by Ashley Papa
“You won’t believe who emailed me wanting to “catch up,” I clued. Moving my body in closer to Taylor, I whispered, “Mayor Wilcox’s wife.”
Taylor’s eyes widened with shock.
“No way!”
“Yeah,” I replied, taking a sip of water. “But I need to finish this other case first.”
“I can just imagine the PR nightmare that’ll cause,” Taylor said while rubbing her temples.
Taylor was a publicist and very good with the press. Since some of my cases result in reporters knocking down my door, I make her speak for me. She kind of keeps them away so I can do my job.
“Well, here’s to another successful sex-bust…and another potential crazy one,” Taylor said, raising her glass of wine.
We continued to talk while waiting for our food to come. I noticed that the three men from Chicago were looking more like they were getting ready to leave.
“Hey, what do you think about these guys behind me?” I whispered to her.
“They’re okay. I’m not really into light hair. I like darker and exotic,” she replied.
“Are you serious? They’re cute and I bet you the bar bill that they’re from Chicago, work in advertising, are single, and they’re named Felix, Abraham, and Craig. I’m going to get them to talk to us.”
“I’m not placing any bets with you. It’s a little too scary how you know what you know,” Taylor replied and continued to reapply her lipstick.
I pretended to accidently elbow the shortest of the three, not realizing that I had bumped him so hard that he ended up spilling his drink.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize that was your arm,” I innocently said. “I thought it was some woman’s handbag.”
The men went from annoyed to interested in a matter of seconds after I began talking.
“That’s okay,” the one with the now-stained sleeve said. “Why do you New York women carry around such big bags anyway?”
“They make up for our tiny apartments,” I quipped, making everyone laugh.
A round of introductions followed and as expected, I was right about everything from their names, to their work, to their relationship status. We were soon standing in a half-moon around the bar and all our drinks and food had been placed on the gentlemen’s tab. The booze was flowing and the laughs were, as well. And, just as I was about to hand Craig my phone number, Steve Benson was walking through the hotel’s gold revolving doors. He wasn’t alone, either. He was with his ex-wife, Leslie, and she was surprisingly happy.
Too happy for someone who has been cheated on and divorced by the man she was currently arm-in-arm with. What the hell? Is that a wedding ring? He’s not divorced!
I excused myself from the group and gave Taylor the look that often signified it was work-related. Leslie and Steve lingered in the lobby as if they were waiting for someone. I took a seat on a couch near the front desk and buried my head in a copy of ELLE magazine left on the neighboring end table. I had bolted so quickly that I left my bag with my phone at the bar.
Taylor will just have to trust and be patient.
I raised my eyes to keep my sights still on the volatile couple. My heart thumped hard in fear that Steve would recognize me. Then, just as he and Leslie moved into the lounge where Taylor was, the three Chicagoans came walking out and a familiar voice emerged from the doorway. It was Charles. He was yapping on his phone loud enough that I could tell he was talking to Steve.
“Yeah, man. I just got here. I’m walking in now. Where the hell are you? Oh, wait. I see you now!” he bellowed.
I put down the magazine and sneakily walked around the back of the lounge and to the bar where Taylor was picking through some leftover appetizers. Steve, Leslie, and Charles were seated in some chairs in the corner and hadn’t seen me, thankfully.
“Hey,” I said hopping back up into the wobbly bar stool. “You have to play it cool…what happens next, I mean.”
“Why? What is going on?”
“Steve, the man I’ve been following who is cheating on my client, Molly, is here with his wife! They’re in the back corner over there. We’re going to go over there and join them,” I ordered.
“Okay, cool. This is like CIA stuff! I thought the guy was divorced?”
“Apparently, he is not. They both have wedding rings on. I had my doubts he really was divorced. He probably just told Molly that so he could have his cake and eat it, too. Follow me.”
We gathered up our coat, bags, our complimentary glasses of wine, and casually walked over to where they were sitting. Charles continued to talk loud, which made for a good distraction. We were inching closer and they still hadn’t turned to notice us. Despite Charles’ obnoxious behavior, he looked cuter than he did last night. His green and white checkered shirt seemed to make him appear more youthful and brought out his olive eyes. Taylor leaned in to me.
“He’s hot. Single?”
“He’s friends with the cheater, but he doesn’t seem to be the cheating type. I can usually tell,” I whispered back.
We were now inches from them.
“Steve? Charles?” I exclaimed now, just inches from the trio. “How do I get so lucky running into you two nights in a row?”
Charles smiled wide and stood up like a proper gentleman to greet us. Steve and Leslie stayed seated. Charles gave me a hesitant hug before quickly introducing himself to Taylor. He motioned with enthusiasm for us to sit down. Steve’s vibe was unwelcoming. If it were a scene from a comic strip, the bubble coming out of his mouth would be “oh shit.” Leslie, on the contrary, seemed rather pleasant.
“Hi, Steve. Good to see you again. And you must be…from Jersey…?” I trailed off.
“This is Leslie,” Steve interrupted. “Leslie, this is Paige. Paige Turner. Coincidently, we ran into her last night. She’s a journalist.” Leslie extended her hand for a very delicate handshake.
“Nice to meet you. Paige Turner. That is such a fun name and you’re a journalist. It’s almost like the weatherman being named Storm Cloud. I’m Steve’s wife,” she said proudly.
I couldn’t help but shed an internal tear for her. The way she looked at Steve was of love and hope. It was painful for me to see the trust she had in him.
She had no clue what he was doing behind her back.
It was now getting close to midnight. Taylor had taken a deep interest in Charles and I almost expected them to go home together. Steve looked eager to leave while Leslie acted as if she hadn’t had a night out in years. Even though Steve knew I was aware he was up to no good, I ignored him to befriend his wife. Every question I asked of their romance, Steve would grip the sweaty rocks glass and take a forced sip. Leslie never even hinted to the fact that there were any cracks in the marriage. She was either delusional or Steve did a really good job at hiding his antics. I watched Steve watch Leslie rave about their life together.
You never did file for divorce after all. That is shared time among four women. How do you do it?
I tried to hide my disgust while calculating the figures in my head.
Another successful night for Vixen Investigations. I had gotten enough pictures to prove he was still married. Now it was time to bust this guy.
I could still taste the alcohol in my drool as it dripped onto the soaked pillow. My tolerance appears to be waning over the years. As I pulled myself over to the night table to reach for my phone, I saw that Taylor had sent me a text at 4 a.m. detailing the “tender” and “sweet” lovemaking she had engaged in with Charles.
Good for her. Thank God I didn’t have to sleep with him.
I had my “list” and then I had my “work list.” I never counted sex with a source as real “sex” for myself. While it technically was intercourse, it was strictly work-related.
After debating with myself on whether I should get up, I finally did when I heard my coffeepot cl
ick on. My head pounded with every footstep as I made my way into the bathroom. It amazed me how much piss I had managed to hold in through the night. My going-out makeup still looked pretty good too. So good, I contemplated leaving it on. Today, after all, was the day I was finally putting the Benson/Carlson case to bed. With all the evidence I had, there was no reason to prolong the investigation any further. A simple text telling Molly, “It’s time,” was all the convincing she needed to agree with me. She was so ready for the relationship to be over, that she begged to come with me when I busted him. There was still the matter of informing Caitlin and Leslie of Steve’s wrongdoings. I knew it would be hard, but Leslie needed to know. Caitlin, I had a feeling, would be dumping him soon anyway. I could tell she was the type of girl that doesn’t hang around an old man like Steve that long.
As I waited for Adam to arrive, I prepped for the mission. My leather leggings were looking more and more worn as they were beginning to lose their tightness. I always wore the same outfit on a bust and even though I owned twelve pairs of these pants, they were all getting plenty of wear. Leather leggings, a silk blouse, and a black fitted blazer was the perfect outfit to look sexy in, while also allowing for my handgun if needed. The plan was to go to Leslie’s early this afternoon, before Steve got out of work. Little did he know that I had secretly downloaded a GPS tracking app on his smartphone last night, while pretending to look up a recipe.
The more I learned about Steve and spent time with him and his pals, the more I understood how he was able to manipulate the women in his life the way he did. In public, Steve charmed and acted the most mature out of his group of friends. To the inexperienced eye, it makes him a catch. In reality, it means nothing, as often it’s the quiet ones you really have to watch out for.
My heart raced as if I just drank three cans of Red Bull as I made my way down to meet Adam. He would be the one driving this time. First stop: to pick up Molly. Then, we’d head to Leslie’s before staking out Steve’s office again.
“What are you wearing?” I questioned Adam.
He was dressed in a vintage trench coach, scuffed loafers, and a dark brown fedora. He looked like a modern-day Columbo. He was chewing on a toothpick as he leaned up against the parked Jeep. He always liked to play up the detective look when we were about to nab a cheat.
“What? It’s retro. I bought it at Buffalo Exchange. Cost me $10. Plus, look at all these cool pockets. They store all my belongings,” he defended.
I appreciated his enthusiasm.
We hopped back into the Jeep, which Adam had perfectly heated to my preferred 74 degrees. We turned onto Washington Street, passed Carlo’s Bakery with the mammoth cookies in the window, and then made our way towards the Holland Tunnel. Molly was waiting for us in the lobby of the Roxy Hotel. It was the best place for us to do a scoop up. Before leaving, I had gotten in touch with Leslie to inform her that I was in fact a detective and “had something important to tell her about Steve.” Unbeknownst to me, she must have had an inkling about Steve’s infidelity, because she was the one who actually responded, “He’s being unfaithful again, isn’t he?” Without getting into the thick of it, I affirmed her hypothesis.
With Adam carefully dodging the cobblestone and the potholed streets, I flipped through my favorite newspaper app, The Gotham Post, on my phone. Most of the stories reflected the quirks of Mayor Wilcox, the sexual shenanigans of the Kardashians, and the losing streak of the New York Knicks. I let out an uncontrollable chuckle at one headline about Mayor Wilcox that read, “Mayor Gets Plowed; Orders Snow Removal of Select Staffers’ Streets While Queens, Bronx Streets Remain Untouched.”
We pulled up to the front of the Roxy, where Molly was waiting by the door. She saw us approaching and ran out in her white kitten heels, pink fur coat, and perky coiffed mane. She didn’t look as concerned and dreadful as I imagined a woman who was about to catch her fiancé in the act of cheating would.
“Hi, guys. It is so cold out there,” Molly exclaimed.
The Jeep instantly filled with the scent of Burberry perfume as she made herself comfortable in the leather seats.
“Hi, Adam. I like your coat,” she commented in the sweet, southern accent of hers.
Adam blushed. Molly was either distracting herself from what was about to happen, or was genuinely as excited as we were about catching Steve. I turned back to speak with her, face to face.
“How are you doing? Are you ready for this?” I asked calmly.
Molly just nodded. Perhaps it was her Pollyanna attitude that made her think Leslie would be warm and welcoming to her. I had to decline her wish to come with me when I went up to Leslie’s apartment to break all the details to her.
I had concocted the perfect setup. Molly told Steve that she would be out of town, so the place he rented for the two of them would be all his for the night. Meanwhile, Steve had told Leslie earlier that he would be out of town himself. That can only leave me to believe that Steve’s getting his fix with some other sugar baby tonight. The GPS tracker still had Steve located at his office. Perfect, I thought, as we pulled up to Leslie’s on Hudson Street. I made Molly and Adam wait in the Jeep while I trekked through the slush. The instant blast of heat upon entering the lobby immediately defrosted my fingers and hands.
“I’m here to see Leslie Benson,” I said to the uninterested doorman at the desk.
He studied my license intensely.
“Is she expecting you?” he asked as if trying to exercise his power. I simply nodded, yes. “You some CIA agent or something?” He inquired again without a hint that he was joking.
I should say yes to scare him a little!
“Lucky for you I am not. If I were, I’d have to kill you. That’s usually how it works,” I jokingly replied to loosen the tension.
It worked. He smiled, handed me back my license and sent me on my way.
For a newer building, I would’ve expected the elevator ride to be faster. Or, maybe it was just my surging energy that made it feel like it was moving so slow. When I finally got to the 14th floor, Leslie was already standing in the doorway with an urgent need to know what was going on. She remained expressionless as I walked over to her and then greeted me with a hug. Though she wasn’t crying, I could feel her breath get deep and then stop, as if she were holding it in. She walked me inside and directed me to their large U-shaped sofa. Their home was immaculate with lots of stainless steel and black. I couldn’t imagine this was Leslie’s type of decor. She seemed more “shabby chic” than “hospital room.” Looking around, I noticed not one speck of color except for a purple-framed picture of Steve and Leslie on a boat.
It only took fifteen minutes to explain to her what was going on with Molly, Caitlin, and the investigation. She wasn’t surprised in the least, which made me wonder why she acted so lovestruck when I met her last night.
Maybe she had a plan of her own or didn’t care if he slept around.
Then, I got her to open up a bit more to me. She admitted that she’d been living in a state of denial for too long and even generously offered to pay half of Molly’s bill when I told her she had hired me.
“Let me go with you, please,” she begged as I stood to signal my exit. “I want him to see my face when I catch him cheating on me.”
Poor Leslie had wasted 15 years of her life with asshole, Steve. I felt compelled to let her join.
Molly and Leslie didn’t say a word to each other as we drove and then waited outside Steve’s office. It was now almost 5 p.m. and I knew Steve would be gearing up to leave since he never stayed at work more than an hour after the markets closed.
“How long do we wait for him? Is any of this stuff illegal?” Molly asked almost out of nervousness.
Adam brought down his binoculars and shot me a look of annoyance. Spying on people and snapping pictures wasn’t illegal as long as I maintained my distance. I’ve been trained by the best on how
to do it without igniting any lawsuits. Throughout my years as an investigative journalist, I’ve had professional training with the FBI and still have former homicide detectives, forensic pathologists, NYPD & LAPD officials, and criminal psychologists on speed dial. Even the high-tech security and information-gathering center in my apartment was constructed with the help of my law enforcement friends.
“He’s going to come out. Just relax,” I replied.
The more we waited, the more the awkwardness built in the back. Molly and Leslie had still not said a word to each other. I turned the radio on in hopes that a little empowering music, courtesy of Beyoncé and Katy Perry, would relax everybody. As soon as the clock hit five, men and the occasional woman started trickling out of the building.
“There he is, ladies. Five-alarm cheater, dead ahead,” I said.
The seat shook as Adam started up the Jeep. Steve hurried quickly into a town car as if he were in a rush to get somewhere.
A tryst, perhaps?
His car took off and we followed behind while maintaining a block’s distance. It looked as if he were heading exactly where I expected him to: the apartment he shared with Molly on the Lower East Side.
“I don’t think I can do this, Paige. This is too hard for me to handle,” Molly cautioned from the back seat. Just before I was about to respond, Leslie spoke up.
“Of course you can. I had to deal with this for over a decade. We’re all in this together,” Leslie encouraged.
I appreciated her help. Adam and I looked at each other, happy to hear the encouragement from one jilted lover to the other. Adam stopped the car at the corner of 9th street and Avenue C, which was the block Steve’s and Molly’s apartment was located on. Standing near the brownstone’s entrance was a pretty brunette who smiled big as soon as she saw Steve.