Social Misconduct

  He mouthed What? and made such a happy face that I felt good for the first time in a while.

  Francis had long lusted after, and actually loved, Anderson Cooper, often asking me if I’d watched his stupid show, which I never had.

  We drank more beer and discussed, at length, what I should say. He insisted that we do practice interviews, with him in the role of Cooper, and we were laughing and having fun until, suddenly, he got a booty text from Jason.

  He held up the phone to show me the text.

  Want a drink?

  “Do you think I should?” he said. “I just finished telling you he’s too young for me.”

  “Go. Go enjoy his abs.”

  “I know, right?”

  He kissed me and rushed off, leaving me drunk and suddenly much less cheerful.

  My thoughts turned to Wayne and Jess. I imagined them entangled in each other’s arms. I kept thinking about their affair while I walked to the subway. At Penn Station, I found myself getting off the subway, without thinking about it much, and making my way to the PATH station, where I boarded a train for Jersey City.

  Apparently I was going to pay Jess a visit.

  65

  The only customers in the Denny’s are two New York State Police, sitting at a table overlooking the parking lot and the highway beyond. My heart starts to pound when I follow Simon and Karine into the place. Of course, they take a table near the troopers. The guy sitting facing us is an older white guy with a bushy gray moustache. He looks at me closely as we walk in. I’m convinced he’s about to stand up and arrest me. I start thinking about how I could run for the door and into the woods, where I might have a chance of getting away. Then he gives me a cocky grin and I realize, with relief and disgust, that he’s just ogling me, that he thinks he has a chance with me, which is so ridiculous I feel like laughing. I am a very attractive young blonde. He is a broken-down overweight guy with a droopy mustache. How could he think I’d be attracted to him? I avoid his eyes and slide into the seat with my back to him and his partner.

  Simon and Karine both order Denny’s All-American Slam, three scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, and toast.

  “That sounds good,” I say. “I’ll have the same.”

  I have decided that Amy, unlike Candace, is an omnivore, at least for now.

  Like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly, I need to transform myself.

  It feels so strange to tear into the flesh of a pig. I have to stop myself from thinking that way and focus on the unaccustomed sensation of salty, chewy meat and eggs in my mouth.

  With that first bite of sausage, I feel like gagging, and Karine asks, with concern, if I am okay.

  I manage to choke it down and give her what I hope is a bright smile.

  “It’s delicious. Mmm.”

  “So,” says Simon, “are you going home for a little visit, then returning to your studies?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I want to see Mom and Dad.”

  They both smile and nod.

  I realize I’ve messed up again. I had told them my dad died.

  I suddenly see that they both know I’m lying about everything and are carefully trying not to let me know. They’re scared.

  Karine tries to cover it up by talking about her school days, in Toronto, talking about how she used to save up her laundry for her mom to do back in Quebec. Ha ha ha.

  They’re humoring me. They’re too weak, too soft, too Canadian, to confront me and tell me they know I’m lying. Instead, they let me continue to humiliate myself.

  I fight to prevent my anger from showing on my face, shoveling more disgusting meat and eggs into my mouth. I ask Karine about her school days and pretend to listen. I can feel Simon’s piggy little eyes on me, observing me, though, and I’m not surprised when he has some bad news for me.

  “Karine and I have decided that we’re going to turn here,” he says. “We want to go have a look at the Finger Lakes. We’d planned on doing that if we got here early enough.”

  “Oh,” I say, surprised. “Well, of course. I can get the bus from here, I’m sure.”

  “Will you be all right?” asks Karine.

  Now I know what they were talking about in French. How do we get rid of crazy girl? Let’s take her for breakfast, then ditch her. I’m like something disgusting they picked up on their shoe. Like dog shit.

  No way, I think. The police are sitting here. If they leave me here, and get into their car and drive away, Officer Pervert and his partner will see and wonder what happened to the blond hottie. No way.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, all smiles.

  Under the table, I hitch up my dress and slip my hand into my underwear, where, thankfully, and improbably, two roofies are still tucked against my bristly skin. I palm them.

  “You guys have been soooo helpful,” I say, brightly. “I’ll never forget the way you rescued me. That guy was so scary.”

  “You’re sure you can get a bus here?” says Simon.

  As if you care.

  “Absolutely. I think. I’ll ask the waitress.”

  Then he has to go to the bathroom, and Karine has to get up to let him out of the booth, and, without either of them noticing, plop plop, I roofie their coffees.

  66

  I had the spare keys to Jess’s place on my keychain, which I used to get in the front door of her condo building.

  A little voice kept telling me I was ill-advised to be popping in on her at 11:00 p.m., unannounced, but a louder voice kept telling me I had to know if she was in Wayne’s arms.

  The little voice lost out, but it did convince me to send her a text from the lobby.

  Jess, I’m here at your place. Can I come see you?

  I sent it and then got on the elevator.

  This isn’t a good time.

  I got her text in the elevator and pretended that I hadn’t. I knocked on her door, first quietly, then louder. I posed, teary-eyed, in front of her peephole.

  “Candace, what are you doing?” she said through the door.

  “Jess, I’m so upset,” I said. “Can I come in?”

  “Just a minute.”

  She came out in her robe, holding her keys in her hands.

  I gave her a hug and cried on her shoulder.

  If she wouldn’t let me in, that meant that I was right. Wayne was in there.

  She stroked my hair and consoled me.

  “My life is ruined,” I said. “For the rest of my life people are going to be looking at those pictures.”

  She rubbed my back.

  “Minnow, you need to go home and go to sleep,” she said. “We’ve got a meeting at ten tomorrow. We might sort all this out then.”

  “I don’t want to go home. Can I sleep on your couch?”

  “I think you should go home.”

  “Why can’t I stay here?”

  “Minnow, I have somebody here.”

  It had to be Wayne. I knew it.

  “I don’t care,” I said. “Just let me curl up on your couch.”

  Then the door opened and Wayne peeked out.

  How I despised them both. My life was being destroyed and my sister didn’t care. It brought back the worst kind of memories, bad old feelings.

  I couldn’t show them how I felt.

  “Wayne?” I said, acting surprised, not upset. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hi. I was talking to Jess about your case.”

  What bullshit. Why is she in her robe? Is that how lawyers usually meet with witnesses?

  Jess let me into her condo then, and the three of us spent five hugely awkward minutes pretending that the two of them had been having a meeting about my situation. I pretended that it didn’t bother me at all.

  Jess gave me a glass of water and they gave me a little pep talk about how the meeting might clear everything up. Jess was obviously desperate for me to leave. Wayne was, I don’t know, like a confused puppy. I started to wonder how smart he was.

  I cried and let them comfo
rt me. I told them that I might be on Anderson Cooper’s show. They seized on that as a way to cheer me up. I let them pretend that it worked, and, after a little more jollying, apologized tearfully for showing up, and Jess ordered me an Uber.

  In the car on the long ride to Brooklyn, I fumed at the injustice and dishonesty of my sister and Wayne. I couldn’t believe it.

  My stomach hurt. I’d had too much beer and not enough food. As I cruised along, I wrote suicide notes in my head.

  67

  When Simon comes back from the bathroom, Karine stands up as if to leave. Neither of them have had their roofied coffees.

  I stand up with her.

  “I hope we were able to help you,” says Simon.

  I smile and thank them again.

  Then as they turn to go—leaving their roofied coffees on the table—I start to cry. I sit and put my head down.

  They turn, uncertain about whether to go or not. I keep my head down.

  “Are you okay?” says Simon.

  I look up through my tears.

  “I’m fine,” I say. “I’m sorry about everything. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m just so scared.”

  I can see that Karine wants to get away from me, but I have Simon’s attention. He nods at Karine and they sit down.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “What’s going on?” says Simon.

  I grab a napkin and blow my nose and wipe my eyes.

  “It’s okay, Amy,” says Simon. “Take your time.”

  I’m thinking, Drink your coffee!

  “I’m not Amy,” I say. I bite my lip and wipe my eyes.

  “I’m sorry. You two have been so kind to me and I feel bad because almost everything I told you is a lie.”

  Simon takes a little sip of his cold coffee. Yay!

  “I shouldn’t have lied,” I say, “but I was afraid of what you would think of me if I told the truth.”

  Karine isn’t buying it, but Simon is paying attention.

  “I just don’t want you to leave here thinking that I manipulated you. I’m sorry. The truth is my name isn’t Amy. It’s Monica. And I’m not a student. Not anymore. I’m an escort.”

  Then I bow my head and sit, hunched and shaking, until Karine comes around the table to comfort me. I take her hand in mine and look up at her, my eyes brimming with tears.

  “I’m so sorry I lied.”

  “It’s fine,” she says.

  The waitress comes by and, through my tears, I ask for a splash of hot coffee. So does Simon, and then Karine.

  They sip their coffees—yes!—while I tell them my story, speaking quietly so the police don’t hear.

  I had been a psychology student, at NYU, not Rutgers, but I found New York so expensive that I started working as an escort, just once every couple of weeks, to make ends meet.

  I wasn’t doing well at school, though, and the money working as an escort was really good, so soon I started doing more tricks and stopped going to classes. The work freaked me out, though, and I found that cocaine made it easier for me to get through the experience, and soon I was blowing all my money on coke. I had no friends, only clients. I’ve never had a good relationship with my family, and now I’m isolated and depressed, high all the time.

  They buy my story, and my tears, and they sit, rapt, sipping their coffee.

  68

  As my Uber took me across Brooklyn Bridge, I got tired of thinking about dramatic ways of ending my own life and decided to distract myself with my phone.

  It had been a while since I’d facecreeped JFXBF, and I realized I had no idea how he was reacting to his starring role in my hacked sex pic. It rattled me to realize how little thought I’d given him lately, which was good in a way, since for weeks after we split up it was all I could do to keep myself from physically stalking him.

  I checked out his Twitter and Instagram, but they still featured nothing but his old picture of a disgusting beer.

  I clicked through his list of Instagram followers and found the account of JFXBFNGF and had a look. The newest post was from twenty minutes ago. It showed a plate I recognized. Breadfruit tacos @ Chimmi’s! Can’t wait! #vegandeliciousness

  Fuck. She was at Chimmi’s, a funky vegan Mexican place where I used to go with him for birthday dinners and dates. Now she was there with him, stuffing her ugly face.

  I realized I needed talk to him, so I told the driver we had a new destination.

  I schemed about ways to handle the confrontation, hunched in the back of the car, all the way to the restaurant, but as soon as I got inside, my plans seemed silly. Of course, they were sitting at the table where he and I often sat. He had his back to me, but she saw me come in and looked at me with an expression of surprise and hostility. She said something to him and he turned and his face fell.

  I walked up smiling.

  “Hi, guys,” I said. “How were the tacos?”

  “Hi, Candace,” said JFXBF. He looked scared. Scared of her, I imagined.

  “What do you want?” she said.

  She was not fucking around. She looked like she wanted to hit me. I don’t know when anyone has been so openly hostile to me. Her ugly face was all scrunched up. I looked down at the table and could see the remnants of churros with coconut milk ice cream, the dessert that JFXBF and I always got. Seeing that pushed me over the edge.

  I gave her a cold smile.

  “I’m not here to talk to you, sweetie,” I said.

  I turned to JFXBF.

  “I’m here to talk to you,” I said. “I need to know why you posted those pictures.”

  I didn’t think for a minute that he had the computer skill or motivation to do that to me, but I could feel the moment sliding away from me and I wanted to see what he would say.

  “What the fuck are you talking about, you crazy bitch?” said JFXBFNGF. “You need to leave us alone.”

  “I’m not talking to you,” I said. God, she really was ugly. Her hook nose and pointy chin looked like they were reaching for each other. It offended me that my ex could go from someone like me to someone so homely. It made me wonder if he’d actually been up to my standards.

  I turned back to JFXBF, who looked like he wanted to die.

  “You were the only other person with copies of those pictures,” I said. “I need to know what you did with them. You hacked my social media accounts and posted them and I need to know why. This is going to follow me around for the rest of my life.”

  JFXBFNGF interrupted me.

  “This is not our issue,” she said. “You need to learn about boundaries.”

  I ignored her and turned to him. I wanted to spit on him, the coward, for failing to speak to me.

  “Why did you do it?” I asked. “Why did you put those sex pictures on my social? How could you do that? Was it her idea?”

  People at other tables were watching us openly now. I could see a server—Miki, who I knew well from previous visits—start to head over to the table. It was official. I had made a scene.

  I looked down at Jeff. He looked high. Ill-equipped to deal with this. He was stammering.

  “Dude,” he said. “Candace. No. Just no. It’s not like that. Like I would do that? Like Tanya would want me to do that? You are just, no.”

  Tanya spoke up again. She was the spokesperson, obviously. How had I spent three years with somebody too pathetic to speak for himself?

  “People told me you were crazy but this is too much.” Tanya hissed at me. “This is bullshit. They keep wiping the phone and it keeps happening. You weren’t hacked. You are wackadoodle. And. You. Need. To. Stop. Fucking. With. Us.”

  Her voice rose as she spoke, changing from a hiss to a bark.

  She pushed her chair back and spoke again, this time to the room.

  “Help us, please! This person needs to leave us alone.”

  People at nearby tables were now openly staring. A big guy started to get up from his seat, looking at me carefully.

  Miki arrived.

&nbs
p; “Hey!” she said, trying to turn me toward her, away from the table. “Hey! Candace. Can I talk to you over here for a minute.”

  I looked down at Jeff.

  “You didn’t do it?” I said.

  Miki now had her hand on my arm.

  “You don’t know who did it?” I said. “My life has been destroyed. Tell me if you know anything.”

  He looked at Tanya and then at me. Tanya was shaking her head at him.

  “No, Candy,” he said. “No. Ask Beatrice. I have nothing to do with it. You know that!”

  Aha. Beatrice.

  The pieces came together. Mission accomplished.

  Miki’s fingernails were digging into my arm. I let her pull me away.

  All the hipsters were watching me. I must have looked deranged. I felt hollowed out, betrayed, at the end of my rope.

  Beatrice had been filling in Jeff, pumping me for information and telling him that I was wackadoodle.

  Miki was telling me how Chimmi’s was a safe space, and I was making people feel unsafe, and asked if I was all right as she marched me out. I shrugged her off and walked across Bedford Avenue and plunked myself on the curb and looked at my phone.

  I looked at Tanya’s Instagram, which I had not creeped in a while. I looked at her list of followers. There was Beatrice’s stupid profile pic, which was, of course, a picture of her fat tattooed arm.

  I checked her followers, and there was Tanya. Beatrice hadn’t been dishing to Jeff. She’d been dishing to Hooknose.

  I had been such a supportive friend to Beatrice that it came as a terrible blow. I’d gone to her stupid art shows, made small talk with her unsuccessful chef boyfriend/girlfriend and their loser friends, introduced her to cool people, encouraged her to aim higher in life. We were friends! Like, really good friends. Then I got the job she wanted and she turned on me.

  It was jealousy, something you deal with a lot when you’re the prettiest girl, someone smart and fun that other people want to be with. You think you have friends and then you realize, No. What I had was a user, a leech, someone who didn’t care about me at all, who just wanted to be in my reflected glow right up until the moment that she could put the knife in me.