Mr. Nice Guy

by Jennifer Miller

  Some of the women had discarded their heels. Gratefully, Sofia slipped off her shoes and slid her stocking feet along the velveteen carpet. Spragg, upon seeing them, bounded over. “Welcome!” He’d undergone a rapid transformation. The earlier gloom had lifted and now everything was wonderful. “Welcome to the Extraordinary Society!” he exclaimed, and began to point out the luminaries: the CEO of a cosmetics company, an award-winning physicist, a poet who had recently been published in the New Yorker. In the far corner the drummer for a quickly rising indie band chatted with the winner of a popular reality show and the producer of a late-night comedy program. There was even a woman Nicholas described as a “former princess,” which filled Lucas with questions. “Former” sounded far more interesting than “princess.” But he dared not ask. He sensed that the glittering monument Nicholas had constructed inside this hotel suite could not withstand even the mildest of wind gusts.

  “I’m flattered that you think I’m extraordinary,” Lucas said.

  Nicholas squeezed Lucas’s arm, but he was looking at Sofia. “Now I have to prepare for the big event. Please, drink something!”

  As they headed toward the bar, Lucas spotted Katie, the socialite from the love hotel. She was sitting on a window seat across the room, leaning seductively toward a man in a velvet tuxedo. He’d never gotten a full answer to what had really happened that night. “You seemed to be having a delightful time,” was all Nicholas would offer when Lucas had asked a few weeks later. And now Lucas felt slightly excited, but mostly terrified, to be in the same room with a beautiful woman he had (probably?) recently slept with and the beautiful woman with whom he was (definitely) currently sleeping. Would he have to introduce Katie and Sofia to each other? What would happen if he did? But these questions resolved themselves; the second he caught Katie’s eye, she looked away as though she didn’t know him.

  Sofia tapped Lucas on the shoulder. “Isn’t that Jay Jacobson?” she asked.

  Sure enough, Jays strode through the door, surveying the party as though he were its host. Whatever doubts Lucas held about the authenticity of Nicholas’s “Extraordinary Society” now dissolved. If Jays had come, it meant that people must be starting to recognize Nicholas as a maker of taste, or at least a respectable and credible social linchpin. Maybe the circle of naysayers from earlier were simply bitter for not being invited in.

  Sofia was staring at the Editor. Ogling, really. It annoyed Lucas, but he couldn’t blame her. Jays was a strapping specimen. And he walked right over to them as though no one else at the party existed.

  “Of course you’d be here,” Jays said, shaking Lucas’s hand. “On the job at all hours. And who have we here?”

  “This is Sofia, my girlfriend.” This wasn’t the first time that Lucas had introduced Sofia as his girlfriend—it was part of his cover after all. And yet this time, the words caught in his throat.

  “Hello,” she said happily. She was so easy. So much easier than Lucas could ever be. “It’s lovely to meet you.” She reached out her hand.

  Jays glanced at Lucas, clearly impressed.

  “Young love,” Jays said, observing Lucas’s nervous smile.

  “You’re not making fun of us, I hope?” Sofia said, raising a fulsome eyebrow.

  “Certainly not!” Jays put his hand over his heart. “In fact, I think we should make a toast. To you,” Jays said, glancing at Lucas, “and you,” lingering longer on Sofia, “and maybe to me as well, but not the rest of these self-important assholes in here.”

  Sofia laughed, basking in Jays’ smile. “To us,” she said, and tapped her glass against Jays’. Lucas brought his own glass up quickly, feeling like the moment had somehow, nearly, passed him by.

  But a new moment was tumbling forward. “Ladies and gentlemen!” Nicholas threw open the French doors between the living room and bedroom and stepped through them like the master of ceremonies at a three-ring circus. He had exchanged his black tux for a white one with tails. “I have invited you to celebrate with me, because you are all extraordinary people. Each and every one of you is outstanding in your intelligence, your creativity, your style, your wit. It is my great honor to share this extraordinary evening with you. Please, raise a glass of Moët and Chandon Bi Centenary Cuvée Dry Imperial—1943!”

  “This champagne is seventy years old?” Sofia whispered, lifting two glasses from a passing server and handing one to Lucas. “Are you sure it’s safe?” Her eyes seemed to laugh and Lucas felt a powerful urge to kiss her, right there, in front of everyone, including Jays. Especially Jays. He even leaned his head forward, but Sofia raised her glass, almost preemptively, and took a long sip. Lucas felt a hard knot clench in his stomach, but he didn’t have time to poke at it because now three cigarette girls were wheeling in a gigantic cake. It was the size of a small table, three tiered and frosted with ribbons and flowers, sparklers blazing all around. “Do you think there’s a stripper in there?” Sofia asked. “I don’t know whether I’d be horrified or delighted.”

  Lucas felt the same way. It was over-the-top but thrilling in its ostentatiousness. He felt, as he watched the cigarette girls roll the cumbersome, glorious cake to the center of the room, that he was seeing the opening of his story unfold before his very eyes.

  “In celebration of my twenty-fifth birthday, I wanted to give something back to all of you,” Nicholas said. “To show my immense gratitude. To make this evening truly Capital.”

  A man with a snare drum appeared and produced a drum roll. Lucas wondered whether he should prepare to shield Sofia from an explosion. The sparklers were burning down.

  And then—

  BOOM!

  The air was a blizzard of confetti. But something else—something heavier and wider—had been launched into the atmosphere. The room filled with a familiar inky smell. Sofia reached out and plucked an object from the air: A one-hundred-dollar bill. All around them, money. Cash. Twenties, fifties, and hundreds, crisp and pristine. Lucas and the other guests stood transfixed amidst a blizzard of green and white. Then the reality of the thing registered. A mountain of money had just erupted in the room. Money for all. Money for nothing. Money for the taking.

  And then, chaos.

  Lucas was pushed and jostled by the stampeding partygoers behind him. These people had money. These people did not need money. And yet. He and Sofia finally edged their way to safety behind the raw bar—the bartender having abandoned his post to join the mêlée. From here they could observe the incredible scene—these tastemakers and executives and even a possible (former?) princess stuffing cash into their pockets and purses. Sofia began to take pictures. Lucas caught the eye of a cigarette girl, surreptitiously stuffing money into her bustier. All the while, Nicholas cheered them on. He seemed almost manic, watching his well-heeled guests crawling on the floor, reaching under chairs and rooting between cushions.

  Lucas saw that not everyone had been consumed by the insanity. Jays stood against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. He caught Lucas’s eye and shook his head. Lucas felt the flush of recognition, of camaraderie, though in truth Lucas had been hoping to find a couple of bills that had just happened to land in his vicinity. Bills he could swiftly tuck away. Unlike most of these people, he actually needed an infusion. He was barely making his loan payments. (Tyler, having caught wind of the situation, was now overstocking their fridge.) But in the company of Jays, Lucas was forced to stand idly by.

  After every bill had been collected and the cake was rolled away, the party resumed. But everything felt different. There was a palpable awkwardness, like waking up after a one-night stand and thinking: Now I have to live with this thing. People seemed eager to flee, to forget how they’d come by the cash in their pockets, to mix it with less shameful dollars. But they knew it was rude to go this soon. And so the party dragged on, crankily, until finally guests began sneaking out. Sofia said she was tired. “Of course,” Lucas said. “Let me just say good-bye to Nicholas.” But she assured him that he should stay. “I
don’t want to be a drag,” she said. “It’s still early.”

  “Oh, but I don’t mind,” he said softly, and interlaced his fingers through her own. “I’ve been wanting to take you home from the moment I saw you. No lesson,” he said. “Just fun.”

  Sofia frowned. “But I really am tired,” she said.

  “Oh. OK. But things really are winding down. Let me just say good night to Nicholas and we’ll head out.”

  Sofia seemed like she was about to object, but Lucas turned from her before she had the chance. He felt an uncomfortable vibrating sensation along the top of his scalp, a kind of buzzing. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she really was tired.

  Someone had seen Nicholas go into the bedroom, so Lucas went in. It was empty, so he followed a short hallway toward a dressing room. As he neared the door, he heard talking. The voices were slightly agitated. Rounding the corner, he nearly crashed into Jays, who was hurrying toward him.

  “Lucas,” the Editor said, stopping short. “You’re looking for Nicholas?”

  “Yes, is he…?”

  Jays nodded. “In the back.” He leaned forward a little too close. His face was flushed, his breath sharp with scotch. “You’re making progress with the profile, Luke?”

  “Terrific progress.”

  “Good, good. Just keep observing, taking notes, digging in. That’s what makes a story come alive.” His eyes shone. “Spare no detail, my friend.”

  “Not a thing. I promise,” said Lucas. Then he opened the dressing room door.

  “I told you I didn’t want—” Nicholas said sharply as he sat up and wiped his nose.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Nonsense. Luke, come in! I thought you were someone else. Would you like some?” He indicated the paraphernalia and white powder on the counter.

  Lucas shook his head.

  “I suppose I should ask you not to put this in the story. And while we’re on the subject—the love hotel? It goes without saying that’s off-the-record, too.” He flashed an ingratiating smile.

  “Oh yeah, sure,” Lucas said.

  “It’s not really a habit or anything,” Spragg continued.

  “Of course not,” Lucas replied, but now that Spragg had brought up the love hotel, Lucas was needled by how Katie had ignored him earlier. He shouldn’t say anything, but the question was like an itch, and he had to scratch it. “So … I saw Katie earlier.”

  “Who?” Spragg squinted as though Lucas was out of focus.

  “Katie, the socialite from the love hotel. She kind of blatantly ignored me.”

  “Well, she’s probably with a client,” Nicholas said. “Professional courtesy.”

  “What do you mean?” Lucas said. But he knew, in that moment, exactly what it meant. He felt dumbstruck, unable to speak. He watched Nicholas do another line. He no longer felt like saying good night or thanking Nicholas for his hospitality. But he forced himself to do it.

  “Impossible,” said Nicholas. “The night is young.”

  “Sofia’s tired.”

  “I hoped she’d stay.” Nicholas sounded like he was blaming Lucas for her departure. “She’s an extraordinary woman. Beautiful. Intelligent. Kind. Are you smitten?”

  Lucas wouldn’t have thought to use such a flowery word, but it was dead accurate. His heart swelled.

  “You are!” Nicholas exclaimed. “You’re positively full of her.”

  “Well, I—” Lucas was growing embarrassed.

  “No, you are. It’s apparent. Though honestly, I don’t know how you managed to persuade her.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Well, the other men here tonight, men like Jay Jacobson, they have that innate confidence and charm. Men like us…”

  “Men like us?” All this time, Nicholas hadn’t been looking up to Lucas; he’d seen something of himself reflected in Lucas.

  “You’re not offended, are you?” Spragg said. He looked genuinely concerned, as though the possibility of offense had only just occurred to him. As though he hadn’t just admitted to lying about Katie and Corinne. Though had he lied about them? Or was Lucas just exceptionally stupid? It should have been obvious all along. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” Nicholas asked.

  No. But that was the wrong answer. That answer meant his magazine profile would be finished. “Yes,” Lucas said.

  “I hoped so!”

  Lucas was almost frantic to be gone from this place, from Nicholas. He yearned for his small, shabby apartment. For the real world. “I’ll see you Monday for our interview,” he said.

  “Of course,” Nicholas replied. “I wouldn’t miss it.” He turned back to the vanity and began preparing another line.

  When Lucas returned to the party he couldn’t find Sofia anywhere. By now, the room held only a smattering of people, drunkenly sprawled on the couches and propped up against walls. The oyster bar was being packed up. The whiskeys and champagne looked pillaged, like the bar at a college frat. Lucas’s phone buzzed in his pocket. “Looked for you and couldn’t find you,” she texted. “In a cab home, headache. Thanks for a fun night.”

  “I hope you feel better!” he typed, hoping to seem upbeat and nonchalant. “Will call you tomorrow.”

  He waited a moment for her response. None came.

  A caterer wheeled away the oyster bar, and Lucas spotted a twenty-dollar bill that must have fluttered underneath. He hurried over and grabbed it.

  CHAPTER 25

  The next morning Lucas woke up alone. He wasn’t hungover, but the evening had left him feeling heavy and dull. It wasn’t just because of the revelation that he’d slept with a prostitute. Or Nicholas’s insults. Or even the grossness of the money cake. It was Sofia: They’d been so happy, drinking and dancing. And then it had all turned sour, because he couldn’t leave a good thing alone. He needed to hear from her, to know that they were all right, that something vital had not been ruined. But when he looked at his inbox, a whole other mess was there waiting for him.

  It was from that architect who not-so-subtly mocked Nicholas Spragg last night. Subject line: “Between us.”

  “I don’t know what kind of story you’re doing about Nicholas,” the guy wrote, “but if you’re interested in more than pandering fluff, I’d suggest looking into Spragg’s college career. My best friend’s sister says he sexually assaulted a girl and then paid her to keep quiet.”

  Lucas sat with that for a second. Shit.

  After the way last night ended, he wasn’t sure what to think of Nicholas. The guy was much seedier than he’d thought. And weirder. And creepier! But a rapist? That seemed hard to—

  Lucas stopped himself. This is how rapists get away with it, he thought. Nobody’s willing to believe that the guy they know is a rapist. And yet why would Nicholas rape someone when he clearly had no hang-ups about just paying someone for sex? Wouldn’t that just be—

  Lucas stopped himself. He was doing it again. He couldn’t just excuse this information away. Even if it came from the sister of a friend of a guy whom Lucas had met for thirty seconds at a party—which seemed like a pretty weak link, to be honest, especially considering that said guy had shown up to eat Spragg’s food and drink his booze but hadn’t exactly shouted “rapist!” while doing it. In which case, maybe this architect dude was just sour that he didn’t get invited into the after party and—

  He had to stop making excuses. He sat up in bed and looked out the window at the windy street below. He was the one person who’d given Nicholas the benefit of the doubt, despite all the kid’s posturing and fabrications. No more. He had to take this seriously—as a man, certainly, but also as a journalist. He was going to follow up on the accusation. Jays himself had ordered Lucas to spare no detail. And if the rumor was true and Lucas missed it and he ended up writing a puff piece about a man who turned out to be a rapist, his career would be over before it even began.

  * * *

  Jays asked no questions when Lucas approached him on Monday and asked to take a last-minut
e trip to Wisconsin. “Whatever you need,” the Editor said. “I’m sure what you’re chasing is important.”

  The next day, Lucas landed in Milwaukee. The minute the plane touched down, Lucas checked his phone. Nothing from Sofia. He’d sent a casual text the day before asking if she wanted to have dinner, and she hadn’t responded until well past dinnertime, thanking him for the invitation. He’d heard nothing from her since. There was that vibrating sensation in the top of his head again. He wondered if he had a brain tumor, if something was seriously wrong with him. But the feeling was not omnipresent. In fact, it seemed to strike mainly when he checked his phone and found his inbox empty.

  Lucas picked up his rental car and began the hour-long drive to Nicholas’s college. Icy snowdrifts pocked the median, and the cars around him were so dirty, they seemed to have all driven through mud pits. He’d promised himself not to check his phone until he reached his destination, but over bad pizza at a highway rest stop he couldn’t help himself. As he already knew, she hadn’t written. Maybe Sofia was just busy. Or grappling with her own intense feelings for him. Or maybe it was nothing at all. He pulled back onto the highway.

  The architect’s best friend’s sister told Lucas that Nicholas Spragg had allegedly assaulted a girl named Sara Porter three years ago on the eve of his graduation. Porter was now a senior, but her online footprint contained just a single photograph on her sorority website. She was cute: petite, brown haired, button nose, nice smile. Over the phone, the sorority president said Sara Porter had quit two years earlier. Lucas asked if he could meet with any of her old friends. The president hesitated, then said one of the sorority’s university-mandated career talks had just fallen through. If he’d fill the slot, she’d try to help him.

  * * *

  At Kappa Alpha Theta a young woman in flannel pajamas, a sorority sweatshirt, and clotted mascara opened the door. Lucas stepped inside, plunging into a sea of femininity. Upwards of fifty young women sprawled about in the house’s spacious living room. They sat on couches, on overstuffed chairs, on the floor, most of them dressed in KAT paraphernalia. Standing there, Lucas recalled those many nights he’d visited Mel at her sorority house, grabbing her hand as she hurried him up to her tiny third-floor bedroom. Once safely tucked away, they would hook up to the same Sarah McLachlan playlist.