by Lori L. Otto
“It’s only been about thirty-six hours.”
“Do you want a ride?”
“We’ve seen the gossip sites. Can you even get out?”
“I’ll find a way.”
“They’ll follow you, and then they’ll know it’s me–or think it’s Coley.”
“That probably will happen. Look, then I’ll send over a car. Can you go now?”
“Yes.”
“When you tell them you were raped, Pree, they’ll probably get the police involved. I want you to understand that.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t be ashamed of this. It’s not your fault, and I’m going to do anything I can to help.”
“Thank you. Coley wants to talk to you.”
“Trey?”
“Coley, if she still has any of her clothes or sheets from that night, anything she was wearing that may have any DNA evidence on it, you need to tell her to take it with her. Put it in a bag or something.”
“Okay, but listen to me.”
“What?” I ask her.
“I just need you to consider the possibility that it could be Asher. That’s all I need you to do.”
“I am, Coley. I will also be sending you the most boring DVD you’ve ever seen, and I expect you to watch the entire thing so I can clear my name with you. It’s the security camera footage from my hallway. It records twenty-four-seven. And although I do have a balcony, there’s no way I can rappel down that thing sober, much less in the shape I was in that night. I’ll take a picture of it to show you.”
“I don’t need to see any of that.”
“I need you to. I also need your help interviewing someone. It’s a girl I know… I just want another woman present for it to make her more comfortable. Can you make yourself available one evening this week?”
“Any evening. I told Pree she could stay with me and Teri for as long as she needs to. I’m sleeping on the floor.”
“My parents have extra rooms, too. They just don’t live very close to campus. It’s a ten-minute cab ride.”
“I’ll let her know.”
“If she needs some time away, it would be good for her. And as someone who’s been babied by my mother, there’s no one better. She would be more than happy to help.”
“Thank you. One more thing. My brother is signing that he’s sorry. That it was a knee-jerk reaction… he and I both tend to have those at times.”
“You don’t say…” She laughs on the other end of the line. “The car service should be pulling up now, according to the app. Please call me and let me know how she’s doing,” I tell her.
“I will. Have you talked to Asher again?”
“No.”
“Are you going to?”
“Not yet. I’ll let you know before I do.”
“Okay.”
Later that night, I just have to straighten up around the apartment since Jenny had cleaned the place from top to bottom while I made myself scarce for a few hours yesterday. Sitting in Starbucks, doing homework while I was hung over, wasn’t where I wanted to be, but I never like to be in Jenny’s way. I hadn’t expected Lucy to say yes to an interview tonight, but when she did, I had to make it happen. Having thought about where I wanted the conversation to take place, I figured a private residence was the best idea. I told Lucy that another reporter would be here, but she seemed comfortable enough coming over to my apartment without knowing that, anyway.
I wasn’t completely honest with her about the topic of our interview, though. I wasn’t honest at all, actually. I told her I was writing a story on the History department at Columbia. She’s a History major, so I told her she would be an ideal candidate. I didn’t think she would come if she knew what I really intended to ask her. I don’t think my means of getting her to come over would meet the ethical standards I’m bound to, but it was all I could think of in my rushed and unprepared state. I spent the rest of the afternoon thinking of questions I wanted to ask and the conversation I would have with Coley before Lucy arrived.
Fortunately, after about three hours, the news media got tired of the non-story. When they could find no claims of anyone being raped (thanks to the discreet work by NY Presby and the NYPD), they decided to leave my building. This cleared the way for my guests. I’d warned Jerry and asked him to send up the women after I gave him their names. Coley shows up promptly at seven.
When I open the door for her, she’s looking down the hallway. I peek out to see what she’s pointing at. “Is that the camera?” I wave at it, which prompts her to do the same. “Your doorman-guy gave me this to bring up to you. He said your dad’s lawyer dropped it off.”
She hands me an envelope I’d been expecting. I open it up, finding some paperwork and two copies of a DVD. I hand one to her. “Enjoy this masterpiece.”
“I wonder if you can hear things from your apartment on here,” she says.
“Shit, I hope not,” I say, scratching my head. Fortunately, my bedroom’s on the wall opposite the hallway. I don’t think there’s any cause for worry, even though I may have muttered her name aloud a few times as I thought about her after our phone call. What I was doing isn’t worth mentioning to her. “Come in.”
She carries a pillow under one arm, and her duffel bag and backpack are both slung over the other shoulder.
“Guest room is this way,” I tell her, showing her to the bedroom next to mine. After we got off the phone earlier, I thought I remembered her saying she was sleeping on the floor of her dorm room. I’ve seen those dorm rooms. I never thought she’d accept the offer to stay in my spare room, but she did without hesitating. It gave me a sense of relief, because now I really do believe that she doesn’t actually need to see the DVD I just gave her. Now I really do believe our trust was never truly broken.
“Everything is so tidy,” she says, dragging her finger along the dresser and checking it for dust. “Oh, my God. Are you a neat-freak?”
“I like it when things are clean, yes. Did I make it this way?” I shake my head. “I have a maid.”
“Of course you have a maid. Did you ever have to clean your room when you were little?”
“Always. My parents don’t have housekeepers. They never have. That’s my luxury. And Livvy’s luxury. They say we’re lazy. I would agree.”
“No, your sister’s busy. You’re lazy.”
“That’s fair.”
“So… are you going to tell me who we’re interviewing?”
“Put your stuff down. I have a story to tell you.”
“Tell me while I hang up some things.”
I sit down on the bed that’s only been slept in a couple of times and watch as she unpacks enough clothes to last the rest of the week. I told her she could stay as long as she needed–as long as Pryana needed to stay at her dorm. I’m glad she took it to heart.
I recall the night of the first frat party of the semester and what I walked up on in the backyard.
“Now, it could be absolutely nothing. I left the party thinking I was way off-base. I never thought about it again until I talked to Zaina today.”
Coley stops unpacking when I mention my girlfriend’s name. It looks like she’s overcome with guilt, and she sits down on the other side of the bed. I continue with the story.
“She thinks something was going on. She thinks Asher was at least trying to force himself on her.”
“So what exactly is the plan?” she asks, following me into the kitchen.
As I tell her what I’m thinking, she looks through my refrigerator and sees what we can put out to snack on, trying to make the setting as comfortable as possible for all of us.
“Lucy, this is Coley Fitzsimmons. She’s a first-year reporter on the paper.”
“You write the poetry articles,” she says, nodding her head in recognition of her name. “I love those. They’re my favorite part of The Wit.”
“Thank you. Wow. I wasn’t sure anyone was reading them,” Coley says.
“Are you kidding? My friend
s and I love them. You’re onto something special.”
I look at my friend, proud of what she’s done.
“Trey puts polish on them all–”
“Don’t give me any credit. I never would have thought something like that would have worked. Anyway, why don’t we all sit down in the living room. Lucy, do you want something to drink? We have some crackers and stuff out, if you’re hungry.”
“Just water, if you have some. Wait… are you writing my article?” Lucy asks Coley. “Am I going to be the subject of a… what do you call them? Poeticle?”
Coley looks at me, unsure how to answer. “I don’t think this story works with that format,” I say from the kitchen. “But hang around Coley a little… maybe she can come up with something.” I bring ice water for everyone and sit on the floor, even though there is plenty of seating for all of us. I just want to seem as non-threatening as possible to our subject.
“So,” she says. “What do you want to know about the history program?”
“Yeah. Well, what we want to talk to you about is… it’s about the past, but not about history, or the program, Lucy. I need to talk to you about something rather serious and potentially sensitive. And I’m not actually sure this is for The Wit. We are investigating a developing story, and I think you may be able to help us.”
“I know it’s not the most ethical way to get you here and enlist your help,” Coley adds.
“I wasn’t sure you would come if I told you what this was about in advance.”
Coley speaks. “Your discretion is important. If word spreads about our speculation, it could cause a lot of problems for us.”
“Let’s stop being so secretive and why don’t you guys just tell me why I’m here?”
I look to Coley for encouragement. She smiles and nods, providing me what I need. “Lucy, you know that Asher Knoxland and I are fraternity brothers and friends, right?”
“Best friends.”
“We’ve been close pretty much since I started working at the paper… but some things have happened recently that make me think that he’s not the honorable guy I thought he was.” I watch for her reaction. Her eyes don’t divert from mine, and she nods her head. “Would you consider him honorable?”
She swallows. “I’ve questioned why you hang around him.”
“Why?”
“He’s not good, Trey. I worked with you for three hours a day twice a week for a full semester last spring. I got to know you pretty well. You’re a really good guy. Always polite and helpful. You explained things that I didn’t understand, and you graciously listened to me when I explained things to you. When I was absent, you sent me notes without me having to ask for them–you even typed them out for me, because I know you handwrite everything, and I’d complained to you that I couldn’t read your handwriting. Even though we were competing with other teams for grades in that class, you helped other people when they needed assistance–which drove me crazy until I realized we were far enough ahead that it wouldn’t hurt us. You were reliable–always there and always present, too.”
“That’s just me being a good student.”
“Outside of class, you’re polite and helpful, too. With all your volunteer work? And your involvement in activities on-campus? You believe in things and act on them. Things that don’t even affect you personally. Things that you just know are right for others. That are for the betterment of our little world here.”
I shrug my shoulders, unsure how to take her statement of facts. It’s all true.
“Asher’s never done anything for anyone but himself.”
He’s participated in the volunteer work we do for the fraternity, but it’s sort of a required thing, so I don’t know that it really counts. He’s done things for me, though. Helped to advance my standing at The Wit. I always thought he was doing it to be a friend, but now I’m wondering if I should look deeper into his motivations.
“Do you ever think maybe he’s using you?”
“I hadn’t,” I tell her. “He has money.”
“But his family doesn’t have the clout yours does. Especially here in New York.”
“That may be,” I say. “Lucy, I want to make a point here: I’m not Asher, and Asher’s not me… and I would never stand by him if he did anything that hurt a friend of mine or violated their trust.”
“Okay,” she says simply, taking a cracker from the platter in the middle of the table and setting it on a napkin in front of her. She breaks it into fourths and takes a piece of it to eat.
I decide to press on, trying to make it more obvious. “I would especially distance myself if he ever violated… someone.”
Lucy nods her head, staring at the food in front of her and eating another piece in a daze.
“Lucy,” Coley says, helping me out, “were you at a party at the Sig Rho house at the beginning of the year? The back-to-school party?”
“Yes.”
“Did you spend any time with Asher Knoxland?”
Her voice becomes listless as she answers. “Yes.”
“Lucy,” I say softly, trying to get her attention. “Do you remember when I came outside into the backyard? When I shined the light on you two in the corner?”
She nods her head quickly and tears form in her eyes. Coley moves from the armchair she’d been sitting in to the seat on the couch next to Lucy.
“Was he taking things further than you wanted them to go?” she asks her.
Lucy nods again.
“You were telling him to stop, weren’t you?” I ask her.
“He had his fingers in me,” she says just ahead of sobs that erupt from somewhere deep within her. “I didn’t want them there. I didn’t want them on me. In me. Near me. I wanted him off of me. He wouldn’t go. I couldn’t move him. I tried. I couldn’t. He said I wanted it. That I had asked for it. But I didn’t. I told him I wanted to kiss him. That I wanted to know what it was like. I’d had a few drinks, and I finally got the nerve to tell him that. And he kissed me. Asher Knoxland kissed me. Sweetly. And he said he liked kissing me. He said he wanted to do it somewhere more private. That it felt too special for so many people to be watching us. But all the bedrooms were taken. We went out back. No one else was there. I wanted to stay on the porch, where there was light. He didn’t. He pulled me to that dark corner. And his kisses weren’t sweet anymore. They were hard. The back of my head kept hitting the fence on one side or the brick wall on the other side. When I tried to move, he put one hand up my sweater, under my bra. He was hurting me, squeezing so hard. When I started to shout, his kisses hurt me more. He had me pinned in that corner, using his legs and feet to keep me still, to spread my legs. He said he’d heard I was a virgin, and he wanted to see if it was true. I told him I was. I tried to tell him, but I couldn’t talk with his mouth on mine.
“While I would gasp for air, he’d say, ‘You know it feels good. A finger fuck isn’t even sex. I want to have sex with you. I’ll fuck you so good.’”
I push myself up off the floor and go out onto the balcony, gripping the railing until my knuckles are white. I feel sick to my stomach. Sick that he did that to Lucy. Sick that he may have done something similar–or worse–to Pryana. Sick that he was so close to Coley when she was alone and defenseless. Sick that I’ve spent so many hours with him. Sick that I ever trusted him. Sick that people associate me with him. Sick that I’ve called him my friend. I heave into a potted plant, but my empty stomach yields only bile and saliva.
After moving my hair off of my face, I let the cold wind whip against my clammy skin. I think I would cry if these women weren’t in my house. I feel betrayed and fooled and foolish and clueless and wonder if I’ve ever been a good judge of anyone’s character, or if I’ve just lucked out all of my life, and only been confronted with good people. If my Catholic school upbringing has only put me in the path of other good people, and now that I’m out in the real world, only now do I start having to use this skill… having to learn this skill. Not only is Asher not a
person with good moral fiber, he’s about the worst kind of human there is.
“Trey?” Coley says. “You need to hear this. Are you okay to come back inside?”
“Yeah,” I say, getting off of my knees and following her back into my apartment. I go by the sink first and wipe off my face with a wet rag, getting a little relief from the superficial cleansing.
I decide to sit in the armchair, my muscles still tensed and in need of a comfortable seat.
“Lucy didn’t report the incident,” Coley says.
“The part where he said the finger fuck–”
“Wasn’t sex,” I interrupt her, shaking my head, wishing I’d never heard that and still in disbelief that he would spew such lies to a woman. “Yeah.”
“It got in my head… like, maybe it wasn’t really rape.”
“Oh, shit, Lucy,” I say, disgusted.
“I feel so stupid.”
“Don’t,” Coley and I say at the same time.
“He’s a master manipulator,” I explain, possibly realizing it at the same time it comes out of my mouth. “It obviously worked for him.”
“But, Trey,” Coley says, “two weeks ago, Lucy confided this to one of her friends. She said that friend knows a girl who went out with Asher last year and woke up in her bed with no recollection of what happened the previous night. She says when she woke up, her jeans were off and her panties were on backwards and barely pulled up to cover her. She asked Asher about it, but he swears nothing happened. He says she was all over him, but he dropped her off and left. But she said she felt sore–bruised–for a few days after. She didn’t tell anyone, either.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why does no one say anything?”
“It’s Asher Knoxland,” Lucy says. “The fact that he pays any attention to you at all is… kind of like something you never thought would happen to you. Just like if you asked a girl out. She feels like a princess. She’s so high that… it’s a long way from there to the lowest of lows that we’re all suggesting happens. My brain didn’t really want to make that connection. Didn’t want to admit it was even a possibility.”
