Vixen Investigations: The Mayoral Affairs

by Ashley Papa

  “It was just the funniest thing. I was coming down to gather some information on a story I am working on, on the best cities to travel as a single girl, and figured I’d connect with your husband, as I am sure you all could offer me some help.”

  The lie came out like silk and naturally she took the bait.

  “I’d LOVE to help you with that. Dallas is great and there are some amazing men in this state. I mean, just look who I snagged,” she exclaimed with such exuberance I wanted to barf.

  Oh Pamela, he’s not that much of a catch, if you ask me.

  Pamela didn’t look like an angel herself, though. She had this “I’m doing the landscaper” kind of vibe about her.

  “Yes, you really lucked out with Rodney. They don’t make them in New York City like they do down in Texas.”

  “Speaking of New York, our good friend has a place up there in the Hamptons. Do you ever go? We love it,” Pamela continued.

  The women all nodded in synchronicity.

  “Yes, of course. The Hamptons are the place to be in the summer. Where is your friend’s place?”

  “I’m not sure,” she answered, before turning to her blonde friend. “Betty, where’s Lucy’s place?”

  Lucy?

  I turned to Betty too, but before she could answer, Rodney and Richard came sneaking up to the group like a wrecking ball to pull their wives away. All the other women then scattered faster than a billiards table.

  Wait! Who is Lucy?! Damn.

  Two hours into the evening and the men were now much louder, the women more catty, and I more bored. Adam had made some new friends and was shooting hoops with them on the opposite side of the house. I assumed they were husbands of the other women. I stood by the table strewn with veggies, cheeses, and crackers and continued to keep my eyes on the mayor and the comptroller. I took a few secret snaps of them on my camera phone as a way to document their existence here. There were some other women and kids who had arrived and were now scattered throughout the property. Brownstein had one woman standing next to him who looked familiar. There wasn’t much touching or kissing going on between the two of them. When Walter walked away from the group, that’s when I made my move after him. He was heading for the bar.

  “Mayor Wilcox?” I said as I moved in closer.

  His cold demeanor proved that talking to me was the last thing he was interested in doing. For some reason, he didn’t want it to look like we knew each other.

  “What happened the other night…the way we were all acting…that’s all off the record. Ok?” he said as he took the Dewar’s on the rocks from the server.

  Walter’s tone sounded more like a threat than him asking for a favor.

  “Of course, Walter,” I hesitated. “You’ve known me long enough. I’m not into selling myself out just to get some exclusive details for a smutty rag,” I said and gently touched the back of his upper arm.

  He grinned. We slowly walked away from the bar and back to the buffet table, where nobody stood. Walter carefully selected the red and yellow julienned peppers while avoiding the green ones. The snap of the pepper in his mouth sounded like a rubber band smacking against bare skin. I could almost feel the sting just thinking about it.

  “However, I do have a proposition for you,” I began. “I reached out to your press secretary a while ago about doing a feature on you and the family. You are the city’s favorite mayor, after all,” I ass-kissed.

  “Really? Jimmy didn’t mention anything.”

  That asshole!

  “Interesting. I’ll have to follow up with him then. Anyways, I want to do a feature on you, Victoria, and Piper. I’d write about your family, your home, your relationship, your mayoral affairs…”

  “Mayoral affairs? What does that mean?” he interrupted almost in defense.

  “Like the day-to-day of being the mayor of the greatest city in the world.”

  I smiled and he relaxed his shoulders again while boldly putting his hand on my lower back.

  “Email Jimmy. Tell him I’m down,” he said.

  He let his hand graze up my rump before heading back to his group. I stood there watching him haughtily walk away as if he had just bedded the hottest Cowboys cheerleader. Then he suddenly stopped and turned back towards me.

  “Who did you say you are working for now?” he asked.

  “I didn’t. The Gotham Post.”

  My heart raced as the words exited my mouth. I knew how he felt about the paper.

  “I’ll tell you the truth, Paige,” he said while swishing the ice around in his drink. “I could really use a nice write-up about me and the family. It seems like all I get written up about is bad stuff. The last thing I need is a reporter looking for dirt on me. You understand?”

  I stood and took a few steps towards him until we were eye-to-eye again. I put my hand on his shoulder.

  “Oh, Mayor Wilcox. We both know there’s not a speck of dirt on you,” I stated while already contriving my attack plan in my head.

  I winked and smiled again. He reciprocated with the same look. We were now friends. At least he thought we were.

  Tuesday the following week and I was back to the daily New Jersey-New York City grind. I felt ready and eager for my meeting with Connie and another executive from The Gotham Post today. Coming off the impromptu trip to Dallas, I now felt I had uncovered some more hidden secrets of dear Walter. A lot of people knew him down there. It was almost like he was harboring a second life, but then again, just having a group of friends in another city doesn’t mean anything.

  “Hey, Tay. I’m heading over to meet with Connie right now. Any advice on how to approach this woman?” I decided to give Taylor a call for some last-minute guidance on what to expect.

  Taylor let out a few phlegm-clearing coughs. It was 1 p.m. and she was clearly still sleeping. Probably a late night press event.

  “Well, she likes strong but not too pushy women. Women who can get an interview. She likes really big stories, so I am sure whatever you present to her, she will love. And if you expose a big scandal and her paper gets the exclusive, she’d be indebted to you.”

  Taylor’s advice was constructive. The problem was, I couldn’t tell Connie the story I was really working on.

  “Just lie like you always do,” Taylor surprisingly added.

  “I don’t always lie!” I refuted. “I embellish the truth—at times—to get the actual truth.”

  “Love you…good luck,” she said and hung up.

  I took a deep breath. I was still feeling anxious…for the meeting and to see Liam later tonight. It would be the first I’ve seen him since getting back from Dallas since Adam and I ended up staying later than we originally planned.

  “I’m here to see Connie Carter with The Gotham Post,” I announced to the guard.

  He motioned me back so he could snap a picture, then handed my ID back and I proceeded through the metal detector.

  Oh shit, my lucky pocketknife!

  As expected, I was instantly asked to step to the side by not one, but two security guards. It was my lucky cheetah print pocketknife I bought with my dad at a flea market when I was a teenager. I carried it around with me on occasion because it was my first badass purchase. I watched one of the guards pull the knife out of my bag with his latex-gloved hand.

  “Oh, that was a gift. I forgot I had that in there,” I innocently stated.

  “You can’t take this with you. It has to stay here,” the guard ordered.

  As much as I wanted to grab it from him and run, I wanted to avoid making a scene.

  “You can pick it up on your way out.”

  The guard handed me the stub and I continued to the elevators. It was just a young, pensive-looking man and me waiting in the lobby of The Gotham Post. He looked like he could be vying for an internship or his first job in news.

 
Every two minutes, I’d hear the click clacking of high heels echoing down the hallway. They’d get closer and closer and then fade away. I looked down at my Rolex: 2:13.

  “Paige?” a forceful voice said.

  It was Connie. She was a lot older than I imagined.

  “Right this way, we can go into this conference room,” she offered.

  Her hair was long and the toll of decades of bleaching was clearly visible. She smelled like classic Chanel and I wondered why she wasn’t retired down in Casey Key, Florida or at least working at Vogue instead of a rag like The Gotham Post. I took a seat at the large oblong table in conference room number four.

  “So, how do you know Taylor,” she started.

  Should I tell her the truth or make up something?

  “She is a good friend and colleague. She invited me to a press event of hers several years ago and that’s how our friendship started,” I explained. “And yourself?”

  “I know her through a client she had featured in the paper during Fashion Week, once. This goes back years, but the girl is good at staying in touch, that’s for sure.”

  I couldn’t read if that was a good thing or a sign of irritation.

  “To be honest, I typically ignore requests like hers, but I really did find your idea interesting. We rarely do soft stories on political figures. As I’m sure you know being a reader of our paper.”

  She stopped, swiveled in her chair a little and raised her hands to her chin as if she was rubbing an imaginary beard.

  “But, I feel like we owe it to Mayor Wilcox. He is a pretty popular guy and gets coverage all over the country. Plus, we’ve been pretty rough on him throughout his time in office.”

  “Yes, and they live a pretty lavish lifestyle. I’ve seen their home uptown. I think if I were to cover him and the family in the right way, it would go over very well for your audience. They could either learn to hate him more for the money he has, or like him better when they get to learn about the family.”

  I felt like I needed a shower pitching myself like a used car salesman.

  “True. Not to mention, I know about your work. You’re quite the established journalist. I honestly wondered what had happened to you after you left UAN.”

  Rather than get into the grittiness of my exit at the network, I said a humble “thank you” and detracted back to the exposé on Walter. We went over my idea for almost an hour before Connie called in Juliet, another managing editor. After mapping it all out for them, including my ideas for the editorial and photo side, I was pretty confident in the fact that they were going to let me do the story for them. They even approached me with a rate of $5 a word, with a desired word range of 2,000 to 2,500. It was chump change to me, but that’s not what I cared about.

  Jay’s Organics, my favorite vegan restaurant that was located on the corner of 6th and 14th, was the perfect place to rejuvenate my body with their fresh-squeezed “mental booster” juice. I still had some time before I went to Liam’s place but not enough to go back home. The restaurant was rarely packed and usually quiet. Its bright and earthy ambiance also made it the ideal place to get some work done. I chose the seat by the window that looked right out to the intersection. It was the perfect place to people-watch the circus of sexy, nerdy, ugly, crazy, and flamboyant-looking folks who all came through this area.

  While sipping my power juice, I got busy composing another email to Jimmy, who had been ignoring me still. Just after hitting “send,” I noticed my cell phone signaling an incoming call. It was from an “unavailable” number. My heart raced. Anticipation, excitement, and a bit of panic washed over me as I thought perhaps I was going to be given another lead.

  “This is Paige,” I quietly answered, expecting to hear that robotic voice.

  “Hi, Paige. Connie and Juliet from The Gotham Post.”

  Every muscle and nerve instantly relaxed, although I was a bit upset that it wasn’t the mystery caller and surprised at how fast the paper got back to me.

  “We discussed the idea with the rest of the team and we’d like to contract you for the piece on Mayor Wilcox,” Connie announced with a hint of excitement. No matter how hard she tried to maintain that stoicism, I could tell in her voice that she was thrilled about the piece.

  “That’s great news! Thank you so much,” I exclaimed into the phone.

  “Fabulous. We look forward to your updates throughout the next few months and hopefully that July deadline works for you,” Connie continued before I politely interrupted.

  “Likewise, and I promise I can get you what you need and more within the allotted amount of time. But, there is one thing.” I waited a minute as Connie and Juliet got silent. Perhaps they weren’t expecting any demands from me.

  “It’s about my byline. I can’t use my real name as the author of the piece.”

  Silence again. For an instant, I thought they had hung up or were waiting for more. I continued anyway.

  “I can’t get into why. It’s a demand that I think is for the best for me and for the paper.”

  “If that is really what you prefer,” Juliet said almost empathetically and surprised that I wouldn’t want my name attached to such a piece. Luckily, they didn’t ask any further questions and agreed to use “Gotham Post Staff” in the byline.

  The pressure was on now and I had no time to wait around for responses from Mayor Wilcox’s staff when I already knew that Walter was down for this. I was losing my patience with Jimmy and decided to give Walter’s office a personal call. I took the last sip of power juice, gathered up my belongings and made my way outside. I didn’t want anyone to overhear my conversation with the mayor should he actually answer his phone.

  I found a quiet spot around the corner from Jay’s Organics. The phone rang and rang and just as I thought I would be greeted by a voicemail message, an unexpected answer.

  “Hello, Paige. You’re relentless, aren’t you?”

  It was his press secretary. Jimmy had intercepted the call.

  “Jimmy? I thought I was calling Walter’s personal desk number.”

  “You did. But do you think he actually answers his own phone?”

  That phony! Walter told me in Texas the number went straight to his personal cell if he wasn’t at his desk.

  “How did you know it was me?” I continued with my barrage of questions.

  “Caller ID, sweetie,” Jimmy answered.

  I didn’t appreciate his sarcastic tone. While still wondering how he was so quick to identify my digits, I cut to the meat of why I was calling. Without getting too into how and where I spoke to Walter, I told him that the mayor agreed to the exclusive for The Gotham Post. Jimmy seemed doubtful at first. That is until I lied and told him Walter said I would make a great press secretary for him one day. Perhaps Jimmy felt a bit threatened by me or realized that he wasn’t dealing with any ordinary reporter. Whatever it was, he promised that he would get my request cleared in a “reasonable amount of time.”

  We hung up.

  I win.

  Things seemed to be aligning just as I needed them to.

  I decided to walk from the restaurant to Liam’s apartment, to buy some time. I didn’t want to arrive too early. Just as I thought about stopping in Bittay’s Wine Shop for a bottle of fancy red, the ringing of my cell phone caught me off guard. I pulled the cold phone from the purse and looked to see who it was. The word “unavailable” flashed on the caller ID. My heart raced a bit faster.

  Connie again?

  “Hello?”

  I knew someone was there, but there was no response. I increased my walking speed a few paces.

  “Who is this and why do you keep leaving me messages?”

  “You’re very inquisitive aren’t you?” The robotic voice taunted. “How was Dallas? Abnormally hot this time of year, wasn’t it?”

  I stopped walking. Frozen, I st
ood in the middle of 36th street. I had the eerie sensation that I was being watched. I remained silent to force whoever was on the other end to talk.

  “Do you like costume parties? I do. I know of one coming up. It’s a hard list to get on. But, I’m sure you can make it happen,” the voice teased.

  “What party? Where? Hello?”

  But, whoever was playing this game with me had hung up. The mysterious caller had yet to throw me off course. Whoever it was kept pointing me in the right direction…so far at least.

  Costume party? What costume party were they talking about?

  My walk turned into a soft jog as I texted Adam to research any upcoming costume parties. If it were a private party, it would be harder to find. There was a chance it could be listed on Plusone.com, the snobby party website where anyone who is anyone hopes to get their picture posted. It was the only way to prove you were at a VIP party, because we all know there is no proof without a picture, these days.

  I turned off the phone and dropped it in my bag when I finally arrived at Liam’s. It would take all my strength to not reach for it tonight.

  The aroma of tomato sauce filled the air and only got stronger as I approached apartment 30SE. I delicately tapped on the door. Liam was shuffling around inside. His footsteps got louder as he approached the door. Before I knew it, there he was in the doorway with his rosy cheeks, green eyes, and perfect smile. The way the light shown behind him made him look Godly. He childishly pulled me inside and kissed me hard. I was now pretty sure we wouldn’t be doing much eating.

  His apartment décor spoke volumes. Just by the way it was decorated with photos of his family, his friends, and his deceased black Lab, it was easy to see that Liam was a loving man who valued his relationships. There were slight hints that he was a Jersey Shore boy, as he had randomly placed beach and surfing artwork hanging on the walls. The furniture was pretty standard for that of a bachelor, with the most important pieces being the large leather sectional and a mounted HD television. He had a variety of books stacked on one of his bookshelves, with everything from The Art of the Deal and Killing Jesus to The Heroin Diaries.