In the Wake of Wanting

by Lori L. Otto

  “I’m sorry. We’re trying.”

  “Trey!” I hear Coley’s voice over the rest of the crowd and spot her at the elevators. With my head down, I barrel through and make it to her.

  “Talk to you later, Nic. You’re not such a bad kid, Trey.” I shake his hand quickly.

  “Bye, Daddy,” she says as he stands guard, and the doors finally close us off from the noise.

  In the privacy of the elevator, I finally feel like it’s safe to breathe. “Did you hear what people were yelling?”

  “I heard, ‘He invited her back for seconds,’ and then I tuned them out,” she says. “Seconds? Am I a meal? Are you a meal?” She squints her eyes and shakes her head. “Never mind. There’s no need to answer that.”

  I’m glad she didn’t hear the comment about her being a stripper. How anyone could look at this intelligent, creative woman and think that is beyond me. I guess if they’ve only seen her body, it’s easy to objectify her like that. But still, there are reporters down there. How can they call themselves journalists without doing just a tiny bit of research? They’d easily find she’s a student at Columbia. A fellow writer on The Wit. An accomplished poet.

  Idiots.

  “Tomorrow should be fun,” I tell her sarcastically.

  “I don’t even want to think about it. We both have homework. Let’s distract ourselves for awhile.”

  “Can you finish your article first?” I ask her, opening the door to my apartment. “So I can get that editing out of the way.”

  “Boss mode,” she says, then sighs.

  “I’m sorry. I just look forward to that bit of homework. I need something to look forward to.”

  “Come here.” She tugs on my arm, and I lean down to kiss her. Her fingers thread through my hair. “I’ll finish the article first, but you have other things to look forward to.”

  “What?”

  “A new condo… and maybe some post-homework rewards.”

  I wrap my arms around her. “You’re right. Just having you here is a great thing, Coley. And not because you really have nowhere else to go. I want you here.”

  “Good. I want to be here.”

  “I hope you’ll come stay with me in the new place, too, even though it’s a little farther.”

  “The extra block won’t hinder me. Don’t worry about that.”

  “Okay.” I sit down on the sofa and grab my astronomy book, flipping it open to the chapter we’re reading. “Coley?”

  “Yeah?”

  “With everything that’s happened this weekend… do you have any regrets?”

  She scoots as close as she can get to me on the couch. “Just that I haven’t assured you enough that I love you and I’m happy with you. You shouldn’t have to ask me that question.”

  “I come with a lot of baggage.”

  “Well, so do I. And yours isn’t as ugly. Trust me.” I kiss her fully. “We can help each other carry it.” She nuzzles her nose against mine and looks me in the eyes.

  “Thank you,” I tell her.

  “You’re welcome… and thank you.”

  chapter twenty-four

  With the exception of a handful of tabloid reporters, most of the world seems to have either gone back to work or lost interest in me and Coley by Monday morning. We still wear our respective hoodies and choose to take a taxi the few blocks to campus instead of walking, but at my apartments, I don’t think we gave anyone any material to work with.

  At school, though, it feels like we’re aliens from another planet. A bodyguard meets us at Ruvelyn’s Café, but as soon as people recognize us, they gawk and whisper and laugh. I slide on my sunglasses even though it’s barely dawn and kiss her firmly on the lips before Chad guides her into the coffee shop for her Caramel Macchiato. He’s barely six feet tall, but he’s burly, so I feel like she’s in good hands. On my way out, I notice he’s got a holster on his belt.

  Scratch that. I don’t like the idea of this at all now. She was brought up in a household with guns, though, so this is probably par for the course for her. It scares the ever-loving shit out of me.

  I see more than my share of lewd gestures and hear enough crude remarks to last me all week in my first two classes. Guys I don’t know are patting me on the back. Some congratulate me on the upgrade. Some ask what I got in return. Girls I’ve never met before give me far more attention than normal; eye me seductively, when I used to only get friendly smiles. Someone was kind enough to point out to me that I’m a sex symbol now.

  That’s not something someone who wants to be taken seriously as a journalist wants to hear.

  Coley’s not in the classroom when I get to The Wit. I’ve only beat her here two times: the first day of classes and the day she didn’t come at all.

  “Trey,” Professor Aslon addresses me from the back of the room. “Can you join me and Pryana?”

  I nod, meeting the gazes of a few of my fellow classmates on the way. In this room, all I see is sympathy, and I immediately worry something’s happened to my girlfriend. “What’s going on?”

  “Coley’s in my office doing some phone interviews,” she says, putting her hand on my forearm. “I could tell she’d had a rough morning, and I thought she could use some time alone.” I nod and start to walk away toward the door. “Ummm, Trey?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “I’m going to need you to stay here,” she informs me. I glance behind her at Pryana, hoping for a little help, but she looks down at her computer, pretending not to listen. “We have a major story to get out and no details.”

  I sigh and sling my backpack into the chair next to me, then shut the door to the editor’s office. “I guess I don’t need to ask what story you’re talking about.”

  “All we know is that he was arrested early this morning based on new evidence, and this time, no bond has been set.”

  My nostrils flare as I take a deep breath. “I don’t really want to be the source for this story.”

  “You know what happened?” Pryana asks.

  “You know how shitty my weekend was?” I ask them both.

  They’re silent for a few seconds. “Obviously, we know about the video, Trey,” my advisor says. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

  “Well, it has everything to do with it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Asher planted the camera,” I tell them.

  “You know this for a fact?” Aslon asks.

  “Oh, yeah. I have it on tape.”

  “So they’re holding him in jail with no bond for videotaping you guys having sex, but he can rape three girls and post bail? I’m sorry, Trey, but that’s messed up,” Pryana says.

  “I’m not going to compare our victimizations, Pree,” I tell her. “They should never have let him out in the first place… but it wasn’t just him videotaping us that has him stuck in that jail cell, although that’s an immediate four-year sentence for a first-time offender, I found out. It wasn’t him distributing it, either, which is apparently an additional year. It was the fact that he raped my housekeeper hours after he raped you… and we have that on tape, too.”

  “What?” both of the women ask at the same time.

  I feel myself getting choked up again. “Yeah. He brutally, violently raped her.”

  “Oh, my God,” Pryana gasps, then starts to cry. “Oh, my God…” It takes me a few minutes to realize they’re tears of relief. Tears of joy, even. She gets up quickly, knocking her chair over in the process, and throws her arms around me. “I’m sorry, Trey. I’m very sorry it happened to her, but you have to understand how much this is going to help our case.”

  “I know, Pree. I know. I know Danny was just making sure everything was airtight before he told you guys, but I’m sure he’ll call you tonight or tomorrow. I know it’s good news for the case against him. I just hate that he’s hurt you… and Jenny, and Lucy and Kamiesha, too.”

  “And now you and Coley,” she says.

  “I can’t compare what we
’re going through to what you’ve gone through. It sucks, but–”

  “Trey,” my professor interrupts me. “I think you and Coley are just starting to understand the impact this will have on you… Coley, especially. I don’t want to minimize your role as a victim in this, but I think she has a lot more to lose. Many victims of sex tapes like this go through similar psychological distress as victims of sexual assault. I don’t think counseling is a bad idea. There’s a group on campus.”

  “I went to my first meeting last week,” Pryana tells me. “There are a few guys there, too.”

  I shake my head. “That’s way too public for me. I’d rather have a private therapist,” I say, getting tense at the thought of the field day tabloids would have with me if they discovered I was going to a sex abuse group.

  “Maybe Coley could go with me?”

  “I’ll talk to her,” I tell her. “You can, too. I never… I mean, we talked about career implications, and yeah, people have been relentless today, but… and this is going to sound pathetic, but most of the attention I’ve gotten has been positive–not that I’ve liked it. I haven’t. It’s disgusted me, but that’s what I’ve been dealing with.”

  “It’s safe to say Coley’s getting a lot of negative attention,” Professor Aslon says. “Slut-shaming. Victim-blaming. I heard two guys hit on her in the hallway before she came in. And they weren’t flattering invites.”

  “In our offices?” I ask.

  “They were delivery guys.”

  “Even with her bodyguard there?”

  “He’s making it worse, I think. It seems like no one really knows you two are actually dating… but maybe that was a… fling. And maybe he’s the next guy on her list. That’s word around The Wit, anyway.”

  “I don’t like him being around her anyway. I’m not sure he’s making her any safer.”

  “It’s probably something you should leave up to her, though.”

  I feel my face flush hot. “Yeah.”

  “Anyway,” Pryana says. “Can you help us write this story? We can be ahead of everyone, Trey. We’ll get another Times piece out of it.”

  “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about that fucking video, Pree. I want to put it behind me.”

  “I know, Trey, but… listen. As a journalist, if it was anyone else that this happened to, and such an integral part of such a huge story, you know you’d pursue it. You know this is something that needs to be told.”

  I think about her plea. “Well, maybe this will teach me to have more empathy for my sources in the future,” I tell her sarcastically. “I’ll write it all up, but I’m leaving out Coley’s and Jenny’s identities. I know Coley’s name is out there anyway, but it’s not going to be because of me. And Jenny… her name will be out there soon enough, but I’d like to give her a little more time being anonymous.”

  “I don’t think that’ll be a problem,” Pryana says. “Asher is the story. You’re the witness and one of the victims… and you have the most unique perspective a person could have. His ex-best friend. His protégé here at the paper.

  “I need the article by ten tonight. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah,” I tell her. After all, the story’s been swirling in my head all weekend. Full paragraphs have already been written down in my Moleskine, preparing for this moment that I knew would come.

  “I’m making an exception today,” Aslon says. “Swing by my office and get Coley… take her back to your place and try to get some work done there in the privacy of your home.” I cringe, just thinking about the invasion of privacy we’ve just suffered through. I dread going back there, and I can’t wait for even the most basic furnishings to be moved into my new place so I can spend as little time as possible in my current one. “Just tell her to have her interviews done by Wednesday.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Want me to bring you dinner later?” Pree asks.

  “Maybe. Call us around six. I’ll let you know how we’re doing. Maybe we’ll grab a pizza.”

  “Okay. Thank you for doing this.”

  “It needs to be done,” I admit to her. “People need to know Asher for the trash he is. I don’t want him to be a sympathetic defendant in any way, shape, or form. I want maximum sentences for every damn crime he committed.”

  “Me, too.”

  “See you Wednesday, Professor Aslon.”

  “Good luck, Trey.”

  I knock softly on the office door, not wanting to startle Coley or the man in there with her in possession of a firearm. He opens it up for me, making sure I’m friend and not foe, then lets me in. I wait for her to end her interview, which was wrapping up anyway, then give her the good news. “Laureate, let’s go home. Aslon’s given us the okay.”

  “Thank God,” she says. “I cannot deal with this day. I’m skipping the rest of my classes.”

  “Coley, don’t do that.”

  “Oh, I’m doing that,” she says as her eyes begin to water. I place all her notebooks in her backpack while she puts on her coat. “I might skip the rest of the week. I’m emailing my professors this afternoon. This is much worse than I thought it would be. Much worse than I bargained for. If Chad wasn’t here, I wonder how many guys would have been brazen enough to walk right up to me and touch me, Trey. Because they’re not afraid to say anything. To send me shit to my Columbia email account. Posting things to my Facebook wall and sending me dick pics and filthy invitations. I now have seventy-five hundred Twitter followers. Just wait until you read my direct messages there.”

  “Make your Facebook private.” Mine has been for years.

  “It is now,” she tells me, her mood wavering between angry and frustrated. “I’m going to have to create a whole new account or something.” Before we leave the room, I stop her and give her a big, empathetic hug. She cries into my shirt. “These people are supposed to be adults. Mature and sympathetic adults.”

  “They still don’t know the whole story, Coley. I’m tasked to write it, so that’s how I’ll be spending my evening. I think people still think we recorded that, regardless of the statements we released over the weekend. Since there was no follow-up saying where the video originated from, no one knows what to believe.”

  “And people think we’re just fucking,” she sobs. “They think I’m a slut who’s just sleeping with you, Trey. As much as you and I justified that we weren’t sleeping together on our first date, neither of us thought about how it would look to everyone who knows us. To everyone who sees us everyday and who saw us explicitly not dating.”

  “Coley, I know this is hard.” I take her hand and lead her out the door, glancing back to see Chad following us.

  “I know you do. I’m sure it hasn’t been any easier on you.”

  “I won’t lie, it sounds like it’s been monumentally easier on me. Welcome to the world of double-standards.”

  “Fuck,” she mutters. I secure her hood before I take care of mine, then put my arm around her and pull her into my chest before we exit the building.

  “We’re going to my apartment, Chad,” I tell him. “Doesn’t sound like she’ll need you the rest of the day.”

  “I’m not going out anymore,” she confirms. “I have your number if I change my mind,” she says.

  “I’m staying at the Marrakech Hotel.”

  “You’re not local?” I ask him.

  “I am,” he says, “but your father thought it would be best if I was as close as possible to her.”

  “My father or hers?” I clarify.

  “Your father is paying me, Trey, although her father interviewed me.”

  As much as I don’t like him wandering around with a pistol on his hip, I do like that our parents worked in tandem to make sure Coley is safe at all times. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her today. I wish you could have leveled any guy who harassed her in any way, though.”

  He grins, cracking his knuckles. “Believe me, so do I. But I don’t want to get fired on my first day for losing my temper and overreacti
ng. Don’t think I didn’t have words with a few of them.”

  “I understand… And thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Trey. Have a good afternoon.”

  Coley and I take the first taxi that pulls up, purposely avoiding the crowd that was already beginning to form around us.

  “So you’re getting accolades, just like I thought, right?”

  “I didn’t ask for this, Coley. I don’t like what’s happening here, and I hate the attention.” She nods sullenly. “If you need anything from your afternoon class, let me know where it is and I’ll stop by there after mine.”

  “All of my assignments are in the syllabus. I’ll probably need your help tomorrow.”

  “That’s fine. Anything you need.” The circus at my apartment building is back, but it’s confined to the outside only. Once we’re inside, we almost make it to the elevator without being bothered.

  “Trey Holland? Coley Fitzsimmons?”

  When the elevator beeps, I encourage my girlfriend to go ahead of me. She shakes her head and holds the door open, waiting for me and listening to the smartly dressed woman who approaches us.

  “Tasha Monroe from Kelvin Stein underwear. We have created a spectacular, beautiful, tasteful campaign that we would love for you two to star in. Print, TV and web advertisements.”

  “You’re shitting me,” I tell her.

  “That video was the sexiest thing I have ever laid eyes on. The whole creative staff said the same thing, and we were inspired to write this campaign around your relationship. You appear to be in a relationship, yes?”

  “Wait,” Coley says, letting the elevator go and walking closer to us. “You want Trey and me to star in an underwear campaign?”

  Tasha takes some card stock out of her notebook and hands them to my girlfriend. Neatly hand drawn on each of the four pages are storyboard sketches of their ideas. “We spent all yesterday afternoon on these. We put our best artist and our best writers on it.”

  “Your best writers, huh?” Coley asks, her eyes dissecting the pages in front of her. I take a step back and look over her shoulder, reading the lines of copy they’ve penned. It’s worse than a fifth-grader’s attempt at a romance novel–a fifth grader who’s never even experienced their first kiss, and possibly not even their first crush. “I’m a poet,” she declares. “Trey’s a journalist who’s been published in the Times.”