Mr. North

by Callie Hart

  R aphael : Are you okay? I’m sending Nate over for you. Go outside. He’ll be waiting for you.

  T he last message was sent at one in the morning, nearly five hours ago. I make my way into the living room, over to the window. Stepping out onto the fire escape, I lean over the railings, and there, ten floors below on the street, Nate’s gleaming black Tesla is parked directly out the front of the building. At least four parking tickets are pinned to the windshield, and a shadowy, dark figure is leaning against the side of the vehicle, smoking a cigarette by the looks of things. A bright red dot of light flares and ebbs in the pre-dawn, pale blue morning, and I suddenly could use a smoke myself.

  Mechanically, I climb back into my apartment from the fire escape, and I grab a long coat from the back of the front door. I leave the apartment and I head down the stairs, shifting one foot at a time, one in front of the other, concentrating very hard on simply moving forward. In the lobby of the building, the night manager, Gareth, doesn’t meet my eye as I shuffle out of the front door and head out onto the street. Nate flicks his cigarette away and pushes off the Tesla, standing straight the moment that he sees me. He looks fresh and well rested, his eyes bright. He must have been out here for hours already but he doesn’t look even remotely tired.

  “Morning, sunshine,” he says cheerily.

  I grimace in return.

  “Ahhh. Yeah, I’d say you’re entitled to feel a little less than sparky,” he continues. “I’ve already had to make a few threats in order to keep the paparazzi from your doorstep. I’m sorry, Beth. This fucking sucks.”

  “Sucks?” I laugh, the sound hard and unhappy. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

  Nate steps away from the Tesla, unfolding his arms. “He wants to see you. He needs to see you. I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s losing his fucking mind.”

  “If he’s so distraught, if he needs to see me so badly, why hasn’t he come down here to find me himself?”

  A strange, tight expression forms on Nate’s face. “He would if he could, believe me. He can’t, though. I’d love to explain, but it’s not my place. It’s…complicated .”

  “What a surprise.” Everything seems to be complicated with Raphael North. His life is one big complicated mess, and now I’m tangled up in the epicenter of that mess, on display in the most embarrassing, humiliating way possible. “I’m not going to him, Nate. I can’t. The press is watching the Osiris. They must be if they were able to even record that video in the first place. I’ll only make it worse if I’m seen heading inside the building.”

  “No one makes it into that underground parking lot without Raphael’s say so. And these windows are tinted. No one will know it’s you inside.”

  I look at the Tesla, frowning. He’s right, of course. The windows are all blacked out, so dark it’s impossible to see inside. But still… They’ll know. They’ll manage to snap a shot of me somehow. I can’t bear the idea of my face being plastered all over the morning newspapers as it is. Along with the rest of my body. The idea of new photos of me, shamed, trying to make it into the Osiris Building without being caught, only serves to make me feel even sicker. This is a nightmare. A serious fucking nightmare.

  “I’m sorry, Nate. I hope he won’t be mad at you. I can’t come.”

  Nate slowly shakes his head, but he doesn’t look angry. Perhaps a little frustrated. “It’s okay.” He smiles. “I enjoy the fact that you don’t jump at his every command. It’s refreshing to say the least. He’s not going to let this drop, though. You know that, right? He’s a very possessed kinda guy. Once he makes up his mind about something…”

  I already know this about him. I saw the conviction in his eyes when he told me back in the penthouse that I would fall in love with him. There was no doubt in his mind that he was telling the truth. I read it on every part of him. “Tell him you didn’t see me if you need to,” I say to Nate. He hits the unlock button on the Tesla, plucking the parking tickets from underneath the windshield wiper, slipping them into his back pocket.

  “I’ll see you soon, Beth. If you need anything, just call me. Anything at all. It can be our little secret.” As Nate drives away, though, the car sliding soundlessly away from the curb, I get the feeling there are no secrets between Raphael and Nate. Not one. Which means Nate knows him a whole lot better than I do, even if the man was inside me less than twelve hours ago.

  *

  M y journey to school is not fun. I’d go so far as to say it’s absolutely miserable. There are news crews parked out front when I came out at eight A.M. Three of them. A gaggle of female news reporters glare angrily at one another, flipping their hair and applying lip gloss while overweight camera guys stuff their faces with bagels. I felt stupid putting on a ball cap and sunglasses when I left the apartment, but when I duck out of the building and hurry off down the street I’m glad I thought to wear them. I’m almost free and clear, fifty paces down the street, when I look back over my shoulder and one of the camera guys sees me, though. He drops his half eaten breakfast and points at me, slapping the guy standing next to him on the shoulder.

  “That’s her! That’s Elizabeth!”

  Like a bunch of startled meerkats, the news teams all turn in unison to look at me, their eyes filled with hunger. Fucking animals. I’m not ashamed to admit it: I run.

  There’s no way the reporters in their five inch heels and their morbidly obese camera guys can keep up with me, but it still feels very undignified barreling down the street, my book bag hitting me square in the back every time I take a step. I try not to crash into anyone but it’s virtually impossible. On the subway, women glance at me out of the corners of their eyes and I know they recognize me. My cheeks are flushed red the entire ride. No one says anything to me until I’m waiting by the doors, itching to exit the carriage, and a bottle-blonde in a power suit approaches me with a saccharine sweet smile on her face.

  “You’re her, aren’t you? The girl. Raphael’s girl.”

  I don’t know how to respond to that. I shrink away from her, hiking my bag strap higher onto my shoulder.

  “You’re a disgrace, you know that? It’s seriously pathetic, what you’re doing.”

  “I’m sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else.”

  “I’m not stupid,” the blonde continues. “I don’t know how you did it. You must have worked really hard to get a meeting with him in the first place. God knows what you did to get your hooks into him after that, but Raphael North is a smart guy. He’ll see right through your games. He’ll realize you’re just after him for his money now. He’ll kick you to the curb so fast, you’ll be seeing stars.”

  Fire floods my veins. Why are people so set on accusing me of going after the Raphael’s bank account? Because I’m working class? Because I’m a student? I’ve been cowering since the video of Raph and me hit the news, but it suddenly hits me that I have no reason to feel that way. I’ve done nothing wrong. I turn on the woman, meeting her disdainful gaze, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, ma’am . Raphael approached me . He orchestrated our meeting. He’s the one who’s done all the pursuing. And it’s none of your damn business, but I haven’t accepted a single dollar from him. I don’t expect anything from him, nor will I accept anything from him. I’ve managed to pay my own damn way for the past twenty-eight years and I intend on doing so for the rest of my life, too. So back the fuck off.”

  I wait for the woman in the suit to look appropriately chastised, but she simply sneers at me. Taking the newspaper out from underneath her arm, she slaps it against my chest. “Bullshit,” she snaps. “Your family’s in ruins. Don’t try and tell me you’re not chasing after North because he can bail you out of the shit.”

  Without thinking, I take the newspaper she hit me with. The carriage doors open and the woman struts past me without looking back, her thick hair swaying from side to side as she disappears amongst the crowd of people all strea
ming out into the subway station.

  I unfold the paper, my eyes stinging as I look down at the all-too familiar picture on the very front page of the New York Times: my family home. The two-story building with the peeling paintwork, surrounded by a sea of sunflowers, looks more than a little humble, but it’s where I grew up. The long, winding driveway up to the house is where my father taught me how to ride a bicycle. I cracked my front tooth when I was six, falling off the rope swing hanging from the large live oak towering over the property to the right of the picture. You can’t see my old bedroom window from the front of the house, but I know that around the side of the colonial style home, there’s a tiny ledge that I used to clamber out onto at night after Mom and Dad had gone to sleep, so I could meet my friend Sarah and her boyfriend in the back field barn. The same barn where my mother was violently raped when I was six years old.

  Above the image of the house, the blocky, aggressive strapline reads: DREYMON SUNFLOWER FARM $250,000 IN DEBT. Then, in smaller letters: WILL RAPHAEL NORTH BE FOOTING THE BILL?

  I almost sink to my knees where I stand. The newspaper shakes in my hands as I try and read the article below, but my eyes are blurry, filled with tears. What the hell is this about? There’s no way. No way the farm is in trouble. I make a point of checking in with Mom to see how the business is doing every week, and she’s had nothing but positive reports for me. If there were something wrong, if she were struggling financially, she would have told me.

  She’s been calling non-stop since last night but I haven’t listened to her messages or called her back yet. I’ve been too afraid of what she might say to me. I haven’t known what to say to her. It’ll crush me to hear disappointment or disapproval in her tone. Worse, if she’s angry that I slept with a man I barely know, in a painfully visible way, she’s going to start lecturing me about being sexually irresponsible and inviting an attack upon myself. I need to speak to her though. I can’t avoid her forever. I take out my phone and dial her number. The carriage doors to the subway begin to close, and I almost let them. I almost hang back, allowing the train to carry me off somewhere else rather than get off and face the world. That would be foolish, though. I can’t be late for class. It’s already bad enough that I’m going to have to face the wrath of Professor Dalziel without being tardy on top of that.

  I keep my head down as I climb the stairs out of the station. My mom answers the phone on the seventh ring.

  “For god’s sake, Beth, I’ve been worried sick about you. Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” Anger tinges her voice, but I can hear the pain there, too. She’s hurt, and I’m the one who’s caused that hurt. My stomach rolls, nausea hitting me hard.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry. I just…I haven’t been able to…I didn’t know what to say.”

  “How about, ‘I’m okay, Mom. I’m fine. I’m alive. I’m not in any trouble or danger?’”

  “I am fine. I’m sorry I worried you. I just saw the paper, though. Mom, they’re saying we’re in debt on the farm? Not just in debt. They’re saying we’re bankrupt. What the hell are they talking about?”

  “Oh, nonsense, Beth. What are you doing paying attention to gossip columns, anyway? You know these people love to create a scandal. I don’t want to talk about the farm. I want to talk about—”

  I cut her off before she can say his name. Before she can start warning of the dangers of sleeping with a man. Any man. I need to stay focused here. “This isn’t some gossip column, Mom.” I look down at the newspaper I’ve folded up and am carrying to school with me. “This is the New York Times , for crying out loud. They don’t just make things up. They have fact checkers. And this is on the front page!”

  She’s quiet for a second. Then a second longer.

  “Mom! Tell me what’s going on!”

  “Okay, okay.” She sighs tiredly. “When your father died, the business was in great shape. He spent years working very hard to build it up, to make sure it was stable. I used to do the books for the business as you know, but I had no experience with any other aspect of the company, honey. I didn’t know how the contracts worked, or how to market and get out there and gain more clients. We lost one of our most valuable contracts a couple of years ago when the import prices from the Netherlands dropped, and that was it. I couldn’t find another company to pick up the shortfall, and the business has been suffering ever since. I remortgaged the land eighteen months ago, so I could pay off some of the debt we owed, but then it became harder and harder to make the repayments on the property and the land…and that’s where we are now.”

  I don’t know what to say. My throat feels dry, like it’s made of sandpaper. “Years, Mom. You’ve been struggling with this for years and you didn’t say anything. Why?”

  “What would you have done if I had?” she asks.

  “I would have come home! I would have helped with the business!”

  “Exactly. You would have dropped out of school, and how many years of hard work would have been wasted then? I wasn’t going to let you sacrifice all your hard work for this old place, Beth. No way, no how.”

  “How can you say that? You and Dad built the farm up from nothing. It was his life work.”

  “I know, sweetie. I know. It really was. But at the end of the day, that’s what you need to remember. It was his life’s work. His passion. Not yours. Your father’s gone now, and he wouldn’t want to see you give up on your hopes and dreams to protect something that doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Mom…” Tears slide down my face; I can’t seem to hold them back.

  “Answer me this. Do you want to run the farm for the rest of your life, Beth?”

  I sniff, dashing at my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it before.” I have, though. I’ve thought about it at great length. I couldn’t wait to get away from Kansas. Couldn’t wait to qualify, work hard, make partner somewhere and work on thrilling cases that made me feel like my blood was on fire.

  “You don’t need to feel bad about wanting your own life, honey,” Mom says quietly. “It’s taken me a long time to realize that, too. I always loved doing this because it made your father so happy, but now…it’s almost a relief that I won’t be doing it anymore. I have a life I need to live, too, baby girl. I’m excited to go and see what’s out there for me now.”

  “So what does that mean? For the business? For the house?”

  “It’s all got to go. Everything. You don’t need to worry about me, though, sweetheart. I’m not sad about this at all. It’s a fresh start for me. And now that is all out of the way, tell me what the hell is going on with you, Beth. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I turned on the television last night. You’re dating Raphael North?” Perhaps she’s feeling too kind to mention that she saw him fucking the living daylights out of me in real time, along with the rest of the entire nation. I grind my teeth together, sighing heavily.

  “I don’t even know where to begin. I haven’t got a clue where to start.”

  She makes the same soft humming sound she used to make when she would console me as a child. “How about you start at the beginning.”

  *

  S he doesn’t judge me . Doesn’t shout at me. She listens patiently, and every second I find myself talking to her, telling her everything that’s happened, I’m just waiting for her to get angry. To my surprise, she doesn’t. She fucking apologizes . She tells me how sorry she is that what happened to her all those years ago affected me for so long. She cries . She tells me to call Raphael, or at least answer his texts. I haven’t taken a look at my phone’s messaging app since last night—I just can’t face it—so I have no idea if he’s even called or messaged again, but Mom encourages me to reach out to him either way, to tidy up the situation once and for all. I tell her I will, and I hang up just as I hurry through the lecture hall door. It’s funny—I immediately feel better having spoken to my mother. I shouldn’t have put it off for so long. The world still seems t
o be crashing down around my ears, but just knowing she’s on my side, she isn’t angry, and she has my back makes everything feel a little less scary.

  I brace myself as I sit at the back of the hall, waiting for Thalia to fall on me like a force of nature, firing questions at me from all angles. I get my books, my notepad, and my laptop out of my bag, my shoulders tensed, my whole body braced for impact. It never arrives, though. Eventually the lights dim, people stop chattering, and the screen at the front of the hall comes to life.

  Professor Dalziel begins the lecture, and I hold my breath. Something’s wrong. Thalia must be mad at me. She hasn’t come to find me. I scan the lecture hall, studying the backs of people’s heads, trying to locate her in the auditorium, but…she’s nowhere to be found. She’s late. Of course she’s late. She’s always late.

  But the lecture continues, minutes ticking by, and Thalia never shows.

  Around me, people are barely paying attention to the information on the screen. At some point, someone, somewhere, pointed out where I was sitting, and all faces seem to be turned to me, watching me, studying me, people whispering to one another and laughing under their breath about me. They’ve all seen me naked. They all saw my ass smashed up against the window of Raph’s anteroom. They’ve all seen the same shows making fun of my birthmark, or my hair, or any other part of my body they saw fit.

  I am now and forever will be a source of entertainment—public property to be picked over and analyzed without mercy or compassion.

  The lecture ends. The other students slowly file out, blatantly staring at me as they leave, and I do my best to hold my head up high. I don’t move until every last one of them is gone. Once they’re gone, I make my way down the steps toward the podium where Professor Dalziel is packing away his own laptop and papers. When I clear my throat, he looks up and squints at me through his glasses. He’s not a particularly old man but constantly seems to be struggling with those glasses of his.

  “Elizabeth Dreymon,” he states by way of greeting.