by Diana Seere
He smiled in spite of himself and indulged her, but he wasn’t letting her off the hook. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Marilyn and Jess.”
“Did they ask you to convey a message? Am I to be called a pig yet again? Because message received from them both. I am staying away.” Even if it kills me, he thought.
Sophia pulled the thick hair tie along the base of the braid she’d just made and dropped it against his back, the bottom thwacking between his shoulder blades. She moved around the couch and sat across from him in a red Bauhaus chair.
“No. But I understand why Marilyn said what she said to you. And it’s all an enormous misunderstanding.”
“Really?” One side of his mouth quirked up. “So I’m not a pig?”
“You’re not. Jess was.”
He slammed his cup of coffee onto the melamine table, the scalding liquid burning the web of his hand. “What the fuck, Sophia? Why would you say that?”
“Easy, Derry,” she snapped back. “I’m trying to explain.”
Both went from zero to sixty so quickly.
Why?
“Explain without calling Jess a pig.”
“That’s the point. Archie Rumsey made her one.”
“Quit speaking in ciphers.”
“Archie Rumsey. The senator’s son. You were talking to him at the party.”
“I remember. That little twit? What about him? I was making chitchat only because Gavin finds his father useful for some business reason, and Asher told me to play nice. Archie blathered on about some party…” His voice tapered off as he remembered the exchange, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Sophia. “That… that little piece of shit has something to do with all this?”
“Do you remember the pig party he talked about with you?”
“Pig party? What pig party?” A bell began to ding deep inside him, an alarm he couldn’t quite name.
“Archie talked about you and a party a few years ago.”
“I was distracted. He’s just an overprivileged drunk little gnat. I said the least possible to get him off my back.” The inner alarm sounded louder.
Sophia took a delicate sip of her coffee and met his eyes. “Turns out Jess overheard you and Archie. That party he mentioned was a pig party. Do you know what that is?”
“Oh God,” he groaned. He knew exactly what a pig party was, and he’d never attended one on purpose. A gross, sick violation of the loveliness of the female form. He’d always considered such events to be disgusting—and the men who participated in them to be vile, spineless creatures who could only lift themselves up by bringing others down. “I remember that. Once I found out what those little shits were doing, I backed out quietly.”
“Jess was Archie’s ‘date.’” Sophia used finger quotes to dig the truth in.
Deep.
So deep he began to shake.
“No.” Oh, that little bastard. The pain he must have caused Jess, to be paraded and degraded and by a worthless asshole like Archie, all to be the butt of such a cruel joke.
Fury poured into his veins.
“Yes, Derry,” she said with a sigh, leaning forward and putting her hand over his, either as a show of compassion or to stop his shaking. “When Jess overheard you at the wedding reception, talking with Archie, she thought you were—”
“NO!” he bellowed, standing, pacing like a caged animal. “NO!” he shouted. “Dear God, no! I would never—I could never—Oh, my sweet Jess thought that of me?”
“She assumed you were part of Archie’s nasty crowd, just trifling with her. That you thought the same of her as Archie. That you convinced her to fall in love with you and it was all a game. Like the pig party.”
“And she left the ranch.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t she come and talk to me? At least try?”
“Would you? After thinking you’d been played with, ridiculed and considered ugly, batted around like a cat toy for fun? Talked about behind your back?”
“I did none of those things!” he roared.
“But she doesn’t know that. She saw you with Archie, reminiscing and laughing, and…” Sophia’s face crumpled with sympathy. “I’m so sorry, Derry.”
His eyes bugged out of his head, and a dull throb began his temples, his hands clenching and releasing in time with his heartbeat. No.
No. No. No.
Storming across the room, he threw off his robe and began shoving his legs into the first pair of pants he found, a filthy, paint-covered pair strewn across a chair in front of his covered canvas.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Going to see Jess.”
“Now? No way. She was escorted home by Edward and doesn’t want anything to do with our family. She’s done, Derry. Marilyn told me to keep you away.”
“Then why tell me this? How do you know?”
“Marilyn asked me if I was part of the whole ruse to convince Jess you were really in love with her. I told her absolutely not and tried to explain that your feelings are real.”
“You did?” Shock made him stop dressing, the jerk of his arm through a cotton Oxford shirt tearing the cloth at the seam. “What did she say?”
Sophia’s eyes turned down, the gesture making Derry’s alarm inside turn into a hollow scream.
“She said that it was probably for the best anyhow, because Jess would always wonder if any expression of love from you was true.”
The scream inside him poured out. Ripping the shirt off his back, he picked up anything within reach, flinging it at the ground, the exposed brick walls, at the support beams and the ductwork. A small wooden statue he’d collected on a trip to Zimbabwe years ago bounced off the canvas covering his painting, sending the easel and painting to the ground. Ranting and grunting, he let the emotion out of him the only way he knew how.
Just short of shifting.
Sophia watched him with the detached pain of a loved one who cannot help. Her peaceful presence meant something to him, even as he avoided harming her.
“Damn Archie Rumsey and damn Asher and damn Marilyn and damn the fucking world!” he growled.
His sister no longer watched him. She bent to the ground and righted the easel, carefully placing the painting on it, her eyes wide and narrow at the same time, darting over the eight-by-eight-foot canvas, which she’d picked up as easily as if it had been a playing card.
Rage pumped through him, self-righteous and loathing, as the truth sank in.
This was all one big, fat misunderstanding. One he couldn’t fix.
“Derry?” Sophia’s voice was choked with emotion, her eyes welling with tears, nose twitching and her hand at her chin, fingers resting lightly against her lips. The emotionality of her countenance made him look at her sharply.
“Yes,” he sighed, breathing harshly through his nose, trying to resume control.
“Is this—Did you—Derry?” She began to weep, a soft, panting sound that made him cross the room and put one hand on her shoulder.
Her eyes remained on the painting.
His painting of Jess.
“Derry, did you paint that?”
“Yes.”
He couldn’t help himself, watching his sister take in the warm lines of his memory of Jess’s curves, the serious look on her face in profile, the drape of an imagined silk shawl about her bare back. The light, in his dream world, kissed her shoulders and nose and cheeks just so, giving her an ethereal glow. For the past week, he’d taken the shards of their shattered relationship and reconstructed what he could, giving him the faintest imitation of her company the only way he knew how.
His eyelids closed slowly, unable to continue to look at what he could never have.
Sophia grabbed his face, forcing him to open his eyes and confront her fierce look.
“Derry!” Now she was panting, her eyes stormy and troubled, tears streaking her face. “Derry, if that painting represents even one one-hundredth of what you feel for Jess, the
n go to her. Now.”
“But you said—”
“Forget what I said.” Sophia turned to the painting, back to the Derry, then pinged to the painting again, looking at it as she added, “Anyone who can capture love like that with just paint and canvas and memory… Oh, Derry. Try again. Try for her again. You just painted your One.”
Chapter 25
“I was surprised to hear from you,” Dr. Lethbridge said to Jess, offering her the chair in front of her desk. None of the other students were there that day, for which Jess was extremely grateful. The new semester was about to start, and the halls were empty as people enjoyed every last drop of their break. Her eventual confrontation with Archie was better held on its own. “Pleased but surprised. What changed your mind, my dear?”
Jess clasped her hands in her lap. Unlike her first visit, she wasn’t nervous. What did she have to lose? What she’d been through with Derry and the Stantons had changed her forever.
She’d decided to be honest. Shockingly so. “I was a virgin then. I’m not anymore.”
The professor’s eyes widened with delight. Then she laughed. “Is that so? How wonderful for you. And your lucky partner.” Her smile grew. “Or was it more than one?”
Part of Jess wanted to snap back that it was none of her business. But that wasn’t how she’d decided to play this. “He was big enough to feel like it,” she said, crossing her legs.
The professor flinched but was obviously amused. “Perhaps it was just because it was your first time—”
“Oh, no. He’s huge all over.” With effort, Jess kept her voice cool and controlled. “Rather, he was. I won’t be seeing him again.”
“How tragic if one little roll in the hay has soured you forever, Jessica.”
“Oh, there was a lot more than one. We hardly did anything else for days.” Jess shook her head. “But the party’s over. I’m ready to get back to work.”
“And so you called me?”
“I was intimidated before by my own lack of experience. Now I know there’s nothing to it. Sex is easy. It’s the other—” She cut herself off, not wanting to reveal too much. “Sex can be wonderful, but it’s nothing to be afraid of. I’m fascinated more than ever by your research, Professor. I’ll work my butt off for you. I’ve had to work twice as hard as your other assistants have had to, just to be sitting here. I’ve had to overcome more than they have. I promise you won’t be sorry if you hire me.”
The professor leaned back in her chair, bringing her fingers together in a steeple as she smiled. “I’m quite sure I won’t be,” she said. “How about you start tonight, around seven?”
Jess took another deep breath. “That’s one thing we’ll have to talk about,” she said carefully. “I waitress most nights, but I’m free every day from noon until six, and weekends all day. Will that be a problem?” She had to leave some free hours during the day for classes.
“You’re working at the Platinum Club, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, Professor.”
“And you like it? You see yourself continuing to work there indefinitely?”
Jess had been asking herself the same thing but couldn’t abandon the best paying job she’d ever had, even if it would be socially painful. Medical school would cost a fortune. She refused to beg for Stanton money to pay for it. “I have to support myself, and it’s the best way right now.”
“Wise. Very wise.” Dr. Lethbridge got to her feet and held out her hand. “Then I’ll see you at noon tomorrow, Jessica. So glad to have you aboard.”
Tension Jess hadn’t realized she was holding drained out of her. “Thank you. I’m glad too.” Smiling, she shook the professor’s hand, then gathered her things and moved to the door. Just as she was stepping outside, her new boss called out to her.
“If something comes up—someone, rather—don’t be afraid to ask for the day off. I’d hate to be the one to spoil your first love affair.”
Blood rushed to Jess’s face. She turned. “That’s not going to happen.”
“I’m just saying, if the impossible happens, I’ll understand. And you won’t even have to tell me all about it afterward, although I’d certainly enjoy every word if you did.”’
“It’s not—He won’t—I—”
“Have a lovely afternoon, Jessica.” Waving her hand in a friendly dismissal, the professor turned away and opened a file drawer on the wall behind her.
It was remarkably simple, really, to take out the trash that called itself Archibald Rumsey.
A little too easy.
Then again, narcissistic, overprivileged little dickheads left behind a nasty trail of injured parties who could easily be turned against them as long as one provided the right tools.
Tools like money and power, both of which Derry possessed.
In spades.
After one quick, apologetic phone call to Gavin, Derry had permission to perform whatever scorched earth policy he needed to unleash, Gavin’s political connections for his business be damned. In a solemn oath between brothers, Gavin promised he wouldn’t tell Lilah any details about the mess with Jess, and in return, Derry swore to leave the honeymooners alone, even if a two-month-long honeymoon did seem a bit excessive.
All in all, a reasonable arrangement.
His first step had been to call a certain Professor Lethbridge at Harvard, the director of many of the school’s largest sexuality research projects on campus, and Archie Rumsey’s thesis advisor. A thirty-minute in-person meeting in which Derry had poured out every drop of charm and venom in his body led to the professor’s outraged promise to terminate Rumsey’s fellowship and destroy his academic career.
The trigger?
A three-minute-and-ten-second video that Derry had procured from one of Rumsey’s fraternity brothers, a guy named Tanner, taken the night of the infamous pig party.
“Rumsey’s view of women is abundantly clear in even a brief clip of his alcohol-sodden life,” Derry had told Dr. Lethbridge as he held the video out for her to see. “Don’t you agree?”
“Abundantly disgusting,” she’d said, taking the tablet from him and scrolling the video back to watch it again. And then again. “I must admit, I’m impressed.”
“By the depths of his depravity?” Derry had asked.
She handed him the tablet, her expression thoughtful. “By Jessica Murphy’s guts in coming back here. Not only the first time but the second.”
“She’s the most remarkable woman I’ve ever known.” And then he’d corrected himself. “The most remarkable being of all.” And given his family, that was saying something.
He’d finally extracted himself from the conversation with the professor with a promise of a Stanton family donation to fund a new arts exhibit devoted to celebrating the nude form, with one condition: that the exhibition include a very special painting.
And that Jessica Murphy work at opening night.
“I assure you,” the professor had said, her voice warm, “I’ll make it so.” Then she’d given him a head tilt and a studied expression that made him wonder, briefly, if she was flirting with him.
He’d fled quickly without the slightest regret.
The coup de grace, though, had been a second video, one that even Derry had been discreet enough to keep from the lovely professor and had, instead, turned over to the authorities. Whatever favors Archie’s senator father had granted Gavin paled in comparison to the cover-ups Senator Rumsey must have engaged in over the years regarding his son.
Archie was, at best, a cad.
At worst, a serial date rapist.
The police would sort it all out.
After leaving the Cambridge police station, he paused in the crisp night air, his phone buzzing uncharacteristically against his breast pocket.
A text.
From Sophia.
The Plat? it read.
Nearly two months had passed since he’d last seen Jess, the winter holidays lonely and unyielding. Avoiding the Platinum Club had become
a sport. All the fun he used to experience was gone. Long gone. No longer out on the prowl for pussy and tits, he felt a wave of nostalgia, nonetheless, for the old place.
As he stared at the screen, a second text arrived.
She’s not working tonight, Sophia elaborated.
Ah.
He’d been holding his breath without realizing it, the large puffs of chilled air surrounding him like disciples. The coast was clear. Perhaps he should drop in for a brief drink.
Just one.
Then home.
Manny delivered him to the club within ten minutes, and as he walked through the lobby to the elevators, the area bustling with midafternoon business activity, he heard a familiar, loathsome voice call for him.
“Derry!”
Blood fled to his extremities, nature’s alarm system for readying the body to fight to the death.
That voice belonged to Archie Rumsey.
Stoic and furious, Derry watched the color of the air change as blood flowed to the surface of his skin, his body a pillar, the elevator achingly slow in its arrival.
“Stanton! It’s me, Archie. From your brother’s wedding? I’m a member at the Plat Club too.” He sounded friendly, looking around the lobby, making sure other people heard him brag about his club membership. Eager but condescending to everyone but Derry.
Just like the social-climbing sociopathic degenerate Archie was.
Clearly the man had no idea that Derry had just distributed videos that would destroy his life, videos that captured only a few of Archie’s own actions but would be more than enough to ruin him.
All it had taken was a nudge from Derry to get the videos in the right hands.
“Stanton!” This time, Rumsey’s voice held a warning, a tone that said he would not be ignored. If that were all Archie had done, he would have escaped unharmed.
But he touched Derry’s arm, pulling hard to get his full attention.
And he got it.
That touch triggered Derry’s reaction, a stunningly straightforward right hook that flattened the weak little worm, his head cracking on shined marble, onlookers gasping at the sight and stepping back, forming a perfect circle of shock around the moaning, whimpering piece of excrement.
