Vixen Investigations: The Mayoral Affairs

by Ashley Papa

  I tried to lay low the past few days in an effort to gather as much information on Mayor Wilcox and the administration that I could. Besides a few brief encounters and exchanges with Adam, Taylor, and my unemployed girlfriend April, I spent most of my days in my office, or what I liked to call the “War Room.” It was where I did my entire information gathering and data analysis, and stored all my spy gear.

  Victoria and Walter were presently in California visiting Piper, who is currently in her freshman year of college at UC Santa Barbara. I was touched to learn that she was majoring in journalism and used to mimic me when she was younger. When I found out her Instagram name, Paythepiper16, I immediately started stalking her under one of my phony accounts. Based off the pictures she posted, the teen seemed to really be embracing the SoCal lifestyle. Every other picture was of her at the beach or on a step and repeat. There were even recent pictures of Victoria and Walter with her at some of these events, which also looked to be attended by George Clooney, Kris Kardashian, Bill and Hillary Clinton, and Will Ferrell.

  “I’ve got nothing, nothing on this guy,” I blurted and slammed down the stack of papers.

  I put my head in my hands. Adam was over to help me go over some of the slim findings we had. He looked equally frustrated but didn’t throw fits like I did.

  “He seems a little too clean. His college transcripts, finances, and criminal records are all fine. The guy doesn’t even have a parking violation. How does a New Yorker not even have a traffic violation or a late fee?”

  Because he’s New York’s favorite mayor. Who knows what he is capable of hiding.

  I stood to stretch my legs and walked out into the living room. We had been sitting at the desk for too long. Adam followed behind me as I paced near the windows.

  “There’s hardly anything on his staff,” Adam added.

  I had him compile a list of the people who work closest with Walter. They included press secretary, Jimmy DeFazio, police chief, Todd Mitchell, senior advisor, Leon Olson, and comptroller, Richard Brownstein. These men were all assets to me for the case. Even the office secretary, security guards, and janitors were of value. I prayed that Victoria’s senses were right and that she wasn’t just being paranoid.

  She’s not the type of woman who would get paranoid over something like this. Think she would waste her time if she weren’t certain?

  Besides all the social media coverage and what was free information for me, there wasn’t any dirt on Walter. He had a contradicting political agenda that aimed to help businesses and build enterprise and at the same time make sure everyone got their fair share with money. He also wants to increase the minimum wage from $9 to $16 an hour. His ideas may be counterintuitive in reality but they sure sound good in a campaign speech. He’d raise taxes for new projects and nothing ever seemed to get done. The city was supposed to fix the ailing train tracks under the East River in 2008 and seven years later there still hasn’t been a movement of dirt.

  Do not let his politics get the best of you. It’s about Victoria.

  This was sure to be the most challenging case for Vixen Investigations.

  Valentine’s Day. I have a love-hate relationship with this holiday. Not because I am single but rather how society constantly likes to remind singletons that they are alone.

  With Victoria and Walter back in town I knew my free time would be close to nonexistent. I found it rather odd that New York’s first couple had no plans for the Hallmark holiday, especially with the day falling on a Saturday this year.

  “Okay, you’re officially on the email list for the mayor’s daily schedule now,” Adam announced.

  Though it was the weekend, he didn’t mind putting in a few hours to help create my new persona to get me back into the media mix and press pool. Depending on which role I assumed, we’d then create fake Facebook and other social media accounts. While still being the Vixen Investigator, I never knew if I would have to assume the alias of a teacher, waitress, or Zumba instructor.

  “So, who am I this time? Paige Turner, the sign language interpreter?” I joked, walking over to where he was sitting on the couch.

  He turned his computer towards me so I can see the screen.

  “Freelance reporter.”

  He handed me my fake press ID.

  “It looks like Tuesday, Mayor Wilcox is going to be at the United Nations speaking about the safety at the city’s consulates in light of recent terrorist attacks. You can pick up your press credentials at the event,” Adam detailed.

  Holding the warm, fresh, printed paper complete with a list of Walter’s schedule took me back to when I had to cover this stuff daily for The Day.

  “A reporter, huh? Looks like I’m going back to my roots! Politics, foreign policy, and the U.N., oh my,” I joked.

  The alias made complete sense. I already had the respect from my days as a journalist. After I left the business many thought I had moved to San Diego to write novels because I made it a point to stay away from the camera. I made myself unrecognizable by letting my hair grow out another six inches and tried to sex up my appearance. I went from shoulder-length, layered brown hair and a Gap wardrobe to mid-back blonde locks and a closet full of slinky dresses and tight pantsuits.

  “Anything new on Piper?” I asked while putting the ID and schedule to the side.

  Adam had been monitoring her social happenings.

  “She seems extremely immature. All she does is post party pictures and takes a lot of selfies. Here she is at the beach. Seems like a socialite to me.”

  Adam flipped around his computer to show me. There were pictures of her with One Direction, Gigi Hadid, and Selena Gomez.

  How does she know these people at just 18-years-old?

  I typically kept children off limits in my investigations. But, Piper is technically an adult and more than willing to put her life on display. I had no qualms about stalking her if it meant getting more dirt on her pops.

  “I may need you to worm your way into her social circle at some point to see if you can get anything. That is, if she comes home from spring break,” I suggested.

  I thought Adam would love the idea of hanging around a group of young and feisty college girls all summer.

  “Nooo. Please, no. It’ll be selfie central with that girl. I don’t want that girl posting pictures of me, that’s for sure. It’ll ruin my whole vibe,” he complained.

  “Let me tell you something about selfies,” I started while sitting across from him, almost as if I were going to regale him in some deep story. “My ex, Danny, was obsessed with selfies. He would take selfies of him doing extravagant things even though he couldn’t afford to do anything. He made himself look like he was well off. I think selfies are to blame for the demoralization of society.”

  Adam stood and clapped, with a smile on his face. Obviously, he was humoring me.

  “Ok. I get it. You hate selfies,” he said. “But I think it would be cool if you took a selfie like right before busting down the door of a mistress and mister getting it on,” he suggested excitedly. “Like this.”

  He proceeded to mimic me kicking down a door and then pretended to snap a picture of himself. His skit made me laugh so hard, I could feel it in my abs. Adam plunged himself next to me on the couch. “Smile,” he ordered and took a selfie of us.

  Since I made Adam spend such a romantic holiday with his boss, I decided to give him the rest of the weekend off. There is no reason a subordinate should be spending Valentine’s Day with their boss, unless, that is, they’re having an affair.

  5:45 a.m. Monday

  I have an hour and fifteen minutes until I have to get up. I can either lay here and risk falling back asleep, only to then oversleep, or I can just get my ass up now and go work out.

  After timing it out in my head and debating my options, I chose the non-lazy way to start my day. With as much self-determi
nation as I could muster up, I slid myself out of bed and put on what I hoped were exercise clothes. It was hard to see with no contacts and my eyes still glazed and crusted over. If I didn’t leave my bedroom now, I’d just crawl back into the sheets. I grabbed my phone and headphones off the dresser, stumbled out the door, and sleepily made my way into the elevator and pressed the GYM button.

  Nobody would be working out this early.

  Once my phone was powered on, a slew of new e-mails and texts started to appear in my inbox. I tried to focus my hazy vision on one particular text that stood out among the rest.

  Danny (4:02 a.m.):

  I am in the city.

  (4:45 a.m.):

  How are you? I want to see you.

  Geez…they all come back at once, don’t they? Mercury must be in retrograde.

  The text had thrown me for such a loop I accidently bypassed the gym floor and was now heading all the way down to the lobby. I repeatedly pressed the GYM button in hopes it would take me back up immediately. It did, right after two hot football-looking players got in with me.

  The gym session was exactly what I needed. The day was already feeling packed, even though my only scheduled events were a meeting with Victoria and dinner with Theresa, who was in town from Los Angeles for two days. Her acting career seemed to have picked up quickly. Surely her husband had some help in the matter of her signing with an agent and getting numerous small roles.

  With an hour to kill before I had to leave, I got comfortable on my white faux fur rug in front of the windows in the living room, and got into lotus pose for a quick meditation session. I was never good at completely clearing my head, but I tried.

  This is impossible. How can anyone make his or her mind go blank? Even just thinking about how much I can’t meditate is ruining it for me. Ugh. Enough of this. I’m getting hungry.

  It may have been the shortest attempt at meditation, but I tried. I was too excited for today and tomorrow’s press conference with the Mayor that I just couldn’t relax.

  Jimmy DeFazio, aka, Wilcox’s socially awkward and high-strung press secretary, was ignoring every email I’ve sent requesting a meeting. One thing was for sure, I was back to being one of the groveling reporters he so often treated like crap.

  No worries, though. I knew I’d at least look eye catching having already picked out my outfit: skintight black leggings, a fitted black blazer, burgundy silk blouse, and black pumps seemed to be the perfect attire. The outfit was sexy yet professional. I figured I’d also sport my thick-framed spectacles for that “fuckable librarian” look.

  Miniature tape recorder and binoculars? Yes. Gun? Definitely not. GoPro cam? Yes, just have the flash off. They’d probably snatch that from me.

  “Paige.” The quiet voice and feel of a hand on my shoulder immediately snapped me alert.

  “Adam! You scared me,” I huffed. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”

  I pressed my hand on my heart as if it would help to slow down the thumps.

  “Sorry. You know I have the keys.”

  He walked to the kitchen and grabbed coconut water from the refrigerator and a banana. I untied my legs and tried to stand, although my left leg felt like it was in a near coma. I limped over to the bedroom to change out of my yoga attire and into a beige and turquoise dress that looked similar to what an Air Asia stewardess would wear. It was a little too pre-spring, but I was so sick of black and looking like I was in mourning all winter. Adam was coming with me to Dos Pesos on the Lower East Side for an early lunch with Mrs. Mayor. I figured it was a safe spot since the restaurant’s most frequent hipster cliental would hopefully be at class.

  “We should’ve just taken the bus, Paige. I’m getting motion sickness,” Adam complained as the Jeep bounced up and down the potholed-filled streets.

  Rather than deal with public transportation and risk standing on a smelly bus or getting stuck on a broken-down PATH train under the Hudson, I opted to drive into the city.

  “You know how I feel about the Port Authority. It’s the rotten part of the Big Apple. I just won’t do it.”

  From my purse on the floor of the passenger seat, I heard my phone chime three times. Victoria was texting me.

  “Can you check to see what she wants?” I asked Adam.

  He fished around the oversized tote. It looked like he was working up a sweat in doing so.

  Hopefully he doesn’t stab himself on my switchblade. I think I left it in there.

  “Ahh, here it is. Victoria just got there. She says she is waiting in the town car outside.”

  “Town car? Why would she take a town car? I told her not to make herself look too important.”

  “It looks like Theresa texted you, too. She says to meet her at seven at Tribeca Grill. Remember, you can’t stay out late. You have that presser at the U.N. at nine,” Adam lectured while continuing to go through my phone like a nosy child. “Umm. What is this text?” Adam turned the phone towards me to see. It was the text from Danny. He knew about him and that relationship and how troubling it was. “What the hell does he want now? And he texted you again this morning I see?”

  “Before you even ask…I never responded…they always seem to just come out of the woodwork like a pesky termite.”

  What was supposed to be a 25-minute ride to Dos Pesos ended up taking over an hour. Trying to find parking spots on snow-covered Ludlow Street only added to our lateness.

  The hostess inside the dimly lit establishment escorted Adam and me to their even darker and colder cellar dining area. Down the uneven steps we went, which appeared to be made of painted hard mud, perhaps when the place was first built. The walls looked like gray boulders and gave off the feel that we were in some old Mayan temple. I was convinced the underground was used to store massive amounts of wine and alcohol during the prohibition era and maybe even used as a sex dungeon. I texted Victoria to let her know we were inside. Within minutes I heard the sound of heels tapping down the faulty staircase. Adam and I had taken a seat at a corner table towards the back of the basement bar. When she emerged from around the corner, we stood to greet her. As always, she looked stunning. Her mane was perfectly coiffed with not a lowlight or layer out of place. She exuded power while walking over to us in her $1,200 Gucci heels.

  After a quick welcome hug, the three of us put in our margarita orders and we cut to the chase.

  “Here’s the skinny. I’ve got nothing dirty on your husband, yet. I am not surprised, though.”

  Victoria leaned in closer, making the scent of her Chanel No. 5 even stronger.

  “That’s because he probably gets his pals to burn any evidence,” Victoria interjected. “Isn’t that how all politicians operate?”

  The waiter placed the sweet and heavenly smelling margaritas on the table. Adam was the first to take a big sip, then me.

  “I looked at past records and to tell you the truth, I need more than a suspicious text and a gut feeling that he is cheating. Hopefully you have something good for me right now.”

  It was important that I be straightforward with Victoria.

  “I do have something that may be of interest. That’s why I wanted to meet with you,” Victoria started.

  Adam and I leaned in more. She stared at her half empty glass as if she were looking into a crystal ball.

  “I got a phone call from the bank the other day. They wanted to know if I was making purchases in Dallas. I told them, no. Walter had been going there more recently so I thought the charges were his. Until I found out what the charges were for,” she hinted.

  She reached into her Alaïa clutch and pulled out a piece of paper:

  Coach—$400

  Bloomingdales—$1,200

  Tiffany’s—$1,500

  Yves St. Laurent—$2,300

  Agent Provocateur—$900

  It was a list of the purchases made on
the credit card.

  Women’s gifts? For Victoria? For Piper?

  Given the type of stores it was either Walter buying gifts of some sort, or a woman using his credit card to do some shopping. I folded the paper and put it in my purse.

  “Listen, Victoria. Keep monitoring these credit cards. I mean like every day before your accountant or your husband get their hands on the bills. I need to see where the money is flowing.”

  “Of course. I will do my best. Walter and Richard have all these passwords and stuff…”

  “Wait. What? Comptroller Brownstein?” I snapped.

  She nodded.

  Why is he handling your finances? It wasn’t his job to handle the mayor’s personal finances.

  Adam quietly jotted down notes on his iPad. Apparently, Richard Brownstein and Walter were college buddies. Brownstein went off to business school and worked for the Department of Treasury in Washington for a bit and moved back to New York when he heard about Walter’s mayoral run. He had promised Richard a cabinet position if he won. Richard was rumored to be gay. That was all I knew about him. In all my years in news, I never had to deal with him. Knowing that Walter’s best friend was handling the city finances, it made me question the relationships he had with the rest of his staff. Thinking about it a little deeper I realized that the majority of the administration officials were all men.

  The Wilcox administration was like a giant fraternity.

  I had some good leads now. Rather than go back home and then come back into the city, I decided to have Adam drop me off at the New York City Public Library. I could spend the three hours compiling my notes and people watching before going back downtown to meet Theresa.