The Bookseller's Boyfriend

by Heidi Cullinan

  Rebecca smiled the kindest smile Jacob had ever seen. “Are you willing to fix the mess you’ve made?”

  Jodie nodded vigorously, reaching out to catch Rebecca’s hand. “Yes, I want to fix this. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

  “Good.” Rebecca patted Jodie’s hand, then sat back. A tiny glint formed in her eye. “You’re going to confess what you did, and what your grandfather did.” When Jodie hesitated, Rebecca’s gentle smile turned sharp. “Here’s the thing, Jodie. You and your grandfather did significant damage to a man’s life. It’s a serious situation, with a lot of legal liability I don’t think either you or Mr. Clark took fully into account. But honestly, at this point I should talk first to your parents and your grandfather. You’re still seventeen, right?” As Jodie paled, Rebecca’s teeth appeared in her smile. “Ah, that’s right, it was your birthday last month. You’re eighteen now.”

  Jodie pushed to her feet, shoulders and arms rigid as she did her best to loom over Rebecca and Jacob. “It was a mistake! I said I was sorry! I said you could fire me! Isn’t that enough? What more do you want from me?”

  Rebecca blinked at her as if she were quite surprised. “You said just a minute ago you’d do whatever it takes. We both heard you. Right, Jacob?”

  “Yes.” Jacob balled his fists against his thighs, attempting to marshal his rage. “You hurt the person I love, and you did it while I paid you money. You betrayed us in the place we felt the safest. At my business. In our home.”

  It galled him to see how Jodie’s defenses only rose at this, tears absent as she grasped for excuses to justify herself. “People do this sort of thing online all the time. Everybody knows it’s no big deal, and Rasul is a big enough celebrity he should expect it. Besides, he’s always been a playboy. What does it matter? He practically asked for this.”

  The urge to slap her, shake her, do anything physical to try to push his rage onto her was so strong it almost choked him. She got to do all this to Rasul, but he couldn’t do anything at all to her? Obviously violence wasn’t the answer, but… they didn’t know. None of them would ever understand the hell Rasul went through to make his stories, how much he cared about what his readers wanted, how much he just wanted to give people the story they needed that he could tell. Certainly neither Jodie nor her grandfather could comprehend how difficult it was to write about your own orientation, your own cultural landscape, when even your own publishing house wasn’t in your corner to take the risk. No one would understand how far away Rasul was from their image of him, and nobody would give a damn to hear how much his cavalier ways had been a silent plea for help. He hadn’t hurt anyone. All he did was accidentally present himself as a useful tool while clawing his way through misery.

  It wasn’t right for Jodie to even think she had the moral high ground here. But it was clear stories of Rasul’s struggles wouldn’t change her heart. She wasn’t interested in Rasul.

  The man Jacob loved so much.

  With such a long, uncomfortable silence, Jodie began crack, and in her panic, she turned the waterworks back on. “I just want to forget this ever happened.”

  “That, I assure you, will be difficult.” Rebecca leaned back in her chair, crossing her ankles as she gazed up at Jodie with a quiet smile that was polite and unmoved by her tears. “I think it best at this point for you to go home and wait for someone to contact you. Ask your parents for a lawyer. Though, I should say—” She winked as she waved her smartphone at Jodie. “Save yourself the stress of deleting your social media. I texted the team before we even sat down, and they let me know a few minutes ago they have all the archives they need.”

  Jodie looked like she was going to say something, then bolted out the door instead.

  For several minutes neither of them said a word. Jacob struggled to breathe. After a few tight gasps as he tried for a deep inhale, Rebecca put her hand on his knee.

  Jacob shut his eyes and hissed his remaining air through his nose. He inhaled, then shot the air out again.

  His chest hurt. A small, hollow ache in the center that made him feel as if it was a black hole sucking his soul into it. So many emotions clanged inside him. He should probably do something about the rest of his staff, right? Make sure they weren’t accomplices? How many other people who wandered his stacks, handled his money, smiled at his lover, were in truth only looking for a moment to take advantage? This really was his fault in the end. What a shameful job he’d done protecting Rasul. Shouldn’t he have known better? Shouldn’t he have seen?

  In his shop. In his shop all this had happened.

  Rebecca patted his knee and took his hand. “I’m going to help you. I will fix this for you. So stop beating yourself up.”

  God, that hole in Jacob’s chest was going to kill him. “I can’t wrap my head around why she did it.”

  “It doesn’t matter. If she’s broken the law, she’s going to pay. Same with Clark. And trust me, I can always find a way to get my clients what they want.”

  Jacob looked up at her, desperate to find something to plug that hole inside him. But he didn’t even know what to say anymore.

  Rebecca winked at him. “It’s going to be fine. Trust me. You’re a good person, you believe in the existence of other good people, and it’s one of the reasons I want you to be the president of the chamber of commerce. The reason I want you around in my life in general. You’re one of the good ones. Me?” The glint returned to her eyes, and her smile grew knives. “I’m one of the bad ones. But I’m on your side, and I’ll always be there.” She rose, nodding at the back of the store. “Let’s go find Rasul and make some plans.”

  It disturbed Jacob how calmly Rasul listened to the story—told by Rebecca because Jacob was still a little unsteady. This meant Jacob had nothing to do but watch Rasul’s face as he took everything in. He looked mostly wooden, and tired, and only mildly surprised to hear it was Jodie who betrayed them.

  When she finished, Rasul sat back. “My agent and my lawyer are going to go ham on this. Good thinking on those screen shots.”

  “Give them my contact information, and I’ll set them up with whatever they want. Jacob, I’ll be in touch with whatever I find, but I’m assuming there’s already been a few calls from the Clark family lawyers.” She looked pleased. “It’s going to be fun, because everyone at that firm hates me.” Rising, she smiled at them both. “I’ll leave you two alone, then, and I’ll be in touch. I’ll see myself out.”

  Rasul shut his eyes and leaned his head back. Once Rebecca was gone, he wiped his hands over his face with a groan. “God, I really don’t want to call Elizabeth and my lawyer right now, but I guess that’s what I’ve got to do.”

  Jacob couldn’t take it any longer. “You’re a lot less angry than I thought.”

  Wearily, Rasul shrugged. “I mean, I am angry. A little rattled too, because I hadn’t seen her coming. I really am rusty.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you’re used to things like this?”

  Rasul’s laugh was dark, and exhausted. “I mean, I guess that’s one way of looking at it. Everybody comes at me with a smile, effusing about how much they love me, but I usually assume they’ve got a knife behind their back, ready to carve out a slice of me for their own purposes.”

  “You shouldn’t have to put up with that!”

  “Hon, I don’t know how to explain this to you—it’s all I’ve ever known.” Rasul’s hollow gaze softened as he looked up at Jacob. “Until you.” He laughed wryly. “If you ever pull out a knife, I’m just going to open my arms and accept it. You and Elizabeth are the two people I know in that category.”

  Jacob swallowed the bile in his throat and took Rasul’s hand. “I will never betray you. If I don’t like what you’re doing, I’ll get angry with you to your face. But I’ll never betray you. Not a single time.”

  Rasul glanced away, but his rueful smile died quickly, and his shoulders sagged.

  Wordlessly, Jacob pulled him into his arms and held him.

  R
ASUL’S AGENT and attorney moved fast, and Rebecca kept their pace. Once they showered the Clark family lawyers and the relevant prosecutors with the documentation of Jodie and Les’s crimes, Rebecca, Elizabeth, and the lawyer teamed up with Rasul’s publicist and began a PR blitz. It started with an article on a midlevel news site, followed by remixes everywhere else, offering proof of the harassment of Rasul by Adina and Les in a coordinated attempt to defame and embarrass Rasul for their own ends.

  Jacob watched everything unfold in awe. From the outside, everything appeared so organic and casual, but behind the scenes countless deals and called-in favors greased the wheels. It sobered him to realize much of the entertainment journalism he’d assumed was impartial happened because someone knew someone else and owed them a favor, or had a vested interest in getting on someone’s good side. One afternoon Jacob was in the kitchen, making tea as Rasul and Elizabeth strategized, discussing who they should give exclusives to in exchange for favorable coverage. It all seemed so dirty to Jacob, but apparently it was just how the business worked.

  More than once, he walked past the stacks and wondered about the grim stories that could be told about each title he had for sale. How many favors and deals been made for each launch? Which authors he’d assumed had achieved success had done so by merit, and which had ascended on the backs of other people? He was afraid to know the answer. He feared if he did, he’d never read another book again.

  Once the actual articles began to appear, both locally in Copper Point and nationally, public sentiment quickly spun their way. Rasul and Jacob’s team kept on the offensive, making screenshots of posts and direct messages available to any outlet who asked for them, and of course everyone took them. Then the machine took over on its own. Someone, somehow, had gotten ahold of Les’s emails, which were horrifying. Les damned himself as a scheming homophobe who used his vulnerable granddaughter to achieve his own petty goals.

  The PR team was impressive too. Jacob had wondered why Rasul didn’t press charges regarding the sex tape at first, but Rebecca had understood right away. “The tape’s existence isn’t good for Rasul’s image. They’re going to try to imply, without actually saying so, that perhaps everything is fake, even the sex tape. They’ve done a good job framing the story with Rasul as the victim. If she had a better lawyer, or if Clark were smarter, they could have flipped the script on Rasul, making him the bad guy. Always move first if you can to claim the narrative, and shut up if someone else grabs it first.” Rebecca smiled darkly. “Happily, none of the opposing parties are capable of doing anything but digging themselves deeper and helping our cause.”

  Jacob couldn’t take this. “So we’re just going to do the same thing they did?”

  Rebecca threaded her fingers over her chest. “No, we’re not. They broke laws and harmed people. We’re just helping them bury themselves, and they’ve made it super easy. Besides, only a few people actually care about what rules were broken. They just want a good story. Everybody wants a motive, but motive doesn’t matter.”

  He laughed. “Oh, come on, of course motive matters.”

  “Only on TV, honey. In the real world, if you hit my car, it doesn’t matter why you did it. You still damaged my property, and someone needs to pay for it, and that someone won’t be me. Slippery road? You’re still at fault, failure to stop. Your rearview camera blinked out and you backed into me, or the sun hit your eyes and made it hard to drive? Still your fault. The law doesn’t care why you broke it, only that you broke it. Public opinion isn’t the law. It’s entertainment. So always give them a good show.”

  Jacob felt queasy. “This is all so cynical and awful.”

  “Of course it is. That’s why you pay me to be good at dealing with it. You and Rasul go breathe hope into the world, telling stories and distributing them to others. Leave the bottom feeders to us sharks.”

  So Jacob did. He focused on supporting Rasul and selling books and being present in his community while the articles and online battles raged and the lawyers clashed. Public opinion shifted their way, guided by the expert maneuverings of people whose job it was to convince people of whatever truth was on the table. The Clark family lawyers tried to do the same, but they weren’t as good at their jobs. Eventually Les retired from the bank and stepped down from the chamber of commerce. Jodie elected to homeschool for the remainder of the year. Adina was torn to shreds. Her platforms demonetized her. The gossip mags she so longed to be included in only spoke of her as the worst jezebel, as walking poison. And as far as modeling agencies went, she was blacklisted for life.

  Just like that, it was done.

  Outside of their internal wounds, Jacob and Rasul had never been better received in Copper Point. Local opinion had never been exactly against Rasul, but now everyone embraced him as one of their own who had been deeply wronged, and he was showered in casseroles and baked goods accordingly. Jacob received more approval than sympathy, people stopping by and purchasing books before telling him how wonderful he was, encouraging him to run for whatever public office he could.

  Jacob still felt unsettled by it all, and to his shame, eventually Rasul consoled him.

  “I get how you feel. It still bothers me, yeah, but it used to really get me down. Because the whole thing is a waste.” They were curled on the couch together, Rasul’s head lying in Jacob’s lap as he stared up at him. “In the end no one gets anything, and no one is happy. Because even if they successfully step on you and get somewhere, once you sip at the dark magic, you can’t stop. If you’ve used one person, you’ll use any person, any thing, any excuse to get what you want. And the truth of the matter is, we only survive with each other. Living for yourself alone means eventually you’re completely alone.”

  “It’s just so wrong,” Jacob said, feeling foolish because it seemed a naïve plea, but he couldn’t help it.

  Rasul didn’t judge him, only reached up to stroke his face. “I know. Because you’re after justice. Me too, if I’m honest. I want the world to be better, want to believe it can be better. It’s difficult to grasp that some people don’t even want to discuss what’s right and wrong. Only what’s possible.”

  Jacob thought about what Rasul had said all night long, unable to sleep a wink. It was true, he did want justice. He believed in justice, that everyone would support it if they could see it clearly. He didn’t like this idea that the world was full of mercenaries ready to sell the truth for a few dollars.

  He didn’t understand how Rasul could write such hopeful, wonderful stories in the face of that disappointment.

  As even more time passed and the world wove Rasul and Jacob’s drama into its fabric, Jacob couldn’t shake the determination that this story needed a better climax. Something soothing, so he and Rasul could go on believing in things like hope and happy ever after. Something pure, not manipulated. A bit of joy, a fissure of light to propel them forward.

  The idea came to him one morning when the cats got him out of bed at five, the thoughts rising out of the mists of his tea as he clamored for proper consciousness. It woke him up completely, bloomed as he stood under the shower, and swelled as he paced the living room, the steady thunk, click of the clock punctuating his steps. At seven he texted Matt and Gus, and at eight Matt called him.

  “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

  “Mini Main Street, this afternoon, at your store.” Jacob caught a glance at his reflection in the mirror by the door and touched the collar of his sweater. “We need to bump up the timeline on that suit you’re making for me.”

  THE LAST few days of April and first week of May were quiet, giving Rasul a lot of time to think. Perhaps a bit more than he wanted.

  He still had interview requests, but he’d put all of them off. His excuse was he had a lot going on with the end of the school year, that he had to help Jacob get ready for the chamber ball, but the truth was he didn’t want to face awkward questions he didn’t know the answer to.

  In so many ways, he was falling into de
pression, the depression he’d known lurked for him ever since he first realized how difficult it would be for him to write Veil of Stars. He’d run from this mental state, fought it tooth and nail. He thought he’d escaped it by finishing and getting together with Jacob, but like a riptide, darkness pulled him back. It didn’t matter that Elizabeth and Rebecca had solved the crisis. He was going to feel that sick sense of exposure for a long time.

  Exposure coupled with shame that it had been a crisis of his own making.

  He’d said as much one night to Jacob, and Jacob had been irate on his behalf, pointing out there were laws against using someone’s private photos and videos against them without permission, especially to coerce or shame. While Rasul appreciated this defense very much, even needed to hear it several times a week, it left out the gritty mess he held tight in his hand. His own part in this. That he should have known better. He should have done better for himself.

  Jacob stayed beside him through this low like a rock, bringing him takeout, soothing him with the same reassurances over and over. “You got here on the path you had to take. I’m never going to judge you for that, and I hope you don’t judge yourself either. I am, however, very glad you came.”

  He tried not to judge himself. The weather was finally warming, and he became addicted to taking long walks down the greenbelt park behind the store. He wandered all the way to the southern end, where he could peer down at the craggy riot of clear water against the jagged rocks, and to the northern end, from which point he could see the lighthouse.

  On the morning of the chamber ball, he went up the lighthouse again and stood alone at the breezy apex, letting his thoughts unfurl across the bay.

  He liked to run from things. He knew that. It had been a good strategy for a long, long time, until it hadn’t. He’d built a life for himself full of the things he felt he should like, things he believed, or hoped, could keep him safe. From what, he still couldn’t articulate. Criticism? No. Judgment? Ha. No.