by J. M. Hall
“Did you really mean it when you said that I was one of the most successful graduates the Academy has ever seen?”
“Of course. Why would I lie?”
“Tell me more about what happened. What’s the student’s name?”
“His name’s Drake. He reminds me a lot of you, in a way. There are just certain similarities. The way he speaks, thinks…”
“Please tell me you haven’t fucked him too.”
Bobby pulled away, insulted by the question. I was unapologetic in asking, both as a person and as his crisis communications counselor. I had to know everything that’d happened, everything the Academy had uncovered. Any secrets were not only stupid, they jeopardized my ability to effectively do my job.
“So, like I said: Did you have sex with Drake?”
“Considering he’s my nephew? No, I haven’t!”
Bobby wasn’t lying. I could see the anger and disgust written across his handsome face. The idea -- the mere idea -- of an adult having sex with a nephew that he’d probably held from the moment he was born haunted him. And despite the inherent hypocrisy of such feelings, part of me did feel bad that all of this was happening. I didn’t feel bad for Bobby, however.
I felt bad for Drake.
Bobby covered his face with his hands before storming across the bridge. I went after him, told him to stop and wait and talk this through. It wasn’t about us any longer. Drake deserved to have this ordeal put behind him, and that was what Kurt and I were going to do.
“You don’t understand,” Bobby said. “Drake thinks he’s ‘in love’ with Simone. He’s infatuated with her. Even now, he’s still texting her, Skyping her. Vanishing at all hours of the night to do God knows what.”
Probably have sex with her, I thought.
“He’s probably having sex with her,” Bobby said. “Happy?”
“Why would any of this make me happy?”
“Come on, as if you don’t see the irony?”
“If what happened between us taught me anything, it’s that I would never want what happened to me to happen to another teenager. So do me a favor and get over yourself right this minute.
“As of right now, I am the only thing standing between your nephew and a barrage of media attention that will mark him for the rest of his life. If the national media catches wind of this, there will reporters outside your door, his door, and the front gates of the Academy.”
“I don’t want that to happen…” He trailed off, seemingly terrified at the scenario I presented to him. So strange to see him concerned with someone other than himself. How did it all come about, anyway? How did his nephew Drake enroll at New Hope Academy, meet Simone, and eventually begin a sexual relationship with her?
“Look,” I said, “I’ll do my best to prevent this from ruining your nephew’s life. But I need to get a full rundown of what’s happened up until this point -- and I need you to keep our past out of all of this for the time being.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Your willingness to help,” Bobby said. “It means a lot.”
“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for Drake. You fuck up, and I’ll let him know just what kind of mind his uncle really is. Understood?”
Bobby nodded, too terrified to speak.
“Good. Now come on. It’s cold, I’m hungry, and we’ve got a crisis to solve.”
* * *
Coppola’s was a well known Italian restaurant on the Upper West Side, featuring everything from brick-oven pizza to veal Parmigiana. Looking out at the long, narrow dining room, all one could see were white tablecloths and wooden chairs, with a few paintings hanging on the exposed brick walls. Bobby and I sat on one of the booths at the center of the room, gazing down at the menus and avoiding eye contact at all costs.
“I’m fine with pizza if that’s good with you,” he said. “You still like pepperoni?”
I nodded, then called over the waitress to give her our order. She scribbled it down, then left us in peace. He’d given me a brief rundown of what he knew about Drake and Simone’s so-called love affair, but I still needed more details.
Specifically, did they have sex on-campus or not?
“I realize this isn’t something you want to think about,” I said. “But was there any evidence of sexual activity on the grounds of New Hope Academy?”
“Not that I know of,” he said. “Which will probably help absolve us of at least some responsibility, right?”
“One of the first things you’ll have to combat is the idea that other students were at-risk. Because if this happened under your watch, how many other incidents could have occurred over the years?”
“Is that what the press will really say?”
“I’m not talking about the press -- I’m talking about parents, donors, alumni. You know -- the people that really matter.”
“What you said earlier, about the media finding Drake? What would you consider to be a worse-case scenario?”
I ran a number of possibilities through my mind. “If Drake was identified, it’ll spread through social media first. Any profiles he has up at the moment will be scrutinized with a microscope.”
“Drinking, partying…”
“Exactly,” I said. “The good news is, I don’t think the press will identify Drake even if they could. The age of consent is sixteen, but if the adult in question is a teacher, any sexual conduct between the two is considered a felony.”
Bobby blinked, swallowed a lump in his throat. “A felony?”
“Relax,” I said. “The statute of limitations ran out on us a few years ago.”
“So Drake will likely stay under wraps?”
“Hopefully. Now, as for New Hope Academy -- that’s where things are going to get tough. Even if the sex occurred off-campus, we’re still looking at vicarious liability.”
The blank look on Bobby’s face showed me that he’d spent far too much time in academia since we’d last seen each other. I summarized as best I could: Vicarious Liability stipulated that New Hope Academy had a responsibility to protect Drake from harm. Drake’s having slept with Simone -- a felony per Pennsylvania law -- was proof that the Academy had failed to do.
“Now, are Drake’s parents planning to press charges?”
Bobby threw up his hands, professed ignorance. “I don’t think Drake would take the stand and say Simone raped him, to be honest.”
“All right. Then our most pressing issue is addressing and containing the situation at the Academy. What have you done so far?”
“We sent a letter home to parents after Philadelphia magazine caught wind of everything. Other than that…”
“So you didn’t take any preemptive action to notify parents beforehand? Even though you knew this was happening?”
“With my sister and my brother-in-law ready to kill me?” Bobby said, exasperated. “I’m an educator, not a lawyer.”
“That makes two of us. Kurt and the rest of the staff at Victory & Associates will work alongside the Academy’s legal team, however.”
“Are you working with Kurt full-time? He mentioned that you kind of come and go on your own schedule.”
“I’m an independent contractor,” I said. “I like my freedom, and Kurt pays well. It all works out.”
I reached into my messenger bag and pulled my iPad and keyboard, then started scribbling down a few notes. I’d have to go back to the office and draft a holding statement, maybe a quick Q&A that could be posted on New Hope Academy’s various social channels. Perhaps one of the interns could do a quick media audit thus far, see what’s been written about this whole mess and what reporters we need to keep an eye on.
“Care to share what you’re writing?” Bobby asked.
“A few thoughts to help get you out of this mess.”
“Let’s face it, Jesse. I’m done.”
“Oh, you’re definitely stepping down from your position as principal at New Hope Academy. Whether or not your sister
and her husband sue you for civil damages is in their court.”
“The Board of Trustees will come to that decision,” Bobby explained. “Probably before they decide to fire me or have me burned at the stake on the quad.”
Bobby’s tone dripped with defeat. Yet could I honestly feel bad for him?
“I can’t save your job,” I said. “But I can try to make sure that the Academy moves past this. Eventually.”
“That’s what’s important.”
“How altruistic of you,” I quipped. “Come on, let’s head back to the office.
“No.”
“No?”
“I want more time with you. There’s still more we need to talk about.”
“I didn’t take this assignment to rehash the past. And Bobby, you’re not the first grown man to have sex with a teenage boy. It’s been happening since Ancient Greece, and it’ll keep happening until the end of time.”
“You are so cynical,” he said. “What’s happened to you?”
“I grew up, that’s what’s happened.”
“You used to be so kind, full of wonder. Your smile could…”
I didn’t know whether to walk away or laugh in his face. Yes, I’d been young and full of wonder. How could I not have been? New Hope Academy had taken me out of the doldrums of Philadelphia and into one of the most beautiful areas in Southeastern Pennsylvania. It was supposed to be my ticket to a better life, and in many ways it was.
But that didn’t change one thing: Bobby had no right to do what he did.
“Like I said, let’s get back to the office. We can talk about our past indiscretions another time.”
“Indiscretions?” Bobby said. “Is that what I was to you?”
Ignoring his question, I asked for the check and began gathering my things. He reached out, grabbed my arm. Answer the question, he said. He deserved to know.
“This is hardly the time or the place,” I said. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Why can’t you just give me a straight answer?”
“Because if there’s anything I’ve learned in the past ten years, it’s that I’m better at dealing with other people’s baggage than I am at dealing with my own.”
Chapter 11
I returned to Victory & Associates alone.
I sat alone at my desk, staring blankly at my computer screen. I should have been writing Kurt a memo, an email -- some sort of record of what I’d done in my afternoon alone with Bobby. And yet, the words just wouldn’t come. I looked around, saw the rest of the staff talking or typing or nursing cups of coffee as they monitored for client coverage on one of our many television screens.
I could always ask for their help. After all, they were the ones who would really be helping Bobby through the process of salvaging the Academy’s reputation in the court of public opinion. I was a researcher of facts, an interviewer of persons of interest. Yes, I could draft press releases, pitch reporters, conduct media audits and help the more experienced staff with broader strategy -- but I wasn’t truly one of them.
They were white-collar professionals; I was a whore in sheep’s clothing.
I got up from my desk, walked into Kurt’s office. He wasn’t there, of course, but I made myself at home anyway. The last time we’d been in there alone, he’d all but offered me a full-time position at the firm.
Was I a fool not to accept?
Suddenly, Kurt opened the door and walked inside. As usual, he was talking on his cell -- though he gave me a cursory nod before settling down at his desk. I took out my iPad, typed a few talking points into a document. When Kurt ended his call, he leaned back and told me to give him the full download on what I’d learned thus far.
“We have a problem,” I said. “Our little teacher-student sex scandal is far more personal to Bobby than he let on.”
“Is it?”
“The boy who slept with his teacher? It’s his nephew, Drake.”
“Shit…”
“I still think there’s a chance we can salvage this. First things first, though: We need to draft a statement to the school community itself, preferably after we meet with the Board of Trustees and have them media trained.”
“If the student in question is Bobby’s nephew,” Kurt said, “then he’s going to have to remove himself from the investigation. Take a leave of absence from his position as principal.”
“I agree.” I reached forward, took a notepad and pen off his desk. “Still, we need to be careful. Drake has a right to privacy, and if Bobby announces he’s taking a leave of absence right after addressing this situation, people could get suspicious.”
“We can’t reveal Drake as the student.”
“Exactly.”
It was a complicated situation, one that had even Kurt perplexed. Much to my disappointment, he didn’t seem to think that turning down the business was a reasonable course of action -- even if it would make my life a lot easier. I sat before him, squirming slightly in my chair. I didn’t like lying to him. Or if not lying, then not letting him know the truth.
Bobby and I had a history.
It could cloud my judgment.
What if I let my emotions get in the way?
“What do you think of all this?” Kurt asked, shaking me out of my inner reflection. “I know it’s been a while since you were a student, but how do you think the community will react?”
“Shock,” I said. “Pure and simple. New Hope Academy is a small, insular community that prides itself on cultivating the best and brightest young minds in the region. The idea that a teacher would cross that line with a student is…”
“Terrible.”
“That about does it. But that’s what we’re here for, isn’t it? Fixing people’s problems so they don’t have to.”
Kurt smiled, the kind of brilliant grin that could sell anything from toothpaste to sports cars. He’d been married for close to five years now, to a beautiful woman named Alexandra who was a successful artist and children’s illustrator. Beautiful couple, rewards careers -- and a stunning three-bedroom apartment in Park Slope to boot.
Deep down, I couldn’t deny that he had the kind of life I envied. I used to think that in an ideal world, I could grow up to be just like him.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Kurt asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Whenever you get a new client, you’re usually talking a mile a minute. This time, you’re awfully quiet.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“For you? Yes.”
“I have a lot on my mind these days,” I said, which wasn’t a complete lie. “The holidays, you guys -- my other work.”
“Are you ever going to tell me about this other job of yours? I’d really like to know who gets the rest of your time.”
“I would never work for one of your competitors behind your back,” I said. “You know that.”
“As long as you aren’t trafficking drugs across the border, I suppose we won’t have anything to worry about.”
I desperately wanted to tell Kurt the truth. Just as I’d revealed my true identity to Bianca, I felt an overwhelming need to tell Kurt who I was outside of his office. That when the sun went down on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights, I was no longer Jesse. I became Matthew: a high-priced escort for any woman or couple that could afford my services.
Oh, the adventures I could share. Accompanying an Upper East Side divorcee to the Opera, only to have sex in the limo on the way to the Met. Or the time when one particularly adventurous woman wanted me to pretend to break into her apartment in Gramercy Park, only to be “captured” and forced to pleasure her all night long less she call the police.
And then there were the women who read Fifty Shades of Grey one too many times, and wanted nothing more than to put them over my knee and spank their asses until they were bright red.
“I’m a male escort,” I said. “That’s my other job.”
“Come again?”
“If they’r
e lucky. I’ve been doing it since college.”
“You… what?”
“I like sex, and I like money. I figure I should do this now while I still can. And I don’t think you’d be surprised to learn that many times, I rather enjoy it.”
Kurt stared at me in disbelief, then started laughing. It was a deep, throaty laugh that came up from his stomach and shook his shoulders as it exited his mouth. His face turned bright red and tears glistened in the corners of his eyes.
“Something funny?” I asked.
“You really had me!” he said. “You might be in the wrong career, my friend. For a minute there you were so convincing I actually believed you.”
“But…”
Kurt continued to laugh, convinced that I’d been making a joke. And soon, I began to laugh as well. There I was, trying to come clean to one of the people I respect most, and it’d turned into a comedy routine.
“I have to run to a meeting,” Kurt added. “But we’ll catch up first thing tomorrow morning, all right?”
“I’ll be in a bit later,” I said. “I trust you already have the team working on a battle plan for the Academy?”
“Yes, of course.” Kurt paused, his mouth spreading into a grin. “Don’t let me keep you from your night job.”
“As a matter of fact, I have a client event to go to later tonight,” I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. Little did Kurt know, I was actually telling the truth.
Chapter 12
Rich people loved orgies.
The limousine pulled up to the mansion on East Eighty-Fourth Street between Fifth and Madison. A stone’s throw away from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the mansion was part of Manhattan’s spectacular Museum Mile, a collection of meticulously maintained homes dating back to the early 1900s, if not earlier.
I got out of the limousine and walked to the front door. A uniformed guard stood at the entrance, but as soon as I gave him the password -- Libre -- I walked right inside.
Patrons sipped champagne beneath the soaring white columns of the foyer. Others disappeared hand-in-hand up the spiraling staircase, kissing and caressing along the way. I walked to the open bar, got myself a glass of champagne.