by J. M. Hall
Kurt’s voice dripped with disapproval. I knew him well enough to know that he cared deeply for the welfare of children of all ages, adolescents included. I shifted in my seat, unable to maintain eye contact with him for more than a few seconds.
“Did you know the student in question?” Kurt asked.
“Yes. He was great.”
“And what of the teacher? What was she like?”
“Like I said, everyone loved him.”
“Him?”
I nodded. “Looking back, it’s a good thing that this little ‘affair’ was never revealed to the public. We both know that the public tends to be less forgiving with gay affairs that heterosexual ones.”
“A double standard, for sure.” Kurt swiveled his chair around to face the forest of skyscrapers outside the conference room. “All right. You can go. Book your travel arrangements and the agency will reimburse you.”
“Thank you. This means a lot.”
“Oh, and Jesse?”
“Yes?”
“I know what happened last night.”
I was certain I’d misheard him. “Sorry?”
“Your run-in with David Winter from Manhattan magazine. He left me a long-winded voicemail this morning, saying how he would never give any of our clients coverage again after how rude you were to him.”
“Did he say where we met?”
“No, just something about at an after-hours bar on the Upper East Side.”
I closed my eyes, exhaled. “Right…”
“I’m not upset, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Kurt added. “It’s not like our clients are clamoring to be in Manhattan magazine anyway, and I certainly wouldn’t let them speak with David of all people.”
“Not much with the fact-checking, is he?”
“To say the least.”
I lay back in my chair, resisted the urge to let out a scream or relief. Kurt and I were close -- but not so close that I wanted him to know that I’d attended an orgy on the Upper East Side last night. If my previous attempt at “coming out” was any indication, he wasn’t ready to handle my outside job. It wasn’t something he could comprehend, hence his laughing fit at the mere idea of me selling sex.
As for Mr. Winter, I’d have to keep an eye on him. The last thing I needed was some so-called reporter chasing a murder mystery and blowing my cover in the process.
“Will you be joining me?” I asked Kurt. “Down in New Hope, that is?”
“Of course. I can leave as early as tonight, if that works. The rest of the staff is working on producing the materials we’ll bring along with us. Your holding statement and Q&A for the media were excellent, by the way. As was the media list of local reporters that are likely to provide fair and balanced coverage.”
“I did my best,” I said. “I haven’t been in Philly for a while, but I still remember the media market. It’s not the biggest -- at least not anymore -- but there are still a few reporters that know how to do their jobs.
“Do you anticipate this getting more local coverage?”
“It seems saturated at the moment,” I explained. “The Inquirer, Philadelphia magazine, and all the local evening news programs have covered it. At this point, our best bet is to address the issue head-on, so by the time the national media catches wind of it, the Academy will at least look proactive in addressing and scandal and making amends.
“My thoughts exactly,” Kurt said. “Ideally, this will remain a local scandal rather than developing into a national one. Whether or not that happens largely depends on us. If we help the Academy through this, it’ll be over and done with shortly.”
“You think so?”
“What else is there to do? What happened between this young man and his teacher is history. Done and done. We can’t change that. What we need to do now, what we’re being paid to do, is address the issue with students and parents, field any questions from the media, and create a framework to ensure a future situation doesn’t happen again.”
“I just wish there was more we could do regarding that last part,” I said. “Ensuring a future ‘affair’ doesn’t happen again.”
“I can’t believe this has happened twice in the span of ten years. That’s ridiculous! What kind of atmosphere does this place have? Is it secluded? Do people not think there needs to be precautions to prevent this from happening?”
“It is secluded,” I explained. “And, generally speaking, people are pretty trusting. It was a hell of a lot different from my old high school. No metal detectors; teachers who knew students by their first names; not to mention all the pride that came around each May when college acceptance letters came in.”
“Tell me more about the affair that happened when you were still a student,” Kurt said. “Did any of the faculty know? What about students? Was it just ignored, or was there any kind of investigation?”
“I…”
“I know it happened a long time ago,” Kurt added. “But any information we have will be useful. You said you knew the student, right?”
“I did. Still do. Like I said, he’s great. He didn’t ask for his English teacher to start a sexual relationship with him. But at the same time, he didn’t want to stop it, either.”
“Why’s that?”
“He was a scholarship student,” I said. “Think about it: Would the Academy really take a scholarship kid’s word over that of a beloved teacher? And who’s to say they wouldn’t just cancel his scholarship right then and there?”
“You really think the Academy would have done that?”
“What the hell was I supposed to think? I was a kid from a shitty neighborhood in Philly, and all of a sudden I’m in this beautiful place out in countryside. I wasn’t about to risk my spot and completely wreck my future.”
And just like that, I’d blown my cover.
“Jesse…”
“You asked a question, Kurt. You asked if I knew the student that had an affair with his English teacher ten years ago. I do. It’s me. And the teacher in question? You’ve met him as well. It was Bobby.”
* * *
“You brought me to a church?”
Kurt shrugged. “It’s the only place I know where people will leave you alone. I’m not even religious -- but tell people you’re going to church, and they leave you alone.”
“Nice.”
It was a busy afternoon on East Fiftieth Street, that precious time after lunch hour but before the evening rush. Kurt took the first steps inside, then beckoned me to come inside with him.
“Here goes nothing,” I mumbled.
The inside was beautiful. Wooden pews stretched forward as far as my eye could see. I gazed to my left, my right, noted the beautiful stained glass windows. Kurt had already walked on ahead, leaving me to catch up. Every step seemed to echo off the vaulted ceilings, and I couldn’t help but feel like an outsider in a place of worship.
Kurt stood before an altar, lighting a votive candle. He blew out the match, then fished a few dollars out of his pocket and made the requisite donation.
“I thought you weren’t religious?” I asked him.
“I was raised in a big Catholic family out in Chicago. You never really leave Catholicism. It’s in my blood, whether I like it or not.”
“I see.”
“Why did you keep this from me?” Kurt asked. “What happened back at the Academy, I mean?”
“It’s not exactly dinner conversation.”
We settled into one of the wooden pews near the front altar. I wasn’t quite sure what to do, as there wasn’t an actual mass scheduled until later that day. But it seemed that merely sitting, and pondering one’s life was permitted. I could tell that Kurt wanted to ask a million questions, but didn’t know where to start. Finally, he leaned into my ear and said: “We don’t have to do this, Jesse.”
“What do you mean?”
“The case. I don’t need the Academy’s money. The firm is doing great -- growing each and every quarter. And to be honest, I don’t lik
e the idea of representing someone who…”
“Seduced me as a teenager? It’s okay, Kurt. You can say it. Bobby had me wrapped around his finger. All it took was a few months. Pretty soon, I wasn’t even resisting anymore.”
“That’s no excuse on his part, Jesse. And don’t use the word ‘seduced’ when in reality, he’d actually used his position to take advantage of you.”
“You don’t understand,” I said. “I let him do all of those things to me. And even if I had told someone -- what then? Who would have believed me? I was better off keeping my mouth shut.”
“He exploited you,” Kurt said bluntly. “It’s disgusting -- and it’s wrong.”
“And now look what happened. To his own nephew, no less.”
“What?”
It seemed that Bobby had left a few details out from his conversation with Kurt. I gave him the Cliff’s Notes version, up to and including the fact that Bobby’s own nephew is the student that had an “affair” with the temptress known as Simone. It was almost Shakespearean, really. Now Bobby knew how it felt to have a loved one taken advantage of by an adult.
“This is going from bad to worse,” Kurt said.
“Won’t argue with you there. Still, I need to deal with this.”
A few tourists walked along the aisle, snapping photos with each step. That was New York for you: tourists amidst locals, even in a house of worship. Wasn’t that what I loved about New York? The idea that one could disappear amid a horde of people, never to be found again?
But no one could outrun their past forever -- not even me.
“Take the time you need,” Kurt said. “You’ll have the firm’s services at your disposal. But Jesse, what do you really expect to gain here?”
“To help salvage the Academy’s reputation, frankly. Despite everything that happened there, I’ll always be in their debt. That’s the fucked up part of it, when you think about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Kids from my neighborhood don’t usually don’t do much with their lives,” I explained. “The girls get pregnant. The boys take the same kind of jobs their fathers had -- if they’re lucky. Me? By a stroke of luck, I was born smart.”
“And?”
“And it was the Academy that brought out the best in me. It was the Academy that got me into NYU and into a career that put a roof over my head. I don’t look fondly on what happened between Bobby and me. But at the same time, I still realize that New Hope Academy was one of the best things that ever happened to me.”
“And you really think that going back there is a wise decision?”
“No, I’m not. But if there’s anything I’ve learned in the past few years -- anything I’ve learned from working with you -- it’s that sometimes, you need to throw caution to the wind and go on the offensive.”
“I’ve taught you well,” Kurt said. “But are you sure about this?”
“No, I’m not. But that’s never stopped me before.”
We sat in the pews for a little while longer, then decided it was time to leave. I assumed Kurt wanted to get back to the office, but that wasn’t his plan. Instead, we had one more stop on his itinerary -- his place.
“Please tell me you aren’t trying to get lucky,” I teased.
“Hardly. I’m a married man.”
“Like that means anything? Remember that governor you handled a few years back? Went on and on about how much he loved his wife, then what happens? Gets caught in Punta Cana with a cabana boy.”
“Just trust me, Jesse. If you’re going to go back home, there’s more you need to know. In fact, there’s something about this case I just realized.”
“That it’s a complete disaster?”
“They always are,” Kurt said. “But more than that, I realized something very, very important. I actually think we can win.”
Chapter 16
“Why am I not surprised you live in Park Slope?”
Kurt insisted it was only possible thanks to diligent saving, a successful business, and a wife who actually earned more money than he did. We walked along Garfield Place, one of the most coveted blocks in another one of Brooklyn’s most affluent neighborhoods.
“Here we are,” Kurt said. “Home sweet home.”
“Which unit is yours?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “My wife and I own the whole building.”
The foyer was stunning: pristine parquet floors and crown molding on the ceilings, with a row of oil paintings leading up the staircase. The bay windows in the living room looked out onto the rear garden, and I could smell something delicious coming from the kitchen.
I followed Kurt’s lead into a kitchen that looked like something out of Food & Wine magazine. It wasn’t just the chef’s stove, stainless steel refrigerator and granite countertops. It seemed that Kurt’s wife, Alexandra, had prepared a meal in preparation for our arrival.
Why was she home at this hour, anyway? If she out-earned her husband, surely she had a demanding corporate career of her own? Then, I remembered: Alexandra was a successful author and illustrator, and had just sold a series of children’s books to Disney PIXAR for a seven-figure sum.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, offering me her hand. “Kurt has had wonderful things to say about you over the years.”
“Has he?”
She gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’d love to join you two, but dinner isn’t quite ready yet. Besides, I have a deadline to finish before my publisher kills me.”
“Have some more illustrations to finish up?” I asked.
“No rest for the wicked…” She disappeared, leaving Kurt and I to go into his home office. It was a bit removed from the rest of the home, situated behind sliding glass doors with direct access to the back garden.
I took a seat on the sofa, let Kurt take the lead.
“Do you remember why I started my agency, Jesse?”
“Didn’t you say you got fired from Edwards & Co.?”
“Yes, I did. I wasn’t much older than you are now, actually.”
“And then?” I asked.
“I barely made enough money to cover my rent the first few months, but then I caught a lucky break. A high-profile private school in Manhattan needed my help mitigating a disaster far worse than this.”
“Who was the client?”
“Hunter Morris.”
“Holy shit…”
Hunter Morris was one of Manhattan’s most well-regarded high schools, ranking alongside Dalton and Dwight as an academic destination for the children of the elite. Beneath the surface, however, lurked a terrible secret: systematic sexual abuse of children that happened for decades behind closed doors.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because at the time, Hunter Morris was a long-standing client at Edwards Public Relations. It was also one of my accounts. After I got fired, the news of the sex abuse broke. Hunter Morris stayed with Edwards for a bit, but eventually, they called me.”
“And Edwards didn’t try to sue you for violating a non-compete agreement?”
“Oh, they tried. But the case never went to court. I had too much dirt on them by that point. I worked with Hunter Morris to salvage their reputation, and the money allowed me to grow my business. The rest, they say, is history.”
“So, what now?”
“I just want you to be aware of what you’re getting into. Schools are a volatile combination. Thankfully, what happened at the Academy doesn’t involve drugs, alcohol and sodomy -- because that’s what I was up against at Hunter Morris.”
I remembered the case well. If even half of the things I’d read about what happened at the school were true, they deserved all the bad publicity they got. Students beaten, forcibly raped, some left with depression so severe they needed psychological care for years after graduation. And what had officials at the school done?
Little to nothing, of course. They paid off some of the accusers, let the teachers accused of such crimes retire in peace.
I never knew Kurt went up against that, and after being fired from the world’s largest independent PR firm at that.
“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” Kurt said. “But I need to warn you: If you go ahead with this, if you interject yourself into this mess, there’s a chance that the press could go digging into your past.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tell me, Jesse: If the whole world found out what Bobby did to you, how would you feel about that? Could you handle that?”
It wasn’t something I’d ever considered. To date, none of my close friends knew, let alone either of my parents.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I’d have to own up to everything that happened. The statute of limitations ran out years ago, but that doesn’t mean that…”
“What?”
“That doesn’t mean that Bobby is somehow excused for what he did. Not that I put up much of a fight.”
“Why don’t you sleep on this, just for tonight?” Kurt suggested. “I can always send someone else to handle this assignment.”
I shook my head. “I’ve thought about this enough, Kurt. I’m going back to the Academy. You’ve already done more than you had to. More than any reasonable boss should expect to do.”
And how lucky was I to have someone like Kurt in my life? I’d all but bared my soul to him in the course of an afternoon, and he was still here, willing and able to fight alongside me as I tried to keep my personal and professional lives from completely falling apart. He’d always been more than a boss, and after today, I was ready to consider him a friend.
Yet there was one last stone left unturned…
“Kurt?” I said. “There’s one last thing you should know.”
“What’s that?”
“When I said I was an escort, I wasn’t kidding.”
My confession failed to faze him. Perhaps he couldn’t process the idea of me selling sex, or didn’t believe that male escorts existed. It was a common fallacy, the idea that the only men that sold sex were runaway teens hard up for cash, or the occasional transvestite in Greenwich Village. I repeated myself, told him that: “I have sex for money and that’s my primary income.”