“No one is listening,” he told her. “I just need you to confirm it.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, finally finding her voice. “And no idea who you’re dealing with.”
“I can help you Marissa,” he said leaning closer to her. “I’m an attorney. I can protect you.”
“No you can’t,” she said, frowning. She stared at the table twisting her fingers.
“Don’t you think you owe it to London,” he said, using the last card he had. London had found Clayton and Marissa doing…something. Michael had never been informed of the details. But it wasn’t long after Clayton had dumped London, and it was enough to upset her. Enough to encourage her to indulge in a rebound….
He emptied his head of those thoughts as he watched Marissa’s reaction.
Her eyes shot up at him, a mixture of contempt and guilt. “Is that what this is about? Is she trying to ruin me because of Clayton?”
“She’s not trying to ruin you,” he said, his voice getting more stern. “We’re both trying to help you. Do you really want to work for a man who pulls this kind of shit? A man who targets women like you?”
“Well, it must be really easy for you,” she said, giving him a sardonic smirk. “You have your money to fall back on. I guess London does now too. She rebounds well.”
Now he was angry. “Is this really how you want to go down? Helping a man who victimizes women, who uses his political muscle to turn them into cowards when it’s time to stand up and do the right thing?”
Now she was the one who was angry. “This is all I have!” she spat, no longer caring if the people nearby heard her. “Tell London, I’m sorry, I truly am, but I can’t throw my life away for her.”
With that she got up and walked away, too quickly for Michael’s arm that instinctively reached out to grab her.
He sat back in the booth and watched his Plan A walk out the door, more resolute than ever to keep quiet.
Shit.
Chapter 13
“…and a large pitcher of margarita.” Brooklyn finished, looking over at Alex. “Frankly, I think we could both use it.”
Alex laughed and nodded. “I couldn’t agree more.”
They were at Maria Selma’s, a tiny, little hole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant on the Lower East side, that was one of Brooklyn’s favorites.
“Especially since I’m about to lose my job,” Brooklyn said.
“That bad, huh?” he sympathized.
“Actually, I just feel a bit guilty,” Brooklyn confessed. “I mean, my boss knows I’m bullshitting him every time I skip out at the last minute with the sniffles or ‘woman’s issues.’” she said, smiling as she placed air quotes around the last phrase. “I just hope it’s all worth it. I’m putting all my faith into this damn gallery…and I can’t even stand the owner!”
“Is it too late to change?” he offered.
“And go where?” she laughed. “To the hundreds of other galleries that are beating down my door to represent me?”
Brooklyn shook her head with a smile. “It’s fine really. I’m bitching about a problem millions of artists would love to have.
“But let’s change the topic,” she said, shaking her body as if to rid herself of all thoughts of the gallery. “If I think about Jared any more tonight I’m going to get a headache.”
Alex poured some margarita into her glass when the waitress finally brought it to their table. “I think this is in order.”
She smiled and lifted it in a slight toast. “Okay, so no talk about the gallery and definitely no talk about Ménage.”
Alex lifted his own glass to meet hers. “I’ll drink to that,” he laughed.
“Speaking of ménages, what’s up with your father?” she laughed.
Alex groaned and threw his head back with mock despair. “Yet, another topic I have no interest in discussing. He’s already eliminated about 10 things I can never do sexually thanks to the photos I had the misfortune of seeing.”
“So this means I never get to wear leather?” she pouted.
He brought his head back down and looked at her through one eye, picturing her in a leather corset.
“Or let you spank me,” she mused off into the distance. “No handcuffs or—”
“Okay, okay,” he laughed. “Maybe not everything has to go…in fact, the more you talk the more I feel like getting kinky.”
“Maybe we can get some tips from your fa—
“And now you’ve gone and ruined my hard-on.”
She laughed. “Okay, so Richard Wright is off the table as well.”
“Hear, hear,” Alex said, lifting his glass in salute.
Brooklyn raised hers to his and drank enjoying the buzz of tequila. She wriggled her shoulders, leaning in closer to Alex, the margarita already starting to take effect. “So tell me about your next gig.”
“Actually, it involves another old friend of mine”—he caught her look and quickly clarified—”a male friend, who opened this surf shop down in Costa Rica. He wants to expand into a sort of restaurant and bar as well.”
“Costa Rica!” Brooklyn exclaimed. “Wow, you’re so lucky you get to travel the world like this.”
Alex smiled. “Well, it started out by design. You know my dad?” he said raising a wry eyebrow.
Brooklyn chuckled. “Doesn’t everyone in this city?”
“Exactly,” Alex laughed. “It was a…complicated relationship growing up. It made sense that I’d escape as soon and as often as I could.”
“I know all about dad issues,” she said taking a sip of her margarita. Then she set the glass down and gave him a speculative look. “Have you ever tried talking with him?”
“If you knew my dad you’d know that he’s not really a “listener” type of guy,” he laughed. “But enough about him. I don’t want to ruin this night.”
She laughed and leaned in closer. “So what are we going to talk about then?” she asked with a smile.
He leaned in closer to her. “How about how I’m going to make it up to you tonight for this stupid tabloid shit,” he said suggestively.
“Oh yeah?” she asked raising an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“Well first—”
“Anything else I can get you two?” the waitress said, interrupting at the worst possible moment.
They both laughed and pulled back in their chairs.
“How about the check?” Alex said.
* * *
They were in a taxi back to his apartment to make good on the unspoken promises Alex had hinted at before they were so rudely interrupted. That’s when Brooklyn got the Direct Message on Twitter. Her Twitter handle was basically her name in full, complete with an actual photo of her, so it wouldn’t have taken a genius to figure out which Brooklyn Jefferson she was.
She gasped when she opened the message and saw the photo attached.
It was a picture of an “anonymous” naked male from the pubic area to mid-thigh. Of course, it wasn’t completely anonymous since, through the mass of black pubic hair, the words Hello Ladies! could clearly be seen. Brooklyn was also more than familiar enough with Alex’s rather impressive goods to know exactly who she was looking at. She read the message attached:
Had a blast with Alex and this big, bad boy right here. Ur one lucky gal!
“What the fuck?” she muttered, trying to comprehend what she was reading.
Alex turned a questioning look in her direction. “What is it, babe?”
She ignored him as she looked to see who it was from. @trinarobbinsXOXO
Just in case, she double checked the page for the owner of the handle. “Official twitter account for actress Trina Robbins. Love ya!!!” That, combined with the six-figure following she had, gave Brooklyn all the information she needed to know that this was indeed the same Trina Robbins that Alex proclaimed he didn’t even know before Ménage.
She showed him the photo and the message attached, which caused him to produce the same utter
ance, though his had a few more decibels attached to it.
“What the fuck?” he exclaimed. “I have no idea what’s going on with that but—”
“But what?” Brooklyn shot back. “How the hell would she even have a photo like this? And why would she even say something like that?”
“I—I have no fucking clue, Brooklyn,” he said, running a hand through his thick hair.
The taxi driver all of a sudden picked up on the raised voices in back and shot an eye toward them in the rear view mirror, worried that his fare was about to get a bit too rowdy.
Both of them ignored him as they addressed this latest little update from Alex’s adventures in Los Angeles.
“‘Had a blast?’ I’m ‘lucky?’ How exactly would she know something like that unless—”
“Jesus Brooklyn, I don’t know!” he yelled.
For a moment, Brooklyn almost believed him. She faltered a bit, until she looked down and saw the photo, then that stupid message. She could maybe see his old “friend” pulling something like this. She had a vague idea who Brianna was, some “It” girl who got by in life on her looks and nothing else.
But he supposedly “didn’t even know” Trina before this bullshit. Besides, she was an actress; not the greatest actress, but she had a career all the same. More importantly, she was known to be involved with Troy Higgins. Those three things didn’t really add up for a motive to make something like this up. So why send it?
Which was exactly the question she posed to Alex.
“I have no fucking clue!” he said. “I don’t even know her. Why would I let her take a picture of my dick?”
“Hey now, hey now!” the taxi driver said, chiming in with his heavy Pakistani accent. “I do not want any trouble tonight.”
“That’s fine,” Brooklyn said, picking up on his cue. “You can let me off right here.”
The driver was more than happy to start pulling the taxi over.
“No, wait!” Alex shouted. “Brooklyn, there’s an explanation for this, I swear.”
“Like what, Alex?” she asked, her voice full of sarcasm. “She drugged you then snapped this photo? Someone hacked into her account just to pull a stupid stunt like this of all things?”
Now that the taxi had come to a stop, she tugged on the door handle. She was seated nearest the door facing the street so she had to wait until the cars passed before opening it. It gave her a chance to get it all out.
“You know, I gave you the benefit of the doubt when this shit first came down. I trusted you. Completely. Even when everyone else had their doubts, I knew you and how you felt about me.
“I should have known,” she said, shaking her head, mostly to avoid the angry tears that were coming to her eyes. “I guess you never really changed your ways did you?”
“What the hell happened to ‘ride or die?,” he shot back.
“Why don’t you go ride Trina Robbins?” she spat. “Oh wait, it looks like you already have!”
With that she threw open the car door, not caring whether cars were coming and stepped out.
Alex rushed to follow her as she stormed around the car and quickly down the sidewalk. He was halted by the protests of the taxi driver who informed him that he had yet to pay the fare.
He reached into his back pocket to grab his wallet as he helplessly watched Brooklyn rush around a corner and disappear. He pulled out a $100 bill and threw it at the driver, not caring that the tip was probably five times as much as the fare itself.
He grabbed the door threw it open.
“Your change, sir!”
“Keep it!” he shouted running off in the direction of where Brooklyn went.
As he turned the corner he saw her escape down into a subway stairwell. He took the stairs two at a time to catch up with her. By the time he made it to the entrance, she was already swiping her MetroCard.
“Brooklyn, wait!” he shouted.
Heads turned to see the latest New York moment unfold.
“Go to hell, Alex,” she shouted back, not bothering to turn around and look at him.
Alex didn’t have a MetroCard, relying solely on taxis when he was in town, and he briefly thought about just jumping the turnstiles until he saw the two uniformed cops idling nearby. The outburst between Brooklyn and him had obviously earned their attention and they watched him with interest that would no doubt turn to something more if he took that step.
He cursed to himself as he thought about taking the time to get a card and catch up with her on the platform. That plan was quickly eliminated as he heard the train make its way into the station, obviously going the direction Brooklyn was headed, back to her apartment.
Instead he decided on another route.
* * *
Alex pressed the buzzer for the fifth time.
Finally someone answered…and it wasn’t Brooklyn.
“Listen, we know it’s you Alex.” It was Annie, Brooklyn’s roommate. He vaguely remembered her as one of her more sympathetic friends in his favor.
“Annie?” he pleaded, hoping the remembrance of her name might earn him some points. “Can you tell her to just let me come up and talk?”
There was silence on the other end as he waited with frustration. It didn’t help that his mind was completely divided between resolving this issue with Brooklyn, and figuring out what the fuck was up with that DM on Twitter.
Finally Annie came back to the intercom. “She doesn’t want to see you, Alex,” she said with finality.
“Won’t she at least give me a chance to explain?” he said, though he honestly didn’t know himself how to explain it.
How the fuck had Trina even gotten that photo?
He knew it wasn’t from their night at Ménage. He was completely sober the whole night, even if his companions weren’t.
Just because she had the photo didn’t mean she had taken it. Maybe she had gotten it from….
That’s when it hit him. Brianna Fucking Nolton.
Back in the days when he would have done something stupid like get Hello Ladies! tattooed above his dick, was exactly the time he would have done something stupid like let his “friends” take photos of said dick just for shits and giggles.
Once again his past had come to bite him in the ass.
Although he still couldn’t figure out why Brianna would have given Trina a photo like that, and more importantly, why Trina would have sent such a message, he at least had part of the puzzle figured out.
Now he just needed to let Brooklyn know. He pressed the buzzer again.
Annie came back with an exasperated sigh. “Listen, Alex. She’s just not up for it tonight.” There was a pause before she came back on in a quieter voice. “Just give it some time, okay?”
It was the best he could hope for. In the meantime, he’d work on putting this puzzle completely together…starting with Point A: Trina Robbins.
Chapter 14
They were at her apartment that night. London was curled up against Michael’s firm side, clinging to him like the rock that he was in the turbulent river that was her life right now.
The TV was on—something, anything, other than the news— but the sound was low, background noise as Michael brainstormed in his head while comforting London.
“They were outside the firm again today,” she said. “It’s been almost a week! Why won’t they give this up?”
“Unfortunately it’s juicy stuff and otherwise a slow news week,” he said.
“Now they’re actually using pictures of me,” she complained. “I was photographed coming out of a Walgreens of all places!”
That pushed the one inkling of an idea he had to the forefront of his mind, all of a sudden becoming his Plan A.
“I was thinking maybe we should take a page—or chapter—from the book of Alex and Brooklyn,” he said. “Let’s just get the hell out of New York.”
London pulled herself off him and looked at his face. “You want me to run away? That would just make things—”
<
br /> “—Better. For your health, mentally and physically,” he finished. He grabbed her chin and gave her a serious look. “Listen, this is not running away. You? Me? We don’t run away—we fight. But you can’t fight when you aren’t at your best. And sweetheart, you are far from at your best.
“Getting away is a chance for you to recharge, which you sorely need. Look at you. You’ve lost weight. You obsess over each and every bit of the news. You’re worried about even going into work or to church because of what people might say, or the way they’ll look at you. This isn’t the London I know. The London with the smart comebacks. The London who puts men—and women—firmly in their place. The London with a head on her shoulders.”
“So you want to go Paris, just like that?”
Michael’s eyes wandered to the corner of the room as he pondered that. “Actually, I was thinking of something a little more laid-back. Someplace with a beach, and plenty of alcohol.”
“In the middle of this mess, you’re thinking of sipping Mai Tai’s on the beach.”
“What exactly is the problem with that scenario, London?” he said with a grin.
“It’s—I don’t know. It’s—it’s absurd!” she sputtered. “My life is being dragged through the mud and you just want to fly off to—”
“Barcelona, maybe Nice,” he mused, looking at the ceiling thinking on it.
“Michael!”
“No, I think the beaches in Barcelona are better—”
“Are you even paying attention—”
“—And paella. Oh man, that sounds great.”
“Will you please stop.”
“Sangria, tapas, you on a topless beach….”
“Michael!” she said finally punching him lightly in the chest.
He blinked his eyes, shaking his head as though he had just come out of a stupor. “I was just having the most wonderful image in my head. What is it, hon?”
All of a sudden she was at a loss for words. She hated the idea of picking up and flying to wherever just because the shit was hitting the fan in her life. On the other hand…she loved the idea of it. Maybe without the topless beach.
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