Hired

by Zoey Castile

  Another slap. Gary says, “How is that supposed to cheer him up?”

  “Leave him be,” Fallon says, thankfully the voice of reason. “Though, we should probably get him to take a shower because this place smells dank as fuck.”

  “I do not fucking smell!” I shout. I pull off my covers and walk out to the living room, where they’re drinking my booze and eating my chips. “Get out.”

  “We can’t leave now,” Vin says. “We just ordered Cancun Gone Wild #15.”

  “Vinny,” Fallon says, and Vinny slumps into the couch. “We’re just worried about you, bro. We’ll leave if you want.”

  Of course I don’t want them to leave. I’m tired of being alone. I don’t do well alone. Maybe that’s why I was so good at my job. Because I needed to be with person after person. No, don’t go down that road.

  “Don’t leave,” I say, sitting on the couch.

  “Okay, but do you want to, like, put clothes on?” Vin asks. I try to think of the last time I changed my clothes. After Faith left, after I let her walk out, I grabbed all of my things and checked out of the room. I couldn’t stand being in there. Couldn’t stand myself. I didn’t see Ginny, but I suppose that was the last I’ll see of her. Thing is, I still want her to be okay.

  I lift my armpit and take a sniff. Wow, okay. They’re not wrong about the smell. Vin tosses me one of the beer cans, and I pop it open. My body’s going to hate me for this. But I drink it.

  “You have to get over her,” Vin says.

  “It’s only been a couple of days, lad,” Gary says.

  Pat gives me another beer. “I don’t have relationships. Every woman I’ve ever tried to be with has a complete change in personality after the first month. You’re better off going back to how you were before. You were happier then.”

  I was happy. I had my clients. I dated. I traveled. I danced. Then that stopped. My only client was Ginny, and there was no dance. I put on a good face because, let’s face it, it’s always a good face. I tried to be the same person I always was, but it didn’t feel right.

  Then there was Faith and Faith was—is—everything I didn’t know I was missing.

  “Tell me what to do?” I ask the room, but I’m looking at Fallon.

  He rubs his face with his hands. If anyone knows what I’m going through, it’s him. “Do you want her?”

  “Yes.”

  “I walked away from Robyn and it was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. Even when I look at her now, when she’s in my arms or when she’s sleeping, that feeling that I hurt her just kicks me in the gut. But Robyn came after me.”

  “So what are you saying? That I should just let Faith make the next move?”

  The other guys tense, but don’t agree or disagree with Fallon. “I’m saying that she told you not to contact her. Respect her space.”

  “Do nothing.”

  “Wait until she wants to hear from you,” Fallon says.

  Something twists hard in my gut. I want to punch him, so I settle for crushing the beer can in my fist. I regret it instantly because there’s still liquid in it and it spurts all over my face. Anger surges through me, and I knock the can across the room.

  This isn’t me.

  This can’t be me.

  And yet, I’m the one doing it. I know that if I looked at myself in the mirror, I’d be the person I hate the most.

  Fallon’s right. I have to respect what Faith asked of me. I don’t deserve her and I never did.

  Still, when my phone buzzes, I lunge for it on the table. My heart sputters like an old motor and my blood rushes to my neck. Please, please, please, let it be her.

  It isn’t.

  It’s Ricky.

  We all have the same message.

  Ricky: Naked Avengers Assemble.

  “What the hell is he talking about?” I ask.

  Vin slaps my knee. “You’re coming home, brother.”

  And Pat says, “But you should probably shower first.”

  FAITH

  I’m at the campaign headquarters with my mother, Maribelle, and Raquel, the campaign manager. There’s a steady quiet between us, the kind that simmers like milk on low heat. At any moment it’s going to boil over.

  “You left the photo in that hotel room?” my mother asks, a hiss in her voice I haven’t heard since the day I came home from my first year in college and she saw the tiny arrow I had tattooed on the inside of my ankle. She chased me out of the house, and I ran around back. I might have been nineteen, but she’s still my mother. That was bad. But this is worse. It’s everything she’s worried about, and I was headstrong and foolish and blindsided by this feeling I couldn’t control.

  “I’m sure he destroyed it,” I say.

  “Because you know him so well?”

  “Daria,” Raquel St. Helen says, holding up her hand in a peaceful gesture. She’s worked with some tough campaigns, getting a small town in Texas their first openly gay, Mexican American mayor elected. New Orleans’s next woman and Black mayor should have been a breeze, especially when the Moreauxs are down in popularity. “Faith, how are you so sure that he wouldn’t use the photo himself? Sell it from under Ms. LePaige’s nose.”

  I should say that I have no idea. I should say that I can’t trust him because I don’t truly know him. Not the way I thought. But deep within me I know I’m right when I say, “He wouldn’t.”

  “Do you love him?” my mom asks.

  I frown. “That’s not why we’re here.”

  “It’s exactly why we’re here, Faith Abigail Charles. Don’t you talk back to me when you’ve put everything I’ve worked toward in danger. For what? A good time? You couldn’t wait a couple of weeks to take him to bed?”

  I slam my hand on the table, trembling with hurt and rage and a sadness I fear will shake me apart. It’s been four days.

  “You’re the reason I met Aiden in the first place!” I yell.

  Maribelle zips past us and pulls down the office curtains. The doors are already closed, but when I shouted, dutiful volunteers and interns stopped their phone calls and started peering over.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Aiden was there for me when all you could do was criticize every little thing I do. So no, I couldn’t wait a few weeks to take him to bed, Mother. Because I needed him then. Everything I do is to try to please you and it isn’t enough. This is no different. So just tell me what to do to fix it.”

  I can’t meet my mother’s eyes, because if I do, I’ll break. I can’t bear disappointing her yet again.

  “If I might,” Maribelle says. “Betty has done us a small favor. The Moreauxs wouldn’t act on anything. Even if they tried to shame Faith, it would be even worse on Virginia.”

  I take a deep breath and hold it for as long as I can before releasing it. Even without the photo, I see it as clear as day. It’s all I’ve been thinking about. How that day I was smirking like a fool buying condoms, Aiden was on a rooftop having a drink with Ginny.

  We called it off.

  We never slept together.

  It isn’t my business if they did. Aiden isn’t mine.

  I can’t stop the little voice in my head from whispering, He should be.

  “What about Betty LePaige?” my mother asks, her voice all strategy.

  “You’re her idol,” I say. “She didn’t have to come to me with what she knew. She could have left it alone. They did hire her to follow me. They knew I’d be your wild card.”

  “Faith,” my mother says.

  “If anything, Betty admires you.” I look at Raquel. “What should I do?”

  Her brown eyes are kind when she looks at me. She brushes her long blond bangs back. “At the moment there’s nothing to control. This Aiden’s face can’t be identified, not unless he comes forward.”

  “He won’t,” I say, too hard. Why am I defending him?

  Raquel presses her lips together, understanding. “I would refrain from having contact with him for the time being.”
/>
  “We’re not together,” I say, and I swallow the strangle in my throat. “Anymore.”

  Raquel nods, with a concentrated look that tells me her wheels are spinning. “Good. Good. I believe this will blow over. I’ll put some feelers out there to see how the other side is doing. In the meantime, this doesn’t leave this room. The only way to truly know where we stand is at the ball on Friday.”

  I grab my things and start to leave.

  “Faith.”

  I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  Then I leave, trying to keep my head up as I walk past a group of interns. Is this a fragment of what Virginia feels like every time she walks past the intern she knows is having an affair with her husband? Why is it that we can’t understand what others are feeling until it happens to us?

  I get in my car and go find Angie. I promised I’d be supportive of her new gig, and I will be.

  I know she’s still at her week trial with Mayhem City. I head down to the Quarter and park before I realize that Aiden might be there. And that my heart swells with the idea of seeing him again.

  Pretend I don’t exist. My last words to Aiden were said in the heat of the moment. I don’t want him to pretend that I don’t exist. I’m still so, so angry, but a part of me feels withered. Numb to anything that has to do with love or my own anger.

  I haven’t let myself sleep because my mind spins. It creates all the scenarios that I start confusing for reality. I imagine that instead of walking into Aiden’s suite to find him and Virginia sharing a drink, I caught them in the throes of passion. I know that’s not what happened, but sometimes you can convince yourself of your worst fears.

  What is my worst fear?

  It isn’t a man cheating on me. Aiden didn’t cheat on me. Not physically. When I was little, I was afraid of drowning. But then I learned to swim. I was afraid of sleeping outdoors, but if I wanted to be a part of conserving national parks, I had to learn to pitch a tent. I brought bug spray. I slept with a flashlight.

  What was my answer to my fear of being hurt?

  To take Aiden to bed.

  To see him the next day.

  To see him again after that.

  To crave him. To feel—

  A second line band comes rounding the corner, the loud brass snapping me out of a reverie that would get me nowhere except confused.

  I get out of my car and walk into the warm afternoon. Blue-and-white stickers with “Charles for Change” decorate some of the walls and businesses.

  Inside, a fast hip-hop beat fills the former theater space. All of the lights are off except for the stage. The middle space is empty, expect for a few round tables.

  I keep myself against the wall, though I’m sure my simple red dress stands out against the black. Angie is in blue workout leggings and a cropped matching top. Her hair is piled up high on her head, and she’s walking across a stage of six shirtless men. I recognize Patrick and Vin but don’t remember the others’ names. Fallon is off to the side flipping through a bunch of papers with Ricky. Angie calls out motions, and they follow her every word. She stops Vin to correct his posture, to show him how she wants him to undulate his hips.

  All of this is silly when you think about it. A bunch of grown men stripping down to their underpants for a horde of screaming women. I remember going to a show in college with my sorority sisters. But it was corny, not sexy. This is somehow different. It’s a spectacle, but their movements are more about creating a connection. Angie is a great choreographer, and I know she’s going to give this her all.

  When Aiden waltzes out from somewhere backstage tugging off a white tank, my body betrays me. It starts with a straining blush along my neck and cheeks. It moves down across my chest, my ribcage. I shut my eyes, but the memory has already been pulled, a memory of Aiden gripping my waist. His nails raking down my hips as he shouldered between my legs to place his mouth on the aching knot of nerves there. My stomach floods with emotion at the boom of his laughter.

  Even from here I can see him smile. It’s so easy for him to smile, isn’t it? That’s what I loved so much about him.

  He folds his arms over his chest to confer with Angie. Do his arms look bigger than I remember? I shake my head. I shouldn’t be here. It feels like I’m forcing myself into his presence. I suppose I am, since our paths will cross because of Angie. If he’s going to stay here, then I’m going to have to get used to the idea of him. In my life. Two trains going off the rails, ready to collide.

  I make to move, but my heel gets caught on the carpet, and I sail forward onto a table. I catch myself, but my heel is stuck tight in there.

  Aiden does a double take and stares at me. Everyone onstage looks at me, unsure of what to say or do. Angie waves at me, but Aiden looks away, swinging his arms and stretching.

  I’m the one who told him to pretend that I don’t exist, didn’t I?

  Truly feeling that makes me numb. The part of me that is hurting fights the part of me that longs to feel the brush of his fingers against my skin.

  “Faith,” he says.

  He’s getting off the stage, but the surge of adrenaline in my body makes me turn and walk out the door.

  I get out onto the sidewalk, a strange feeling on my sole, and I realize I left my shoe.

  “Faith,” Aiden says. My sensible black leather pump is in his hand.

  “Right,” I say, and take the shoe from him. “Thank you.”

  Up close, I ache in the same way I did when I held that photo in my hand. I also ache in a different sense—a dangerous one, like he’s the ocean and I want to throw myself against the expanse of his chest. Drown in him.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. He raises his hand to scratch his hair. He got a haircut, but a short beard cuts a rugged line along his jaw. I want to laugh because he thought the burn on his cheek would make him look rough, but it’s already gone.

  Although, his narrow nose is red, like he’s been out in the sun too long. I want to rub lotion on it, tell him to take care of his skin like that day on the Jaguar. That feels so long ago.

  “I’m sorry,” he says again. A broken record. A needle scratching across my heart. “I know you didn’t want me to contact you. I understand. I mean, I will understand. I just didn’t want you getting an infection from walking out here.”

  The center of my body squeezes, like an accordion being smashed of air right in the middle. “Still cleaner than New York, I bet, though.”

  We laugh.

  It hurts to laugh like this with him.

  He licks his lips. Someone walks past us on the street and whistles at him. He’s still shirtless, his sweatpants slung low on his hips.

  Stop looking, I remind myself. I clear my throat and lift my foot to slip my pump back on. I wobble, and the first thing I grasp is Aiden.

  He catches me like he was waiting for me to fall, like he was ready. I look down to avoid his whiskey-brown eyes. I trace my fingers back and forth on his shoulder before I push myself off.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Faith.” He says my name. Just my name. “Can we talk? Let me explain?”

  The street is fairly empty for this time of day. My car is directly behind me. I can leave. I can walk away like I did before. But instead I say, “Okay.”

  “Really?”

  I look at my watch. “I have five minutes.”

  He nods, that relentless chunk of hair falling over his face once again. “Before I met you I had a bunch of rules. I thought that they would help me keep things simple. Rule #1, don’t play games. Rule #2, no lies. Rule #9, treat her with the respect she deserves. I could keep going.”

  He takes a step closer, and I’m anchored into place. He looks down at me, and I wonder what we look like. Me in my dress, and him so bare in nothing but sweatpants and sneakers. Why do I care what we look like? Why do I care what other people think?

  “But I broke every rule with you, Faith. I’m not ashamed of how I made my living. The only thing I’m ashamed
of is that I might have been a fraction of what my father was like. I’m ashamed that I hurt you, most of all.”

  “Made a living?” I ask, finally lifting my eyes to his. I was right. I should have kept my eyes averted. The anguish in his eyes mirrors mine. But is that enough? “You’re not staying with Mayhem City?”

  He nods once, licks his lips. Those lips that even now send a shiver down my spine at just their memory. “I am. But no more extra clientele. I don’t want to be the cause of anyone else’s hurt.”

  “What do you expect me to do with that information, Aiden?”

  “Nothing. I wanted you to know in case it matters to you. I love you, Faith. You’re in my heart, buried deep in my skin.”

  I swallow the emotion that gathers in my throat and wants to bubble over. I fish for my keys in my purse.

  “Thank you, Aiden,” I say. And in this moment I know I’m more like my mother than I ever thought possible. What I always saw as cold, hard emotion was only ever a shield against a world that wasn’t built for her. “I wish you all the best.”

  AIDEN

  So far, I’ve consumed thirty beignets.

  Pat’s going to have something to say to me tomorrow morning at the gym, but right now, even the waitress looks concerned for my health. It’s nearly ten at night, and there’s a lonely saxophone playing somewhere in the distance. Somehow New Orleans has answered exactly how I feel at the moment.

  A woman appears in front of me. Pulls the empty chair and sits. She’s in an elegant blue blouse that ties at the throat and storm-gray slacks. Almond-shaped nails and hands just like her daughter’s.

  I nearly choke on powdered sugar when I realize it’s Daria Charles herself. “I’m so sorry.”

  She hands me a napkin. “So, Aiden Rios Peñaflor.”

  “It’s just Rios now,” I say.

  “You took your momma’s last name?”

  I nod. “She raised me all on her own. Until the very end.”

  “I’m so very sorry you had to go through that. And so young.”

  I arch my eyebrow, settling into my chair more comfortably. “You’ve looked into me.”

  She nods. “I have friends in New York.”