by Ashley Papa
“Certainly. Let me get her,” Claude stuttered and motioned for us to take a seat.
The plush velvet chairs were deceiving as I found them rather stiff. Next to us, on the oak side tables, were decanters filled with strawberry- and cucumber-infused water. Black crystal chandeliers hung over our head and swung a tad every time the lobby door opened. They reflected off the mirrors, giving off the illusion of a diamond cave or even a ’70s disco-era nightclub. It was nearing 6 p.m. now. Adam kept his eye on the door for anyone entering who looked like Steve.
“Paige?” a female voice asked.
I turned and looked up to see Caitlin, a tall redhead who couldn’t have been any older than 24. Adam, meanwhile, was way too into his phone to notice her crystal blue eyes and perfect teeth smiling at him from above.
Adam would look so cute with her.
Even I was captivated by her looks, but in all the years I’ve known Adam, he’s never had a girlfriend, nor talked of anyone he was interested in.
“Hi, Caitlin. Nice to meet you. This is my assistant, Adam.” I stood to introduce.
“Nice to meet you. Let’s go to my office. We can discuss what it is you are looking to host here.”
Caitlin led us down a long, dark hallway, infused with a reddish light. I felt like I really was walking into a French brothel, not an office. The walls were cloaked with dark red wallpaper, and gold-framed pictures of classical lovemaking scenes lined the hallway. Caitlin’s office was very modern compared to the rest of the hotel with its white walls and asymmetrical chairs. She had a flat screen television mounted to the wall with what looked like one of the Real Housewives of some city on the screen.
“Tell me a little about what you are looking to do here?” she asked.
When she shifted in her chair, the hem of her barely-there bandage dress hiked up even higher. Adam looked at me.
“Well, I am looking to have a launch party for my new book on bettering your sex life. I want enough space for about one-hundred people, an open bar for about three hours, and light appetizers. I’m thinking caviar, bone marrow, foie gras, and lots and lots of Veuve Clicquot, of course.”
Could I sound more like a snob?
“That sounds like something we can work out. We offer a high-end package that comes with specific small appetizers. It would be around $20,000,” she offered as if what I asked for gets requested all the time.
“What about music? Perhaps we could get Calvin Harris or Drake…” Adam began before I interrupted.
“I don’t think we can afford a name like that, Adam. Anyways, I think that package is fairly reasonable. Do you mind showing us around the space?”
We followed Caitlin in and out of the hotel bars, which became packed with businessmen, sipping scotch and talking stocks and women. I overheard a tall ginger going on about a random hookup. “That girl was fucking crazy, in bed and in real life,” he said. His dapper, navy blue Tom Ford suit and Salvatore Ferragamo camel-colored loafers matched his cocky demeanor. He smelled like cheap cologne and cigars as I got a whiff passing by. The sea of men dispersed and made way for us as we walked through the space. Caitlin was a clear pro at making heads turn. She knew how to work a room without even trying. Perhaps it was her red, flowing locks that made these men venture all the way up from Wall Street and the East Side for a Tito’s and tonic. I looked around pretending like I was checking out the space, when I was really trying to look for Steve.
“And this room is the Boudoir. It’s one of the more popular event venues.” Caitlin led us into a smaller and intimate space.
“This is lovely. I can picture all my friends and followers here. Adam, what do you think?”
“It’s perfect. Sexy and stylish, just like you, Paige.”
“Oh, Adam…We’ll keep this one in mind. Maybe my assistant and I will just hang around, mingle and figure out what feels the most comfortable,” I suggested.
Caitlin agreed and handed us her card. It was the same one Molly had brought to me. We gave each other a light kiss on the cheek to not mess up our makeup.
It was now 7 p.m. If Steve didn’t show in 45 minutes, we would leave. There was the high probability that he wouldn’t even come here tonight, although I had yet to hear from Molly that he had returned home.
Adam and I grabbed a cocktail at the bar. The men in the hotel seemed to give off the same philandering, pompous vibe that most of my suspects embody. As I’ve document in my love manual, it doesn’t matter if the cheater is a man or a woman, gay or straight, we all have the ability to spot a cheat.
Are their answers vague? They’re probably hiding something. Do they have a ring indent on their finger? They’re probably married. Are they extremely charming and flirty? They’re like that with everyone; you’re not special.
“Umm, Paige? Is that the mayor?” Adam motioned to the corner of the room.
I squinted but it was hard to make out the face especially standing on the opposite side of the bar. As my eyes focused in and out, I realized that Adam was right.
“Good eye. It is definitely Wilcox and he looks right at home. I’m surprised he was able to fit his head down that narrow hallway,” I joked.
I couldn’t quite identify the other people with him. One massive man could’ve been a security guard. The other two men looked like twins or at least brothers. They definitely weren’t part of the administration. While pondering what Mayor Wilcox might be doing here, I failed to notice that Adam was no longer standing next to me. He often pulled these little vanishing acts and it really pissed me off. He’d usually emerge a few minutes later saying, “I went to the bathroom” or he’d come back with a vital clue to a case.
I took another sip of my Pinot Noir and eyed the crowd. I was mid-gulp when two male “typicals” approached me from my left side.
“So, is that your boyfriend you’re with? He looks too young for you,” said the black-haired man with the portlier frame. I looked up at him through the corner of my eye with my lips still pressed against the rim of the glass, thinking, what he really means is he wants to sleep with me. I sat up straight and looked at him in the eyes.
“I like them young,” I said matter-of-factly. I smiled and they both looked as if they couldn’t tell if I was serious or not.
“We’re pretty young, you know. Where are you from?” the bald one with the scar on his eyebrow asked.
“Jersey,” I answered and took another sip.
“Jersey, huh? We’re from Long Island. Live in the city now. Do you consider yourself a Jersey Girl or a New Yorker?” he asked again.
“Neither. I don’t associate myself with any group except woman,” I replied.
“Woman, huh? That’s a good group to be a part of. So, what’s a woman like you doing the rest of the night?” the dark-haired man asked.
“Actually, I’m a spy and I am currently spying on a potential criminal,” I teased.
I turned and placed my drink back on the bar before turning back to the bald man with the scar.
“You have a beautiful family,” I commented.
He looked at me perplexed. I had noticed the picture on his phone’s home screen. I smiled, stood and walked away, leaving the men in question as to who I was and how I knew about his family.
“What’s with that smirk,” Adam asked as I found him sitting on the plush lounge chairs in the lobby.
“Oh, nothing. Have they developed a cure for stupidity yet?” I jokingly asked as he stood up.
“If they did, you wouldn’t be in business.”
Our deadline had finally come and still no sign of Steve. As we prepared to leave, I furtively checked myself out in the endless hall of mirrors. I was looking svelte because I hadn’t eaten and noticed the increasing puffiness under my eyes. I needed food and sleep. We headed back over to Claude to fetch our jackets. Just as I was raising the Vixen Red lip color to my
lips, Adam violently shook my arm.
“I think that’s Steve,” he whispered.
I looked towards the entrance. Steve was standing at the revolving doors. It was as if he were cut out from the pictures I had seen of him. His teeth were whiter than hotel sheets as he stood, smiling down at his phone. I had almost expected an entire entourage to follow but he was alone.
“You know what?” I turned to Adam as Claude came out with our two, heavy coats in his hands. “I think I left my cell phone at the bar. Do you mind going to check? I’d go, but these shoes are killing my feet.” Adam nodded and scurried away.
In an effort to buy myself some time, I continued to converse with Claude while keeping my gaze on Steve.
Perhaps he was texting whoever he was waiting for. I can see why Molly is so enamored by him. He looks powerful and charming just standing in the doorway.
Claude went on and on about himself. As suspected, he was 26 years old, a model, and lived on the Lower East Side with two roommates. He wasn’t even French. He just learned the accent from taking acting classes when he lived in Los Angeles.
Claude was four digits into giving me his phone number when I saw Caitlin emerge from the dark hallway. Right into Steve’s arms she went, looking light as a feather and as happy as a child running to an ice cream truck. Steve grinned from ear to ear as she threw herself into his chest; he grabbed her butt under her fur-trimmed coat. Their kiss went from Gone with the Wind passion to Vivid Entertainment sloppiness as he moved his hands all around her backside.
He doesn’t even hide the fact that he’s sleeping around.
Now I had my proof.
“Claude, can you check in the back and see if a glove dropped out of my jacket, please?” I asked to distract him longer.
I needed him out of my field of vision. I quickly snapped a few pictures with my mini spy camera. Because of its ultra-slim design, I was able to carry it around in the pocket of my fitted blazer. The pictures even automatically uploaded to my computer.
The lovebirds walked outside and into his town car that hadn’t even turned off the engine. I discretely followed behind them and watched as they drove slowly off to 7th Avenue. I could feel the light snowflakes collecting on my head as I tried to hail a cab. One car, whose tires looked as bald as my dad’s head, came fishtailing around the corner and skid to a stop for me. I tiptoed through the slush, careful not to let any of the wet mess into my Prada heels. I was more concerned about ruining them than getting my feet wet.
“I thought I was going to go sliding into the sidewalk,” the cabby joked in his deep Middle Eastern accent.
“Well, you probably shouldn’t be going fifty miles an hour around the turn…Just follow that Lincoln up there making the right turn,” I ordered and pointed ahead.
He stepped on the gas and within a matter of minutes we were right on Steve’s and Caitlin’s tail. The cab swerved left and right on 7th as it tried to not spin out. In some sick way, I always got a rush out of New York City taxi drivers. The way they drove gave me a thrill like airplane turbulence or an old rickety roller coaster. Through the windshield, I could see Caitlin and Steve making out in the backseat like two teenagers. Adam had to be wondering where I vanished to so I shot him a text.
Adam Mobile (7:55 p.m.):
I’m following them. Looks like they’re heading
to the east side.
Paige Mobile:
Copy
We were now heading across town on 50th, through Times Square, then Madison, and then Park Avenue. Their car came to a stop after crossing Lexington and right in front of The Kimberly Hotel. I rolled down the window that let the large snowflakes blow into my face and hair. I took a few more shots of the two of them entering the hotel.
“Drop me off on the right side at the end of the street, please,” I stated to the driver.
The snow was now up to my ankles. Even the Vixen Investigator couldn’t stop the wetness from penetrating her pumps. At least they weren’t new. The bottoms of my black, suede leggings were also getting soaked. I hustled as fast as I could to the lobby of the hotel and stopped just before entering. My heart raced as I observed Steve and Caitlin, hand-in-hand, make their way straight to the elevator. The silver doors weren’t even closed before he ran his hands under her skirt.
Molly’s fear and insecurity had been justified. While she lies awake with tears in her eyes, wondering where the man she love is, I knew why he wasn’t responding to her texts or calling her back. I wanted to bust down the door and catch Steve banging his mistress, but I needed more.
As I stood underneath the heated awning, I quickly grabbed the next lonely cab I saw coming down the desolate street and ordered him to Hoboken.
Adam Mobile (8:20 p.m.):
Anything?
Paige Mobile:
Confirmed. They’re at The Kimberly.
Adam Mobile:
I guess that’s that. Found more pics of them
on Instagram.
Paige Mobile:
E-mail them to me. Be back soon.
I flipped through the dozen-or-so pictures Adam sent as I slowly made my way to Jersey. I thought I’d be more shocked by the photos. There were pictures of them skiing together, on a boat, at the News Café in South Beach, at a Billy Joel concert. Caitlin even used #sohappytogether under all the photos. One picture struck me as odd. It was of Steve with Mayor Wilcox.
Caitlin had tagged “Nobu,” and wrote #birdsofafeather under it.
They were friends? Birds of a feather…flock together? That can’t be good.
I thought about what else Steve had been doing behind Molly’s back. The more vague and secretive a person is, the more they’re hiding. I’ve seen it happen with lots of my clients, both men and women. Hell, it’s even happened to me with my ex, Danny. I had failed to notice what he was doing behind my back—the stealing, the parties, the travel to foreign countries for “business”—because sometimes when infatuation strikes, it can be extremely blinding.
Back at the apartment and with a glass of white wine in my hand, I compiled all the pictures and notes I had gathered on the Benson/Carlson file to date. I was meeting with Molly tomorrow to reveal what I had found. Hopefully it would be all the convincing she needed.
Before turning off my computer for the night, I scanned through my unopened emails, fifteen of which were from potential new clients. It seemed like a lot of men and women had a lot of money to put down to have me chase after their cheating lovers, as if it were a sport. While it is rewarding busting the unfaithful, it is equally satisfying when I find out there is no infidelity going on.
Through the living room windows, the snow looked like glitter as it softly fell over the city. I flopped on the couch with my wine and a handful of pita chips. I knew how unhealthy it was to eat this late at night, and often heard about it from my best friend, Taylor. I tell myself it’s okay because I barely ate anything all day. It was typical of us females to justify eating “guilty” things especially with magazines and morning shows telling us what to eat for this and what not to eat for that. If only they could mind their own business.
The next morning, the sun’s reflection off the freshly fallen snow made its rays extra bright as they penetrated through my venetian blinds. I lifted my right eyelid to check the clock. I had less than thirty minutes to get myself ready for my 9 a.m. meeting with Molly. There was a faint aroma of bacon coming from somewhere. Likely the street cart below. I made my way out of bed like an overweight bear and dragged myself to the bathroom. The icy water coming out of the faucet felt good splashing on my face. The wine and salt from the chips had puffed up my eyes and cheeks like a blowfish.
Molly arrived five minutes early exhibiting a sense of stifled anger and melancholiness, all while still looking glam and down-and-out chic. I sat her down on the couch and went through the pictures I took of Steve and
Caitlin. From all the crying she did in the past, she didn’t shed one tear while looking through the photographic evidence.
“I need you to think back to any time in the past six months where Steve was absent for a few days straight. I have a feeling they’ve been together for a while, even before the Versailles opened,” I encouraged.
“Does it even matter? Why even bother wasting your time anymore. What more do I need to see?” She was struggling to get the words out. I was surprised she didn’t want more. “No. Actually,” she debated, “I want more. I want to see for myself. I want to bust him in the act and with you!”
Seriously? I would never bring a client on a bust. But, maybe Molly could learn a thing or two if I did take her? She’s so young and naïve, how else could I get through to her?
“Listen, if it’s more proof you want, I’ll get it for you, but if you’re looking to prove something to Steve and yourself, that’s between you and him,” I ordered.
“Please, Paige. Let me tag along. I promise, I’ll be good. I just have to see for myself,” she begged.
“Fine,” I slowly and hesitantly said.
“Thanks, Miss Turner,” she said and leaned over to give me a hug. “What should I do now?”
“Try and act like everything is great and everything is normal,” I advised.
What she really needed to do was look for work. Molly had left her job as an executive assistant to be his trophy girlfriend. She had been out of work for almost two years and since they weren’t married, she had no rights to any of Steve’s money.
“And maybe read the chapter in my manual on going back to work after a divorce. I know you’re not divorced, but you can still learn from it.”
“What is wrong with men? Why do they think they can just go around hurting others and not feel bad about it?”