by J. M. Hall
“I didn’t find her, Kurt. But I’ll keep looking tomorrow.”
“How did you know it was me?” he asked.
“Guess I’m a little psychic, that’s all.” I paused, thought of any updates I could give him based on the conversation I’d had with Logan. “I learned a bit more about Simone tonight. She’s an artist who uses teaching at the Academy to pay the bills. Her work’s selling, but not enough for her to quit the day job.”
“After all of this, I’d say she doesn’t have much of a choice,” Kurt said.
“Agreed. She’s single, no kids, seemingly plenty of disposable income between her two gigs. Likes expensive things, not shy about shopping around town, either.”
“You think you can find her tomorrow?”
“I’ll do my best,” I said. “I want to talk with her, get her side of things at least. Maybe I can convince her to just walk away now and save us all the trouble.”
Kurt puffed out a breath. “Jesse, let me ask you something. And let me just add, I’m not trying to stir up any emotions on your end.”
“Well, that sounds ominous…”
“Hear me out: If someone had told Bobby to stop seeing you all those years ago, do you think he would have listened?”
Kurt did have a point. Had someone confronted Bobby about our indiscretions, he would have denied it. Nor would he have changed his behavior. Simone could have a similar outlook on things. With Drake not willing to press charges -- and the Academy all too eager to simply have this matter over and done with -- did she really have anything to lose by just biding her time?
“Jesse?”
“I’m here,” I said. “I know what you’re getting at, and you’re right. Bobby probably would have denied everything and continued seeing me. I don’t know if Simone will do the same, but I just want to hear her out.”
“Why’s that?”
“Sympathy for the devil, I guess.”
“I can give you one more day,” Kurt said. “After that, I will need you to support the team back in New York in conducting some more proactive media outreach. That, and figuring out how we’re going to deal with David over at Manhattan magazine.”
“Understood.”
“Get some rest. You sound beat.”
“Obviously you’ve never been out with my friend Logan.”
“Sorry?” Kurt asked.
“Never mind. Goodnight, boss.”
I turned off my phone and wondered just what the hell I would say to Simone if found her tomorrow. Somehow, I didn’t think asking her what she saw in a teenage boy would generate a positive response. A better bet would be to just make conversation, gain her trust -- then go for the jugular once I was in a good place.
Heartless? Probably.
Then again, I was only doing my job.
I shut my eyes, let myself drift off. I knew better than to think I would sleep a dreamless sleep, for being back home meant only one thing: Memories of Bobby -- specifically the first time he told me he loved me.
* * *
Bobby dragged the ice cube across my back. I lay on my stomach, naked, shivering as the cube melted against my skin. He’d licked the wet trail, then pressed a kiss to the nape of my neck. He kneaded my shoulders, his hands so expertly skilled he threatened to make me hard all over again.
“That feels good,” I’d said. “Keep going…”
“Demanding little thing, aren’t you?” He’d punctuated his comment with a light slap on my ass. “Not that I mind, of course.”
I’d rolled over onto my back, looked him in the eye. “Why did you bring me here?”
“What do you mean? I thought you…?”
“It’s not that I don’t like being together. And I love the city. But, what are we doing here? What is this turning into?”
It’d been a profound moment between us. Up until that point, we’d merely resigned ourselves to sleeping together and trying not to get caught in the process. But now, in one of the hotel rooms at the Ritz Carlton Philadelphia, I’d asked Bobby a question that’d been on both our minds: Where do we go from here?
“After I graduate, what then? I’d asked. “The both of us will have to move on by that point. I’ve worked so hard to get to where I am now. And the schools that are mailing me brochures? USC, NYU, even GW.”
“You’ve earned it, Jesse. And I won’t hold you back.”
He’d leaned down, kissed me on the lips. I ran my fingers through his hair, deepening our embrace. My legs wrapped around his waist, and I could already feel my cock hardening against my stomach. I broke free, asked him if he was up for round two.
“I love you.”
“What…?”
“I love you, Jesse.”
I honestly didn’t know what to say. I got out of bed, walked over the the window overlooking South Broad Street, otherwise known as the Avenue of the Arts. The beaux-arts building were awash in a rainbow of blinking lights, just in time for the holiday season. Traffic crawled bumper-to-bumper along the Avenue, while the clock tower of City Hall glowed in the distance.
It was beautiful, and certainly a good representation of Philadelphia’s finer side. Yet even at the age of seventeen, I knew there was a great big world to discover beyond the City of Brotherly Love.
Bobby came up behind me, wrapped his arms around my shoulder and pulled me in close. “What are you thinking about?”
“Stuff,” I’d replied. “I won’t bore you with the details.”
“You know, when someone tells you they love you, it’s customary to either say ‘you too’ or even repeat those three magic words yourself.”
“I do love you, Bobby. And part of me always will.”
“But…?”
How could I tell him that even after she’d lied to my face, broken my heart, and aborted my child, that part of me was still in love with Vanessa? And that those feelings would never truly go away, making it impossible for him and me to be together?
“This isn’t going to last,” I’d said. “I think we both know that.”
He’d nuzzled my hair, told me that it didn’t have to be that way. Part of me wanted to believe him, but even at the age of seventeen, I knew better. It wasn’t just that I was in love with Vanessa. It was the feeling I got when I looked out onto the city streets and realized I’d still had my whole life ahead of me. Remaining with Bobby would have been safe, but it wouldn’t have been wise.
“Don’t leave me,” he’d said. “Please.”
I’d shut my eyes, leaned my head into his shoulder. My silence was all the answer he’d needed to realize we were living on borrowed time.
Chapter 22
Did Drake have a girlfriend?
That was the question running through my mind all morning. Did he have his own Vanessa, someone he cared deeply about before Simone came into his life and conned him into thinking she was the only one for him? And if he did have a girlfriend, could she have been the one who leaked the news of Drake and Simone’s affair to the press?
I needed more information, but Drake was in no mood to talk. That left me with my original mission, which was to track down Simone and get her side of the story. I’d been to every lingerie store, fine restaurant and art gallery on New Hope’s Main Street without so much as a sighting to show for it.
And then, I found her, in a bookstore of all places.
Farley’s Bookshop had been a mainstay for decades, and somehow had survived the onslaught of Barnes & Noble and Amazon.com in the process. I watched Simone flip through a few paperbacks in the mystery section. The obese tabby cat -- Butter, if I remembered correctly -- curled at her feet and let out a meow, all but begging her to pet him.
This is my chance, I thought.
I moved in, bent down to the lower shelf to pretend I was reaching for a few paperbacks. Butter, in all his wisdom, took this as an invitation to beg me for some affection as well. Luckily for him, I was all too happy to reciprocate.
“You’re a well-fed little fella, aren’t you?
” I said, scratching the fur beneath his chin. He shut his eyes and purred like a motorboat. When I stopped, he whined in protest, then leapt into my lap in an effort to have me continue.
“Once you start, he’ll never leave you alone,” Simone said. “I speak from experience.”
“I always wanted a cat but my building has a no-pets policy. Only downside to living in New York, I suppose.”
“New York?”
“The one and only. I grew up in Philly, but I work at an advertising agency now.” It was a partial lie, but I had enough friends at agencies like Ogilvy and BBDO to know the ins and outs of the business.
“So, what do you do up in New York?” Simone asked.
“Copywriting, mostly. I always dreamed of being a designer, but, I have a better way with words than I do pictures.”
She smiled, and at that moment I could see what Drake saw in her. She wasn’t just pretty -- she was drop-dead gorgeous. Her olive skin and dark brown hair made her look more at home on the beaches of Puerto Rico than in Southeastern Pennsylvania. Throw in the full lips, long legs and round ass, and it was enough to make any adolescent fall in love.
“So, do you have a name?”
“Matthew,” I said. “Matthew Knight.”
Using my escorting alias seemed as good an idea as any. By the time I got the cat off of my lap, Simone was sufficiently intrigued enough to join me for a cup of coffee. We skipped Starbucks in favor of a small, family-owned cafe across the bridge in Lambertville, New Jersey, which gave us more time to talk along the way.
“What brings you to New Hope?” she asked. “You said your family grew up in Philadelphia?”
“Manayunk,” I lied, referring to a trendy neighborhood my parents couldn’t have afforded. “I come home every holiday. Still, I like to get out of the city for a bit. Breath some fresh air.”
“I’m familiar with Old City,” Simone said. “Well, let me start again. I paint. I sell at the local galleries here in town, but Philadelphia is where I make most of my money.”
“Old City definitely has a lot of galleries. Have you thought of trying to break into the New York market? Competitive as hell, but there’s no shortage of rich people looking to hang art on their walls, either.”
Simone laughed, a good sign that she was lowering her defenses. She confessed that of course she would like to break into the New York market, but that as I said, competition was fierce. Nor did she have any connections to dealers in SoHo or TriBeCa, where much of the art was sold.
“I don’t suppose any of your ad agency friends moonlight as painters?” she added. “If so, that could be helpful.”
“Already asking for favors when we’ve only just met?” I teased. “Sadly, no. Most of the friends I have at ad agencies barely have enough time to eat, sleep and shower much less pursue a side job.”
Her face darkened, if only for a brief second. I decided to change the subject, to ramble on about my family’s stupid holiday traditions and how I really wish I could have stayed in New York through Christmas and New Year’s if I could. She listened, nodded attentively, but there was a distance between us now -- something I had to close immediately if I wanted to maintain her trust.
“I’m pretty sure I’ll be fired by the end of January,” I said. “Some prick ratted on a little moonlighting business I had on the side. My agency frowns on that, big-time.”
“Oh? So, they’ll just give you the boot for getting some cash on the side?”
“The beauty of at-will employment. You can be let go at anytime.”
We reached the coffee shop and stepped inside. Sunlight poured in through the glass windows and gave the space an ambient glow. The aroma was amazing; I picked up everything from Hazelnut and French Vanilla, to what appeared to be a batch of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies. Simone stepped up to the counter, put in an order for the both of us.
A woman stood with her young son beside Simone. She glanced up, then yanked her son’s hand and ushered him away. Simone noticed, but tried not to give herself away. She merely ignored the woman, waited for our orders, and chose a table at the far side of the cafe, away from the front entrance and the eyes of others.
“So, tell me more about yourself,” she said. “Do I know any of your clients?”
“Probably,” I said. “I worked with a lot of liquor brands at the beginning of my career. Writing print ads, commercials, that kind of thing. Took a bit of a detour recently, though. In fact, I’m hardly even working in advertising these days. PR is much more interesting.”
“Really?” Simone leaned in, circled her fingers around her mug of coffee. “So when you say PR, do you mean publicity, special events?”
“Not exactly. My specialty is keeping clients out of the press. Especially when they find themselves in the middle of a scandal. You know, like New Hope Academy.”
Simone set down her mug of coffee and smiled. She didn’t flinch, didn’t sweat. Sometimes, once people know you’ve made them, they all but fell apart under the pressure. To my surprise, Simone was different. Hell, one could even describe her as confident.
“You’ve done nothing but lie to me for the past hour or so,” she said. “Then again, you do work in PR, don’t you?”
“Lie to you? What would give you that impression?”
“You can drop the act, Jesse,” she said, emphasizing my real name. “I know who you are and what you’re doing here.”
It had been a long time since someone had caught me off guard, but Simone had me intrigued. I took a sip of coffee, decided to drop any pretenses and get right to the heart of the matter. “I’m here because you got caught having sex with a teenage boy.”
“His name is Drake,” Simone said. “I’m not going to comment on the nature of our relationship. Although I am surprised to see you back in these parts, Jesse. Considering your own history at the Academy.”
“And what history would that be?”
She smiled. “Drake’s told me quite a bit about his Uncle Bobby. You know, Robert Allen?”
“Yes, I know who he is.”
“According to Drake, you and Bobby are a hell of a lot more intimate than that. Or are you ignoring your own past to point the finger at me?”
She’d stopped me dead in my tracks. Suddenly, the conversation I had with Drake back at the bridge made sense. Someway, somehow, he’d discovered the so-called “relationship” I’d had with Bobby ten years ago. He gave that information to Simone -- who was now using it for her own advantage.
This was bad. Clearly, she was more cunning than I’d given her credit for.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Did I catch you off guard?”
“I’m fine, thanks. And for the record, I’m not the one on trial in the court of public opinion here. You are. And right now I’d say your case is in trouble.”
“I don’t need this…” Simone said
“I’d say you do. As of right now, I’m probably the only one interested in getting your side of the story.”
“This will all blow over in time, and after that, we can all move on with our lives.”
“So Drake was nothing but a toy to you? Is that it?”
“I believe you’re projecting, Jesse. Lord knows what Bobby did to you.”
“Give me a fucking break. I know plenty about women like you. Early thirties, life not quite how you imagined it? So you figure you’d get a bit of an ego boost by sleeping with a teenage boy.”
My analysis cut deep. Simone got up from the table and stormed out the door, but I followed closely behind her. She turned left, headed back towards the bridge, though she took a detour into the parking lot of the Lambertville Station, one of the village’s larger hotels. She walked and walked until she was standing on the banks of the Delaware River itself, with nowhere else left to go.
“You can’t run away from this,” I said. “Just hear me out. My goal here is two-fold: to get you to resign from the Academy on your own accord, and make sure you never contact Drake again.”<
br />
Simone turned around and said, “And why the hell would I ever do that?”
“Because deep down, you know that I’m right. You know that your relationship with him isn’t for real. It was a way for you to feel good about yourself. You liked the attention, how he fawned over you. Maybe you even liked how eager he was to learn about sex from an older woman.”
“You’re a real piece of work…”
“But tell me, am I incorrect?”
“Fuck off.”
“That’s not an option,” I said. “Let the Academy continue its investigation, and you risk having them unearth all kinds of sordid details between you and Drake. You risk jail time and any hope of establishing your little art career in the process.”
“And what do you propose I do instead?” Simone asked. “Just pack up and move? Let the villagers with their torches and pitchforks drive me away?”
“More like quit while you’re still ahead.”
“You wouldn’t be coming to me now with this request if I didn’t already have the upper hand. My best guess? The Academy doesn’t have enough evidence to fire me -- but they just want me to go away and make their lives easier.”
“Are you really going to risk that?”
“None of this would have happened if it weren’t for…”
“For what?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Simone said.
“How did the Academy find out about you and Drake having sex? Did he tell someone? Did that someone then go to the administration?”
Simone mumbled something under her breath. It sounded like “little bitch” but I didn’t know if she was referring to someone at the Academy, or if she was merely insulting me.
“Was that directed at me, or someone else?” I asked her.
“Just go away,” she replied. “I have nothing left to say to you.”
She walked away, leaving me alone at the banks of the Delaware River. Though I had little in the way of answers, that didn’t mean our meeting had been a complete waste. I knew that someone -- neither Drake or Simone -- had leaked the information of the affair to the administration. As to who that someone was… that was the real question.
