Mister Know It All: A Hero Club Novel

by Amélie S. Duncan

  Shit.

  JASMINE

  If that’s dirty, you’ll probably find me filthy

  Graham didn’t schedule me for work until the second week of my stay, giving me a chance to get to know the city. While Soraya and Graham were welcoming, I felt like the third wheel in their perfect life. Soraya was living the dream. She had a handsome, doting husband, a beautiful baby, and an impressive home in an exciting city. Just watching them made me feel more alone than ever, sadly.

  I wanted what she had. I wanted someone to genuinely want to be with me.

  Trying not to be too much of a bother, I visited some places on my own. I walked through Central Park, took pictures of my feet on the Imagine mosaic, and got someone to take some of me by the Alice in Wonderland statue. At Grand Central Terminal, I took a picture of the astrology on the ceiling and marveled at its beauty. I gave a few dollars to a piano player playing the Beatles. Most of the time, I people watched, jotting down research paper ideas, like gathering a generation of NYC stories that started in the station. Most of all, I was doing whatever I liked, and I could dine out for years on just that.

  When it came time to find clothes and get a haircut, Soraya went with me. I went to Harmony for a manicure and pedicure and wax and Paradise for my hair makeover—a chocolate-brown highlighting in a balayage hairstyle of loose curls that hung past my shoulders. After threading my eyebrows and updating my glasses and makeup, I couldn’t wait to share with Tam. I sent her a photo, but knew she was probably in the physics lab doing her summer course work, and wouldn’t have time to reply right away. And I’d be working on a paper waiting to meet up with her later. I missed her.

  We were now at Bloomingdales, and I tried to find something to wear for a night out. Soraya pointed at a miniskirt. And it looked familiar. Where had I seen it before?

  I frowned when the memory came flooding back. I’d thrown one like it out into the bushes.

  “What’s wrong?” Soraya asked.

  I shrugged. “Bad memories.” I reminded her with details of my throwing Randall and Angelique’s clothes in the bushes outside his office.

  She laughed. “I’m still shocked you did that. They deserved worse.”

  Lucky for Randall, his office was in the philosophy section of the library that had less foot traffic. Would things have gone differently if Randall had stopped having sex with her when I walked in? Maybe. However, he looked right at me and didn’t miss a stroke. Misogynistic spite? I wasn’t sure, only that my anger had reached a peak unknown before.

  “Randall said he didn’t know I had so much passion for him.” I rolled my eyes, and Soraya groaned.

  My phone buzzed. Speaking of the devil . . . It was a text with a photo of a boarding pass. A flight?

  Randall’s coming to NYC?

  “You don’t have to see him, you know,” Soraya said, looking over my shoulder at my phone.

  “I don’t plan to, but he’s awfully persistent. He sent some information about a lecture.”

  The very social policy lecture I had told him about months ago that he was adamant about not attending. But now he was and with the research article I practically wrote for him.

  “He’s not worth your time,” Soraya said. She was right, but clearly, I was still raw. Maybe because of the kiss with Ford. Feeling like the other woman still felt so shameful. Get past it. You’re out with your cousin for some girl time.

  My summer. Apart from Ford, I was off to a great start.

  I tried on a couple of dresses, but none looked good with the bra I had on. So I bought new bras and panties, some practical, some lacy to show. My credit card had quite a workout. I wasn’t sure how much more I’d be able to get until Soraya stepped in and helped me get a couple of pantsuits, pencil skirts, and two pairs of stilettos for work. She wouldn’t let me see the cost, but the quality was way higher than my college budget.

  “I like to shop too, and you are family. I want to help you,” she insisted.

  I hugged her tight. “Thank you so much.”

  “You can thank me by not thanking me so much,” she said and chose a black dress with a black lace sheer neckline that hugged my curves. With the new makeup, hair, and clothes, I thought I looked sensational. And my second thought was wondering what Ford would think. I was so hopeless.

  “Let’s eat,” Soraya said and took out her phone so our driver could help us store our shopping.

  It was a bit of a ride, but we finally stopped in front of a restaurant with a sign that read Le Baobab Gouygui in Harlem.

  “I always wanted to try Senegalese food,” I enthused as Soraya and I approached the front door of the restaurant.

  “Then you’re in for a treat,” she said. “The food here is so delicious.”

  We hadn’t even sat down yet, but I was already keen. The spicy aroma of the food assailed my nostrils, and my stomach growled. We were seated in the middle of a row of tables, and it was amazing how the French and Wolof accents of the patrons around us made me feel like we had traveled farther away than Midtown Manhattan. Soraya was greeted warmly by the hostess, who recognized her. We both ordered Thiebu Djen a fish stew with a djolof rice and hibiscus flower drinks.

  “Shopping and fancy meals, my how the other half lives,” I teased Soraya.

  “I rarely indulge, but I have a reason to, you,” she said, smiling brightly. “You’re also my first family member to come for more than a few days. So tell me what you’d like to see next?”

  “I’m ready to start work,” I said and took a sip of the drink. Delicious.

  Soraya and Graham had done enough for me. I wanted to earn my way and save enough to cover the loss of money for my internship.

  “Graham and I didn’t bring you here to work all the time. You only just arrived. I want you to explore the city.”

  “I still have a list of things I’d like to do, and I can go after work to the New York Library and get a head start on all the journals I can quote and catalog for my research papers. There are a few interviews at the 91st Y I want to attend. Oh, and there is a lecture series at NYU I could look into this summer.”

  “That sounds like what your mom would expect of you. What are you going to do for fun?”

  I lifted my shoulders and grinned. “That is fun for me. Besides a Broadway show, the Statue of Liberty, and Ellis Island.”

  “But this is a chance to step outside and find what else you like to do. Think about it.”

  “I’m eating here, and this is new,” I pointed out and eat a forkful of the grilled fish.

  We caught up on both sides of our family, which was great, but what Soraya said still lingered in my mind. She was right. My plans for the summer were mostly things expected of me. I needed to expand my experiences.

  We returned in time for Soraya to go with Lorenzo on a playdate. She offered for me to join, but I decided to stay in.

  After they left, I put my clothes away and sent another couple of photos to Tam. This time, she responded.

  Tam: Wow! You look smoking hot. I miss you. How are things?

  Jasmine: Going okay. I miss you too. I had a great day with Soraya today. A lot of those clothes are gifts from her. We went for Senegalese food. It tasted so good.

  Tam: Lucky you! I’m glad you were spoiled. What else?

  Jasmine: Well . . . Ford and I kissed, and he was all handsy.

  Tam: Describe handsy.

  Jasmine: Ummm, the type of handsy where his hands were under my bra, pinching my nipples handsy?

  Tam: Whoa. Did you smack him across the face, or did you like it?

  Jasmine: It happened so fast. I did like it. I don’t know what came over me. (Hides face in shame)

  Tam: You’re human, but you’re also playing with fire. He’s taken.

  Jasmine: Apparently, they have an “open” relationship, though he proposed and she turned him down. She’s been gone for three months.

  Tam: Then he should break up with her, not leave things open-ended. I’m for being Ford
’s friend, but nothing else. I thought you were going to go out and have fun?

  I lowered my brows and stared at the phone. Soraya said the same thing and now Tam.

  Jasmine: You’ve changed your tune.

  Tam: Not really. I was for you going there with Ford when I thought it wasn’t a serious relationship. But he proposed marriage, and even after three months apart, he won’t let her go. If this was a one-time thing, I would tell you to go for it. But that’s not what you’re doing. You know the other woman is around. You deserve more than that.

  I couldn’t take the high road here if I was still lusting after a somewhat committed man. I hated Angelique because when she found out about me, she didn’t reject Randall. She took a plane and fucked him in my face. What if Cecile returned? But on the other hand, it’s an open relationship. Was she having sex with someone else too while she’s away?

  I massaged my temples. God, my head hurts.

  Jasmine: Okay. You’re right.

  Tam: I said that out of love. I love you something crazy, and you deserve the best because you are the best. Try to take a step out there. There are many men in New York City. Do you still want help with the Tinder pictures? A sexy adventure still counts as fun.

  Jasmine: Sure, but not too much skin. Maybe a bra and thong?

  Tam: Sounds good. Move it, girl!

  I went to the bedroom door and locked it first. Then I put on the black lacy bra and high-cut underwear. I brushed my hair out and stripped the bed down to the white sheets. I positioned the desktop and the cam, and watched myself in the camera and took a few pictures. I sent them to Tam, and we went back and forth until she chose two: one of me holding my breasts. The other of my ass in the thong before ending the call.

  Buzz. My phone went off again. This time, it was Ford.

  Ford: How was your first week in New York City?

  Jasmine: Fun. Lots of shopping and eating. I’m joining the gym at work.

  Ford: I don’t know if they teach Krav Maga.

  I laughed.

  Jasmine: I’ll suggest it. I’m supposed to be on the hospitality and morale team.

  Ford: You’re also supposed to be having fun. I have something for you.

  An attachment came in. Hamilton tickets!

  Jasmine: Oh my GOD! Wow! Thank you so much. Are you trying to take me on a date?

  My heartbeat picked up.

  Ford: The tickets are for you and Soraya, though I believe they already went to see it. I cleared it with Graham. He and I have to travel for a few days.

  Jasmine: You using me to score brownie points with Graham?

  Ford: Only brownie points I want are of you. I miss seeing your pretty face.

  Jasmine: You took a billion photos already.

  Ford: Never enough.

  I bit my lip and attached the two photos for the Tinder app.

  Ford: Fuck. You’re killing me. Thank you for the present.

  Jasmine: The photos weren’t a present. It was an experiment. You drool, they go on my profile.

  Ford: Should I wish you luck? Just to let you know, there are few diamonds and plenty of coal.

  Jasmine: I’ve got time.

  Ford: You’ll be thinking about me the whole time.

  Jasmine: You’re so full of yourself.

  Ford: I’d be full of you, but I won’t share you with other men.

  Jasmine: But you’ll cheat on her with me.

  Ford: It’s not cheating. We’re not together.

  I pressed my lips together. Then break up with Cecile.

  Ford: I would tell you more, but I’m not ready to talk about it. Aside from me, wouldn’t you prefer someone who only wants you?

  Jasmine: That’s a fantasy. Men make promises to get what they want. After they get it, they want someone else.

  Ford: You’re too sweet to have such sour grapes. I’ll forgive a few dates as long as you don’t let them fuck you.

  Jasmine: You’re insane. I detest possessive men.

  Ford: How many men have you had sex with?

  Jasmine: I’ve been with three men in long-term relationships, nosy. All turned out to be jerks. What about you?

  Ford: More than three. I was wrong. You go out there and enjoy yourself.

  Jasmine: Are you serious?

  Ford: Yes. Forget me.

  Jasmine: Why? Because I’m too inexperienced?

  Ford: No. I think you can learn something about yourself. I don’t want to take that from you.

  Jasmine: You’re infuriating. You kiss me and tease me. Now you don’t want me.

  Ford: I do want you, Jasmine, and you know that. I kissed you because you wanted me to. I went slow when I pulled up your shirt. I would have fucked you then, and you’d have let me. But I left you with some pride. (wink emoji)

  Jasmine: LOL, you’re hysterical, or is this the part where you try to sext me, Mr. Lingren?

  Ford: This is where I tell you the many ways I’ll make you come.

  Jasmine: Don’t get me worked up. I have work tomorrow, and I don’t want to have a goofy face.

  Ford: Fair enough. Should I say good night, unless you have more pictures? Take one from the front with your hands on your clit next time.

  Jasmine: I don’t take requests. You’re so dirty.

  Ford: If that’s dirty, you’ll probably find me filthy.

  Jasmine: Can I talk to you again? I know you don’t like the friend zone thing. But I feel a bit lonely here.

  Ford: I can do one better. My friend Blair. I’ll text you her number.

  Jasmine: What about you, Ford? I want to talk to you. Have you been to Gulliver’s Gate or the Brooklyn Superhero Supply Co? We can try on super capes?

  I held the phone, my pulse increasing. Shit. Even though we’d only spent those initial twenty-four hours together, I felt a connection to Ford I hadn’t expected. It was honestly rare to find a man who liked geek as I did. It was also rare to find a man being specifically kind. Thoughtful. He’d told me how busy he was, yet he took me to see some of the city’s sights. He made me brunch. He asked me to stay with him rather than with Soraya and Graham. I like him. I’d missed him during the week, which was crazy. Wasn’t it?

  Even though we’re attracted to each other, knowing I’d be leaving after a few months, maybe we could be friends. If he allowed it . . .

  Ford: Yes, Jasmine. You can talk to me. I’m not sure about the capes.

  I laughed. He didn’t say no!

  JASMINE

  Interchange

  “Where did you see the research on Ralston Chain? Was it in the Journal of Scientist or Sociology Today?”

  Randall called again, trying to use me as his teaching assistant for free. I made the mistake of answering one email question for him concerning a book, and I opened a floodgate.

  “I don’t remember,” I lied.

  I did know because I’d taken Soraya and Graham up on their offer and took an extra day for myself. I’d spent it at Ellis Island and the New York Public Library, reading articles and testing paper ideas.

  “You do, Jasmine. You’ve left me in quite the bind. I could have put in a complaint about how you left me with only a few months to train a new teaching assistant.”

  “Perhaps next time, you shouldn’t date your teaching assistants.”

  “I refuse to rise to your insults. I have an article that I’m submitting to the Harvard Journal of Sociology on Werner’s populism. He’s doing one lecture in New York City this year, and I considered submitting your name as a part of it.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. There Randall went again, dangling a juicy academic carrot for me to chew. He’d known Dr. Werner’s research had been a particular favorite of mine. I had quoted him in numerous papers. However, Randall had always come up with some excuse why he couldn’t include me as co-author before. Why believe him now?

  “Think before you say no. My offer is about your professional career, not our . . . relationship interchange.”

  “Interchange?”
I repeated incredulously. He thought of our almost two-year relationship as a swap?

  “Apologies for the wrong word, but what I’m talking about now is my proposal. A byline with me on a Werner paper in a highly regarded journal would guarantee a shortlist on every Ph.D. application. As you know, David and I were both Rhodes Scholars. We know the process.”

  “You’ve told me all this before,” I said.

  “But I hadn’t agreed to place you on an article. This is a once-in-a-lifetime offer that many students would kill for. We’ll be at the Peabody Hotel in their North Conference hall two weeks from Saturday. I hope to see you there.”

  “What do you want in return?” I asked.

  “You. You’re the best at work and a viable part of my success. If you can’t heal from my transgressions, I need you to train Angelique. We’re not together, but—”

  I hung up. The ache in my chest returned, and I slumped in my seat. Did he ever care at all about me? Memories flooded my mind with all I’d done for him. There hadn’t been a thing I didn’t do. Sure, I learned a lot, but he kept on demanding more from me. Being his teaching assistant had become a full-time job, along with my double major. But I’d wanted his life.