Dark Sins

by Charlotte Byrd

  "You look beautiful," I say, looking her up and down in her pencil skirt and her matching blazer and her white dress shirt that I had ironed while she was getting ready.

  “I hope it doesn’t get too wrinkled on the plane but I’m just not sure if I’ll have the time to stop by the hotel first.”

  I can tell that she's nervous. It's the way that the tension settles in her face when she clenches her jaw at irregular intervals.

  I pull her closer to me, tucking her hair behind her ear on one side.

  "It's going to be okay," I say, putting my finger under her chin and lifting her head up to mine. "Everything's going to be fine."

  She nods again, not fully convinced.

  I press my lips to hers, kind of trying to make her believe what I believe.

  "If this doesn't work out, I'll think of something else. Okay? I don't want you to feel any pressure."

  She nods.

  "It'd be nice to have a job though, right?"

  She raises an eyebrow, and I laugh. Another joke that lands perfectly.

  The complimentary hotel van gets us to the airport half an hour later. Jacqueline’s flight leaves a bit after mine, but she insists on coming with me, probably not wanting to be alone.

  Our flights leave from the same terminal so we go through security at the same time. She walks me to my gate.

  I'm going to have at least three hours of uninterrupted work on the flight itself, and that's more than plenty. I work fast, and I don't waste time, and I don't get distracted.

  I hold Jacqueline’s hand while we sit by the window and watch the planes pull away and drive down the runway. We talk about the weather and the world at large, a little bit of news, pop culture, nothing too serious.

  “Do you think you’re prepared?” I ask.

  We have gone over some possible questions last night at the hotel. After a while, me quizzing her just made her more nervous.

  I told her that it was going to be okay. She should just feel the conversation out and provide the answer that it requires. I told her to believe in herself because I have faith in her.

  "You know, I really appreciate you being so supportive about everything," she says quietly, just as they start to call my gate for boarding.

  "Of course. Now, I don't want you to feel any pressure about any of this. I meant what I said. If it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out."

  "I just really want this to work, you know? You did this wonderful thing by helping my mother and I want to return the favor."

  "It's not like that.” I shake my head. "This has nothing to do with your mother. That was a gift to her. I was in a position to help, and I did."

  Of course, I don't mention the fact that I now owe that money to my mom and a few other unsavory individuals. Or the fact that my mom expects me to pay her by the end of the month. But that's the kind of thing I don't want Jacqueline to worry about.

  "I love you," I say quietly into her ear as we get in line. "I love you very much. Please don't put any undue pressure on yourself with this. Just do your best, and that's enough for me."

  She kisses me right there in front of everyone. When she pulls away, I half expect the sleepy crowd to explode into uproarious applause, but everyone just remains with their heads buried in their phones.

  ”Text me when you get there," she says.

  "You, too," I say, knowing that my flight will be there before hers, and she'll be in the air unable to receive my messages.

  But that doesn't matter; what matters is the sentiment.

  "Everything's going to be okay, right?" Jacqueline asks one last time.

  I nod with as much confidence as I can muster.

  "It's going to be fine," I say, scanning the ticket on my phone and not really believing my own words.

  14

  Jacqueline

  After I say goodbye to him at the gate, I walk around the airport trying to get the mist out of my eyes.

  I miss him already and don't want to spend an hour away from him, let alone a couple of days. I've never felt this way before. There's this great sense of loss, and I have no idea where it's coming from.

  I feel like a fool. It's ridiculous, actually.

  I'm going to see him in just a few days. Or even if it's a week, why would that matter?

  There's even a possibility that he may fly up from Salt Lake City to Seattle and show me some of the sights.

  But even if that doesn't work out, who cares? And yet, that feeling, that nagging need to just be in Dante's company persists.

  Finally, it's my turn to board the plane, and as soon as I find my seat, I open my laptop and try to focus on something other than this all important interview that I have in front of me.

  I have already gone over the answers to all the possible questions I might be asked a million times. Dante has quizzed me, trying for the best type of wording, and even made a recording on my phone that I could listen to on the flight if I forget what to say.

  It's not about the details of the job. It's nothing like that. It's more about how I present myself, the words with which I tell the story. It's the entire performance, and that's what it's going to be.

  When the flight attendant comes around to ask me what I would like to drink, she catches me by surprise.

  I've never sat in first class before, but I follow along with the person next to me and request a hot tea with a lemon wedge. A few minutes later, she shows me how to pull out the little table on the side and places a porcelain cup along with a saucer, a teabag, and even a personal-sized bit of milk and sugar on the tray.

  I feel like I'm the queen. Usually, flying on a plane involves sticking myself in the last row because the flight was booked late or too cheaply. The seats can’t even recline.

  The last time I flew anywhere, I had a terrible backache for nearly two days that no amount of Advil would cure. But flying first class? Well, this is an entirely different experience.

  Dante had bought the ticket last minute and told me not to worry about it. I guess Vasko’s people assumed that I'd be able to afford something like this, even if it weren’t first class.

  But it's just one of those other situations that would prevent anyone else from getting this position, at least anyone who didn't have independent means or family to support them if necessary. I could just imagine borrowing the money from my mom, or even from Allison, and then not getting the job, paying for a coach ticket of at least $300, followed by a night at the hotel. Let's say it's even $150. You're in for at least half a grand before you even have a chance to make a case for this position. Sometimes I feel like the deck is completely stacked against regular working people.

  The flight goes a lot smoother and faster than I think it will, though occasionally my thoughts return to Dante. Usually, I'm able to push them aside and instead focus on something else to distract my attention.

  I grab my iPad and open a book that I was in the middle of reading. This is a family saga about a woman who has to come back home to Montauk and sell her grandmother's cottage. Her sisters arrive at the tip of Long Island as well, and they all have to come to terms with their past, their present, and whether or not they have space for one another in the future.

  I used to hate family sagas when I was younger. You know, multi-generational stories, usually centered on women going through changes in their lives. But now I feel drawn to them. There's a romance centered on the main character, a rich guy from the Hamptons who sweeps her off her feet and she fights the whole time against it, not knowing exactly how rich he is or how dysfunctional his relationship is with his own family.

  I love reading this story because it puts me back at Marguerite and Lincoln's home and the weeping willows and the misunderstood experiences and life choices.

  I've had some space from Dante now to think about his family, and I realize just how complicated everything has been for him. He puts on a brave face, but he has a lot of issues. It’s probably the main reason why he works so hard and puts in so ma
ny hours.

  He’s trying to simultaneously make up for the mistakes of the past and to forge a new identity in which he proves to the world that he's worthy of all the wealth that he stands to inherit. Even though Dante and I have gotten significantly closer over this period of time, I know that there's a darkness to him that I can't quite put my finger on.

  I feel like he's keeping a secret, or maybe secrets. He has shared a lot, and with each revelation, like his gambling addiction, I feel like there are other things that he's not telling me.

  I wouldn't go so far as to say that I don't trust him. I do.

  I saw the way he hesitated and how uncomfortable he was with lying to Marguerite about Lincoln hooking up with Allison the night before, and I know that it's not something that he wants to do to me.

  But still, I can't help but wonder, what is this secret that he's keeping from me, and why?

  When we land in Seattle, we penetrate a thick cover of clouds that doesn't disappear until we land and roll down the runway. I can barely see more than ten feet in front of my face, not even the tip of the wing, except for the light that blinks red.

  I know that it gets rainy in Seattle and the fog can last six, eight months, but it's summertime and I thought that I'd have a beautiful view of the water and the city as we approached.

  The pilot gets on the radio and says that it is sixty degrees and overcast, but we should expect the clouds to burn off in an hour or so. We also arrive forty minutes ahead of schedule.

  I check the time when I finally leave the airport and see that I have a good two hours before the interview. It's long enough to get bored, but too long to wait in their lobby.

  Luckily, the clouds have all but disappeared so I get a taxi to the hotel, do a quick wardrobe change into a sweatshirt and yoga pants, and go for a walk along the waterfront.

  I texted Dante as soon as we arrived, but I still haven't heard back from him. I meander for almost two miles trying not to think about the interview before heading back. I get dressed back in my already worn dress clothes, which feel a lot more comfortable than they did this morning, reapply a bit of makeup, and arrive ten minutes ahead of schedule.

  The receptionist up front checks my ID, calls upstairs, and then points to the double elevators behind her. On the ride up, I straighten my pencil skirt and stare at my expressionless face in the mirror behind me. My hair has a little bit more volume and my cheeks have a little bit more rouge in them, making me look more vibrant.

  The doors make a dinging sound before they open, and I take one last breath in preparation and then plaster a wide smile on my face.

  "You want to look friendly but not too eager, and definitely not desperate." I hear Dante's voice in my head.

  When my heart rate starts to speed up, I force myself to take a few yoga breaths, breathing in through my nose and breathing out through my mouth.

  Everything's going to be fine, I say silently to myself. You are going to be fine.

  15

  Jacqueline

  I make my hand into a fist, pressing my fingernails tightly into my palm but I put it behind my back slightly just so it is out of sight. As I walk through the entryway leading to Vasko's office, there's another receptionist up front and she asks me to sit in the chairs to wait, but as soon as she makes the phone call, a man appears wearing a T-shirt, slim cut suit pants, and covered in sweat.

  He has a nicely toned body and he looks like he's just been working out. He introduces himself as Dillard Vasko. We shake hands and he invites me inside to a huge glass office. There's a couch at one end and a desk at the other. In the corner, there's a treadmill, explaining the sweatiness.

  "Come in, come in.” He waves me over. "Sorry about this."

  Vasko pulls on his pale turquoise shirt and I watch the way the muscles in his body flex as he moves.

  Why hadn't Dante mentioned how good looking he is?

  Vasko’s hair is cut short, he has a nice tan, and when he moves, picking up my resume off his minimalist desk that's shaped like an airplane wing, I can see how the muscles in his arms bulge and flex in a very attractive manner.

  He motions to the plush fabric chair across from him as he sits down.

  “Do you want anything to drink or eat?” he asks, pointing to the bar with not just alcohol but a bowl full of apples, pears, and apricots in the corner.

  I want to say no to everything, but my mouth is getting dry and I ask him for water just in case I start to cough.

  "Of course.” Vasko walks over, grabs a bottle and hands it to me, pouring himself some coffee into his stainless steel mug. "So tell me about your experience, Jacqueline. You had a glowing recommendation from your boss."

  "Yes, I really enjoyed working there," I say, launching into my fake job position and rattling off all the facts about the startup that Dante had me memorize.

  We talk a little bit about that before he asks me about my theory of organization. I don't exactly know what he means, but I turn the conversation to my approach to organization, sprinkling in some words from the job application to fill in the gaps. Through it all, I try to be as personable and attentive as possible.

  "My main goal is to be the best assistant I can be," I say confidently, broadening my shoulders. "That's the only thing I want to do. I know that you have to spend all of your time making big decisions. I want to take as much off your plate as possible."

  “Yes. Well, when you put it that way, how could I say no?" Vasko smiles. "Of course, I do have other people to interview."

  I nod, avoiding biting my lower lip. I ask Vasko more about his business and he tells me about expanding his line of work from microprocessors to other computer components.

  I don't lie about the fact that I don't know much about this, but that doesn't seem to concern him because my job is mainly focused on answering calls, getting him scheduled for meetings, and other types of work that aren’t focused on hardware or software.

  "So what do you like to do in your spare time, Jacqueline Archer?" he asks, leaning back in his chair.

  My name sounds odd on his lips along with the fact that he says my last name in addition to my first, but I let it go.

  "Well, I like to write and read," I say carefully, treading around my background in journalism.

  In fact, Dante thought it would be best if I didn't mention my master’s in journalism at all and just my undergraduate work as an English literature major.

  "You know, you'd probably find it hard to believe, but I was an English major, too," he says with a little bit of a smile. "I went to University of Washington. I guess I wasn't sure what I wanted to do afterward, but I was really into all of this exciting stuff going on with startups and computer science, so I pursued a master's degree in that."

  "Computer science?" I ask. "Don't you need to have a whole bunch of math and computer science undergraduate courses for that?"

  "Oh, no, just the business aspect of it. I got an MBA but with a focus on online entrepreneurship."

  "Oh, got it," I say, suddenly realizing that I probably shouldn't have pressed him that hard for information. We have just met and some people wouldn't like that.

  When he asks me about my family, I mention my mother and my life back in New York and he asks me why I decided to look for work all the way here.

  "Well, frankly, because there are jobs available.” I nod. "I've always wanted to start somewhere fresh and I read that Seattle was a wonderful city. I saw this job being advertised, so I thought, 'Why not?' You know? You only live once. You're only young once."

  "Yeah, I like that.” He nods.

  The interview goes on for quite a while.

  It gets a little bit more personal than I thought it would, but I figured that's probably a good thing. He's just trying to get to know me since I will be his assistant and would be working very close to him. Eventually, I get enough courage to ask him about the treadmill.

  "Oh, this thing is amazing.” Vasko smiles. ”You just get on, you can take you
r meetings on there, you can Zoom, answer emails, go on relay runs for five minutes then slow it back down. It keeps me active. In fact, we have a whole office downstairs where I'll be putting in a bunch of them for anyone who wants to use one. It's going to really help people be more productive."

  "That sounds great," I say, nodding my head. "I've never actually heard of that, you know, but I can imagine it being healthier than just sitting in an office eight hours a day."

  "Try more like ten or eleven, but you're right. As a society, we do spend a lot of time sitting and it's not for the best."

  When the interview is finally over, we shake hands and he promises to be in touch and I believe him. Either way, I think we've made a connection and at least he should be able to let me know that he's going to go another direction.

  I walk out with my head held high but as soon as I get into the elevator, I collapse against the wall, letting out a big sigh of relief.

  It's over. It's finally over, I say silently to myself.

  I haven't even started the job, but the anxiety of being this undercover person is already costing a toll.

  I finish the rest of my water and throw the bottle into the recycling bin on my way out. Walking straight out of the office building and toward the marina, I lean over the edge and let the cool salty air toss my hair from side to side while I enjoy the sun filtering through the clouds.

  "I did it," I say out loud, filling myself with pride. "I actually did it."

  16

  Jacqueline

  After the interview, I feel emotionally spent. A sense of release overwhelms me. I know that I have done my best, whatever the outcome, but it's still hard to wrap my mind around it.

  Suddenly, every muscle in my body relaxes and I can barely move. I walk back to the hotel room, immediately change out of my constricting clothes, put on the most comfortable pair of socks and the sweats, and I lie down on the bed, letting the soft comforter consume me like a warm and diaphanous cloud.