Double Agent

by J. P. Nicholas

  I head out an hour early. Knowing very well that I couldn't afford a cab without a steady income coming in, I decide to walk to the Isaiah Foundation. As I walk, I try to shield my hair from the cool New York evening breeze, holding my gold clutch up against the front of my hair, just above my forehead. At times like this, I wish I had a car. Although, up until recently, I never had the need for one. But I sure do wish I had one now. Only so I would have a place to live once I get evicted.

  I push the thoughts of my uncertain future out of my mind. Tonight is all about Isaiah…not me and my petty problems. As I arrive, I'm delighted to see Aaron's security guard standing by the entrance to the foundation. At least I won't have to explain that I'm the chairwoman of the foundation so he will let me in. I walk up to him and he smiles.

  "Welcome, my lady."

  He removes the velvet rope blocking the doorway and waves me inside. I walk inside and freeze. I fight back tears as my eyes lay on the giant portrait of my older brother hanging against the wall. I walk over to it and run my hand over the plaque engraving underneath it. In loving memory of Isaiah Parker, beloved son and brother. May his memory live on forever, and his cause live through me.

  I fan myself, trying to dry the tears that formed in my eyes. Nobody warned me about this. This is the most precious gift anybody has ever given me. To see my brother live on in legacy for others. It's all so overwhelming. I eventually succumb to all the emotions coursing through me and let the tears fall. I quickly run to the bathroom, hoping I can touch up whatever mess my tears caused.

  I glance at my watch. Three minutes until show time. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. You can do this. You will do this. Just try to keep your emotions in check and look dignified, please. This dress can only portray so much. You have to let your emotions flow through your words and not down your face. You got this.

  After my pep-talk to myself, the tears stop. I exit the bathroom and take my place on the right side of the panel, right behind the nameplate that reads: Nicole Parker, President of the Isaiah Foundation. Suddenly, it all became real. This is really happening. I look up at the ceiling: This is for you, Isaiah.

  The bouncer starts letting the press pile in and take their seats. I glance at the clock on the back wall. Five past seven. He is late. Where the fuck is he?

  Once the clock hits a quarter past seven, I decide to continue without him. I don't need him here for this. I just wanted him here. There is a difference. But I'm a big girl, and I know very well how busy his schedule can be. He makes time for what is important, and I know that I am no longer on that list. I lean forward toward the microphone that was placed in front of me and start to speak.

  "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I am so happy to see you all here tonight at the grand opening of the Isaiah Foundation." I pause for applause, but there is none, so I continue speaking.

  "As you all are well aware, this foundation was founded to support and raise awareness for individuals who suffer from Parkinson's Disease. More than ten million people are currently suffering from this horrible disease. And approximately sixty-thousand more are diagnosed with it each year. The main platform of this foundation is to raise money to help those inflicted with this disease to pay for their medical expenses and anything else that can make living with the disease less unbearable. I want them to be as comfortable as we can possibly make them. This cause is one dear to my heart. My older brother suffered from this very disease before he passed away. I've seen the hardship it causes the victims and their families. And I want to lessen that burden for them. With your help in raising awareness and donations, we can all make these goals a reality. Thank you. Any questions?"

  To my surprise, all their hands shoot up. I expected a few questions, but not this many. What questions could they possibly have? I've been in their shoes; there is nothing that I would have to ask since I feel I answered all possible questions in my speech. But I guess I'm a month out of practice. Times do change, after all.

  "You here in the front row with the red shirt." I point to a gentleman in the front row.

  "Steven Gaul, New York Times. Where is your co-founder, Senatorial Candidate, Aaron Hunter?" I clear my throat, hoping it will calm my nerves. It didn't.

  "Mr. Hunter is a busy man. As you mentioned, he is running for the Senate. I'm sure he is dealing with some prior engagement that ran past schedule and that he will join us as soon as he possibly can. But as for his current whereabouts, I am unsure of that at the moment." I point to the woman wearing a yellow pantsuit in the second row.

  "Good evening, Miss Parker. I'm Cheryl Dole from the New York Post. How would you define your relationship with Mr. Hunter?" What the hell is she insinuating?

  "Mr. Hunter and I are strictly business partners. I came to him with the idea and platform of this foundation. And he generously accepted my proposal."

  She responds, "But you two were never romantically involved?" I scoff at her abrupt accusation. Even though it is true, it is not the right place or the right time for this. Time to lie to their faces.

  "No, absolutely not."

  A tall man wearing a blue shirt with a yellow tie stands up in the front row and places a picture on the panel.

  "Thomas Wilson, Daily Yorker Gazette. Then how do you explain this picture of Mr. Hunter naked and on top of you? This picture was taken by Ben Miller at the Charity Gala last month."

  I grasp the picture off the panel table and bring it closer to my face. Fuck. Miller-the-Filler must have walked in on us having sex in the deserted side room. This is all my fault. I begged him to fuck me there. That's probably why he didn't show up. Delores probably warned him about the photo, so he decided to distance himself from me.

  "Do you deny that that is you underneath him, Miss Parker? Because you can clearly see your face."

  I cannot believe that this is happening. The Dickweed probably had that picture in his archives, waiting for the right time to use it. After I cursed him out, he probably strategically decided to use it. Right here. Right now. At the one event that mattered the most to me. What a fucking dick move. I remain silent. This is supposed to be about Isaiah, the foundation, and all the poor people suffering from Parkinson's Disease. Not about my sexual rendezvous with Aaron Hunter.

  Now, a bunch of reporters are jumping out of their seats and abruptly asking their questions. They don't even bother to introduce themselves or their employers anymore.

  "Do you feel like a slut, sleeping with him knowing that he was engaged to Marcia Gonzalez?"

  "How do you feel knowing you might have just cost him the election?"

  "Is this photo the real reason he is absent tonight?"

  "How did you justify your actions to yourself?"

  "What was going through your mind during the time of that photo?"

  "Is he as good as the rumors claim he is?"

  "Did you sleep with him to get him to sign off on this foundation?"

  "Was this your only sexual encounter with Mr. Hunter?"

  "Why did you feel the need to lie to all of our faces about your relationship with Mr. Hunter? Was it to protect him, you, or both? Or were you contractually obligated to due to a non-disclosure agreement?"

  The rampage of questions violently pounds against my ears. I just blankly stare at all of them in utter shock. I stay silent, absorbing all their questions and accusations. Neither confirming nor denying their validity. Just like I did with Aaron one month ago. This is how I survive these situations. I freeze and just take the insults and accusations. I'm sorry, Isaiah. I have failed you. I have disgraced your memory. And I will never forgive myself for this. Please, forgive me.

  I can't hold back the tears anymore; the pressure is too great. I let them pour out of my eyes like a waterfall. I see the cameras flashing in my face, the bright flashes temporarily blinding me, but I don't care. This is it. This is my legacy. The woman who fucked Aaron Hunter, and ultimately fucked up his chances of winning the Senate election. There is no coming back
from this. Ever.

  I tune out their voices. I don't want to hear them anymore. I let my tears cloud my vision. I don't want to see them anymore. I try to muster up enough strength to get up and leave, but I can't. I'm petrified by shock, unable to move any of my limbs. I'm stuck here.

  I feel the vibrations shake the panel table as a thunderous BANG echoes throughout the room. The room falls silent as the reporters take their seats. I bow my head in shame; that's the only thing I can manage to do.

  "How dare you? You all should be ashamed of yourselves! Exploiting this good cause for your own selfish agendas! I don't give a shit about whatever stories you are trying to spin! The truth of the matter is, this foundation was founded to help those suffering with Parkinson's Disease…just like Miss Parker's brother. And you all turned it into a vicious attack on the foundation’s founder. There is a special place in Hell for all of you snakes. And yes, you can quote me on that. Hell, quote this whole fucking lecture. I want the whole world to know just what went on here tonight. Because it was wrong. If you guys have no questions about the foundation, then get the fuck out of here."

  Afraid, I watch with enjoyment as the reporters flee like the vermin that they are. To think, I used to be one of them. I used to pride myself on being able to make anybody crack, not caring how my stories affected people. I was vermin, just like them. Well, I'm not anymore. For the first time in a month, I stop feeling sorry for myself. Instead, I feel sorry for them. They are the ones that need my pity. They don't see the immorality of their actions. And that is why I pity them.

  Aaron wraps me in his embrace, I push him off me.

  "Thanks, but I don't need your pity."

  "I just wanted to help."

  "If you had gotten here on time like you said you would, I wouldn't have needed your help."

  "What is your problem? It's okay to need someone's help sometimes, Parker. Nobody ever said that you have to go through everything alone."

  "I go through life alone because I don't want anybody to go through it with me." Aaron stares at me and shakes his head.

  "We both know that isn't true."

  "My life is fine the way it is."

  "Really? So, the eviction notice on your door is just part of your ingenious plan?" I flail my arms in the air.

  "So, what if it is?"

  He grabs ahold of my wrist and pulls me against his hard, muscular body. He presses his tender lips against mine. As much as I want this to happen, I will not be sucked back in. I bite down on his lip hard, possibly drawing blood. He lets go of me.

  "Ow! What the fuck did you do that for?" I watch him rub his middle finger against his now-swollen bottom lip. Yup, I most definitely drew blood.

  "Just leave me alone! I don't need this right now. I don't need you!"

  I turn around and face the other direction. I don't want him to see me cry anymore. And I know I'm about to burst again.

  "Why didn't you tell me you quit your job?" His voice was now calm and soothing. I don't hear footsteps coming up behind me, so I assume that he is keeping his distance. Good.

  "Would it have made a difference? I wasn't going to salvage our relationship by making you feel bad for me."

  "I don't know if it would've made a difference. You didn't give me the chance to find out. But why did you just stand there and let me accuse you of telling the world my deepest and darkest secret? The one that meant the most to me." I shrug my shoulders.

  "You needed an outlet for all your frustration. And I let it be me."

  "Why? Why did it have to be you?" I hear his voice catch in his throat. He is fighting to gain control of his emotions too. And by the sound of it, we are both losing.

  "I don't know. Why did you accuse me of blabbing about your origin? You gave me a ton of chances to write a good story exposing you, but I never did. Whether you believe me or not, what we had was real to me." I hear him sigh.

  "I was afraid."

  "Afraid of what?"

  "Afraid of getting too attached to you. I just assumed the worst of you and ran with it. I'm sorry for that."

  I don't want to hear this right now. I can't hear this right now. My emotions are too haywire. I don't want to take him back without thinking it through, thoroughly and properly. I need a clear mind, something that I don't currently have.

  "Thank you for this outfit. But, I have to go." I start walking toward the exit before he begs me to stop.

  "Please, wait," I stop in my tracks and let him continue. "Whether we are together or not, you're always welcome to stay with me. I have three spare bedrooms, after all. Before you decline my offer, just promise me that you'll think about it. It's not a handout. You can pay rent when you get a job if you want to. Just, please, think about it."

  "Fine. I'll think about it." I lied straight to his face, and I didn't even feel bad about it. What have I become? Who have I become? Whatever I am, there is no way I was going to let staying with him happen. I can't do that to myself. Not now, not ever.

  Those were the last words I left him with as I exited the foundation and vanished from his sight once more.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Aaron

  That night, I made sure to buy a bottle of Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey, for me to drink my sorrows away. One is enough to make me drunk, but not enough to make me black out like last time.

  This time, I make sure to use a glass, to better moderate myself. I pour the bottle over some ice and swash it around my glass before I bring it to my lips. I hum as the whiskey slides down my throat smoothly. As soon as the glass is empty, I pour myself some more. After the third glass, the elevator chimes open, allowing Ree to walk in. I sigh at her presence.

  "If you’re here for rebound sex, now is not a good time." She rolls her eyes at me as she joins me on my sectional.

  "No, I'm here for this." She smacks me across my face…hard. I feel the sting of her hand's imprint on my face.

  "What the fuck, Ree?" She rolls her eyes again.

  "Oh, please. Like you didn't see that coming." I grin at her and furrow my brow.

  "You mind enlightening me as to what I did to warrant that slap?" She smiles.

  "Gladly. You were an asshole." Now I'm even more confused than before.

  "To you? What did I do? Or in this case, not do? Wait, did I fuck you?" She rolls her eyes yet again. She’s lucky I'm tipsy right now or else the constant eye rolling would piss me off.

  "Ugh. No, you haven't fucked anybody since her. But you also haven't had a day where you were completely sober. You are sober enough when you have to be, so the press doesn't notice, but that's not good enough for me. For fuck's sake, put the damn whiskey down and listen to me." I put the bottle down on the coffee table and give her my full attention. She continues.

  "You were not an asshole to me. You were an asshole to her."

  "I apologized to her last night. She didn't want to hear it. I fucked up and now she doesn't want me anymore."

  "You men are such dumbasses, I swear. If you’d think with the head on your neck more often, and the one in your pants less often, then you might actually pick up on the not so subtle hints us women throw right in your face. She didn't come back to you because you let her walk away. She wants you to be relentless. To fight for her. She wants to feel wanted and needed. As soon as you let her walk away, you made her feel neither. If you want her back, you must not take no for an answer. Be ruthless. Prove to her just how much she means to you. Make her feel that your world would fall apart if she wasn't by your side. Make her want to be by your side."

  "How do I do that?" Ree shakes her head and sighs.

  "I can't answer that. You know her best; only you know the answer to that question. But it involves some clear-headed thinking. So, stop with all the booze, it's not helping you."

  "You need to be fucked again, don't you?" She smacks her own forehead with her left hand.

  "Unbelievable. But, yes, it's been a good long while. Your talent for spotting that, even while h
alf-drunk, will never cease to impress me. Anyway, stop wallowing in your sorrows with alcohol, go out there and win her back. She was the best fucking thing to ever happen to you. And I'll be damned if I sit by idly and let you let her slip through your fingers forever. I won't allow it."

  "Maybe you're right."

  "Damn straight, I'm right. FYI, more than likely Plans A, B, and C suck. So, go straight to Plan D. Just remember, D for dick and you should be fine." I laugh.

  "How do you know they’re going to suck?"

  "Because you're a guy. It's in your genetic code to think of the worst three ideas possible. Most say the third time's the charm. But in my experience, number four is always the best option." I smile.

  "Thanks, Ree." She smiles back.

  "Anytime."

  I escort her to the elevator and watch as the doors close between us. I walk over to the coffee table and grab the bottle of whiskey. With the bottle still in my hand, I walk over to the kitchen sink and pour it down the drain. It's time to be a man and stop living for yesterday. It's time to face it once and for all.

  I pace back and forth in my living room, trying to come up with ideas or ways I could prove to Nicole that I love her and want her by my side always.

  Naturally, my first thought was to propose to her. It seems like the most logical way to prove to her that I love her and want her by my side forever. But, taking Ree's advice, I scrap that plan before I come up with all the details and arrangements.

  I continue to pace back and forth, hoping that Plans B and C will come to me so that I can reject them too. My thoughts get distracted by the chime of the elevator. I walk over toward it, but nobody is there. On the floor of the empty elevator is an envelope. I walk inside and retrieve it. Before I open it, I walk inside and sit on my sofa. I desperately hope that this is a letter from Nicole.

  I dig my nails into the envelope and pull out its contents. Inside are five pieces of paper. My hands shake as I read the first piece of paper.

  Aaron,