deep carpet. The barber chair.

The barber chair?

What was a barber chair doing in the middle of the swanky living room?

When Golden Boy saw the chair he figured it out quickly enough. He went crazy. He began to scream and to kick and to holler and to yelp. He pitched and he bucked and he broke down in large and gasping sobs. And when that did not work he cursed and he cried and he cursed some more, ##@$@#%*&^%^!!!!

But the silent and steady man with the tattoos was not put off. He carried Golden Boy straight to the barber chair and jammed him in. And somehow there were straps. Everywhere. Golden Boy’s arms were strapped to the arms of the chair. His chest was strapped to the body of the chair. There were even little brace type items that came out from the side and held his neck in place.

Golden Boy screamed and tried to wiggle free. He tried to shake free. His big beautiful face was red and streaked with tears of anger and desperation. $%#$%^&***#@@$%))(&$$!!!!!

He cursed again and again.

Nee-Nee was standing behind him. Oh my, she said. I think you are in a bad situation.

He cursed and sobbed.

Right in front of the barber chair there was a tall piece of furniture covered by a blanket. Nee-Nee made a sign to the man with the tattooed face and lifted the blanket. And there it was. Six foot high. Bright. Beautiful. Silver. Gorgeous.

A mirror.

A large life-sized mirror so that Golden Boy could see himself up close and beautiful.

Nee-Nee smiled a calm smile and brought out a gleaming silver electric hair buzzer.

Golden Boy’s eyes bugged out like two big bugs. OH MY GOD!!, he screamed. And he began again with the twitching and the jerking and the struggling.

She lifted a handful of Golden Boy’s long and beautiful golden hair from where it hung down his neck.

YOU ARE KILLING ME!!!

Nee-Nee smiled. Hardly.

And then, just then, Nee-Nee switched on the buzzer…

Nee-Nee woke from her daydream. She had been sitting on the sidewalk for ten minutes on an April afternoon. She had the flyer in her hand and a very cold butt. She did not look like she looked in her daydream. She did not look elegant. But she looked like she had a plan.

3

Saint Marcus Was An Unlikely Cinematographer

Saint Marcus was an unlikely cinematographer but Nee-Nee was not going to involve any of her brothers in the making of her video. And Barkus? Not a chance. Barkus would sabotage the project just for fun even before she realized that when Nee-Nee was a multi-millionaire, Nee-Nee would get even for all of the indignities that she had suffered over the years at the hands of little Barkus. No, for a project like this, a girl needed her mother.

You have got to promise me one thing Mother, she said.

Yes.

I didn’t even tell you yet what you have to promise.

I fear that I can guess. Saint Marcus brushed her frizzled hair out of her eyes with both hands. "You want me to promise that I won’t tell your father what you are up to.