Lost In Lies

by Xavier Neal

  “Send the text,” he insists. I slide my cell phone out of my pocket and begin to type as he instructs, “Aiden, I want a layout of the entire building. Bring up the blueprints, floorplans, video surveillance, everything you can. Install the scan chip in Peyton’s phone.”

  “On it,” Aiden returns to clicking on the keyboard, this time at a faster rate.

  “Eiden, find Jimmy,” Justin taps his foot. “Alex managed to track us here, and I want us protected. We’re low on ammo, but more importantly, we need a new ship.”

  “Do we have anything to give him?” Eiden starts rolling the ball from hand to hand. “He’s not big on IOUs.”

  Justin glances over at Peter, who is now refilling his cup for a third time. With a lowering of his eyebrows, he snaps, “What?”

  “Given Eiden something for Jimmy,” Justin demands.

  “I don’t…” Peter starts before he’s punched in the shoulder by Belle. After a growl, he pulls out his wallet, “This isn’t right, you know. Why do we have to wipe out all my supply?”

  “Because you’re the only one with money left,” Justin says, scornful.

  “And I wanna go home,” Belle whimpers from beside him.

  “Of course, baby,” Peter’s tone is lower and softer, a side of him I can’t actually recall seeing. He groans and slides a green stack across the coffee table, “There.”

  “Tell Jimmy I’ll get him the rest later. I’m good for it,” Justin says moments before Eiden pulls out his own phone. “As for you, Peter, scan the scene. Find out where to go, where to avoid, who to know, and who can help make things happen around here, aside from our new favorite friend, Nick.”

  “Jealousy is a color I am beginning to enjoy seeing on you,” Peter chuckles evilly.

  Ignoring him, Justin smiles at Belle, “And you, my gorgeous girl, as soon as you’re done helping Peyton prep for her date, I want you to go ahead and call Nick’s best friend, Dubs.”

  “How do you know about him?” Belle’s eyebrows raise.

  “How do I know that’s his best friend, or how do I know you have his number already?” Justin’s question tenses Peter’s body.

  “What’s he talking about?” Peter’s cup lands on the coffee table for the first time since we started this meeting.

  “Oh, I thought we were the only couple with secrets.” Belle growls softly as Peter gives Justin the finger.

  “What’s he talking about?” Peter demands an answer again.

  “Now’s not the time for a lover’s quarrel,” Justin declares. “Belle, I need you to distract him. I’m going to need you girls to wedge a gap between Nick and Dubs. I trust that shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “It won’t,” Belle pushes her hair behind her ear.

  “I wanna know about this Dubs guy and why you already know about him!” Peter’s voice booms.

  Belle leans down in his face, a sharp finger pointed, “You will not raise your voice at me. Are we clear?” Nervous, Peter swallows and nods. “We will talk about this in the bedroom.”

  Peter adjusts his shirt and tries to play it cool, turning to Justin, “And what are you going to do while the rest of us are hard at work?”

  “Look into the Thief part of the plan,” he tips his hat down. “What I do best.”

  Belle rolls her eyes before she and Peter excuse themselves for a brief moment to talk about Dubs. After she assures me she will meet me upstairs in just a few moments, I head up the stairs with Justin on my tail.

  Before I can even reach for my clothes, Justin sighs, “About last night.”

  “What about it?”

  “I’m sorry…”

  “For lying to everyone and stalking me? For putting our problems out there for the entire group to watch like some screwed-up version of Jersey Shore?”

  “Peyton…”

  “I don’t care,” I jerk open my drawer. “It’s not important. I know some things were said that shouldn’t have been, and I’m sorry too.” After hearing the relief escape him, I turn around, clean undergarments balled up in my hands, “However, I am curious where you went last night when you left.”

  I watch as Justin’s body shifts, his hands slide into his pockets, and a less-than-pleasing look crawls onto his face, “I, uh, just went for a walk.”

  “Where?”

  “Around town,” the tone of his voice changes the same way it does when the lines between fact and fiction become blurry.

  “By yourself?” Before he tries to lie, I cut him off, “Because when you got into bed last night, you wreaked of expensive vodka and cheap perfume.” Guilt writes itself on his face. “So I ask you again, by yourself?”

  “Peyton, she didn’t mean anything—”

  “A stiff apology is a second insult. The injured party does not want to be compensated because he has been wronged; he wants to be healed because he has been hurt.” The quote takes Justin off guard. “A quote by G. K. Chesterton.”

  “Reminds me of your vase quote.”

  “My father taught me that one too. You know, sometimes Justin, I think he knew you were coming into my life long before I did,” I stroll past him to the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind me.

  I start the water in the shower when I hear a gentle knock on the door, “Nothing happened, Peyton!” My body hesitates before scooting closer to the door, “Nothing! I went around to a nightclub, took a page out of Peter’s playbook, and tried to bury my sorrows in alcohol. It started with just a beer. And then another. Before I knew it, I had a pitcher. When that didn’t cut it, I turned to a shot to kick start the numbing. To no surprise, it was quickly chased by another and another. Eventually, I lost count.” There’s another pause before he says, “There was this girl. She sat next to me, smelled of Chanel and cloaked in Dolce. She said she was having a bad night and didn’t want to drink alone. She offered to buy me a drink, and I let her. We started talking. She started telling me how she was let go earlier in the day, how her friends couldn’t make time to come talk to her, how she found out her boyfriend was sleeping with her sister. She started describing the perfect man and the things she desired. She started asking me questions, comparing her wants with things she thought she could see in me. And that’s when she asked me to go back to her place, and I did. Maybe it was the tequila or maybe it was the vodka, but it led me there. She started music, she lit candles, I took off my shoes and then my socks while she got undressed. That’s when it hit me. Here is a gorgeous girl, naked, ready for me to take advantage of her, willing to be taken advantage of, without the effort of a con or so much as a false compliment. Here is this woman just waiting for me to make her forget her troubles and make her feel like she matters to someone, even if it is just for a split second. She came over to me, wrapped her arms around my neck, and went in to kiss me. I turned my face, and when she asked what was wrong I told her ...” the words drift off. “I told her I couldn’t. I couldn’t be the one-night stand she needed to feel better. I had a girlfriend at home that I loved and cared about waiting for me. I had someone at home who I wanted to make me forget the bad choices I’ve made and be there for me when my friends weren’t. I told her I had someone at home who I wanted to be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing at night. And she asked me then what I was doing there. And I said, ‘Good question.’ That’s when I left and came home to you.” My smile tries to appear as I wipe away the couple of tears that slipped out. “I was wrong for the way I treated you. I was wrong for going out and not coming to talk to you. I was wrong for going over there. I was wrong for putting myself in that position. I made a mistake. I make those. I’m human, well, mostly anyway, but I’m not giving up on you, on us. Not now, not ever.”

  My lips quiver as I turn the doorknob and crack the door open to reveal a slightly somber face, which complements Justin’s very distraught one. I try to open my mouth, hoping the right words will just leak out, and when they don’t, Justin’s lips slip on top of mine, speaking the rest of the apology without wor
ds.

  After the intense kisses, I excuse myself to shower, knowing that Belle’s girly time with me is creeping up faster than expected. I shower off in the hot water, wash my hair, and make sure I’m a clean, blank slate for my artist.

  Once Belle’s in my bathroom, her toolbox ready to go, she jumps right in. Part of me thinks she’s relieved she has someone to doll over, but a bigger part me feels she’s secretly thrilled that she’s not alone in the bunch anymore. She can share secrets about the romantic things Peter says to her in private, like the way he loves how her eyes sparkle in the moonlight or how he loves the way she strokes his face after a hard day. I think Belle may have needed me to be in the group more than Justin.

  As soon as she feels she’s created another masterpiece, I stroll out in a pair of jeans cut off right at the knees, a paint-stained tank top, and some black wedges, all courtesy of the shopping spree Belle went on this morning while I was still dreaming of painting portraits at the beach.

  “Where’s Peter?” Belle asks Aiden, who seems to be the only one around still in the spot we left him.

  Not bothering to look up, he sighs, “He said he wanted to go for a swim.”

  “Like at the pool?” She slowly crosses her arms across her chest.

  “I think so.”

  “You think so?”

  “He mentioned something about bikinis and cocktails.” The words spew out of his mouth without so much as a thought on how they might make Belle feel or how he just sold Peter out.

  “What else could I expect? I swear sometimes he…” she mumbles to herself, so I take the initiative to remind her of something very important.

  “Dubs,” When she hears the name, she cocks her hip to the side and giggles.

  “Oh yeah,” she slips out her cell phone. With a smile, she starts backing away, “Um, I have work to do. I’ll catch you guys later.”

  My head slowly turns to Aiden, and I wait for the faint sound of the door closing before I ask, “And Justin?”

  “Said he’d be around.” Noticing his attention hasn’t broken away from the computer in front of him, I plop down beside him just as he mutters to himself, “I just don’t get it.”

  “Get what?”

  Without breaking eye contact with the computer, he mumbles, “Just this thing I’m checking on for Peter, nothing important, just different statistics about different diseases. Then, I needed to cross-reference them with how they are affected by these three factors and…” He cuts himself off as he realizes he’s leaking information he probably shouldn’t be. Switching tabs, he slides over a phone case, “Meet our new toy.”

  My eyebrows dart down in confusion.

  “Phone, please.”

  Aiden grabs my phone out of my hand and places the case on it. Suddenly, on the computer screen, I see the wall across from us. “So the phone doesn’t have to be on to do what it needs to do. You can either hold the phone still or put it down,” he places it so it’s face up, “and within moments, it’ll record the entire room.” The phone lights for a brief moment, flashes three times brightly, and then shuts off. “So I need you to take this through all the rooms in his home, especially his bedroom.”

  Stumbling over my words, I manage to croak, “His bedroom?”

  “Of course. Everyone holds secrets in the bedroom. It’s a place they think is sacred and can be trusted. For instance, you used to kept an extra sketchbook you thought no one knew about between your mattress and box spring.”

  “How did you…”

  “This isn’t the first time I’ve used this camera. Now, if he notices it flashing, you merely say, ‘Oh no, my battery must be dying.’” His high-pitched, mocking voice makes me scrunch up my nose.

  “You know I don’t sound like that, right?”

  A chuckle leaves him before he continues, pulling off the case, “When you remove the cover, the camera shuts off. Put it back in your purse and—viola—within a couple of hours, we’re ahead rather than behind.”

  I pause before I ask, “Have you always been this hi-tech savvy?”

  “Very much so. My father was hi-tech for his time, and once I was given the gift of time to endlessly fiddle around with gadgets and such, it was hard not to.”

  “And by the gift of time you mean becoming a Lost Boy?” He shoots me a pointed finger. Nodding, I stand and grab the phone, the case, and my purse.

  “Wish me luck,” I pull down my shirt once more, becoming more nervous.

  “For what? You had Justin in love with you at the first nervous giggle.”

  Stunned, I raise an eyebrow, “Really?”

  “At least that’s how tells it.” The words instill the confidence back in me that I assume Aiden was hoping to do.

  Once out the door with my bag draped over my shoulder, and my phone sliding in my back pocket, I check both directions, knowing that, last time I wasn’t aware of my surroundings, Alex attacked.

  After a brief elevator ride down, I’m fortunate enough to have Nick waiting for me in a pair of black slacks and a light-blue button up, with a fedora planted on his head and a matching ribbon on it. His smile crawls from ear to ear, which causes my heart to stop.

  “I feel under dressed,” I admit.

  “You look great,” he insists. “Clothes and manners do not make the man, but when he is made, they greatly improve his appearance.”

  Politely, I cross my arms and ask, “Who said that?”

  “Henry Ward Beecher.” Stroking his chin, he sighs, “Our tour can start shortly. However, before it can get started, I hate to say this, but I have a French lesson I couldn’t reschedule. Do you mind hanging around until then?”

  “At your apartment?”

  “Right.”

  My smile grows, loving that opportunity is knocking at my door, “I don’t mind, as long as you let me get a look at that perfume.”

  “Of course,” his hand extends in my direction.

  Taking it, I stroll alongside him out of the hotel with a pair of eyes on me that I can feel, but am unsure from which direction. Cautious, I stay close to Nick’s side as we begin down the street toward his high-rise apartment.

  “Dad own the building?” I ask, pointing to it.

  “Of course,” the words slide off his tongue in a cocky way. “Dad pretty much owns the whole town. If not directly, then he most likely owns the company that owns the building. This city is a safe haven. Every corner I turn, every step I take, if I need anything, it’s provided. It’s as if my parents knew I wouldn’t want to travel like them but still needed me raised as if they were around. Most days, it feels exactly that way.”

  I glance at the small bakery we pass wondering how many times he’s eaten there, a coffee shop wondering if that’s where he grabs breakfast on Saturdays, and a small flower shop assuming that’s where my red rose came from. All these things could be owned by him or his parents? It’s like living in a real-life Sims game. Part of me expects emoticons to pop up next to his face.

  As we prepare to enter the building, a doorman quickly opens the door for us, keeping his face down, while Nick pays no attention to him. Immediately, I glance back to see Justin smirking at me before he tips his doorman’s hat. Looking at Nick, I give him a vague smile to imply I’m still listening before glancing back to where Justin was and now isn’t.

  “How come everything looks freshly painted?” I ask, looking at the décor that looks suspiciously new.

  “Suggested a change. It was time for the building to have a more modern color scheme. But I have a bit of a soft spot for classic art.” The elevator dings. We slip in the chrome elevator, where he presses the P for penthouse. A slight jerk pulls us straight up. Arriving at the top, the elevator stops and lets us out, where there happens to be one armed security guard.

  “Frank,” Nick greets the guard, who gives an absent wave. Afterward, he swipes his key card and allows us to enter his apartment, which reminds me a bit of home.

  I feel my body tense at the sight. I haven�
�t really stopped to miss my apartment, of all things, but staring at this makes me think of it. Of course, his place is much bigger and flashier than ours. After all, my father is more about what his gallery showcases than his home, but it feels similar.

  “I…”

  A sharp knock cuts his speech. Holding up a finger, he jogs a few steps back to the door. Quickly, he ushers in a man with a graying goatee and an old leather briefcase.

  “You’re sure we can’t reschedule?” Nick adjusts his hat.

  “What do I say about wasting time?” The man’s accented voice speaks up, strong and stern, a father-figure type.

  “If time be of all things the most precious, wasting time must be the greatest prodigality,” he rambles off the quote, shooting me a glance, “Ben Franklin.”

  “Benjamin,” the man corrects and wags his brief case at Nick. “You know I despise it when you say his name like that.”

  “That’s why I do it,” Nick winks at me and slides his hands into his pockets. “Arnett, please meet Peyton. Peyton, meet Arnett, my French tutor…”

  “And,” he waves his free hand.

  “English tutor…”

  “And?”

  “Life philosophy tutor…”

  “And?”

  “Art history tutor…”

  “And?”

  “Water polo and fencing coach,” Nick rolls his eyes.

  “Wow,” I giggle and shake his hand. “Sounds like you’re a busy guy.”

  “Very,” Arnett shakes mine back, allowing me to admire the way his features look similar, but I’m not quite sure to whom.

  “He’s an old friend of my parents. Shortly after my nanny departed, Arnett was brought in to tutor me in areas my parents felt would help keep me rounded and out of trouble.”

  “And yet, you still find ways to throw lavish parties like Gatsby.” The literary reference catches my attention.

  “Gatsby was after a female,” Nick corrects him.

  “And you’re not?” Arnett shoots me a glance and then a smirk.

  Nick plops down on his couch. “Can we get started?”