Jesse

by J. A. Huss

  I sit up and regret it immediately when the headache grows to the level of lightning splitting a tree in half, and shield my eyes from the inpouring sun.

  My little purse is on the bedside table and the buzzing is coming from inside.

  I make an ungraceful mad grab at it, swipe it off the table, then manage to hook my fingertip into the thin chain of a strap and pull it into the bed with me.

  A few more seconds go by as I undo the clasp, then finally, I find my phone and press accept.

  “Hello,” I croak.

  “What the fuck, Emma? Just what the fuck? I’ve been calling you for two goddamn days!”

  “Good morning, Mila,” I whisper.

  “Morning, my ass!” she yells. And holy shit, that really hurts my head. “It’s three o’clock in the afternoon! I thought you were dead in a damn ditch somewhere! Why didn’t you return my calls?”

  “Oh, my God,” I moan. “Can you lower your voice? My head hurts.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at home.”

  “I was just there pounding on your door and you didn’t answer.”

  “I was asleep.”

  “Well…” She sighs. “Where is you know who?”

  “Jesse?”

  “Don’t say his name on the phone, for fuck’s sake! Haven’t you seen the fucking internet?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “They have footage, you jerk!”

  “Oh,” I say, flopping back into my pillow. “That.”

  “Oh, that? We’re screwed!”

  “It’s just me walking into his building last night. So what?”

  She huffs. “Well, obviously you and I haven’t seen the same footage. Because the one I’m looking at shows you, me, Natalie, and Hannah dragging his body into a boat!”

  “What?” I say, sitting back up again. My poor head.

  “You heard me! They have it all on tape!”

  “How?” I ask. “How is this possible?”

  “How? Those brothers are out for blood, that’s how! It’s their security footage!”

  “No,” I say.

  “Yes,” she insists.

  “No, I mean… he wouldn’t do that.”

  She huffs again, only this time louder. “What the fuck happened this weekend?”

  I look around my bedroom and realize I have no idea how I got here. The last thing I remember is… “Shit,” I say.

  “What?”

  “I think he drugged me last night.”

  “Get your ass in to the office! We need to talk!”

  The call drops and I just stare at the screen. A text pops up.

  Mila: Move it! I want you here in less than an hour!

  I don’t make it in an hour. I’m pretty sure I spend at least one hour standing under the hot water in my shower. And when I finally do manage to get my shit together and dress, then make my way down to the parking garage, I stand and look at the Huracán for a good ten minutes, trying to piece last night back together again.

  It’s pretty hazy but I think I got it.

  He drugged me.

  He fucked me, then drugged me, then took me home in my own car. Somehow he got me upstairs and into bed. I was wearing the yellow dress when I woke up, so he dressed me too.

  Then, and this is the most important part as far as I’m concerned, he left me.

  Again.

  Mila has been texting me constantly wanting updates on my whereabouts and I’m at a red light half a block away from my building when this last one comes in. So I text back: I’m here. Be there in ten seconds.

  When I pull up in front of the building for the valet, I spy Mila pacing in front of the revolving doors that lead inside, looking like her whole world is falling apart.

  Hell, maybe it is?

  She stops and stares off at the valet entrance. Just stands there and stares.

  I get out of the car and look at her. But now she’s texting and my phone dings.

  Where are you?

  “I’m right here,” I say, walking up to her.

  “What the—” She whirls around and stares at me. “Where did you come from?”

  “My car,” I say.

  She looks around. There’s no car here except for the Huracán. “What car?”

  “Mila, my car,” I say, pointing at the Lamborghini.

  “That’s not a car, that’s a dick! Why would you buy a new dick? You don’t even have an old dick!”

  “Are you OK?”

  “No, I’m not OK!” Then she looks around and says. “We need to talk. Upstairs.”

  She grabs my arm and pulls me along to the Bright Berry Beach executive elevator and then spends the entire time inside the glass-walled box with crossed arms and glaring eyes.

  But she does not say a word.

  When the doors open onto the top floor I follow her out. One of the receptionists stands up, like she has a message for Mila, but Mila puts up a hand and says, “We are all unavailable. Do not interrupt us.”

  We end up in Mila’s office. Hannah and Natalie are already there looking worried and maybe even borderline scared.

  “OK,” I say, flopping down into a chair in front of Mila’s desk. “What’s going on?”

  “You tell us,” Hannah says. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “And why didn’t you return my calls all weekend?” Mila barks.

  “I was…” Shit. There is no good way to explain this weekend. So I decide to keep it simple. “I was on my date.”

  “Your date?” Natalie says.

  “Yup. My ten-million-dollar date.”

  “Why would you do that?” Hannah asks.

  “Well… he called me up on Saturday morning saying he had a toxicology report and…” You know. It goes on like that until it ends with… “And then he drugged me and took me home.”

  To their credit they didn’t say a word as I told them about our weekend. Not one word.

  But then Natalie takes a deep breath and finally says, “You left out the part where he sends the lake house security footage to the Hot Tonight Show and they run the story about four cosmetic moguls who clearly lost their minds and kidnapped a billionaire after paying ten million dollars for him at a charity auction.” She makes one of those curled-lip smiles with raised eyebrows that are very clearly not innuendo, and aims it all at Mila. “This time next year we’ll all be in prison and Lifetime will be running a docudrama called Bright Berry Bitches.”

  “He didn’t do that, you guys,” I say.

  But no one is listening to me. Mila starts pacing in front of her window, then says, “We’re going on the defensive.”

  And Hannah says, “I’m calling the lawyers.”

  And Natalie says, “I’ll get in front of it and call a meeting with management.”

  And then everyone is in motion and everything is moving too fast, so I put two fingers in my mouth and shriek out a whistle so loud they all cover their ears.

  “Stop it! Right now! And listen to me!” I pause to let them do that, then stand up and straighten my blouse. “He didn’t send that footage. OK? It’s not him. And he’s not pressing charges. He can’t anyway, he drugged me back! He’s not the same guy we knew back in Key West. Something is going on with that family and none of it will ever be aired in the courtroom.”

  “They’re going to kill us, you mean?” Hannah says.

  “We need more security,” Mila adds.

  “Stop!” I yell. “You’re not listening to me!”

  “That’s because you’re acting insane,” Natalie says. “You’re crazy if you think this will just blow over. They’re running security footage of us dragging Jesse Boston’s limp body into a boat, Emma! Get your head in the game! We’re about to be ruined!”

  “Let me see the footage,” I say. “Do you have it?”

  Hannah starts tapping on her phone and then holds it out to me. “Here.”

  I watch it. Several times. Then hand Hannah’s phone back. “You
can’t even tell who that is,” I say. “It’s all grainy and dark.”

  “You know what you can see,” Mila says. “Three women in black cat suits and one in a red gown, dragging a body across the Boston family lake house backyard. It’s clearly us!”

  “It’s not,” I say. “Unless we admit to it and we will not admit to it. And if Jesse doesn’t corroborate, no one will ever be able to prove it. He has to press charges, you guys. And I’m telling you right now, he won’t. Not after what he told me about his family. So just… calm the fuck down and think rationally.”

  “What is your ‘rational plan’ then?” Hannah says, making air quotes when she says ‘rational plan.’

  “We deny it. I’ll go back over to Jesse’s place and we’ll come up with a story. Then we stand together. Us and them. And make a statement to the media denouncing this as… fake news.”

  “Well,” Hannah says with a sigh. “That does usually work.” And she’s not even being facetious.

  Mila stares at me, her face angry and red. “Why do you have so much faith in this asshole? And even if he does go along because he drugged you too, what makes you think his brothers won’t push the cops to arrest us?”

  I think about this for a moment.

  Why do I have such faith in him? He drugged me last night. He fucked me, and drugged me, and took me home, and put me to bed. And then he left. And he’s not coming back. Not ever. That was an exit. That was… goodbye.

  So I’m not sure what to say. I’m not sure I have the words to explain it. But all three of them are looking at me with expectations. They’re afraid, I realize. Truly afraid that everything we’ve built is about to get blown up by the one man who brought us together through mutual hate.

  So I have to try.

  “You know when you meet someone or do something that changes you forever?”

  They all squint at me, not following.

  “Like when we met in that bar thirteen years ago. We learned that we were all used in the same way. And that changed us. We banded together, we came up with a plan, and we changed our lives in ways we’d never imagined because of that one chance meeting in a bar. When spring break was over we were changed. We couldn’t go back if we wanted to. We couldn’t go back if we tried. We were just… different.”

  I pause to look at them. My three best friends. My three champions. The three people in this world who I know for sure will have my back and stand up for me, no matter what.

  “That’s what happened to me this weekend, you guys. That’s what happened. And I can’t explain it, and I don’t know what it means, and I did get fucked, and drugged, and sent home—but it’s not over yet. I refuse to let it be over. Because I cannot go back.”

  I pause again. Expecting them to say something. Mila, at least, to protest and tell me I’m being stupid and silly. But they don’t. She doesn’t.

  So I take a deep breath and say, “Can you trust me to fix this? Just give me one shot at it before we move into things like panic mode, and circling the wagons, and legal defenses? Because if this weekend changed my life then it changed his too.”

  Hannah shakes her head. “I get it, Emma. But you don’t know what he’s thinking.”

  “I know enough to trust him.”

  “Then maybe you’re a fool?” Mila says.

  “Maybe I am. But I’d rather know for sure before walking away again. Because I could’ve made an effort to find him thirteen years ago too. I didn’t have to let him walk away. I could’ve at least come up with a freaking phone number and given it a shot instead of giving up. I’m not going to make that mistake again. Not this time.”

  Mila throws up her hands. “Fine. Take your shot. But we need to come up with some kind of plan before this day is over.”

  “OK,” I say, standing up. “Thank you.”

  I turn and walk, realizing… I probably am a fool.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO - JESSE

  I sit on the terrace after we drop Emma off at her apartment. Hours pass. The sun rises. Traffic down below in the city gets loud, then louder, and the day passes.

  I’m waiting for something to happen, I realize. For Emma to call—she doesn’t. For Joey to call—he doesn’t. For Johnny to call—he doesn’t.

  Zach is the only person here with me. He sits on the lounge chair next to me like a faithful little brother should. Talking. Dozing. Getting us glasses of water and ordering us lunch, then dinner. More talking.

  Nothing he says is important. Things like, “So you wanna go somewhere this weekend?” As if this will fix anything.

  And things like, “Maybe we should really try and make this yacht consulting thing work?”

  As if it’s just that easy. As if we haven’t already tried it.

  And finally, sometime after dinner is delivered, he says, “Maybe you should just call her.”

  I look over at him for the first time today. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  He shrugs. “Well, I’m tired of sitting out here. So you gotta do—” His phone rings. He looks at the screen and says, “Fuck.”

  Out loud I say, “Who is it?” But inside I say, Thank fuck. Finally, someone gives a shit. And then I take it back, because maybe it’s not about me?

  Maybe this world isn’t all about me?

  “Joey,” Zach says.

  And then I take back the take-back. Because if Joey’s calling Zach, it’s definitely about me.

  “Yeah,” Zach says, answering his phone. He and I lock eyes. He says, “Yup. He’s here.” Then, “Nope. Hasn’t said anything.” Another pause as he listens to Joey talk. “OK. See you then.”

  “What’d he say?” I ask, once the call ends.

  “He’s home.”

  “From Tokyo?”

  “From wherever he was. Said he got on the jet as soon as Johnny called him with the news and he’ll be here in about thirty minutes.”

  “Why didn’t Johnny call me?” I don’t know why I bother asking Zach. He doesn’t know the answer to that any more than I do.

  “Don’t worry,” Zach says. “I’m sure that call is coming soon.”

  “Was Joey pissed?”

  “Why would he be pissed?”

  “Because it’s always me, Zach. It’s always me they’re after. I’m always the one who fucks shit up.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong. Well, you did drug her last night, but that was for her own good. You really didn’t do anything this time, Jess.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I say. “I’m the weak link. I’ve always been the weak link.”

  “I don’t know. Just wait until Joey gets here and we’ll figure it out.”

  So that’s what we do. We wait.

  I think about all the other tabloid stories about me. It’s been a while since a good one broke. There was one about a year ago chronicling my self-destruction. Some kind of anniversary issue of me going clean. But the only point of the whole thing was to highlight the fact that clean didn’t get me anywhere. I had run out of second chances and my life was essentially over.

  I kind of agreed with them. It was over. There was nothing to look forward to. This consultant business was going absolutely nowhere. They called me an embarrassment to the family name.

  But never once did they mention Joey or Johnny. Who also have no future. Who also live off their trust funds. Who also contribute nothing to the world.

  It was always just me they hated.

  When Joey finally arrives it’s dark and Zach and I are waiting in my living room. I hear the elevator ding on the other side of the doors that lead to my apartment and then they swing open and in he walks.

  Joey and I don’t look much alike. He’s got dark hair and dark eyes. We’re the same height and have the same build because we get that from our father, but that’s pretty much where the similarities end.

  He doesn’t say hello. Doesn’t acknowledge Zach or me in any way. Simply walks over to the chair across from me, takes a seat, and props an ankle on a knee. All casual
, all the time. So cool and unaffected. That’s Joey.

  He never had the attention I did when we were growing up. And maybe that’s because he’s the middle child, I don’t know. But I have never been sure if he resented me for that, or was grateful I took all the heat.

  “Well,” I say. “What the fuck do you want?”

  He stares out the window. Doesn’t even look at me. Then says, “I’ve been thinking.”

  I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. Typical Joey.

  “About what?” Zach finally says.

  “How maybe we should stop hiding.”

  “Are we hiding?” Zach asks.

  Joey looks at him. Not me, just Zach. “Yeah. We are.”

  I want to reach over the coffee table and strangle my brother right now. But I take a deep breath and hold it until that urge subsides. When I let it out I say, “It’s not a big deal.”

  I’m not sure what I even mean by that. It’s not a big deal that I was drugged and kidnapped by a cosmetic mogul? It’s not a big deal that I threatened her so she’d spend the weekend with me after that happened? It’s not a big deal that somehow, someone stole the security footage from our lake house? It’s not a big deal that Hot Tonight Show is blasting it all over the internet?

  It could be all of those things.

  But it’s not any of those things.

  So I say, “It’s not a big deal because I know what has to be done.”

  And I do. That’s why I drugged her last night. That’s why I put her pretty yellow dress back on and took her home. That’s why I didn’t call her and try to explain today.

  “Yeah,” Joey says, finally looking at me. “I know you do, Jess. But you know what?”

  I shake my head.

  “Fuck them.”

  “Fuck who, exactly?” Zach asks.

  “All of them. Everyone. The whole fucking world. I don’t think you should toe the line this time, Jesse. I think you should do whatever you think is right. You’re not in trouble. She is. That’s not our problem.”

  “Hmm,” I say. “Well, I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it. Have you talked to Johnny?”