Private Relations

by J. M. Hall

  We swam to the surface and laughed at the top of our lungs. Vanessa splashed water in my face, adding that I’d ruined a perfectly good dress. I shrugged, told her the best solution I could offer was for us to simply embrace the moment.

  “This isn’t the first time we’ve ended up fully clothed in a swimming pool,” she said. “Junior year, after the spring fling?”

  “I remember.” I slipped off my shoes, unbuttoned my shirt and snaked my belt through the loops of my pants. “There. Much better.”

  I swam behind Vanessa and wrapped my arms around her waist. I kissed her neck, her shoulders, let the water carry us across the pool. It was one of those quiet, intimate moments that I didn’t want to end, even if we were both fully clothed.

  “What time do you have to be at work tomorrow?” she asked.

  “The earlier, the better. The team will be finalizing a scope of work and a monthly retainer, but after that, they’ll need me to help them work through this case.”

  “What is it you do, again?”

  “Media relations, background research, crisis communications strategy. Think of me as Kalinda from The Good Wife meets Olivia Pope from Scandal.”

  “You’re comparing yourself to two women?”

  “Those two women are stronger and more intelligent than most of the men on TV combined.”

  “And so you’ll help your boss salvage the Academy’s reputation? And try to deal with your past in the process?

  “That’s the goal…”

  Vanessa broke free from my grasp and disappeared under the water, her white dress like a mermaid’s tail around her legs. When she resurfaced, she gripped the edge of the pool and pulled herself out of the water. She slipped off her dress, walked over to the fireplace in nothing but her bra and panties.

  She stripped in front of the fire and wrapped herself in a blanket and sat on one of the chairs facing the hearth. I got out of the pool, followed her lead in shedding my wet clothing. We warmed ourselves in front of the fire, wrapped in each other’s arms, joined only by the sound of the crackling flames.

  “So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” I asked. “Or would that take the fun out of guessing?”

  “Do you remember when you asked me if Eric and I had any children? And, when I told you that I didn’t think it was right to bring a child into a loveless marriage?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever need to worry about it,” she said. “I… I don’t think I can even get pregnant, Jesse. Back when Eric and I were dating, the first few years we were married. You know, when he was still pretending.”

  “You mean when the two of you were still having sex?”

  “Exactly. Looking back, there were so many times when I should have gotten pregnant. Part of me can’t believe it didn’t happen.”

  “Does that make you happy or sad?”

  She didn’t have an answer. I kissed her forehead, told her that we didn’t have to talk about it any longer. She seemed relieved -- but then she wasn’t. There was something she had to tell me, she said. Something she’d been keeping to herself for all these years.

  “Not a day goes by that I don’t think about what our lives could have been like, Jesse. If I’d gotten pregnant just a few years later instead of during high school.”

  “Vanessa, you don’t have to--”

  “Please, let me finish. I think about it for at least thirty seconds each day. What our lives could have been like together. Maybe we’d have stayed in Philadelphia, or moved to New York or San Francisco or Chicago. We’d be together, you and me, with a child that I know you would have been a good father to.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I admitted. “I mean, look at my life now. Not exactly kid-friendly.”

  “But you have the most important characteristic any parent can have: a capacity to love. No matter what, that’s who you are. You can try to hide it, try to pretend it doesn’t exist, but you’re a good person, Jesse. And I have no doubt that you would have been amazing father.”

  It had to be one of the kindest things anyone had ever said to me. The idea that Vanessa’s abortion still haunted her pained me, if for no other reason than I was the one who got her pregnant. I’d caused that pain for her -- forced her to make a choice that not only tore us apart, but also left her with guilt that still lingered a decade later.

  “The past is behind us,” I said. “And after I take care of this bullshit with the Academy, I think I’ll finally be able to move on for good.”

  She kissed me. “You’re amazing.”

  It was all the encouragement we needed. I lay her on her back, let my mouth slip over hers. Her hands gripped my shoulders and smoothed down my back, where they grabbed my ass and brought me in closer. My cock hardened against her thigh and she’d already slipped a hand between my legs to hold me in her grip.

  “Wait,” I said. “Condoms.”

  “I told you I can’t get pregnant.”

  “Not risking it again…”

  Fortunately, I had another idea. I lay flat on my back, then had Vanessa lay atop my body, the two of forming a perfect sixty-nine. I spread the cheeks of her ass, revealing the wet lips of her pussy. A few strokes of the tongue followed, with Vanessa backing further and further into my mouth with each passing moment.

  I loved this: loved the raw, almost animalistic act of eating her pussy from behind. I probed deeper and deeper inside of her, until I was all but fucking her with my tongue. She whimpered in protest when I stopped, only to groan when I began again. The taste and the smell were like a heady cocktail that made my cock so hard it almost ached -- and that was before she started jerking me off.

  She held my cock in her hand, squeezing and stroking with increasing speed. When she let me go, I had five, maybe ten seconds of calm before she cupped my balls in her palm and rolled them through her fingers. I broke free from her pussy, threw my head back and let out a pleasured groan. She was pleasuring me, torturing me, her cunt in my face and my balls in her hand. Something had to give; it was only a matter of time before one of us came first.

  “Let go, Jesse,” she said to me. “It’s okay. I want to do this for you.”

  One flick of the tongue across the head was all it took for me to surrender. Vanessa took me into her mouth inch by inch, sucking and stroking along the way. I gazed up at the ceiling, sweat dripping off my brow as my breath grew ragged. When I was close, I told her to stop, that I didn’t want to come in her mouth -- but she didn’t listen.

  I came in a flash of hot, rapid bursts. Vanessa slid her mouth off my cock, but I didn’t let her slide off my body just yet.

  “Stay right here,” I said. “I want to do something, but only if it’s okay with you.”

  “I trust you.”

  I gripped her thighs, brought her ass closer to my face. Though I’d already eaten her pussy, that wasn’t the only orifice I wanted to orally pleasure. I dragged a finger across her asshole, watched as she clenched shut.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll stop.”

  “Just… not now.”

  And so I returned to doing what I do best: eating her pussy until she came. By the time I was finished, her scent was all over me -- quite possibly the most arousing part of all. She rolled off my body, lay on the floor beside me so we were face-to-face. I leaned in, kissed her on the mouth, letting her taste herself in the process.

  And yes, I was able to taste the remnants of my own orgasm as well. Salty and bitter, just as I remembered it.

  The fire was still growing strong, the light from the pool casting pale blue shadows on the ceiling. My eyes were growing heavy, and it wasn’t long before I let out a yawn. Vanessa, for her part, didn’t seem to mind. She draped her head atop my chest, murmured when I ran my fingers through her hair.

  We drifted off to sleep together.

  But we weren’t alone.

  Chapter 14

  It was almost dawn when I woke up.

  I rolled o
ver and reached out for Vanessa, but she was gone. The carpet was cold where she’d been sleeping; she must have left some time ago. I sat up, gathered my clothes off the floor and got dressed. I reached into my pocket, then remembered that all guests had to leave their mobile phones with the coat check at the front door.

  Kurt wouldn’t be expecting me for another few hours, meaning I still had time head to the office. By the time I made it out of the pool, I saw that I wasn’t the only one that’d stayed after hours. We made our way through the dark halls of the mansion together, avoiding eye contact at all cost.

  By the time I reached the coat check and got my phone, sunlight was starting to bleed through the windows of the living room. With any luck I could catch a cab and make it downtown before the morning rush.

  Was Autumn still here?

  More importantly, where was Vanessa?

  With damp clothes and soggy shoes, I slipped on my coat and was about to walk out the front door when a man called out my name

  “Can I ask you a few questions?”

  “I’m sorry, have we met?”

  “My name’s David Winter. I’m with Manhattan magazine.

  “Well, Mr. Winter as much as I love reading Manhattan magazine each month, I’m afraid I have to be going.”

  “Is this your first time attending? How did you get on the guest list?”

  I didn’t have time for his questions, and clearly Autumn needed to do a better job of vetting her guest list if she were to continue having these soirees for Manhattan’s elite. The fact that this reporter was interested in writing a feature on the orgy wasn’t surprising -- but the fact that he’d gotten through the front door was

  “Wait a second,” I said. “How did you know my name?”

  “You honestly don’t remember, do you?”

  It took me a while, but then it came to me. Two years ago, Manhattan magazine had run a grossly inaccurate story about one of our clients, a cosmetic surgeon that’d been sued by former patient for allegedly botching a simple liposuction procedure.

  In reality, the patient had not only lied about their medical history, but also failed to take the proper post-op precautions. Kurt had saved the doctor’s reputation, and even managed to get Manhattan magazine to issue a retraction on their story.

  David had been the reporter on that story. I suppose he was still working at the magazine, still chasing stories in the hopes of making a name for himself

  “I remember,” I said. “So, how have you been?”

  “Better, now that your client isn’t threatening to sue me for libel and defamation of character.”

  “Your facts were wrong and you know it. And much as I’d love to stand here and rehash the past, I need to get going. Good luck with everything. Stay away from my clients and you and I will be just fine.”

  I watched as he gave me a quick once over, the kind of head-to-toe scan that was meant to say, I’m sizing you up and I’m not afraid to do it to your face

  “You didn’t answer my questions,” he said. “Is this your first time here? And who did you know to get on the guest list? I’m sure Victory & Associates pays well, but you don’t have Upper East Side money.”

  “Are you so sure?”

  “I dug into your background after our last encounter. From what I heard you grew up in a shitty neighborhood down in Philly. Is that correct?”

  “Tacony,” I said. “And yes, it’s a shithole. But I’m here now, and that’s all that matters.

  Of all the things in the world to be intimidated by, David Winter wasn’t one of them. His dark brown hair was a bit long around the edges, enough to be tucked behind his ears, and a sprinkle of freckles across his cheeks and nose made him look like a high school student rather than a grown man

  “Impressive,” he said. “Not many people born in your circumstances make it out of their neighborhoods”

  “If I remember correctly, you come from a wealthy family in Boston. Makes sense, given how journalism is a field for the economically privileged.”

  “And now here we are, wandering around a mansion together.”

  “True. But then again, there is one difference between you and me.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Unlike you, I actually got laid.”

  David’s face flushed red in embarrassment. “How do you know I didn’t…?”

  “Oh, come on. Your clothes aren’t wrinkled; not one strand of hair is out of place; and you didn’t even take off your wedding ring. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that you didn’t get any last night.

  “I’m here to work,” he snapped.

  “Exactly. Which means you’re here looking for a story. Find someone else to interview. I know better than to think you’d get your facts right.

  “I’m not stupid,” he said. “I know that these places are full of whores -- literally. What I want to know is if there’s any connection between these kinds of parties and the dead hookers that are turning up in Long Island.”

  “As sad as those murders are,” I said, “you’re looking in the wrong place. This is strictly high-end. The murders in Long Island? Craigslist girls. Different caste system altogether.”

  I turned and walked away, then walked out the front door. I hailed a cab on Fifth Avenue, told him to take me to Battery Park. Traffic was still light, at least by Manhattan standards, though I’d still have plenty of time to think before I got home.

  My primary objective would be justifying to Kurt why I needed to go back to Philadelphia to handle the situation at the Academy myself. I couldn’t think of why he’d object. After all, I was a former student, a successful alumnus, someone who knew the structure and the culture of the school firsthand. He could always come along for a day or two, answer any questions for the Board of Trustees, lend his more senior-level experience where it was needed.

  I slumped into the back seat, decided to check my phone. I smiled when I saw that Vanessa had left me a text, and that she wanted to see me again soon.

  Sorry to have left you. Went home with Eric.

  See you soon? xo Vanessa

  I’d send her a reply -- eventually. Before that, I left a voicemail with Autumn, telling her that she needed to vet her guest list more carefully, or increase security so that nosy reporters couldn’t make their way inside.

  My encounter with David had left me uneasy, even irritated. What did he expect to gain by attending the party, anyway?

  If he “outed” any of the guests, they had enough money and influence to make his life a living hell. And if he wrote about the party in a vague, non-descript manner, the piece would come across like a gossip column instead of an in-depth feature. A lose-lose situation, all around.

  Then again, I couldn’t completely blame him. Print journalism had experienced more than its fair share of bloodshed in recent years, even if magazines were holding on better than newspapers. While many top-tier outlets such as The New York Times or The Wall Street Journal had seen success by charging for online content, others weren’t so lucky. Journalism was full of writers either looking for work or forced to do more with less -- often both.

  Add in a bunch of PR executives who called at all hours with irrelevant story pitches, and it was enough to make any journalist scream.

  I looked out the cab window and saw that we’d reached Midtown. Still a ways to go before we reached Battery Park, however. I was tempted to just go back to my apartment, crawl into bed and sleep to my heart’s content. One of the benefits of being a freelancer: you worked when you wanted to.

  Still, Kurt needed me. He wanted me on this case, and I wasn’t about abandon him when I finally had a chance to put the past behind me for good. For years, all I’d dreamed about was leaving Philadelphia behind and making a new life for myself in New York City. And now that I’d accomplished that, what did I want to do next?

  I wanted to go home.

  Chapter 15

  “All I need is a few days, Kurt. Just to see what the tem
perament is around campus.”

  Kurt and I sat in the conference room, a strange choice given that it was just the two of us. He typed away at his Macbook Pro, then closed the lid and asked me one simple question.

  “Is there something you’re not telling me, Jesse?”

  I denied keeping anything from him. However, as an alumnus of the Academy, it was important that I see this to matter to fruition myself. While no one could change what had already occurred between Drake and Simone, that didn’t mean I could sit back and let the Academy go down in flames.

  “That’s very admirable of you,” Kurt said. “There’s something else going on here. I can sense it.”

  Kurt’s bullshit detector was the stuff of legend here in New York. Whether it was a client who wasn’t being forthcoming about their crisis or a reporter that was caught red-handed fabricating lies for the sake of selling papers, Kurt could always separate fact from truth.

  “Jesse?”

  “This isn’t the first time something like this has happened,” I said. “Back when I was a student, something else like this happened back then, too.”

  “Go on…”

  What could I tell him without blowing my cover and being taken off the case immediately? I hated lying to Kurt, hated the fact that what had happened between Bobby and I in the past was still affecting my present.

  “You know the story,” I said. “Teacher starts sleeping with a student, they keep it under wraps. From what I understand, the student didn’t want to risk his place at the Academy by accusing a well-liked teacher of having sex with him.”

  “Was the teacher ever identified?” Kurt asked.

  “He’s not teaching anymore. The student went off to college, never made much of it again.”

  “This is valuable information. If New Hope Academy has had multiple teacher-student affairs, that means a couple of things. First, something is amiss in their screening process. Secondly, there must not be enough checks and balances at the Academy itself, if an adult can have sex with a teenager without raising any red flags.”