The Boyfriend Experience

by JA Huss

  “Sounds perfect,” I say. “Let’s go.”

  Joe’s is just two blocks down on Pearl Street, so we walk. Hanna is quiet as we wait for a table. Biding her time until we’re actually seated and have the menus out in front of us. I order a whiskey because I feel like this story might require one. And once we’ve ordered our entrées, she says, “OK. I would like you to give me the benefit of the doubt and check all your opinions of me and preconceived notions of what’s going on between Oaklee and I until I’m done talking. Can you do me that one favor?”

  “Sure,” I say, sipping the whiskey. Because why not.

  Hanna takes a deep breath and starts talking on the exhale. “I first met Oaklee at college, but I knew of her long before that. I mean, everyone knows about Bronco Brews, right?”

  “I guess,” I say.

  “Especially teenagers teaching themselves how to drink. It’s kind of a rite of passage to become familiar with your local celebrity brews and Colorado has no shortage of local brewers. So I knew of Oaklee because kids talk. And she was our age, she was pretty, and, well, you can probably guess what the boys at my high school used to say about Oaklee.”

  “Is that why you fixated on her?”

  She holds up a finger. “Hold that thought. I haven’t even started this story yet. I’m just telling you I knew of her before I actually met her. So we get assigned to the dorm at school freshman year and it’s pretty cool to room with her because she’s like… sorta famous in her own way.”

  “So you knew about her and you were roommates, and you were both microbiology majors?” I ask.

  “I see where this is going, but I was always going to use my degree to brew beer. I just couldn’t get accepted into microbiology with that as a goal. So I lied and told them I wanted to use it to eradicate diseases.”

  “Why not?” I ask. “I mean why did you have to lie? Because starting this story with a lie, Hanna, it’s not looking good for you.”

  “Well, here’s a newsflash. Science majors are competitive and back then microbiology was filled with people who wanted to use it for beer-brewing. Oaklee was always going to get in. Her father knew professors at CSU. They give out scholarships there. She had an automatic in. I didn’t. I had to take the major seriously so they would take me seriously.”

  “Oh, come on, Hanna. That’s bullshit. Why not just admit you thought she was super interesting and decided to model yourself after her? Because it’s so obvious. I don’t think I’m interested in hearing any more if this is going where I think it’s going.”

  “It’s going where you think it’s going, Lawton. Because that’s the truth. She copied me, not the other way around.”

  I laugh so loud, people look over at us. “So that’s your story? You’re the victim? She stole your beer recipes? She stole your beer names, and labels, and”—I point out the window, down the mall where her shop is—“Buffalo Brews and Bronco Brews aren’t categorically similar, and Buffed Up isn’t a ripoff of Bucked Up? Is this what you’re going to tell me tonight? Because if so, I don’t think I can stand it.”

  I check my watch, noting that it’s been twenty minutes since I got Hanna out of her apartment. And I wonder if that’s enough time for Oaklee to get what she needs. Because I don’t want to hear any more.

  “That’s because you’re missing the most vital piece of information, Lawton. The same piece of information I was missing up until that first year of college.”

  “Which is what?” I ask.

  She stares at me. Takes a deep breath. Lets it out. And then says, “I am not Oaklee’s enemy. And if you listen to my story from beginning to end, you’ll see my side. You’ll see her for who she really is. A wild girl with a streak of mean. A girl who came from privilege, was given the world, has more than most, and wants to keep it that way. You’ll see that what she’s been telling you… is all lies.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - OAKLEE

  Vivi and I watch through a cracked door on the far side of Hanna’s apartment as Law gets my text and makes an excuse to get her out of the apartment. And as soon as they leave, we go into sneaky thief mode.

  Vivi goes straight to her office and starts hacking into her computer. I look around, stunned at what I’m seeing. Because… it’s my apartment. I mean, sure, it’s smaller and the art on the walls is her brand, not mine. But…

  “This place is fucking creepy,” Vivi says from the office. “And I’m in. What should I be looking for?”

  But this is my apartment. In like… a Bizarro World way.

  “Oaklee!” Vivi whisper-yells. “Tell me what to look for!”

  “Recipes,” I say, peeking my head into the office. “Look for anything that resembles a beer recipe. What yeast she’s using, anything you can find on her graphic design… stuff like that.”

  Then I go back to the main living area. Comparing and contrasting her design to mine. Her kitchen is smaller. Everything is smaller. But it’s so clear. It’s so… me.

  I feel sick all of a sudden. Almost violated. And I know that’s stupid, because none of this stuff is mine. This isn’t my apartment. All my stuff is safe back in Denver.

  But…

  “Found something,” Vivi says. “Come and look.”

  I walk into the office and round the desk to see what Vivi has on the computer.

  And even though I came here with a goal in mind—to find evidence of her stealing my father’s recipes. My recipes, now—I am not prepared for what I see on the screen.

  Handwritten recipes, scanned into her computer. In his handwriting.

  “She must have the originals around here somewhere,” Vivi says, getting up from the desk chair. I take her seat, while she starts going through file cabinets.

  “These are mine,” I say.

  “I know,” Vivi replies. “Print them. But we need to find the hard copies too. We’ll take those with us, since they’re yours anyway.”

  I scan the list, not trying to figure out which recipes she has, but which ones she does not have.

  Because she has them all.

  Every single beer we’ve ever developed is in this list. And all of them are in my father’s handwriting.

  “I can’t fucking find them,” Vivi says.

  “That’s because she scanned them,” I say softly. “She stole these from my apartment, scanned them, and left the originals with me.”

  “Delete them,” Vivi says. “Every single one.”

  I know I should get up, walk out of here, and forget I ever saw any of this. I know what we’re doing is illegal and I could go to jail. I know that none of this, even if I take it with me, would be admissible in court.

  I understand all this. But I highlight every one of those recipe files and my finger hovers over the delete button, ready to take this final action.

  But then my phone buzzes a text.

  “Shit,” Vivi says. “See if that’s Lawton.”

  It is Lawton. I know this even before I see the message on the screen. We’re heading back. If you’re still there, get the fuck out now!

  Vivi reads it with me, then presses my finger on the delete button, grabs me by the shoulder, and says, “Get up. I gotta cover my tracks real quick.”

  I do. And I just stand there, watching her fingers fly across the keyboard. Deleting her footprints. Covering up that we were here. And then she logs off and gets up, carefully placing the chair up against the desk, and says, “Let’s go.”

  We leave the apartment the same way we came, that hole in the glass the one thing we can’t erase. The one piece of evidence we must leave behind.

  And a few minutes later we’re back down in the alley, sending the fire escape ladder back up.

  The whole way home Vivi is talking. Wild theories coming out of her mouth. Crazy explanations for why Hanna Harlow has all my father’s original recipes.

  “She broke in,” she says. Which is the most obvious answer. Especially since my security was so lax. Why was I so naive? She has everything of mine
. Everything. And I still have no proof.

  “Maybe she hacked you remotely?” Vivi offers, as another theory. “Do you have all those files on your computer too?”

  I nod. “My father did it that way. He’d write them out, then scan them into the computer so he could have them on his tablet while he was downstairs.”

  “She could’ve hacked you. We can do a forensic trace. There’s no way she could’ve been careful enough to hide all her tracks. Not unless she hired hackers at least as good as me and my cousins.”

  “Well, why wouldn’t she?” I ask. “I mean, what’s stopping her from hiring the best? If I was gonna go to all this trouble I’d hire the best. And they could be anywhere in the world, ya know? People go on that dark web or whatever, and they can get anyone to do anything. So even though I got all the answers I needed to prove I’m not crazy, that she really is stealing my corporate secrets, I have no proof. None. So there’s absolutely nothing I can even do about this.”

  Vivi is driving home. She just jumped into the driver’s seat and said, “Keys,” and I handed them over. So she makes a pouty face as she gets us back on the freeway towards Denver.

  “Maybe Lawton found out something useful?” she offers as a way to make me feel better.

  “Shit.” I laugh. “She probably sweet-talked him into believing her lies. He’s probably dating her by now. They probably have a date for dinner tomorrow too.”

  I’m only half joking.

  “Well, don’t jump to any conclusions until we talk to him, OK? Lawton knows what she’s doing. He’s not going to fall for it.”

  I just stare out the window as we drive, silent, until we’re getting off the freeway and making our way back into LoDo. She pulls up to the alley entrance to my building and turns the car off. Looks at me.

  “Thank you,” I say. “I would’ve never done any of that without you.”

  “I wish we had actual proof you could use. But at least you know now. She is stealing from you.”

  “Yeah,” I say back. “But how much more does she plan to take before she’s done? Because I don’t have much left.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - LAWTON

  I just sit and listen to Hanna’s story. Without comment, just the way she wanted it, from beginning to end. And when she finally stops talking, she pauses. Takes a breath, then another, like she’s trying to catch it.

  “Well,” she finally says.

  I just shrug. “What do you want me to say?”

  “How about, ‘Maybe I don’t have the whole story?’ How about, ‘Maybe I was wrong about you?’ How about, ‘I should pick and choose my friends more carefully?’”

  That last part comes spitting out of her mouth like venom.

  All I can do is shrug. “It’s your word against hers, isn’t it? And you say she knows all this?”

  “She does,” Hanna says, raising her chin in defiance. “I tried to tell her everything years ago. And all she did was turn on me. Told me she never wanted to see or talk to me again. Threatened me with bodily harm. Said she’d get her friends to take care of things if I decided to take this issue any further. And if you’ve known her for any length of time, then you’ve seen what she’s capable of. You know what kind of friends she has.”

  “Well, from waht I’ve seen you two have the same friends. So what’s that say about you?”

  “Bullshit. She hangs out with those Shrike people. They’re all criminals. You like those fancy boots you have? That overpriced leather jacket with Spencer Shrike’s signature inside the sleeve? You do know he’s a killer, right? All those people are a bunch of violent liars. The whole twisted circle is a cross between a mob family and Colorado royalty.”

  “And you went over there trying to take over her tap. Trying to get Buffed Up to replaced Bucked Up. I mean, come on, Hanna. This is all so much bullshit.”

  “She’s crazy. And somewhere deep down inside, you know I’m right.”

  I just shake my head. “I really haven’t seen that side, Hanna. I don’t know what to think about your story, but I’ll take it back to Oaklee and ask her.”

  She stiffens. Breathes in through her nose. Sets her jaw and glares at me. “She’s going to deny everything.”

  “I mean, I don’t know what you want from me tonight. I don’t even know why you asked me out here. None of this is even my business. I’m just a guy dating a girl you hate. That’s all I see.”

  “Well, you know what I see? I see a man who wears a suit every day walk into a bar on Saturday trying to pretend he’s a biker. Trying to play the part Oaklee Ryan assigned to him. I see a very successful man bowing to the will of a very sick woman. And that’s sad, Lawton. Sad. Because I like you just the way you are. I know she brought you to the Opera House to bait me. To see if I’d take you away. And how stupid would I have to be to fall for that old trick?”

  “Why, because you’ve done it so many times before it’s old?”

  “Is that what she told you? That I stole her boyfriends?” And then she laughs. “This,” she says, waving a hand at me. “You, dressed in a suit. That’s my type, Lawton. That biker costume she dressed you up in last weekend, that’s all her. Pretty soon she’s gonna ask you to get a tattoo.”

  “What?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time. Hell, she’s done some pretty crazy things to catch a guy. I wouldn’t put anything past her. And she’s got something up her sleeve for you, take my word on that.”

  “Like what?” I laugh.

  Hanna shrugs. “How should I know? But just wait. Something will happen. She’s with you for a reason and you’ll figure that out sooner than later, because Oaklee Ryan didn’t get what she has by accident. She’s ruthless. She has no conscience. And she’s a very good little actress, Law. A very good liar.”

  And then Hanna pushes back her chair, places her napkin on the table, and says, “I’ve got the check, don’t worry about that. It was nice talking to you, Law. I hope you take a good long look at what I’ve told you. And I hope you figure out you’re just a pawn in her game before it’s too late and she ruins everything you’ve built over the years.”

  She leaves me sitting there. Just replaying her whole story back in my head.

  And reluctantly, I have to admit, some of it makes sense.

  No, a lot of it makes sense. Like… all the weird why questions that have been running through my head these past few days suddenly make sense if I subscribe to Hanna’s logic.

  Questions like… why would Hanna do all this crazy shit?

  But if what she told me is true—and it’s certainly plausible—then all of it fits.

  The competing breweries. The recipes. The beer names and even the stupid buffalo head mural on the front of her building.

  Is Oaklee that crazy?

  I mean… she has pulled some stunts. There’s no denying that. And why would all her beer friends not see what I see? Why would they let Hanna get away with all this? Why, for that matter, would the entire craft brewing community let her win festival after festival? Give her taps where Oaklee once ruled?

  If none of what Hanna just told me is true… then… Jesus. She’s insane.

  But if it is true… then that makes Oaklee the insane one.

  I push back from the table, leave the restaurant, walk back to my car, and drive back to Denver. More confused than ever.

  Who do I believe? The girl I thought I was falling in love with over the weekend?

  Or the one who just gave me a rational explanation that counters everything Oaklee has been telling me?

  I don’t know. And even though before I had dinner with Hanna I was planning on spending the night fucking Oaklee’s brains out and falling asleep in her bed, holding her tight—that’s not what I do.

  I go home.

  Alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - OAKLEE

  I text Law when I get upstairs and then stare at my phone as I watch the little notification to say it was delivered. Which it is. But those little bubbles t
elling me he’s texting back don’t appear.

  I don’t know what to think about that.

  Well, that’s not true. I have lots of things to think about that.

  One. He’s still with Hanna and he can’t answer me yet.

  Two. He’s still with Hanna and doesn’t want to answer me at all.

  Three. He’s driving home, so he saw the text but can’t text and drive. Which makes sense because that’s dangerous and I don’t want him crashing his car on the freeway trying to calm my fears that he has, in fact, decided Hanna is way more interesting, and pretty, and successful, and he’d like to fuck her instead of me.

  Four. He’s fucking her right now.

  God, I’m so stupid.

  I go over to my terrace and open the doors. The night air is cool and the wind is strong, but I don’t care. I just stare at his apartment down the alley and watch, hoping that any minute now—

  The lights flick on.

  He’s home! I text him again. Asking if he got my message. Which I know he did, because it was delivered.

  I chew my thumbnail as I wait for the comment bubbles…

  Nothing.

  What’s happening right now? Are fears two and four justified?

  I know I shouldn’t call, but I can’t stop myself. I press the green button on my phone and it starts ringing. And just when I think it’s gonna go to voicemail, he picks up.

  “Hey,” he says, his greeting short and sharp.

  “Heeeey,” I say back, my greeting soft and long. “So… what happened?”

  “I should be asking you that, Oaklee.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What did I tell you about Vivi’s stupid plan last night? I mean, Jesus Christ. What the fuck were you two thinking?”

  “I needed proof, Lawton. And I got it. She has all my father’s recipes on her computer!”

  “You broke into her computer?” He sighs. And it’s clearly an exasperated sigh.