The Devil's Copper, Jamie Crothall [classic books for 7th graders .TXT] 📗

to.  It seemed like a rather elaborate plan.  They said it was done through something called ‘Inspiration Inc’.  You know how you can get singing telegrams or clowns to embarrass people on their birthdays?  Well apparently some enterprising young man had set up a company where he hired actors to portray ‘time travelers’ and meet people before they were famous, to encourage them to continue pursuing whatever craft they were losing their faith in.  It was a kitschy idea, and while I was hardly the most outgoing person in the world, I knew I had to meet the man behind the concept.  I had to find out what drove him to come up with such a concept, and furthermore determine what made him think such an idea was sustainable in this little corner of the earth.  My friends, whom I had both thanked and admonished for their attempts at becoming my entourage, give me the proprietor’s business card, which proclaimed the owner to be one ‘Mr. Jacky Spry.’

***

“I prefer ‘Jack,’ to be honest.”

‘Jack’ told me he was lucky I had chosen that day to visit his office; he typically spent most of his time at his day job.

“Normally, my employees double as an answering service.  But Mike is off sick today, and quite frankly, I needed a break.”

Honestly, I don’t think I really took in any of that at the time. I was too busy getting lost in his eyes.  Oh shut up; I know that’s a cliché. But every good cliché starts its life as a general truth.  I am not one to go boy crazy.  Never have been.  But something about Jack caught me off guard.  And not in the same way his time traveler did.  It wasn’t down to his appearance, though there was little to complain about in that department, but rather in his sincerity.  Trust me, you don’t go through life the way I have without noting a sincere lack of compassion and overall empathy in people, to the point where when it does rear its head you gather a bit of a sixth sense about it.  Jack had it in spades – he didn’t look through me, he didn’t look at me, he just...looked.  And listened.  Yeah you wouldn’t understand, but don’t misunderstand either - I wasn’t completely malleable in his presence.  I mean, he wore a suit, and most people don’t wear a suit unless they want to sell you something, so that had me put up a few defenses.  Cults are formed by people with a certain amount of charm, after all.  I had to snap myself out of it and give him the same amount of critical observation that I did his employee.

“I had a visit from one of your people two days ago,” I said, bolstering my professional bravado.  “I just wanted to ask you some questions about it.”

“Sure,” he said.

He offered me a seat across from his desk.  He only sat when I sat.  There were also no pictures of a wife or children on his desk.  Oh shut up, Billie!

“Can I ask you a question first?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Were you inspired?”

I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out.  “Huh,” I muttered.  I looked back up at him.  “I mean, I never believed it.  Not for a second.”  Okay, maybe a half a second.  “However…I walked away from the encounter thinking about getting back into it.”  I looked at the wall.  I looked at the ceiling.  I looked back at him.  “Oh my god you’re a master manipulator.”

He laughed as he shook his head.  “If I was out to manipulate someone I’d be hiring actors to gather people’s social insurance numbers.”

“But why do it?  It seems a bit…specific.”

“You’d be surprised.  We’ve had a few jobs so far, we’re a bit new, but we’ve encouraged people to get back into acting, singing…”  He was counting off on his fingers.  “…writing, gardening…”

“Gardening?” I asked, an eyebrow raised.

“A Sudbury green-thumb helped the city win the best public park award in 2010, which is the only reason the Queen decided to set up her retirement residence here in 2021.  Or at least that’s what her great grandson came back to tell her when she felt like giving up after her husband died.”

“Fascinating.”

“Of course she didn’t believe it, but it did give her the push to continue on.”

“Has anyone believed it so far?”

He shrugged.  “Hard to say.  My actors normally leave before any more can be said.  I like to do a little follow-up with the people who hire us though, just to see if they were satisfied.  I’m proud to say we’ve not pissed anyone off yet.”

I smirked and nodded.  “A good benchmark for a growing business.”

“Absolutely.”  He looked me up and down, then at some papers on his desk.  “Elizabeth Turner?”

Like a waif, my heart fluttered when he said my name.  How utterly embarrassing, even if he couldn’t see it.  “Yes.”

He withdrew a scrap of paper from a file.  It was crumpled, covered in black dust, and had the word ‘Billie’ signed on it.  “With your permission I’d like to frame this and have it on my wall.”

“For when I’m famous?” I asked wryly.

“You don’t have to be famous for me to be proud of this,” he insisted.  “I like to keep track of my successes.”

“Well, we’ve established I’m not successful yet.”

“Yes you are.  You have been for quite some time, I’m sure.  You’ve just never realized.”

Even with my sincerity radar, I was taken aback.  I wasn’t expecting him to look at me like that.  No one ever looked at me like that.  It was something I was thoroughly unfamiliar with.  He looked at me as though I mattered.  I’d embarrass myself if I explained how unusual that was for me.  I scrambled to find some snarky comment - my