The Party

by Robyn Harding

  But what had Lauren told Hannah to make her destroy the phone? When Hannah drowned the device, she had erased the confirmation that things between Jeff and Lauren were basically innocent. The texts clearly illustrated the unrequited crush of a young girl on an older man. Jeff had never laid a finger on her; he wasn’t some pedo creep! And now … he couldn’t prove it.

  He needed to see Lauren. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but the yearning was visceral. As he downed the rest of his Scotch and ordered another, his motives became even more fuzzy, but no less urgent. He had to see the girl … to ask her what the hell had happened in the school bathroom. And for some fucked-up reason, he needed to know that she was okay. Lauren didn’t deserve his pity, he knew that, but the kid was weak and alone and confused. Hannah had positive self-esteem. Hannah had parents who loved her. Lauren Ross was a mess and she had no one.

  Of course, Jeff had no way to contact her now. Their only link had been destroyed when Hannah killed that phone. He could look for Lauren at her mom’s run-down apartment or visit her dad’s expensive high-rise, but that would be weird, crossing the line. But lines had been crossed already, hadn’t they? Not the line … but lines. His kiss on the top of her head, her lingering kiss on his cheek, the texts, the photos, the confidences … So it wouldn’t be completely insane for him to search her out, ask her what she had told Hannah, make sure she was okay—not completely insane, just a little. His mind was reeling and he couldn’t think straight. He drank more Scotch.

  His phone in his jacket pocket buzzed; work or Kim. He debated not checking it, but he had rushed out of the office with little warning and he had projects that demanded his attention. Alternatively, things could have devolved into a melee at home. Kim and Hannah had been at each other’s throats for weeks now… . He dug the phone from his pocket and checked the text.

  Text me if you want to talk about what happened

  A chill ran through him. It was her. She’d always gone on about their connection, a line he’d dismissed as teenaged romanticism. But maybe she was right. He’d been thinking about her, worrying about her, wondering how to contact her, and ding! She had reached out to him, just like that. But if she still had his number, did that mean she’d backed up her data after all? Did she still have his texts?

  You lost your phone but you still have my number?

  You left a business card in your car

  I kept it

  So that’s how Lauren had gotten his contact info in the first place, how she’d found his office … Another thought flitted through his cloudy mind. The girl’s phone had been destroyed less than four hours ago and it had already been replaced. A fistfight in the school bathroom? You get a brand-new phone! Darren and Monique Ross should be nominated for parents of the year! Jesus. The girl didn’t have a chance. She was so pretty, so lost and confused… .

  He took another drink and realized what he wanted to do. The Scotch was probably clouding his judgment, but fuck it. He was going to follow his instincts for once. Kim would have murdered him if she knew what he was planning, but fuck Kim. She didn’t really care what he did, she only cared how it looked. Fuck appearances. Fuck being a pillar of the community, never pissing anyone off, never rocking the boat. Look where that had gotten them.

  He texted back.

  I need to see you.

  Nothing for a few moments and then …

  Are you mad

  He didn’t hesitate with his response.

  No. Not at all. Where are you?

  Apple store Union Square

  I’ll pick you up.

  Another slight hesitation …

  kk

  SHE SAT IN his passenger seat, all lip gloss and mascara and dewy soft skin. If her face bore any evidence of the fight, she’d covered it expertly with makeup. “Where are we going?” Lauren was smiling, she was thrilled to be with him. It was wrong, but it felt kind of nice. He hadn’t had that effect on anyone in years.

  He smiled back at her. “It’s a surprise. Something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time.”

  She bit her lip. “Will I like it?” She was flirting again, egging him on. There was no way this was wrong.

  He didn’t want to answer. She wouldn’t like it, not at first anyway… . He changed the subject. “What did you say to Hannah?”

  “Nothing.” She stared out the front window. Her voice was defensive, whiny, sixteen. “We were talking about Kim’s breakdown and I asked how you were holding up. She kind of freaked.”

  “You must have said something else.”

  “I said that we were friends. That’s it.” She touched his knee. “I’d never get you in any kind of trouble.”

  He looked over at her, smiled. “Promise?” Who was flirting now?

  She loved it; she ate it up. “I promise.” She beamed back at him.

  He stepped on the gas and the car accelerated with a thrust. Lauren made some kind of squeak of excitement, thrilled at the car’s surge of power. But Jeff had to be careful. He wasn’t drunk, but he might blow just over the legal limit. He couldn’t afford to get pulled over, not now. If anything made him pause, even for a second, he would lose his nerve.

  “Tell me where we’re going,” Lauren begged. Her hand was still resting awkwardly on his thigh.

  He tossed her a grin. “You’ll see… .”

  She gave him an excited smile. “Can’t wait.”

  BUT HER TUNE changed when they were alone in the elevator. “I don’t want to,” she whimpered softly.

  “It’s too late. It’s happening.” Jeff glanced at their reflection in the mirrored walls: a fit middle-aged man and a girl that could have been his daughter, could have been his lover, could have been his captive… . Jeff held Lauren’s wrist behind her back, away from the round, unblinking eye of the camera that stared down at them. If someone got on, he’d have to let her go, but for now, he held her roughly, tightly. She could have screamed, scratched, bit, fought him, but for some reason, she didn’t.

  “Please, Jeff … Don’t make me do this.”

  “It’s for your own good,” he growled, eyes fixed on the flashing numbers above the door: 12, 13, 14… .

  “I thought we were friends,” she tried. “I thought you cared about me.”

  I was never your friend, he wanted to say, I never cared about you… . But that would have been a lie. He felt something for this mess of a girl, something soft and tender, fierce and protective. Why else would he be willing to risk all he was about to risk?

  “That’s why I’m doing this,” he said, as the elevator lurched to a stop. The doors opened on the twenty-third floor. Lauren turned to face him, her pretty gray eyes full of fear, full of tears. “Come on,” he said softly. “It’ll be okay.”

  THE LOBBY WAS elegant, expensive, modern … appropriate for a near billion-dollar biotech company. Jeff had googled “Darren Ross” and “San Francisco,” and learned he was CEO of a big pharma company that made drugs for ADHD and OCD, among others. A fortyish, blond receptionist with matte red lips and precise eyeliner, sat behind a pale wood desk, staring at her computer screen.

  “Where’s your dad’s office?” Jeff asked Lauren quietly.

  “I don’t know.” She could have been lying, stalling … but it was entirely possible that she had never been invited to her father’s workplace. The two weren’t close, obviously. And while Jeff considered himself a pretty hands-on dad, even Hannah and Aidan had only visited Jeff’s office once, maybe twice. The receptionist glanced over blankly, making it clear that she didn’t recognize Lauren as her boss’s daughter.

  His hand on Lauren’s elbow, Jeff hustled her to the reception desk. “We’re here to see Darren Ross,” Jeff said, his voice authoritative. “This is his daughter, Lauren. I’m …” Fuck. What was he? And how did he put it so as not to raise alarm bells? “Her principal.”

  Lauren looked over at him: liar, but the receptionist (obviously hired to match the decor) didn’t pick up on it. “He’s in an investor meeting
right now. He can’t be disturbed.”

  “This is extremely important,” Jeff said. “I suggest you interrupt him.”

  The receptionist looked at Lauren’s tearful, trembling countenance and reconsidered. She stood, and without a backward glance, moved down the hall behind her.

  “Come on,” Jeff whispered, gripping Lauren’s elbow and trailing behind the blond woman. He didn’t trust this perfectly coiffed femme-bot to convey the urgency of his message. Lauren let herself be led, though she dragged her feet.

  The boardroom had glass walls exposing five suits surrounding a massive table. Darren Ross was at the bow; Jeff could tell it was him. He was smaller than Jeff would have expected: short, compact, with tanned skin hinting at beach holidays or perhaps ski trips, and gray, almost white hair that did nothing to negate his virile, youthful affect. Lauren had inherited his eyes, his jawline, maybe his lips (some features were hard to translate from middle-aged father to teenaged daughter); there was no doubting their biological connection.

  Jeff’s supposition was confirmed when the receptionist walked directly to the man at the table’s head and leaned to whisper in his ear. From their vantage point in the hall, Jeff watched Darren Ross take in the news, then look at an expensive watch on his wrist. He said something to the gatekeeper, something like: I’ll be out in twenty minutes—get them a cup of coffee. Fuck that. Fuck him. He’d put his daughter on the backburner for long enough. Without a word, Jeff grabbed Lauren and pulled her into the room.

  “You can’t come in here!” The receptionist said, trying, belatedly, to do her job.

  Darren Ross stood and addressed his clients: three men and a woman. “I’m sorry about the interruption. My daughter’s principal needs to speak to me… .” He turned to Jeff. “Let’s take this in my office.” Despite the tolerant smile pasted on his face, there was something threatening in his tone. It filled Jeff with an almost overwhelming anger. He was going to knock this prick down.

  “I’m not Lauren’s principal,” Jeff said, his voice full of contempt. “You’d know that if you participated in her life at all… .”

  The female client stood. “We should go.”

  The others made to follow suit, but Jeff addressed them. “Please. Stay. This won’t take long.”

  The clients looked to Darren Ross for guidance, but his eyes were fixed on Jeff. He probably thought Jeff was some lunatic about to pull a gun, or blow himself up, maybe light himself on fire… . Darren didn’t look frightened just … coiled for action. The clients exchanged awkward glances but settled back in their seats.

  He spoke directly to Darren. “I’m Jeff Sanders, Hannah’s dad. She’s one of Lauren’s friends.”

  The name seemed to register with Darren. “The lawsuit …” he muttered.

  “Lauren and Hannah got into a fight at school today. I’m sure the principal called you.”

  “They would have called my ex-wife,” Darren said coolly. “I’m working.”

  Jeff gave a mirthless laugh. He was actually going to enjoy hurting this cold prick. “Your daughter has been texting me. Sending me naked pictures of herself. Asking me to meet her. Telling me she loves me …”

  “You’re disgusting,” Darren Ross growled.

  “No, I’m not,” Jeff retorted. “Lucky for you. Lucky for your daughter.”

  He became aware of Lauren sniveling at his side; he’d almost forgotten she was there. “Daddy …” She said plaintively, but her father’s expression was stony. “Please don’t hate me.” Jeff realized that Darren’s insult had encompassed Lauren as well. He suddenly felt that fierce, misplaced protectiveness.

  “Lauren’s not disgusting,” Jeff spat at the small man. “She’s sixteen. She’s confused and alone and messed-up. She needs love and guidance and her father’s attention.” Jeff’s voice was getting louder, angrier.

  “You need to leave,” Darren Ross said, cool, calm, dismissive. But Jeff was just getting started.

  “Your ex-wife’s not a parent. She’s a drunk, bitter, pill-popping disaster. And you’re never there for Lauren. You’re always working or traveling. You expect your bimbo of a wife to do the parenting, but she doesn’t have a clue!”

  Darren suddenly snapped. “You’re judging me? A kid lost her fucking eye at your house.”

  Jeff had never wanted to hit someone so much in his entire life. And he could take this leprechaun out with one punch. It would feel so good, so fucking rewarding. But Darren Ross would charge him with assault. Lisa would have more ammunition against them. Kim would murder Jeff… .

  Jeff wouldn’t touch him, but Darren didn’t know that. Jeff took a menacing step forward. “Fuck you, you piece of shit,” he growled.

  Lauren clung to Jeff’s arm. “Don’t hurt my dad, Jeff. Please!” It sounded inappropriate. The way she was hanging off his arm was too familiar, too proprietary. The clients were muttering among themselves now, gathering papers, digging out cell phones, preparing to leave or call for help.

  Darren Ross paled under his tan. He made a move toward a phone on the credenza. “I’m calling security.”

  “Don’t bother, I’m leaving.” Jeff strode to the door, then paused. He turned back toward the CEO and spoke, his voice softer, almost plaintive. “Parent your daughter,” he said. “Pay attention to her … before it’s too late.” Then he left, practically jogging through the lobby, back to the elevator.

  It wasn’t until he was safely ensconced in his car, creeping through downtown traffic, that he felt his blood pressure return to normal. He felt something else, too, a weight off his conscience, a lightening of his spirit. He wasn’t drunk—the adrenaline of the confrontation had taken care of that—he was … relieved. It was over. He actually laughed out loud at the prospect.

  He spoke to his car. “Dial. Home.”

  The car obeyed and he listened to the ring. It would be echoing in his spacious, modern house, bouncing off clean white walls and stylish, uncomfortable furniture. The only clutter in the place was emotional: tension, stress, regrets… . After a few moments, Kim answered, “Hello.” Her voice was cool and angry. She was obviously still pissed that he’d walked out on her this afternoon. Little did she know, he was about to make her fucking day.

  “Let’s go to trial,” he said into the phone. “Let’s prove this wasn’t our fucking fault.”

  hannah

  SIXTY-EIGHT DAYS AFTER

  Hannah’s clock radio blared an overplayed Adele song (was there any other kind?) to wake her up. She rolled over and stopped the auditory assault. The red LED numbers glowed in the early-morning light: 7:15 A.M. She had nowhere to go, nothing to do, but her mom had insisted she get up at her usual time. Hannah’s suspension from school “was not a goddamn holiday,” and she wasn’t going to “laze around in bed like she was on a fucking vacation.” Hannah remembered when her mom didn’t swear. It wasn’t all that long ago.

  She dragged herself into a seated position and rubbed at her eyes. Any minute now, her mom would storm in to make sure she hadn’t hit the snooze button. God knows Hannah didn’t deserve ten extra minutes of slumber after what she’d done! Hannah listened for the angry footsteps on the stairs. This was the third day of her punishment, and her mom showed no signs of easing up. The woman had a gift for staying pissed.

  Hannah heard nothing, but she had to be prepared for a sneak attack. She got up and found her slippers, placed neatly at the end of the bed. Day one: Clean up your filthy room! It’s no wonder your life is going off the rails, living in this pigsty! Kim Sanders seriously believed that clutter could cause juvenile delinquency.

  She was putting on her plush, mauve robe when she became aware of a presence outside her door. Her mom was about to burst into the room and lay out the day’s schedule of chores, homework, and any other penance she could drum up. Hannah was ready: awake, alert, and suitably dour given the cause of her day off school.

  There was a soft rap at the door—Kim did not announce her entrance these days—followed by, �
��Can I come in?” It was her dad. Though Hannah didn’t respond, the door opened a crack and Jeff poked his head inside. “Hey.” He stepped into the room. “Can we talk?”

  Hannah belted her robe and fixed him with an icy stare. She wanted to say no; she wanted to tell him to leave her alone, to go for a bike ride and ignore her, like he usually did … but something had to be wrong. Her dad was never home at 7:15 A.M. Early-morning training sessions were his favorite.

  “What’s going on?”

  He moved over to the bed and straightened the butter-colored duvet. Then he sat and patted a space beside him. “Come sit.”

  “I’ll stand,” she retorted. She wanted to keep her distance. She didn’t want her dad trying to hold her hand, or stroke her hair, or comfort her in any way. He disgusted her.

  Jeff nodded and took a deep breath. “I need to talk to you about Lauren Ross… .”

  A bubble of revulsion churned in her stomach. Hannah wanted to storm out of the room; she wanted to slap her dad across the face; she wanted to crawl into his lap and cry… . She did none of those; she just stood there.

  Her dad continued, “I don’t know what Lauren told you about me … about me and her … but Lauren is a very troubled girl.”

  Hannah gave him a duh look but remained mute.

  “I need you to know the truth, Hannah. There was never anything going on between Lauren and me.”

  Lauren and me. Could she cover her ears and sing? But her dad just kept talking.

  “Lauren came to the gym one day and I gave her a ride home. I shouldn’t have done it, but I felt sorry for her. Then she started texting me. I wanted her to stop, but she wouldn’t. Somehow, she got it into her head that there was something between us … something romantic… .”

  Oh God. It was getting worse.

  “She sent me photos.” Hannah knew what was coming. She kept her eyes on the floor, but she could hear the strain in her dad’s voice. “Nude photos … I didn’t look at them. I deleted them right away. And I blocked her number. But then she showed up at my office. She was trying to blackmail me over the champagne, telling me she’d turn you against me. I—” His voice broke.