A Lush Betrayal

by Selena Laurence

  I nod and kiss her on the forehead, not saying what’s going through my head. Of course you were. You’re brilliant at everything you touch.

  “One thing led to another, and pretty soon Professor Marin—that’s his name—was asking me to come to his office after hours and then to coffee with him. Before I knew what was happening, I’d started seeing him. Like dating him.”

  I feel my stomach twist inside of me, and my heart burns with a surge of acid that strips it raw.

  Mel looks at me, her expression serious and so frightened. I try to school my features because I don’t want her to think I’m mad at her.

  “It’s okay,” I say a little gruffly. “Go on.”

  She gives one quick little nod. “So, we slept together for a couple of months. Then, toward the end of the semester, he called me less and less and quit talking to me in class. I figured it was just that the whole thing had run its course. I didn’t care about him, I swear. He was interesting and he knew everyone who was anyone in my field. I was flattered someone like him would want to spend time with me. It was for kicks though, nothing more.

  “Then we turned in our final projects. I got all A’s through school, Joss. I’d gotten all A’s in Marin’s class. But my final project came back with a grade of a C.”

  I can’t control myself anymore. “That fucking bastard,” I snarl. Mel jerks like I’ve slapped her. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Tell me the rest.” I try to relax as I rub the back of her neck while she talks.

  “I still would have passed and gotten the degree, but that C meant I was out of the running for the award given to the top graduate in the program every year, the Eddie Adams award. I’d worked for six years to get that award. Everyone knew it was mine for the taking. Then one of my friends told me people had been talking about me being involved with Marin, and I realized he’d given me that C to throw everyone off the scent. They’d be expecting him to show me favoritism so he did the opposite.”

  There’s a flame of fury pulsing through me now, and it’s taking everything I’ve got not to get on the next plane to Seattle and kick this fucker’s ass for screwing with my girl. I seriously want to see his blood on my hands.

  “I went to the Dean’s office,” she continues. “I told them about the affair and asked for a review to try to get my grade changed. It was probably stupid. Marin told me I was lucky to get off as easy as I did. But it seemed so unfair, and I wanted that award more than I’d ever wanted anything.”

  She sighs heavily, and I wait, giving her time to pull the rest out of that place we all have deep inside, where we bury the things that hurt us, and often those around us.

  “I got an email today. The committee met and they’ve tossed out my grade, but they’ve ruled the class is invalid. Now a different committee has to decide if I can retake the course or if they won’t let me get the degree at all.”

  She stops talking and slumps back against the headboard. I lean forward, arms on my bent knees, and run a hand through my hair. The only thought that keeps cycling through my head is that if it’s the last thing I do I’ll make this fucker pay. Screwing coeds and then punishing them for going along with him? What an asshole.

  I look back at Mel, who has fresh tears rolling down her cheeks. I reach over and pull her to me, squeezing her tight. “I’m so sorry that happened to you, sweetheart. The guy is a fucking prick and he deserves to spend about a month strung up by his balls somewhere public.”

  She giggles through her tears.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, Mel. You were human. Impressed by someone who was supposed to be fostering you professionally. He’s the one who was wrong, and you are not going to give up. We’re going to get my attorney on this and we’re going to fight it. If you have to retake the class, then so be it, but you will get that degree and be considered for the award you want, just like you should have been.”

  “What?” Mel gasps as she leans back to take in my expression. “A lawyer?”

  “Damn straight. My guy is going to come down on Seattle College so hard they won’t know what hit them. He’ll threaten them and that dick with exposure. They’ll be too terrified to look at you once we’re done with them. And if we have to, we’ll charge the asshole in civil court. I’m sure Patterson’s office can find ten different charges to file against him, and we’ll ask for punitive damages that are so high Mr. Ivory Tower will be quaking in his Birkenstocks.”

  “Oh my God, Joss. You can’t be serious?” she asks, her eyes like huge saucers.

  “Hell yes, I’m serious. No one treats my girl like that and gets away with it,” I growl.

  Then, like I pressed some button, Mel starts bawling. Like flat-out ugly crying. I’m ruined, totally lost. I don’t know how to make her stop, and I don’t know why she started in the first place. I gingerly pull her closer as she continues to wail. Good God, how did I get myself into this? I rock with her gently, shushing her and hoping like crazy she cries herself out fast.

  After a couple of minutes, she slows down and I whisper, “Was it something I said?”

  She laughs through the tears and wipes at her eyes, her little nose tomato red and wet like a dog’s. I place a kiss on the end of it, because I just can’t help myself.

  “I thought you’d hate me,” she finally says. “For being so naïve. For sleeping with some middle-aged jerk and ruining my future. I just never imagined you’d be on my side.”

  If I didn’t have this whole rock-star tough-guy image to maintain, I might cry a little myself right now. I take her face in my hands. “Mel,” I say, deathly serious, “I am always, always, on your side. You didn’t ruin your future. If anyone’s going to be ruined here, it’s him. I told you, I take care of what’s mine. You’re mine, Mel.”

  I take a deep breath. “I won’t change my mind. I won’t give up on you. I’m always on your side.” I stop short of saying the three words I know I should and watch her eyes tell a mysterious story that I want to read forever. I pray to God that I’ll get at least a fraction of that time. “That’s all,” I say before I cover her lips with mine and fall into her again.

  Mel

  THE DEEP South. Who knew they loved my boyfriend so much? Since we came south of the Mason-Dixon line a week ago, it’s been nonstop screaming women, hairspray, cleavage, and false eyelashes. Through Baltimore, Washington, D.C., Charleston, and Lexington, I’ve photographed them on the sidewalks in front of the hotels. They camp out overnight and bring battery-powered curling irons, bags of makeup, and crates of hairspray.

  As much as Joss hates dealing with hysterical fans, he agreed to come out onto the sidewalk at the hotel in Raleigh so I could get shots of him with the crowds. He walked out, a smile on his face, waving to everyone. The roar that went up could probably be heard for blocks. When they saw him, the crowd surged so hard and so fast that, before the security guys could stop her, a woman at the front ran past their lineup, grabbed Joss, jumped up, threw her legs around his waist, and kissed him full on the lips. Afterwards, he said he was just glad she hadn’t been a very big woman because it would have really ruined his image if he’d collapsed under her weight.

  It was at that moment I knew I had the best boyfriend in the world. He’d subjected himself to all that for me. And yes, I call him my boyfriend. Somehow the word doesn’t seem adequate for Joss Jamison, but in lieu of another, I use it. Just not in front of my sister.

  As Joss and I have spent more and more time together, the crew and band have slowly adjusted, but we’re still careful not to flaunt it in front of Tammy and Walsh. Tammy and I have a tentative truce. When she and I sat down to dinner the night after she found out I’d slept with Joss, we agreed to disagree and decided we couldn’t talk about it anymore. But while that approach keeps actual arguments from erupting, it does nothing to dispel the awkwardness that’s descended between us like a thick glass wall. We can see each other but not really hear each other. These days, we only talk about things like where will be the easiest place for me to s
et up cameras and what the schedule for the day is.

  Today it’s a conversation about some pictures I need of Walsh.

  “Will he let us shoot him while he’s setting up?” I ask as Tammy and I share a limo from the hotel to the auditorium in Memphis. “I can’t believe I’ve never gotten shots of Walsh getting the drums out.”

  “Yeah, he doesn’t mind. You know Walsh. It’s all good,” she answers dully.

  “Tammy? There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about, but I wasn’t sure how to do it.”

  She looks at me sharply, and I’m guessing she expects this to be about Joss.

  “We haven’t addressed Walsh’s recovery at all in the pictures we have. It was all over the papers when it happened though, so it’s public knowledge. He goes to AA meetings in every town, talks to his sponsor on the phone every day, and says the devotional with the guy from the crew before the performances. Don’t you think we need to deal with it at some point?”

  Tammy looks straight ahead, eyes glazed over as if she’s reliving something that happened far away in time or distance.

  “I don’t want him exposed that way. Opened up to people’s cruelty. You can’t photograph the AA meetings anyway. What else would you use?”

  I shift in my seat so I can face her better. “Well, I think we could maybe get some shots of him praying before the shows, and the outside of one of the buildings where they hold the AA meetings. I don’t think people will be cruel, Tammy. I think they’ll be impressed. He’s doing so well. He deserves to have people congratulate him.”

  “And if he slips up? Then what? All those people who were so impressed abandon him. Criticize him. Say what a fraud he is. That he can’t be saved? No. He doesn’t deserve that.”

  It’s the most emotion I’ve seen from Tammy in weeks. There’s a fire in her eyes that hasn’t been there in so long, but it’s almost too intense, even though her voice is calm.

  “Can we at least ask him?” I say quietly.

  She slumps against the seatback. “Yeah. It won’t make any difference anyway,” she whispers.

  “What do you mean?”

  I see a small tremor go through her. Then she clutches her hands together tightly, as if she’s trying to keep something from getting out, some emotion or thought. “Nothing. It’s fine. Ask him. It’s his recovery. He has to decide.” Her final response is rote, something she’s been told she needs to say and hopefully believes, but I can tell she doesn’t.

  She presses a button next to her on the car door and rolls down the window, letting in hot, humid air and the noise of the expressway while also effectively ending any conversation between us.

  WHEN TAMMY and I arrive at the venue, I stop off to talk to a couple of the crew guys who are helping me set up equipment, while Tammy heads onstage. A few minutes later, I walk down the aisle of the theater to climb the stairs to the stage. I can see Tammy and Walsh standing to one side, having what looks like a serious conversation. Walsh is gesturing to the wings and then his watch while Tammy listens, her head down, eyes on the floor. Mike is observing, his eyes moving from Tammy and Walsh to something offstage that I can’t see. Colin is sitting on an amp, his head in his hands.

  I climb the stairs until I’m also onstage. Mike sees me and moves my direction. That’s when I get a clear view to the wings on the opposite side. I’m surprised to see Dave standing there with Joss. Dave’s only been to one of the shows all summer, although I know he talks to Joss and Tammy on the phone regularly about local press ops and other promo stuff his office has set up. I’ve emailed him once or twice with some questions about my project, but other than that I haven’t talked to him since we signed the contracts for my job.

  Mike strides over, taking his guitar off at the same time. “Hey, Mel,” he says, still darting glances behind him to Joss and Dave. “You want me to buy you a cup of coffee? They’ve got a Starbucks inside the auditorium here and they opened it early just for me.” He winks and puts his hand on my elbow as he tries to move me back to the stairs.

  That’s when I hear Joss’s voice. “No. You may think you’ve got the right to weigh in on this but you don’t!” he shouts as he stomps back on stage, a very pissed Dave following close behind him.

  “Look, there are serious legalities involved here, Joss. As your manager, it’s my job to warn you when I see a fucking train wreck about to happen.”

  Joss reaches the center of the stage and stops suddenly as he spots me. Colin follows Joss’s line of sight, stands up too fast, and upends the amp he was seated on. The noise reverberates around the stage area, but no one moves. Something’s not right and it definitely has to do with me.

  “Joss?” I ask as I look around at Mike, Colin, Tammy, and Walsh.

  Joss spins on his heel and holds up a finger in Dave’s face. I can’t hear what he says, but Dave just gives him a curt nod. Then Joss is striding toward me, his face dark and dangerous. He grabs my hand and literally yanks me after him as we head into the stage wings and down the hallway to his dressing room.

  By the time we reach the hallway, I’ve regained my senses and dig in my heels, refusing to be hauled around like a dog on a leash.

  I pull hard and extricate my hand from his grip. “What’s going on?” I demand.

  He turns and faces me. His expression is hard to define, a mixture of several things, none of them very good. “Can we talk about this in my dressing room?” he grits out.

  I stare him down for a minute, my arms crossed and my teeth clenched.

  “Please,” he states rather than asks.

  “Fine,” I huff out as I march past him and enter his dressing room.

  Joss closes the door behind him, even taking the precaution of locking it. I throw myself into one of the director’s chairs that sit along the makeup counter, my body now a mix of anger and fear.

  “You going to tell me what the hell is going on?” I ask as Joss leans back against the door, clunking his head on it as he does.

  He runs a hand through his hair then pushes off the door and walks over to sit in another chair facing mine.

  “Dave is unhappy about the combination of you, me, and a bed,” he states very matter-of-factly.

  My stomach lurches a bit, but I grind my teeth to distract myself from the nausea. “What did he say? And how did he know? I mean, I guess it’s not a secret really.”

  Joss sighs. “It’s not a secret, but there are only two people who have any reason to talk to Dave. You’re looking at one of them, and you’re related to the other.”

  He watches me carefully, I guess to make sure I understand what he’s saying. I do.

  “So Tammy told him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Because she doesn’t want me to see you and this is her way of trying to end it.”

  “Yes,” he repeats.

  “So Dave thinks what? I mean, he obviously doesn’t have some rule against fraternizing amongst the band and their employees. Tammy and Walsh are engaged for God’s sake.”

  “Yeah, well, according to him, that’s different.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Tammy and Walsh were engaged before she ever started working for us, so she can’t claim sexual harassment. Legally it’s implied that her employment was based on being Walsh’s fiancée, so even if they split up and then we fired her, she wouldn’t have a claim against us.”

  “But since I wasn’t dating you when I was hired, Dave thinks I could file some sort of suit?”

  “Dave’s full of shit. He’s pissed off because he didn’t know about this and he thinks I should have confessed it all to him when it started.”

  He leans forward and takes my hand in his. The look on his face is sheer determination. I can tell he won’t be swayed on this.

  “Look, I wanted you to hear about this from me, but it doesn’t matter. You’re our documentarian and you’re my girlfriend. None of that’s going to change unless you want it to. Dave will spin himself out and Tammy will have
exhausted her last option. I don’t want you to worry about it.”

  Then he kisses my knuckles gently, his anger visibly subsiding as he touches me.

  “I would never hurt you or the band, Joss. I hope you know that.”

  “Of course I know that, baby.” He strokes my hair with his free hand. “The thought never even entered my mind.”

  “Is Dave going to be mad at me now?” I ask. “I mean, I really need his reference for future jobs, Joss. Especially with everything that’s going on with my degree.”

  “Sweetheart,” he tells me as he stands up and pulls me with him. “You will have all the references you could ever need or want from this. You’re doing a fantastic job, you’re incredibly talented, and Dave isn’t going to punish you like that. I’m pissed at him right now, but he’s a good guy. Solid, you know?”

  I nod my head, doubts dancing inside like a whole swarm of moths around a light bulb.

  “I’m really sorry, but I’ve got to go back to set up. We’re on in a few hours and there’s a bunch of stuff we need to get squared away. You going to be okay?” I nod again as he pulls me into his arms and kisses the top of my head. “I’ll see you before we go on, right?”

  I stand up straighter and try to seem confident. “Yeah, I’ll meet you here.”

  “Good.” He kisses me on the lips softly, then strides out the door.

  I collapse back onto the chair, close my eyes, and wish it all away. The mess at school, the mess with my sister, the mess with this job. The one constant in all of it is me. I’m obviously the source of the messiness. I seem to create it wherever I go. One bad decision after another, hurting people I care about, hurting myself, destroying my career—well, what would have been my career. Maybe I’ve simply relied on other people to run my life for so long that I’ve never learned how, and I’m wondering if I ever will. At the rate I’m going, I won’t have a life to run soon.