by Tara Oakes
I swallow hard and hand over the clinic invoice. “Tell me, do you always use your sexuality and charm to get your way?”
She smiles mischievously. “Every. Time.” She unfolds the paper while winking at me. “Wise choice.”
“Mr. Sean Yeates. His address, his birthdate, his insurance informat —“ She looks up, eyes full of shock at the information I’ve already read. I reach into my pocket and take my keys, passing her as she stands frozen.
“That’s right Princess. He works for your father. Now,” I slip my sunglasses on while walking to the car, “let’s get out of this hellhole and finally end this thing.”
~*~
“Yes, daddy. I’ll be in the office first thing tomorrow morning. We’ve figured the whole thing out. Yes, uhm, hmm. Ok. Yes, I’ll make sure. Ok. Have a good night.” Jess’s voice is tired, worn.
We’ve been up since the crack of dawn, taken one plane ride, several long car rides, impersonated campaign workers, and manipulated healthcare privacy laws to gain the information we’re now acting upon
“You remember what to say?” I ask her.
She nods before dialing the phone number from the clinic’s bill of service.
I kick out of my shoes, placing them neatly in my closet as she paces nervously waiting for an answer on the other end.
“Mr. Yeates? Sean?” She asks curiously into her cell phone.
I turn my back to her as I loosen and then untie my necktie, hanging it up on one of the little hooks that houses the other dozen or so of it’s kind.
“This is Jessica Leary, the Senator’s daughter. I’d like to thank you for your work on the preliminary polls that you’ve done for us.”
She’s silent as she listens to him. I unbutton my shirt and add the crumpled cotton to the pile that’s waiting to be taken to the cleaners. She begins to speak once more as I unthread my leather belt from the loops at my waist.
“I was hoping to use your polling skills for something, if you’re up for it.” That’s it, just as we practiced.
Some change jingles loose as I fold the pants I’ve just taken off over my arm. The sound startles her and she stutters once from it before collecting her composure and getting back on course. “G-great. I wanted to run a poll with a pretty large sample size. College kids. 18-24. I have an idea for a new platform on student loan debt for my dad to unveil during the last leg of the election to hopefully gain a boost among that demographic.”
She’s convincing. I’d believe her if I were him.
“Perfect. I was thinking we could meet tomorrow morning in my office to discuss the particulars?” I can tell she’s relieved that she’s almost done with the ruse of a phone call.
I watch her as I blindly step into a pair of lightweight sweatpants.
She nods to herself. “See you bright and early. Eight is good. Thanks Sean. Have a good night.”
Once the call is ended and her part is done, she exhales deeply.
I jump onto my bed and land on my side, propping myself up on my elbow. “How’d he sound?”
She plugs her phone charger into the wall near my bedside nightstand and attaches it to her cell. “Surprised. But, he recovered quickly, went with the flow.”
“Good. I’m sure he’s calling whoever he’s working with right this minute to let them know you called. I’ll have his phone records pulled tomorrow and we should be able to find out who that is.” I know I’ll have to pull a few strings to get that info without a warrant, but I’ve got a guy in the cyber espionage program who owes me a favor. He should be able to get it done for me without too many questions.
She’s barely listening to me.
“What’s wrong, Princess?”
Jess stretches her neck, rubbing the highest point of her shoulder. “Nothing. Just a long day.”
“Come here, I’ll give you a back massage,” I stretch out my hands dramatically as if I’m preparing for hard work, and move aside so she has plenty of room to sprawl out.
Her eyebrow shoots up curiously, judging my sincerity.
“You’re not just trying to molest me?” She’s only half-serious.
I laugh, crossing my finger in an “x” over my chest. “Not for at least ten minutes. Promise.”
She pulls her shirt overhead, and tosses it onto the nearby chest of drawers. “Don’t cheat me Gibson. I want at least a full ten-minute back rub before I even think you’re getting frisky.”
She crawls up onto my bed and collapses near me, stomach down, arms stretched out above her. I position myself, straddling her upper thighs. Quickly and efficiently, I undo the small hooks that bind her purple bra closed, and it springs open, exposing her back completely.
Clapping my hands together loudly, I quickly rub them back and forth, creating the friction that warms them.
The second my burning hands are placed on her delicate skin she hisses just barely loud enough for me to hear. I can feel the tension in her shoulders and back. Doing my best to loosen the tightness, I knead at the areas using just the right amount of pressure to work the cramped muscles free of their knots.
“Better baby?” I ask.
She purrs into the pillow she rests her head upon, moaning contentedly. “Getting there. I just need to clear my mind. I keep thinking about the lies Tasha was telling me.”
I wasn’t present during the conversation when Jess came clean about her true identity, or when the suspect was accused of sending the emails to Benny, but I’ve gotten a small breakdown of what happened through the details Jess has shared throughout the day.
“I mean, I get that she’s working for dad’s opponent. I get that she has different views and positions on things, but to flat out make baseless accusations about a man you’ve never even met is just irresponsible. Who does she thing she is?” I keep feel the tightness setting back in with each word, undoing the tiny bit of relief I’ve brought to her shoulders.
I can tell that Jess is getting worked up. ”And she called me boring! Well, she called me boring before she knew I was me, but it’s still the same thing. She insinuated that dad was dirty, that he’s made some secret pact with Donaldson, for neither of them to hit below the belt; otherwise they’d both reveal the shit they had on the other. Tasha actually mentioned one of our maid’s names in a way that paints dad out to be some kind of predator.”
Oh, shit.
Instinctively my fluid-like strokes and massaging stops, freezes, abruptly.
She’s ultra-sensitive about the topic and picks up on my slip. “What? Don’t tell me you believe her?”
I’m on thin ice. There’s no right way to answer that question. Either I lie to her and agree that there’s no way her saint of a father is capable of the things I know he actually is, or I tell her the truth and become the punching bag she takes out her anger on.
Neither of those options is exceptionally appealing to me, so I take the hidden third door. I try to stay neutral.
“It doesn’t matter what I think, Princess.” I rekindle the massage, eager to distract her. “It only matters what you think, and in this case I guess what the voters think, right? Didn’t you tell me once that a good politician is a magician, an illusionist? Because what he makes his constituents see is rarely real?”
She exhales deep, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m not talking about a shaky resume or a flip-flop stance on an issue. I’m talking about his character, his morals. My parents may not be as happily married as most couples, or even share the same roof most of the time, but dad wouldn’t get his rocks off behind her back. Especially with someone who’s practically a teenager.”
Once again, I choose my words carefully.
“There. You know everything you need to know, then. It’s not an issue.” If only I’m so lucky, but I feel the escalation, the direction she’s headed.
Jess pushes my hands off, sitting up. “You don’t sound too convincing, Chris. Tell me you don’t believe this garbage.”
Here we go.
I sit back on m
y heels and rest my hands on my thighs, reminding myself this is, in fact, a very serious moment for her. So, despite the fact that her tits are standing on full alert begging to be sucked on, I’ve got to keep it in check. I keep my eyes on hers and make sure they don’t drop to her chest.
“You know I’ve got my own shit with your dad, Princess. Don’t make me answer that question. There’s no way I can be unbiased about it.” I’m deathly serious.
The first thing they teach us at the Bureau, is whenever you can avoid a lie, you should. There are too many uncontrollable factors; a twitch of the eye, a bite of a lip, a sideway glance, a change in breathing, that can tip someone off. Sure, you can try like hell to keep from doing any of those things, but they’re subconscious reactions, instinctual body movements.
It’s never guaranteed that you’ll be 100% successful at hiding them unless you’re the small part of the population that’s a sociopath. Then, all bets are off and good luck trying to tell what’s the truth and what’s not.
This is why it’s best to rephrase questions, or answer just the portion that you can without being deceptive.
She moves her head, angling her chin defensively. “You think my dad’s a pervert.”
“I never actually said that, and you’re putting words in my mouth.” I use the tactics I’ve been trained in. 1. Technically, I didn’t say it. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t say it, it just means that I didn’t. 2. Because I didn’t say it, and she’s phrasing it as if I did, she’s therefore making something up and she’s the one acting deceptively. The best thing to do in this case is to put her on the defense, to put her actions or words up for scrutiny, to discredit them.
“Well what are you saying, then? Do you think my dad’s a creep, a borderline rapist, or not?” She crosses her arms defiantly. She’s intentionally backing me into a corner.
I know this is an argument I’ll never win, because regardless of how she feels about me, her loyalty is with her dad, even though the pig doesn’t deserve it, and it’s making me furious.
I jump off the bed, running my hand through my short hair. “What do you want me to say? Just tell me what you want to hear and I’ll say it, Jess. No matter what happened while we were dating, or what’s happening now, I never made one accusation against your dad, I never said shit other than I don’t like the man. It was never good enough for you. No matter how hard I tried to keep the two things separate for everyone’s sake, you’re determined to mix them up.”
“What do you mean no matter what happened when we were dating?” She’s raising her voice.
I can see it in her eyes; she’s not going to let this go. She’s out for retaliation against her dad’s honor being questioned and she wants her pound of flesh. Even if it’s mine.
“I’m begging you not to do this, Princess, not to make me say it. Because once I do, it’s out there. I can’t take it back. We’re finally in a good place, you and me. If you really want to fuck it all up, then by all means keep going with this. I know how much your dad means to you. I never want to hurt you and I won’t do it willingly, not if I have a choice about it.”
Her face changes. All traces of emotion are gone. It’s hardened, just like I’ve seen her when she would give a speech or a press conference on TV. She’s no longer Jess, the girl I fell in love with the first time she told me to go fuck myself. She’s the senator’s daughter right now.
Hell, maybe I was just kidding myself that she was actually capable of being both things. Maybe it’s all wrapped together tightly and there’s no way to untangle them.
“Tell. Me.” Her voice is cold, devoid of all feeling.
I stare at her for a moment. There’s no coming back from this, regardless of what I tell her. She’s made her choice. Hell, if she’s so eager to know what type of sick son of a bitch her father is, then fine. Why don’t I just give the lady what she wants?
“You want me to tell you that I know about your dad and the maid? Fine. I’ll tell you that. I’ll tell that not only did I see it first hand while she was trying to swallow him whole, but everyone at the Bureau knows he was fucking the help in exchange for securing her green card. He personally vouched for her. It’s probably just one or two pages in the file we have on your dad, Princess. How about the sexual harassment claims that he bought off with hush money over the years to make go away? Or the paternity suits that would miraculously disappear?”
I swallow.
“Then there was the time he hired a P.I. to follow your mother when she was shopping around for a divorce lawyer, because she was finally fed up with his whoring around. He made sure no lawyer on the entire east coast would touch her case if she filed one. He threatened to expose her as an alcoholic gold-digger if she ever left him, who wouldn’t get a penny because he’d promptly hidden all of his assets in other names.”
She doesn’t speak. She only listens.
“And why do you think I’m here, Jess? I told you all you’d have to do was call me if you ever needed me and I meant it. But, did you ever stop to think why I’m here officially through the Bureau? And not just on my own? Did you really think the Bureau would get involved in something so petty as a stripper picture?”
For the first time since I started telling the long list of hidden truths, I finally see something in her eyes. A quick flash, and I can tell she’s seeing this new angle for the first time.
“It’s because your dad has a habit of holding out his hand for money in exchange for favors, Jess. He can be bought. If someone was setting him up to be in their debt, it could only mean that whatever they needed from him is something much bigger than the services he usually grants for a fee. That’s dangerous. That’s why the Bureau is going to make sure it never happens. That’s why they sent me.”
I wait for anything. A word, an object thrown, a tear ... anything, for what seems like an eternity.
“I see,” her voice is eerily calm. She finally moves to retrieve her clothes, and collects them into pile in her arms as she wriggles her feet into her shoes, refusing to look at me. “Thank you for telling me the truth.”
She walks past me and I reach for her arm.
“Don’t!” She rips her arms away as if I’ve just burned her. I freeze, feeling every single hair on my neck, on my arms, stand, never having been reproached by her in such a way.
“Don’t,” she whispers, before leaving the room.
I stand in shock. What the hell did I just do? It’s not long before I hear the front door to my apartment close behind her as she leaves.
I try to think, I try to move, to do anything, but I can’t. All I hear is her last word over and over in my head.
Don’t.
It’s too late.
I did.
CHAPTER NINE
JESS
I’m so stupid, so foolish.
I’ll never learn.
No matter what we try, how good it feels, nothing ever comes from being with Chris Gibson other than a broken heart.
There’s a very dim light coming from deep inside the house, from down the hall past the kitchen where dad’s office is. I now his schedule, his itinerary, and he must have just gotten home minutes before me.
I don’t know why he doesn’t just stay in a hotel, make it easier for himself rather than trekking home this late at night.
Even though he must be awake, probably pouring over his notes from his speech, I’m quiet, tiptoeing through the house not to disturb him. He’s not expecting me, at least ‘till tomorrow at the office, so I head directly to my bedroom.
I’m not in any condition to interact with people right now, anyway. I don’t know whether to laugh hysterically at the way things have turned out, at how gullable and naïve I was in thinking that I had changed, that Chris had changed, or to cry maniacally because I once again feel the pain that took me so long to get over the last time.
I feel that pain tearing, ripping at my invisible insides, the ones that I have no proof actually exist; my soul, my spirit, my confi
dence. God, help me, I can’t go through this again.
The sleepless nights, the loss of appetite, the constant “what ifs” and dreams of what will never be.
My body hurts, aches, with stiff muscles and soreness as the physical ramifications of my broken heart set in. My bed calls to me, even though I know it won’t offer me any relief.
There’s no the energy to wash the tear-stained makeup from my face, and I barely muster what’s needed to peel off the travel-worn clothes from my body before tossing them into the wooden laundry bin.
I turn off the bedside lamp and climb into bed, hugging my legs up and holding my knees tight as I let loose the tears I’ve been holding back since coming home. They come fast and hard and leave me gulping for air through my sobs as I rock back and forth.
I wonder what’s worse, listening to him attack my father, saying all those terrible things that must be lies, or the fact that he’s been harboring all those thoughts and resentments all this time?
How could he possibly love me if he thinks I’m so stupid that I’d believe all those terrible things? What am I saying? He doesn’t love me. He doesn’t respect me. I’m just an “in,” a part of his investigation, to get closer to my dad, closer to his real mark.
Well you know what?
Fuck him! Fuck the Bureau! Fuck his stupid little theories, and FUCK THIS! He doesn’t deserve me moping over him, of me giving him another thought.
I wipe at my hot tears with the sleeve of my nightshirt, and sniffle back the next set of tears. I’m done. I’m finished mourning over what never even was.
Then why won’t the tears stop?
Why won’t the hundred pound weight pressing on my chest let up?
Damn my body for not obeying my thoughts.
I breathe in as deeply as I can although my lungs are weak, and once again will myself unsuccessfully to end the weeping.