The NYCE Girls!

by Raquel Belle

  “I can’t find anything about this stupid fucking cult or secret society, or whatever the fuck it is,” I said and closed my laptop. “I bet she has a lead by now, too.”

  “Who, the woman you were staring at last night?” Naomi got up and walked to the fridge, opening it to look for breakfast.

  “Yes, but she’s not just any woman. She’s a journalist, she writes for The Post… She’s good,” I said. Admitting it out loud tasted sour.

  “You and your nemeses… How many do you have now?” Naomi pulled out the carton of eggs and the tortillas.

  “That’s not the point. How the hell am I supposed to find out if a secret society exists without any leads?”

  “You have leads. You’re related to them. Didn’t your Dad go to Yale and your grandfather to Cambridge? Those schools are packed with secret societies so they’re bound to know something.”

  I sighed. “Shit. You’re right…” I sat back in my chair and wiped a hand down my face. Talking to Gramps and my Dad wasn’t exactly appealing, but they were the only leverage I had if I really wanted to pursue this angle.

  “Of course, I’m right. Now help me make breakfast and toast the tortillas. Then you can call your Dad and invite yourself over for cigars.”

  “Think I’ll get better luck calling Gramps.”

  Naomi quickly scrambled some eggs, and I worked on the tortillas using my stove’s built-in griddle. My apartment was a relatively new one on the Upper East Side. It was modern, all clean lines, with a killer view of the city that spanned from the living room to the kitchen and dining room on the other side. The bedrooms had great views too. As we sat to eat, I texted Gramps: Mind if I come by for a nightcap today? A second later, he called me.

  “Shit, why didn’t he just text me back?” I said, then answered the call, “Gramps! How are ya, old man?”

  “Suspicious. Why is my estranged grandson asking to come over for a nightcap and not even dinner first?” His old, grumbly voice was slightly cultured and definitely northern. “Your grandmother would love that, you know.”

  “Well, I…”

  “In fact, that’s what we’re doing. You’ll come over tonight at seven for dinner, and later we’ll have the nightcap. Should we make it a family dinner? Invite your parents, brother, and sister, too?”

  “No, no, no, Gramps… Well dad, yeah. I actually wanted to talk to the both of you about some old rumors you may have heard in your college days. It’s for a story I’m working on,” I said.

  “Ah! Now the truth comes out. Well, you should’ve led with that. So, you’re looking for some shop talk. Sure, come over for drinks then if dinner is too much of a commitment,” he said.

  I ignored the jab. “Okay, Gramps, will do. I’ll see you tonight.” I hung up. The guy sounded so friendly and approachable, yet he was a master in condescension and knew just how to get under people’s skin. “I’m already fucking regretting this.”

  Naomi laughed at me then put her iPad in her purse. “Don’t worry, okay? Just soldier through it. The night can’t last forever, right?” She kissed me on the cheek then walked towards the foyer.

  “You have a car outside?”

  “Yeah, let me know how it goes, okay?” She called over her shoulder. I heard the front door open and close.

  “Sure, if I don’t somehow poison the both of them.” Though, admittedly, hanging out with Gramps was better than hanging out with just my dad. Neither were pleasant, and both promised verbal and emotional abuse, but Gramps wasn’t as cold as my father. He must’ve mellowed out with age.

  ***

  The drive to Huntington was ridiculously long. I had to contend with commuter traffic the entire way, and that shit put me in a bad mood before the bad mood I knew I’d be leaving Gramps’ place in. When I pulled into Gram and Gramps’ driveway, I just sat in the car while I took deep breaths and counted to ten. The brick mansion stared at me as if waiting for me to just give in and endure the torture inside.

  I shut off my Tesla and jogged through the biting cold to the front steps. Before I could knock, the front doors opened, and my grandparents stood there smiling.

  “Grams! Gramps! You two look younger every time I see you,” I said, as I gave my grandmother a hug. She looked young for her seventy-six years. Her hair was meticulously dyed a natural brown, and her skin wrinkled only around her eyes and mouth. Her blue eyes were bright and focused as always.

  “Well if you’d visit more often, we could probably live forever!” Grams said and patted my back. I let her go and shook Gramps’ hand. The old man wore a blazer and slacks with a sweater. He still had a full head of hair that was mostly silver now. His square features were still young too, though he had wrinkles on his face. There was something about the way his eyebrows were angled that made him seem a lot younger than seventy-nine.

  “Maybe that’s the point, Daisy. He’s staying away so that we can get old and die already.”

  “Wow! That got dark real fast, Gramps,” I said and walked inside with Grams’ arm around my waist. The house was Victorian style down to every minute detail. Everything inside was opulent, mirroring my family’s taste and self-importance as a whole. Gramps himself was a billionaire, running the family business with my Dad and brother. Preston Shipping had been around for generations now, since 1901. They shipped everything everywhere, dealing mainly in large scale trade and raw material transport. It was a lucrative business. As long as there was stuff, Preston Shipping would be around to move it.

  “Your father was supposed to be here already, but I imagine he got caught in traffic just like you did,” Grams said. She escorted me to the study, and Gramps trailed behind us.

  “Yeah, but he lives closer to you than I do. You know how he is,” I said, as she patted me on the chest with a knowing and reassuring smile.

  “He’ll get here when he gets here. So what? We get more time to catch up,” Gramps said. We all walked right to the dry bar, and Grams pulled out three glasses. Two for whiskey and one for a cocktail. “Now, Anthony, how’s everything at the paper?” Grams asked. Gramps walked to the humidor near his desk and pulled out a couple of cigars.

  “Everything is great there. I still get my pick of assignments, and I haven’t disappointed my editor yet. My position is secure at The Tribune.”

  Grams poured the whiskey and then looked for something on the cart. “Oh, I forgot ice.”

  “That’s okay, I like my whiskey room temp.”

  “But isn’t it true that you could be an editor by now?” Gramps asked. He brought me a cigar and clipped the end for me.

  “I could’ve, but that wasn’t the route I wanted to go. And anyway, I would’ve had to build up another reputation as an editor, and I like the one I have now.”

  Gramps shrugged. “To each his own.” He picked up his glass and lifted it to me before taking a sip.

  “Right,” I said. I laughed then looked at my grandmother. “How are you guys? The big retirement cruise is coming up soon, right?”

  “I’m excited for it, but your grandfather would rather work for another twenty years, or until he dies,” she said. “Every other day he rethinks his decision to retire.”

  I turned to him, curious. “Why? You don’t trust Dad and Eli?”

  Gramps smirked but gave nothing up. “Of course, I trust them.” He put his hand on my shoulder and led me towards the study’s balcony doors. Something chimed, and Grams stopped making her own drink to hurry out of the room. I guessed my Dad had finally made it.

  The balcony was heated by lamps and looked out across the wide lawn surrounding the house. Behind it was an inlet, though it was too dark to see that far. “What was it you wanted to come here to talk about, anyway?” Gramps lit his torch and puffed his cigar to life. I took a sip of my drink and turned around to light mine. Then my Dad stepped onto the balcony. He was a slightly shorter, older version of me. We looked too much alike, down to the facial hair and ear shape.

  “Greg… I mean, Dad, it’s good
to see you,” I said, as I shook his hand.

  Greg’s laugh was dry and fake sounding. “That sounded very convincing. How are you, Anthony?” He shook Gramps’ hand then plucked my cigar from my fingers, making Gramps laugh. “Seniority, right? Remember, I raised you?”

  “Yeah, yeah, how’s Mom and…everyone?” I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I spoke to anyone in my immediate family. I think it was for Independence Day that I saw them last.

  “You should know. Maybe if you called or came by more, you’d be able to answer your own question. Your mother is ready to disown you.”

  “My trust fund is released, so it wouldn’t make a difference,” I said. Gramps laughed to cut the tension. Greg laughed once without humor. I finished my drink in one gulp, then walked inside to pour more.

  “Why’s he here, anyway?” I heard Greg ask before I rejoined them.

  “Said he wants to talk shop for some story he’s writing,” Gramps said. “I was just about to get the details when you showed up.”

  “Oh, what’s the story?” Greg asked. “I hope you’re working an interesting angle, Anthony. I hate to tell you this, but someone’s got to. The stuff you wrote in college is starting to read better than your most recent work.”

  “Yeah, you think so?” I said, trying not to talk through my teeth. Greg tilted his head then puffed on the cigar. I sighed. “Anyway, the feature I’m working on covers the musical Pennsylvania Avenue and Jonathan Fitzwales. But I thought it would be interesting to uncover the mystery that surrounds this secret society that he may or may not be a part of.”

  “Where the hell do we come in?” Gramps said.

  “Well, you guys went to schools where secret societies were and are en vogue. Have you ever heard anything about the Common Templars?” I sipped my drink, while they both glanced towards the sky, really deliberating, going back in time and all that.

  “It’s not hard to uncover the secret societies at Harvard. None of the ones I know have that name, though,” Greg said.

  “I might remember something named Templar from the old days at Cambridge but…well, Anthony, I’m an old man,” Gramps said, effectively brushing off the conversation and the entire reason I drove out.

  “You’ll figure it all out,” Greg said, even more dismissive of the topic. “How’s your life going otherwise? Settling down yet?”

  “Settling down?” I finished my second glass and glanced at the bar through the balcony doors.

  “Aw, come on, a young man like you?” Gramps said. “Anthony you should have your pick of the field out there. Any woman in the city from a good family would jump at the chance to have a rich and well-known husband. You’re thirty-two. You should start thinking about the next phase of your life.”

  “You could even find yourself a woman whose family owns a paper. Since you have such disdain for our family business, the least you can do is marry into a business you wouldn’t mind taking over,” Greg said.

  “Excuse me a sec, but I gotta refill.” I turned sharply on my heel and strode back inside. The conversation was bound to get worse the longer I stayed. So, I left my glass on the cart and made my way to the living room. Grams was sitting in her high-backed chair, sipping her martini.

  “You’re leaving already…?”

  “Yeah, I can’t stay any longer. Plus, they didn’t have any information for me,” I said. She pressed her lips together and shook her head at me, sighing sadly.

  “Alright…the least you can do is make a date to spend time with your grandma. Why should I suffer for those assholes in there?” She had a tendency to be very blunt and it always cracked me up.

  I hugged her tight and kissed her on the cheek. “I promise, Grams. We’ll have a whole day on the town soon.”

  “Good. I’ll hold you to that, Anthony.” We walked to the front door and she saw me off. I sped away from that house as fast as the Tesla would take me.

  Chapter Seven

  Beth

  Huevos, my tabby, curled his chubby body around my legs in a figure eight and I reached down to scratch him behind the ears. “I know… You don’t want me to go. I’m gone too much.”

  He purred loudly and rubbed his head on my leg. “I promise lots of cuddle time when I get back. Today’s the big day, bud.” I checked my makeup one last time in the hallway mirror.

  My interview with Jonathan was in the afternoon but before that, I’d scheduled coffee with his friend Nathan. I wore a blazer and a white blouse over jeans. I wanted to come off as approachable as possible, especially given that I was going to have to pester Nathan and Jonathan about a secret society rumor. You want to appear casual for something like that. I kissed Huevos on the head and then hurried out of the apartment to catch the train. Thankfully, there were no delays, and I was able to get to Manhattan on time.

  Nathan and I were meeting for coffee at a bagel shop down the street from Jonathan’s hotel. I checked my watch as I stepped into the shop, then glanced around the dining area. Nathan stood up and waved at me, seeming kind of dorky with his grin, but I appreciated it. The interview had a higher chance of success if my subject was in a good mood.

  “Nathan! Hi,” I said and shook his hand while slinging my bag over the back of the seat across from his.

  “How are you? You look well,” he said and gestured to the chair for me to sit before he followed suit. I smiled. It was nice knowing that some men still had manners ingrained in their system.

  “I’m good, but kinda wired actually. I think I made my espresso too strong at home,” I said.

  He laughed. “You and me both then. I’m on my second coffee, both with an extra shot.”

  “Whoa, were you up late last night?” I asked.

  “Yeah, Jon and I hung out with a few of the cast members after you left. It got to be a bit of a wild night,” he said and wiped his eyes, grinning as he recalled whatever shenanigans they’d gotten into. “Anyway, that’s a story for a different time. Come on, ask me anything you’d like to know. I’m an open book.”

  “Are you?” I said. “I actually have a couple of maybe weird questions for you…”

  He tilted his head curiously. “Weird as in…?”

  “As in the Common Templars,” I said, opting to be frank about it.

  Nathan looked surprised and taken aback. His orange eyebrows almost lifted into his hairline. “What, uh…? How would you know to ask me about that?” The surprise wore off, and he seemed impressed.

  I grinned and took out my notepad and pen. “Well when I was initially Googling Jonathan, I came across this obscure tabloid article which had a picture of Jonathan in a hood going into a place that some thought to be an abandoned orphanage in Sussex. There’s always sort of been, speculation, as to whether the society exists or not, so I couldn’t pass up asking you and Jonathan about it.”

  “Well, I mean, there’s only so much I can say,” he said and scratched the back of his neck.

  “Anything is good. Really, it’d be huge if you could confirm or deny its existence. I won’t ask you to rat Jon out. I can ask him for myself—about the picture. But if you know anything about the society, that would be really helpful,” I said.

  Nathan ran his fingers through his hair and then leaned forward. I did too. “It’s real. It’s a secret society, though not a cult. Like the Free Masons.” He kept his voice low.

  My heart soared in my chest, and it took everything in me not to grin like a maniac. Finally! “Is it only in the UK?”

  He shook his head. “No, we have chapters in the US, Australia, India, and South Africa. It originated in Great Britain, though.” I quickly jotted down the information, and he continued. “The society is charity-focused. More specifically, our mission is to better the lives of orphans, help kids who don’t have homes, and offer aid to groups whose mission it is to fight depravity in the home, which is the number one reason kids get given up or stumble into the hands of the government.”

  “Wow, that is so the opposite to what’s f
loating around about the society. People think it’s some sort of weird elitist cult.”

  Nathan shook his head furiously.

  “But why would you want to keep something like that secret? It’s charity, for goodness sake,” I said.

  “Off the record?” He asked, very seriously.

  I nodded, “Okay, off the record.”

  “Look, this has to stay just between us. There are members who have very particular reasons for doing what they do. Obviously there are a lot of very wealthy people and public figures associated with the group and they’d prefer the focus was on the work the Templars are doing…and not on their personal motivations. They want to keep their personal lives personal and not subject to the scrutiny of the media. Not everybody is an open book…or wants to be. We recently contributed quite heavily to The Children’s Hope Foundation and the keynote speaker there, Nicholas Parker—”

  “I know Nick.”

  “Oh, what a coincidence. Well then you know that he had no problem admitting that he was an orphan and had a difficult childhood. That’s why he was asked to speak in exchange for our contribution. We knew his story would resonate and open some pockets that are fat enough to get the job done. But, basically, not everyone wants to be so honest about their lives. It’s as simple as that. Of course, that’s not the case with all of our members, but, you get the point. We can go back on the record now.”

  “Okay, wow, that’s amazing!”

  “You can’t use that though, you agreed it’s off the record.”

  “Sure, definitely, you have my word.”

  “Okay, well, I’d love to give you the whole history, but that’s forbidden by the rules. If you’re interested in what we stand for, my next course of action would be to invite you to the next chapter meeting. There’s one in the city, you know.”