Tangled up in Pain

by Charlotte Byrd

  Everyone is in masks and he could be any of the dark haired men in tuxedos.

  Shit.

  My heart is racing.

  I need to get out of this house as soon as possible.

  Instead of searching for him and wasting time, I run out of the front door and past the valets.

  I don’t stop until I reach the end of the driveway.

  There, I hide behind the bushes on the other side, and with trembling hands, pull out my phone.

  I dial his number.

  He doesn’t respond, so I start to type.

  Still shaken by what just happened, my mind isn’t thinking clearly.

  It takes me a couple of tries to get the words right.

  Chapter 30 - Jackson

  When I look for her…

  When I come back from the bathroom, I don’t see her anywhere.

  Granted, it’s hard to pick her out of the crowd just by her hair or face, but I walk around the room and look for her gown.

  Still, nowhere to be found.

  A few people from the Barnes Foundation come over and we chitchat for awhile.

  It doesn’t take long for the conversation to turn to Swanson and for them to complain that they have lost a significant amount of their funds in the fraud.

  I can see that they aren’t simply asking me to sympathize with them but are doing everything besides coming right out and asking me for a donation.

  But I play dumb and eventually, disappointed, they excuse themselves.

  As I make another circle around the room, I don’t spot Harley, but I do see Woodward. He’s getting a drink at the bar and there’s no one talking to him.

  I think this is as good a time as ever to have this conversation.

  “Hey, I just wanted to thank you for inviting me again.” When he turns around, I see a large cut on his lip.

  “Is everything alright?”

  “Couldn’t be better,” he says sarcastically. “Actually, why don’t we go and have that private chat right now?”

  I follow him out onto the terrace, overlooking his expansive garden styled to look like the gardens of Versailles.

  “So, what happened to your lip?”

  “Eh, it’s nothing.”

  I don’t press and instead pivot to our previous conversation.

  I again review all the positive aspects of our business model and plan, just like I did before.

  He listens carefully as I make my case, nodding only occasionally.

  It’s hard to tell how it’s going because he is very difficult to read.

  Suddenly, he interrupts me.

  “That all sounds good. And you’ve said all of those things before.”

  “Okay…so, what else would you like to know?”

  He leans on the railing, looking out into the distance.

  “You know, a lot of people don’t like the Hamptons in the winter. They flew from this place between Memorial Day and Labor Day. This place that they love so much during the summers, they completely forget in the winters.”

  I nod. “It is quiet.”

  “Yes! That’s exactly what it is,” he says, pointing his finger at me in exclamation. “I think that’s what appeals to me about it. Sometimes, I come here on the weekends just to get away. You know, the city can be awfully noisy.”

  “I agree. I also enjoy peace and quiet.”

  “Do you have a summer house here?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Eh, not everyone does. I sometimes think I’m a fool for not renting. I mean, why pay a mortgage all year for something you mainly use in the summer.”

  I nod in agreement.

  It’s hard to put into words, but I have a feeling that something is wrong. Like he’s saying this just to goad me.

  But I don’t trust it.

  You don’t know him, I say to myself.

  Maybe this is his way of making friends.

  “So…you like the peace and quiet, too, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  He turns to face me, looks directly into my eyes, and asks, “Is that why you holed up in your mansion for four years without setting foot outside?”

  His tone is rude.

  Severe.

  He doesn’t even try to pretend like he’s making a joke.

  I take a deep breath.

  That aspect of my life wasn’t exactly public knowledge, but I’ve read the gossip magazines and I’ve heard the rumors.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say without blinking or pausing for a moment to think.

  “Hmm.” He chuckles. “That’s what I’ve heard.”

  “Your sources must be confused.”

  “My sources are never confused.”

  We glare into each other’s eyes, neither one looking away first.

  Finally, he caves and pulls away.

  “Well, anyway, if you were a bit of a recluse then that would explain it then.”

  “Explain what?”

  “Why you brought a known whore to my party.”

  His words take me by surprise.

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Harley, your date? She’s an escort. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t frown on sex work that much. I mean, I’ve been known to use one or two of them in my day. But to bring her to my party? When you were trying to raise investments? I mean, c’mon? Are you serious?”

  “Are you serious? She’s not an escort.”

  “Prostitute, lady of the night. Whatever you want to call her.”

  “She’s not one of those things.”

  “Oh.” He raises his eyebrows. “You don’t know, do you? About the blog?”

  I clench my jaw.

  “I know about the fucking blog. And it’s all fiction.”

  “Yeah, right.” He rolls his eyes. “And she was a virgin when she met you. C’mon, man, listen to yourself.”

  I take a deep breath. Blood running through my veins starts to simmer and come to a boil.

  “She’s not an escort and let’s leave it at that,” I say, glaring at him. “Now, if you don’t want to talk about what we came here to discuss then I’ll be going.”

  “Fine,” he says. “Okay, let’s discuss what you came to discuss. You are running a failing company that is in desperate need of a big cash infusion just to keep its doors open next month. You have lost, what, half a billion dollars in Swanson’s Ponzie scheme, definitely enough to knock you off that Forbes List and make it a bit difficult to use your personal wealth to prop up your company. You are desperate. So desperate, in fact, that you put out feelers with your realtor to see if anyone is interested in buying your ridiculously overpriced old house, but no one is biting yet, are they?”

  I clench my jaw.

  He is a lot more informed than I thought that he would be.

  In fact, a bit too informed. It’s almost as if someone has been feeding him private information from the inside.

  “So, I gather you’re not interested?” I ask coolly.

  “No. Not yet. What I am interested in is buying your company when it declares bankruptcy for pennies on the dollar. What I am interested in is taking your friend, Harley, out on a proper date, without first paying her a grand, and fucking her sideways.”

  I make a fist and punch him squarely in his mouth.

  “What the —“ he starts to say, cradling his face.

  So, I punch him again.

  The second blow knocks him off his feet and he falls, stunned to the floor.

  Chapter 31 - Jackson

  Aftermath…

  “You’re going to pay for this!” Woodward yells at me as I walk out from the terrace and head toward the front door.

  I know that security is on its way here, and I don’t need any special handling.

  As soon as I’m outside, I realize that Harley is still inside.

  I pick up my phone, ready to warn her and see the messages that I’ve missed.

  The valet hands me my keys and I take off.r />
  I can’t believe that she’s walking back, I shake my head.

  Back where?

  I never booked a hotel.

  I screech out of the front gate and turn right, following the directions on her text.

  I dial her phone over and over again, but it goes straight to voice mail.

  “C’mon, Harley, where are you?” As I drive down the empty two-lane highway, which is illuminated only by headlights and the moon above, I slow down a bit.

  I want to make sure that I don’t miss her and that I don’t, God forbid, hit her.

  Walking along these winding roads late at night is highly dangerous and my current state is a mix of anger and worry over where she is.

  About two miles away from the house, I finally spot her.

  The wind picks up her gown and tosses it haphazardly around her.

  She is walking barefoot, holding her heels in one hand.

  I beep the horn a few times as I approach.

  Once I pull over next to her, she cautiously approaches the car and looks in.

  “Jackson!” Harley climbs in and gives me a big hug.

  She doesn’t have a coat and, wrapped only in her large shawl, she is shivering.

  “What happened?” I ask.

  She puts her hands next to the heaters.

  When she opens her mouth, all I hear is the chatter of her teeth.

  “I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

  “I know, I couldn’t find you either,” I say.

  “I’m so, so sorry. I really fucked things up.”

  “That can’t possibly be true given how much I fucked things up,” I say.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You first.”

  She takes a deep breath and tells me how Woodward cornered her and came on to her.

  “So, you were the one who gave him that thick lip?” I ask, starting to laugh.

  “Yes…what’s so funny?”

  “Well, let’s just say that we really did a number on him tonight. I punched him. Twice.”

  Her mouth falls open as I tell my story.

  Whatever inkling of regret I’d started to feel right after I punched him over overreacting and letting him get the best of me, vanish completely.

  In fact, the pendulum swings the other way completely.

  Not only do I feel completely justified for doing what I did, but I sort of wish that I’d hurt him a little more.

  The flight and the drive back is uneventful and as soon as we get back into the Bentley, I ask her if she wants to come sleep over at my place.

  “I thought that you would never ask,” Harley says with a little smile on her face.

  Finally, we are in my bedroom.

  It has been way too long since I’ve peeled her clothes off her and made her mine.

  I bring her closer to me, by holding onto the small of her back.

  She is still shivering, only now she’s shivering at my touch.

  She closes her eyes to fight off the surge of arousal that I can feel is coursing through her veins.

  I inhale the scent from the top of her head - something flowery with a mix of lavender.

  It’s absolutely intoxicating.

  Her small frame, which was ice cold only a few moments before, is now starting to radiate some of my heat.

  I want to rip off her clothes and toss her on the bed, but I suppress the wild desire within me for as long as possible.

  For things are better when you have to wait.

  I run my fingers down the outside of her arms as they rest by her sides.

  As soon as I reach her hands, she raises them up and buries them in my hair.

  My body is starting to respond to hers and I can’t help but press myself harder against her.

  I unzip the back of her dress and let it slide off her body.

  I press my lips to her neck and follow its curve down to her rising breasts.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  “I love you, too.”

  “You know you can tell me anything, right?” I say as my tongue makes its way down to her navel.

  “Yes, of course,” she moans.

  “Good.”

  “Why?”

  “Just…never mind.” I decide not to pursue this.

  Why did I even bring this up?

  But I’ve caught Harley’s attention and she stops me and pulls me back up to my feet.

  “What are you talking about?” she asks.

  I shake my head.

  “C’mon…you can tell me anything, too, remember?”

  I take a deep breath.

  “It’s stupid.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “Okay…well, I just wanted you to know that I won’t get mad if that stuff about you being an escort was true.”

  “What?” She takes a step back from me and whatever uneasiness I felt about talking about this only a few minutes ago confirms my worst fears.

  “You think I was an escort? You think I lied to you about doing that?”

  “No, no…I don’t know what to think. I just wanted to tell you that I wouldn’t get mad if you were.”

  “Well, I’m mad because you would even think something like that.”

  “Look, you wrote that whole blog about it…of course, it’s possible that you would lie to me.”

  “Fuck you,” she says, grabbing her dress.

  “Oh, c’mon, Harley, don’t be like that. Don’t let this ruin our night.”

  “Ruin our night? It’s going to do a lot more than that! You talk to that asshole Woodward one time and you believe him over me? Well, you can just go fuck yourself then, Jackson.”

  “I do believe you,” I say, running after her.

  She makes her way quickly down the stairs, grabs her shawl off the dining room table, and puts on her heels.

  “I do believe you,” I repeat myself.

  “No, you don’t. If you did, then you wouldn’t have said that. I told you the truth back there. I told you I was a virgin, which I was. Do you know how embarrassing it is to be a twenty-something virgin in New York City? The city where everyone fucks on the first date? It would’ve been easier for me to tell you I was an escort than what I really was. And now…now you’re questioning me? You think I’m lying?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “But you did. You doubted me. And that’s…I can’t, Jackson.”

  I walk up to her and grab her arm to try to get her to stay, but she pulls away and slams the front door behind her.

  Chapter 32 - Harley

  Aftermath…

  The next three days are a blur.

  After walking around the Hamptons and running out of Jackson’s house in a light dress and a shawl, I inevitably get the flu.

  My head is pounding and my nose is runny.

  I have a high temperature and I can’t even open my eyes without them tearing up.

  I lie in bed for three full days and Julie brings me soup and crackers.

  Finally, on the fourth day, I’m feeling good enough to actually get up and heat up my own soup in the microwave.

  Since we live in a studio, Julie and I both wear masks to keep the germs to my side of the room.

  It doesn’t bother me much since I spend most of the time sleeping.

  Luckily, by the weekend I’m feeling much better and Julie doesn’t catch anything from me.

  “He keeps calling you.” Julie points to my phone as it vibrates again for what is the third time today.

  I shrug.

  “He called me, too.”

  “He did? What did you say?”

  “I told him you were sick and that you didn’t want to talk to him.”

  As I slurp my soup, sitting against the headboard, Julie curls up next to me. “Are you sure you don’t want to call him back? He seems really sorry.”

  “I just can’t believe that he thought I was actually lying about something like that.”

  “Oh, c’mon, everybody lies.”

&nbs
p; “I wouldn’t.”

  “Is it really that outrageous though? I mean, you did write that sexy blog that got all those views.”

  I shake my head. “I told him the truth and he didn’t believe me. He believed that scumbag Woodward over me.”

  “He was just double-checking,” she argues his case.

  “Are you his lawyer or something?”

  “No, I just don’t want you to mess this good thing up over something so…dumb.”

  “It’s not dumb. It’s just proof of what he really thinks about me.”

  She starts to say something in return, but I stop her.

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  As the days pass, his calls get less and less frequent.

  I don’t answer any of them and I don’t reply to any of his texts.

  Occasionally, when I’m lying awake late at night I wonder if I’m being too rigid, but then Woodward’s face comes into my mind.

  Jackson said the same vile thing to me as Woodward did and I just can’t get over it.

  No matter how many times he apologizes.

  What hurts me the most is that he didn’t believe me.

  The morning that Julie starts her second job as a temporary assistant at a law firm, it dawns on me that along with a boyfriend I also dumped a really great job that paid me to write a novel.

  Shit.

  I open my laptop and stare at the list of possible content articles to write, each one looking less appealing than the one before.

  Given that I’m not getting any work done anyway, I decide to put it away for today.

  My thoughts keep drifting back to Jackson and how much I miss him.

  So, I focus my attention on the only thing I can, my novel.

  Even though Jackson is no longer paying me, the urge to keep writing continues to burn.

  So, I click on my novel and start writing.

  It takes me a bit to remember where I was and what was happening, but once I start, the story seems to come so fast I can barely keep up with it.

  Two pages later, my hands starts to cramp up, but I don’t stop until I have ten full pages.

  I take a break and make myself a cup of tea and then look up the podcasts that Jackson had mentioned about self-publishing.