She nods, clearly enticed.
"What about that? What if you approached this job from that way and then sell the story to any magazine out there? CNBC’s American Greed would love it. Vanity Fair would eat it up. Then you'd have your choice of positions."
Jacqueline shifts her weight from one foot to another looking at me nervously. She got a little sunburn and the tip of her nose is bright red. Her skin is shiny and her eyes light up.
I can tell that I'm finally making an impression.
21
Jacqueline
That evening I stop by the cottage to change, take a shower, and Allison is still nowhere to be found. It's late and I wonder if she had already went to The Redemption. I text her and call her, but she doesn't reply.
I shouldn't be worried, but I am. Dante waits for me in the living room as I take a shower and get ready. Alone in the bathroom, I consider the job offer.
He really suspects that his boss is taking money from the investors and this would be the way to discover the truth. As a journalist, I'm interested in this angle and I am very excited about the possibility of writing a story of this magnitude: a five million fraud is something that would interest a lot of people.
I know that he needs my help and he's offering to pay for my accommodations if I do end up getting hired, but what would this entail? I've never gone undercover like this before.
I'm a little bit worried, but also excited. With nothing else on the horizon, it gives me something to look forward to.
I get dressed and opt for a short summery black dress to give myself a little bit more class. It's flattering and fits my body nicely.
Dante gives me a wink when I come out, grabbing my hand and pulling me down on top of him.
I love summers.
I love not wearing many clothes and being free with my body. There aren’t layers and layers of stuff to get through.
Dante slowly runs his hand up the small of my back as he pushes me down on top of him.
"These panties are cute," he says, pulling on one part and exposing my butt cheek.
“Yes, I like them. They don't leave a line," I say.
"I can see that. I thought you were going commando underneath there."
"I can't go commando in a dress," I say. "What if it flies up?"
"Exactly. How exciting would that be?" He winks again and I kiss him.
In just a day I feel like I have a boyfriend, someone to joke around with, someone to laugh with, a steady permanent thing that can't be removed from my life.
"So I thought about what you said about Vasko," I say.
He nods, pulling away from me.
"I think I'll do it."
"You will?" His eyes light up.
"Yeah, I think it might be a good opportunity. If they are stealing money from your investors, that shouldn't happen. That's wrong and I'd love to find out the truth."
"That's awesome."
"I mean, of course there are no guarantees that I'll get this job. I haven't heard back from about a million others."
"Yeah, I know. But I'll help you with your resume and we'll try to put together a package that is difficult to turn down."
I lean closer to him, running my finger along the edge of his jaw. "What are you talking about? Put together a package?"
"Well, you know, resumes, cover letters. You got to massage them a little in order to have someone hire you."
"You do?"
"You didn't know that?" he asks.
I shake my head no. "I just put down my experience."
"What about the cover letters?"
"It's kind of a generic form, so I change the name and who it's going to, but pretty much it's the same thing."
"No, no, no, that’s not right.” Dante shakes his head. "Each application needs to be unique. Well, not entirely unique, you can have a template but you have to tailor it to what they say in the job posting. Like if they're asking for a particular type of experience, you highlight that. I'm not saying you lie, but you emphasize."
"Really? Why do I have to do that?" I ask.
"Because most of the time, these applications and cover letters are run through a computer. The computer just looks for keywords, key phrases, and if you don't match up, you don't even go on to the next round with a human resources person."
"Oh my God, that's why I've been getting denied all the time."
"Yeah. Well, at least you knew about changing who the cover letter is addressed to, but there's a little bit more stuff that you have to do to make it work."
Still sitting on top of him, I hesitate, pause, and lose myself in a train of thought.
“So, all of these jobs that I had applied for, maybe I wouldn't have been rejected if I did that."
"Maybe not. That's probably why you haven't been hearing back for any interview requests."
I kind of feel like I should resubmit my applications according to what he said. He senses my hesitation.
"Look, I'm happy to help you with applying again and fixing your cover letters if you want, if you'd prefer to do that."
"What about the situation in Seattle?" I ask.
"That will just have to be how it is."
"Can you not hire someone else for it?"
Dante shakes his head no. "It has to be someone I trust. It's not exactly legal for a private investigator to do something like that. So a friend, a journalist, is a better option, but I understand if you're not into it."
"No, I didn't say that," I say, getting off of him and sitting up. "Let me think about it."
"Sure."
On the drive over to his house where Marguerite and Lincoln invited us to have dinner, he brings up something that I don't find particularly funny.
"You know, you technically owe me a very big favor."
"I do?" I say, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, I did pay for your mom's treatment, so you have this debt. I would say that you owe me a favor in return."
The tone of his voice is joking, but I find it anything but that.
"If you're trying to be funny, you need to stop," I snap.
"What? You don't agree?"
"Of course, I don't agree."
"Okay, sorry." He turns up the radio, but I turn it back down.
"You know, you had no right to say something like that. That puts me in a terrible position."
"I was just joking."
"Yeah, but you're not, you know? You need a favor back and you did this huge favor to me, so now you're thinking, 'Why can't she just return it?' But this is my job. This is my career. I mean, if I take this, if I even accepted to take this position, then I lose six months, nine months of my life working and doing things that are not going to help my career."
"And what if you can write a story about it?" Dante asks, pulling into the driveway.
"Yes, if it's a story and it's printed by Vanity Fair and the New York Times and blah, blah, blah. Yes, of course, that helps. But what are the chances of that, even if I do find out that there's fraud?"
"Your chances are pretty good," he says, turning off the engine and turning to face me.
"What do you mean by that?" I ask.
"This is a big account. We are a prominent company at the top of what they do. If there's this kind of fraud, a lot of people would want to know. Wall Street Journal being at the top of that list. This could be a huge investigation."
"And if they’re not committing fraud?" I ask.
"Then yes, you theoretically waste six, eight months of your life in the Pacific Northwest and there's nothing I can do about it."
I nod and get out of the car.
A little breeze comes off the ocean and I smell the salt in the air. We ring the doorbell and Marguerite answers wearing an apron around her protruding belly.
She looks stunning in her velvet pumps and a Lilly Pulitzer dress. Her hair is pulled up in a chignon. She welcomes us inside while Lincoln hands us glasses of wine.
A waiter places plates of food on the tabl
e, for us to eat family style: green beans and poached salmon, along with an assortment of vegetables and freshly made garlic bread.
My mouth starts to water as the senses at the dinner table overwhelm me.
Candles are lit, the conversation is topical, and we laugh and engage in a way that I haven't with people in a long time. Lincoln tells me about his investments and his company and Marguerite shares exciting stories from the ER.
Both Lincoln and Marguerite are incredibly welcoming and I can't remember the last time I had such a good time at a dinner party. They're the kind of couple that are a wonder to have at a party. They put everyone at ease and make you feel immediately comfortable and like you're among friends.
Unlike some of Allison's friends where it feels like competition to impress one another, this is anything but that. They ask me about my work and about my degree, and we talk a little bit about Ivy League universities and our experiences at various campuses. I have been to Yale a few times for a few parties, but they've never been to Dartmouth.
In the heat and the stickiness of the summer, we think about what it's like to go skiing in the chill of a New England winter. We reminisce and dream of it, the way you only do when it's July, when the idea of being snowed in for a few days after a heavy blizzard is something that's incredibly romantic.
After dessert, Marguerite starts to feel tired, even though she has been drinking nothing but non-alcoholic wine the whole evening and they retire to their room.
Dante and I go to the patio instead where we watch the fireflies buzz around and we split a bottle of wine. It's summer days like these that go on forever, that makes me love life the most.
"What if I said yes to Seattle?" I say, swirling my glass of wine, sitting in an Adirondack chair and glancing at the man of my dreams.
"I'd be eternally grateful," he says, "but I don't want to put pressure on you. I can help you with your cover letters and your resumes if you want to try for a news job."
"This a news job," I say, reaching over and squeezing his hand.
22
Jacqueline
I like sitting out here with Dante. A little bit of light dances off the pool and our fingers are intertwined in that casual, quiet way that you touch someone that you'll be with for a long time.
He tugs on my hand a little bit and I glance over. He nods in my general direction to get me to sit up, and when I do, he pulls me over to him and positions me on top of him. He reaches up, putting his hands up my neck and kisses me passionately.
"Hello there," I say, and he laughs.
I kiss him again and his hands go down my back and make their way to the top of my butt, squeezing my cheeks ever so lightly. I push my legs firmly into him and I feel his large cock. I reach down and start to unbutton his pants.
He pulls my dress up to my waist and slides his hand underneath my panties. He kisses my neck and my breasts and I tilt my head back. Then he pulls the top of my dress down and takes my nipple into his mouth.
"Oh, this feels so good," I moan.
"Do you want to go upstairs?" I ask.
"No, let's do it here.”
I hesitate, but when I feel his tongue on the outside of my neck again, playing with my earlobe, I lose all capacity for thought.
"Ahem.” Someone clears their throat.
It takes me a moment to realize whether I've actually heard what I thought I heard.
"Excuse me?"
This time, the voice comes in a lot more clearly. I turn around slightly and peer into the darkness; it takes a little bit for my eyes to adjust, but when they do I see a woman in an exquisite white suit and high heels standing with her arms crossed in front of her and one foot out just a foot away from us.
"Mom, what are you doing here?" Dante sits up straight and I quickly jump out of his lap.
I cover myself up, adjusting my panties and my bra at the same time.
I thought that his mother would turn around but she stands there, unwavering, watching every little bit of our humiliation. Dante buckles his pants but remains seated.
"What are you doing here, Mom?" he asks again, his voice full off insolence.
He doesn't seem to be as shocked by her presence, more like annoyed while I'm petrified.
Her hair falls to about just below her ears. She's slim and statuesque with manicured nails and a Birkin bag draped over one arm.
"Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" she asks.
"Yes, of course."
Dante stands up and tucks in his shirt. It takes him a few minutes, but he doesn't hurry.
He makes us both wait.
"I'm Jacqueline," I say when the tension becomes insurmountable. I extend my hand, but instead of shaking it, she looks me up and down.
"Okay. Jacqueline, it's usually customary to introduce yourself with a first and last name."
She talks to me like I imagine a teacher in a boarding school does with very little interest in making friends or being friendly for that matter.
"I'm Jacqueline Archer," I say, still with my hand extended, suddenly realizing how awkward it is to be in this position.
When I start to pull away, she finally shakes my hand. Her fingers are warm and soft, the palms of her hands are impossibly delicate.
"My bags are in the car," she says to Dante, "please help me with them."
And by help me, she means that Dante has to get them.
Dante and I exchange a brief look where I peer at him spreading my arms out, trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do now.
“Jacqueline, come with me. Let's have a drink," she says, waving me over to the kitchen.
I swallow hard, not wanting to follow her. I feel like I'm about to get a dressing down, but I don't have much of a choice.
Dante nods to me as if to tell me that it's going to be okay, but the situation is dire. There's no way it can be okay.
While he disappears down the steps to retrieve her bags from the trunk, I follow behind the clicking of her heels and I feel like I'm being led to the principal's office after doing something very bad.
In the bright light of the kitchen, I glance at my reflection in the stainless steel refrigerator and adjust my hair, which is all lopsided and infused with absolutely too much volume on the left.
"You look fine," Dante's mother says, and I realize that I don't actually know what I'm supposed to call her.
Adele?
Mrs. Langston?
Something else altogether?
"Can I offer you something to drink?" I say when she turns around at the kitchen island to face me.
And I realize that I'm the one that's supposed to participate in the hosting duties even though technically, she owns the deed to the house.
"Yes, I'd like to have a cocktail."
I swallow hard.
I don't actually know how to make cocktails, but maybe she'd request something simple, like a club soda.
"Elderberry vodka on the rocks."
I nod and make my way over to the bar in the other corner of the dining room.
There's no way they're going to have elderberries here, right? I say to myself.
Do I put in mint? Cocktails are all about different levels of acidity and sweetness and that's what makes them taste so good.
"I don't know how to make you that," I finally admit, even though I don't know why I first went through the charade of actually looking through the liquor cabinet.
"Okay, fine, I'll have a mojito," she says, waving her hand at me and putting her Birkin bag on the recently shined quartz island.
I decide not to go through the theatrics of trying to prepare a mojito that if I don't do it correctly, I know will be sent back.
"I'm sorry, I don't actually know how to make a mojito either," I admit.
I expect her to challenge me and maybe even say something disparaging, but she just throws her hand up in the air and says, "Oh, well, why didn't you just tell me? Come here, I'll show you how. Place mint leaves and one lime wedge in
to a glass. Use a muddler to crush the mint and the lime to release the oils and the juice. Add two more lime wedges and a bit of sugar and muddle again to release the lime juice. Fill the glass almost to the top with ice. Pour the rum over the ice and fill the glass with carbonated water. Stir, taste, and add more sugar as desired. Garnish with the remaining lime wedge.”
I'm surprised by this turn of events, but I listen carefully and as soon as she makes one, she hands it to me. "Try it."
I take a sip and it tastes delicious.
"Okay, now make me mine."
This is a challenge to see if I've been paying attention or just nodding along.
Luckily, I was too scared to not carefully catalog every step in the process. I go through it in my mind and then repeat all the steps.
When she tastes it, she gives me a small smile, nothing extravagant, just something out of the corner of her lips but I can tell that she approves.
"Let's sit down," she says, and we go to the sitting room where there are two plush sofas facing one another in front of a magnificent fireplace.
"You and my son must be very close.”
I nod, uncertain as to how she would know that.
"Well, I know that he wouldn't just bring anybody to this place."
"Yeah, we are close," I say.
"Tell me about yourself, Jacqueline."
So, this is a woman who seems to like the best things in life. I decide to play up the only hand that I have.
"Well, I got my bachelor's degree in English literature from Dartmouth and I'm just finishing my master's in journalism at Columbia."
"Impressive."
"Thank you.” I nod.
That's it.
That's all I have. If she asks me about anything else, I won't be able to offer her much of anything else.
"And how is it that you met Dante?" I swallow hard and bite the inside of my cheek.
23
Jacqueline
I'm not exactly sure how to answer that question, so I try to be as honest as possible.
Dark Redemption Page 10
