Empire of Lies

by Whitney G.

  Scrolling down my ‘recent calls’ list until I reached my best friend Gillian’s number, I let out a deep breath before hitting call.

  Please pick up, Gillian…Please pick up…

  “Hey, there!” Her voicemail greeted me after six rings. “You’ve reached my personal line, but I can’t come to the phone right now. I’m currently in flight with Jake or taking our little one on a play date. Leave me a message, and I’ll do my best to get back to you when I can!”

  Beep!

  “So…” I sighed. “You know how years ago—back when I had a sex life, when I used to rate cocks on a scale of one to five? How even though the goal was a 5 star, that a 3.5 star was great, if it’d been a while?” I paused. “Well, I’m currently in the middle of not receiving a 1-star cock and I can’t believe that he’s been in my place for—”

  “Oh my god, Meredith!” She answered the phone mid-sentence, laughing. “Seriously? It’s three o’clock in the morning.”

  “Were you purposely ignoring my call?”

  “No. Little Jake grabbed it before I could answer it. Your message came on via the speaker system, by the way. So, I’m sure his next word to ask his Daddy about will be the c-word since, thanks to you, his vocabulary already includes the p-word.”

  “Pussy?”

  “Yes.” She laughed. “That one.”

  “Well, you’re welcome. Less stuff to explain to him later.” I smiled, and her laughter came over the line once more.

  “Is this one-star the guy you were telling me about before? The guy from Tinder?”

  “No.” I slumped down onto the tiled floor. “That guy is a super successful Wall Street suit named Jameson Turner and he begged to reschedule on me fifteen minutes before our date.”

  “So, you blocked his number immediately, right?”

  “I wanted to, but…” I sighed. He was the first decent guy I’d met on the app in forever, and we’d talked off and on for the past several weeks. “He’s making it up to me on New Year’s Eve by taking me to one of the most exclusive nightclubs in this city. This one star guy is just a case of what happens when I’m too desperate…”

  “Please don’t tell me you met him at a bar…”

  “Worse,” I said, leaning back against the toilet. “I met him at a subway station. He said, ‘Hey you’re cute’ and that was all it took to get a date.”

  Her silence let me know that she was being nice by not telling me how pathetic I’d become.

  “I feel like I’m still not back to being myself, you know? Shit still isn’t going right in any part of my life for another year in a row, and I’m—” I paused mid-sentence, feeling tears prick my eyes. “My mom is really gone, Gillian…” I tried not to cry, but the pain overwhelmed me and I couldn’t help but give in.

  Ever since I’d lost my mother two years ago, things were never the same. I couldn’t go to a party without breaking into tears when certain songs played, couldn’t watch a film without wondering what she would’ve said, and I couldn’t pick up the phone without wanting to hear her soft words of advice. She was the only person who knew what I did for a second job from time to time, what I had to do to keep the pain of my father’s neglect from seeping too deeply into my system.

  “I’ll have Jake fly me back home first thing this afternoon,” Gillian said softly. “You and I can stay up until daybreak and sip cheap mimosas like old times. We’ll go shopping, too.”

  “No, no, no.” I ripped a few sheets of toilet paper from the roll and dabbed my eyes. “I don’t need you to do that. Not this weekend.”

  “Why not? You’d fly across the country in a heartbeat, if I needed you.”

  I held back a sigh. Taking her up on that offer right now would make me the shittiest best friend in the world. Her husband had called me weeks ago to make sure he was doing everything right for their anniversary trip. Since she hadn’t texted me about the new nine carat ring he’d told me about, I was certain that he hadn’t yet reached that part of the surprise.

  “I’ll be fine until next weekend,” I said. “I promise. I was just having a moment.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “One hundred percent sure.”

  “Okay, well…” She paused for a few seconds. “If you haven’t had the guy’s c-word yet, how do you know that it’s a one star?”

  “Because I’ve seen it.” I laughed and wiped my face. “It’s a tad bit longer than one of my lipstick tubes. And don’t even get me started on the unkempt gorilla hair he has going on down there.”

  “Have you tried eHarmony? OkCupid? Maybe those are better than Tinder these days?”

  “I’ve never heard anything good about those other sites.”

  “It’s been years, so you kind of have to adapt to how things have changed. You can’t just use Tinder and wait on one guy at a time. You used to tell me that.”

  “Good point. I’ll get on both of those tonight.”

  A soft knock suddenly came to the door.

  “I’ll call you later, Gillian,” I said. “Gotta go.” I ended the call and opened the door, finding myself face to face with a naked Scott.

  “If you hop on my dick within the next few seconds, I’ll be able to fuck you for at least three minutes.” He winked. “What do you say?”

  I looked down and noticed that he wasn’t hard anymore.

  “Um…” His face reddened and he placed his hands over his crotch. “You know what? I think I’m just gonna go.”

  “I think that’s a great idea.”

  I watched him grab his jacket and hastily put on his pants, watched him not-so-subtly steal a handful of chocolate chip cookies off my kitchen counter.

  He left my condo without bothering to say goodbye.

  Returning to the bedroom, I pulled the top dresser drawer open and rummaged for my vibrator. I slipped under the sheets and tried to think about the last time that I’d had amazing sex, tried to use it for some inspiration, but it was no use.

  How the hell has it been over two years?

  Sighing, I grabbed my phone and scrolled through my contacts. I couldn’t think of a single guy in the past who would answer the phone at this hour—booty call or not, and I doubted any of them would even remember me.

  I deleted all of them one by one, and decided to take Gillian’s advice. I opened OkCupid and created a profile. I typed exactly what I thought I was looking for, “a good time, not a long time” and started to search for someone new. Someone who was sexy enough to help me end my dry spell.

  All hopes were dashed within seconds.

  Kermit the Frog? Mr. Big Stuffed? ClitLover?

  I deactivated my account and tried eHarmony. Within seconds of reading just how many survey questions I needed to answer—along with the monthly payment fee, I logged out forever.

  It was back to good ole Tinder. I updated a few of my pictures and changed my profile name to Good Girl1996.

  I swiped left—i.e. ‘no thanks,’ on tons of profiles—their faces either too familiar to men I’d seen before or their faces not striking enough to make an impression.

  After half an hour of swiping, I stopped when I saw what had to be the sexiest man alive. What was definitely a fake profile.

  ‘Devil-in-Disguise’? How fitting.

  A man like this would never need to use a dating app, and I didn’t bother reading his “About Me” words, since his account was clearly being run by a thirsty, attention-seeking sock puppet.

  Still, fakeness aside, I was instantly wet at the sight of his deep, emerald green eyes and chocolate colored hair, his lips that looked like they would own any woman’s mouth with just one kiss, the slight smirk on his lips in the second picture where he was wearing a simple, dark grey shirt that revealed his chest muscles.

  He looked like the type of man who could make a woman come within minutes, the type who would bend her over a chair and fill her with every inch of his cock, while pulling her hair with every stroke until she begged for more.

  Pre
ssing the vibrator against my clit, I bit my bottom lip as it buzzed—as I continued to stare at this chiseled face of perfection.

  I pictured his head buried between my thighs, his lips licking my pussy with wild abandon and demanding me to scream his name at the top of my lungs.

  Fuck…

  I shut my eyes as my legs writhed under the sheets, as my fantasies of him fucking me ran wild. My clit throbbed against the pleasurable vibrations—swelling with every passing second, and I came apart under my own hands.

  When I came to, I tossed the vibrator into my nightstand. I took a few screenshots of the fake guy’s pictures for good measure, and then I swiped left.

  Meredith

  Before

  A few days later, I stumbled out of a taxi with a carton of fresh coffee in hand. My stilettos softly scraped the city pavement as I struggled to keep pace with all the other associates who were running late to jobs in The One World Trade Center.

  By the time I made it inside the building and scanned my badge for Vogue, I was almost thirty seconds late. Any other job, and those seconds wouldn’t start to matter until they became minutes. When you were working as the right hand to the top magazine editor in the country, i.e. the Queen of Everything, being one second late was an eternity.

  I rushed to the glittering elevators and hit the button for the 25th floor. In the mirrored glass, I smoothed my hair and used napkins to stave off the drips from the coffee lids.

  When the doors finally glided open, I expected to see my boss greeting me with a scowl and a “Finally.” The man and woman standing in front of me were far much worse.

  “Dad?” I said, stepping off onto the floor. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have a better question,” his companion—my annoying and insensitive Aunt Catherine, said. “Why have you been ignoring his phone calls? Why have you been ignoring mine as well?”

  I held back a groan. “I have a lot of work to do today. As you can see, this is my job, so—”

  “Your father cleared it with your boss already,” Catherine said. “She says she sent you an email.”

  I set the coffee carton down and pulled out my phone. Sure enough, my boss’s email was at the top of my inbox.

  Subject: Today.

  Your billionaire father has decided to interrupt my day with some type of important meeting with you instead of calling you on the phone/respecting my business hours. You’re still responsible for doing all the work that’s due by six o’clock.

  Don’t worry about my coffee, and don’t let this ever happen again.

  Also, if you plan on returning to being a boring little heiress, let me know by the end of the day.

  M. Winters

  Vogue

  Editor in Chief

  “Whatever it is,” I said, looking between them, “it’ll have to wait. I’m already behind on my work and I don’t have time.”

  “This can’t wait, and it’ll only take fifteen minutes.” My father ushered me back onto the elevator, hitting the button for the closest lounge.

  I refused to make eye contact with him or my aunt, and I set a timer for fifteen minutes on my phone.

  The second the elevator stopped, they motioned for me to follow them to a booth near the windows.

  I sat on one side of the table, and they sat side by side on the other. Then we just stared at each other, like usual.

  My father and I had never been that close. He was a wealthier version of a deadbeat dad, as far as I was concerned and I didn’t want anything to do with him or his money.

  My mother had left him once she discovered he had twelve ongoing affairs, and I took her side in the split. He fought her tooth and nail on child support—neglected to see me unless it was my birthday, and he paid the socialite press to steer clear of me once I shunned my status and decided to live a normal life to work for my own money.

  It wasn’t until a few years ago, when one lone photographer caught me stepping out of a shitty brownstone, that my father swooped in and demanded that I move into a twenty-million-dollar condo at his expense. He’d been ensuring that we see each other at least once a month since. Always in public.

  Of course, that’s what this is…Our monthly public meeting. How could I forget? Allow me to put on a fake smile, just in case he’s hired some press to snap pictures of this.

  “Well, I guess I’ll be the first person to break the ice,” My father said after another minute of awkward silence. “I have some important news for you, Meredith. But first, I want us to find a way to get past our differences. I’m well aware that I haven’t been there for you as much as I should’ve and believe me, I regret that. If I could do it all over again, I would’ve begged for your mother to stay. I would’ve worked hard to make her my only one.”

  My fake smile started to slip. Even if the first part of his words were halfway true, the latter ones couldn’t be. From the way my aunt gave him the side-eye when he said them, I knew a part of her didn’t believe that either.

  “Now, I can’t go back in time and fix things,” he said. “but I think I can start right here and now. I want us to go into a new year stronger than we’ve ever been.”

  I said nothing.

  “Perhaps we can stop having public meetings and have some genuine ones with just you and me. You can finally introduce me to all your friends.”

  “I only have one friend.”

  “Gillian, right? Well, you can finally introduce me to her, and I can introduce you to the people in my life as well.” He looked somewhat genuine. “And perhaps, over time, we can have the type of relationship where we don’t have to worry about whether or not the stories we hear about each other are true.”

  “There aren’t any stories about me.”

  “Ha! Quite the contrary.” Aunt Catherine chimed in. “That’s part of the big reason why we really needed to talk to you today.”

  “Just tell me the news so I can get back to work.” I rolled my eyes. “If you’ve bought another million-dollar building, congratulations. If you’re partnering with Catherine’s media firm, congratulations. All bases are covered. Can I go now?”

  “Your father is dipping his toe into politics.” She smiled. “He’s highly qualified for tons of positions, but after tons of research, he’s decided to help people who—”

  I stopped listening, waited for her to finish babbling about whatever unnecessary position he was taking away from someone who would probably do a better job at it.

  I wasn’t wasting a ‘Congratulations’ on this.

  “We also need you to lead your father’s annual women’s conference, so that people will see that you’re spending more time together,” she said. “People like to see that quality in high profile men like him.”

  I knew there was a catch… “You’re already a multi-million-dollar philanthropist, Dad.” I said, looking at him. “Shouldn’t that be enough at this point in your life?”

  “I’ll be able to answer that after I win.” He laughed as my aunt kissed his cheek, and I felt bile rising up my throat.

  “Anyway…” Catherine set a folder on the table. “Back to you. I had your father’s team do some digging, and I’m not sure I like what they’ve found.” She lowered her voice. “We’ll need to discuss all of the men that you slept with in the years before your mother—Well, you know. They tell me that you were quite promiscuous…”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “You heard me,” she said. “Do I have to put it in some of those young people terms for you? You were formerly a ‘thot’, a ‘ho’, a jump-off. All of those terms mean the same thing, I believe. I’m sure you’ve suffered from your fair share of ‘Daddy issues’ but you should be long past those now.”

  “I’m going to leave now.”

  “Don’t you dare.” She glared at me, and my father said nothing. “If what they’re telling us is true, we’ll have to get ahead of this with a simple public statement. But between you and me, there’s no excuse for being that promiscuou
s.” She shook her head. “Not only that, but one of our people saw you entering 230 Park Avenue.” Her gaze was colder than I’d ever witnessed. “They followed you and saw that you went to the twentieth floor—the floor that holds a private place called Club Swan…”

  I swallowed, felt all the color leaving my face.

  “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you were there to celebrate a friend’s milestone of celebration—all forty-nine times, and that you don’t have a secret part-time career at a goddamn high-profile strip club.”

  I said nothing. Her words cut too deep for me to speak.

  “Do you have any idea what type of predators, sociopaths, and evil men go to places like that?” she asked.

  The same ones who work at both of your companies…

  “Is any part of this true, Meredith?” My father finally rejoined the conversation, looking somewhat concerned. “Is that what you like to do in your free time?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. Whenever I danced, I felt free, like all the pain from my past couldn’t touch me. My twirls were a shield, guarding me from pent-up emotions and tears. They helped me deal with bullshit moments like this.

  “You are never to step foot in that place again, Meredith Alexis Thatchwood.” My aunt pronounced every syllable in my name. “Are we clear?”

  “No.” I stood to my feet. “No, we’re not clear at all. You know what, Dad? Next time you want to have one of these meetings, make sure my dear aunt isn’t with you.”

  “Meredith...” He pleaded. “Meredith, please. Can we start over? We can change the subject and start anew. Surely there’s something we can get off on the right foot about.”

  “You’re right.” I stepped back. “The right thing to say would’ve been, Happy Birthday.” I walked away without another word, knowing that they wouldn’t dare follow.

  I decided to take the steps back up to Vogue instead of waiting for an elevator. As I made it to the second landing, I heard a familiar sound from my phone. The ‘Someone You Like Has Liked You Back!’ sound.