The Sweetest Charade

by Jadesola James

  He went on, giving a very colorful description of her breasts, her ass, the way she walked, what he’d caught a glimpse of when she bent over to get in the car, and her general demeanor to his companion while Delysia’s face grew hotter and hotter. She wedged herself into a corner of the vehicle, biting her lower lip till she tasted blood.

  Are you an idiot, girl? Record! She pressed the red button with trembling fingers. She should expose the asshole to her followers to get him fired at least, if nothing else, and possibly curse him out in kind when they arrived. But this—this...

  Anyone who listened to this and understood Tigrinya would know exactly what vile things he was calling her. It didn’t sound quite as bad translated to English. And the trouble was, she wasn’t quite sure her mother wouldn’t agree with him.

  Forget him, she told herself. You have a job to do. She stuck her ear-pods in her ears, downloaded the proposal that Faye had forwarded for her and the professor she was meeting, and forced herself to read. Being hurt wouldn’t pay her bills. Still, her skin felt hot, and she was fighting back tears. She didn’t retain a word of what she read.

  When they finally reached the SoHo Lounge, Delysia couldn’t look the driver in the eye. She completely forgot about posing with the Cadillac, about taking pictures. When he handed her her bag and his fingers closed round the key ring, she looked up and met his eyes. The revulsion she felt took her breath away.

  “Thank you for a very pleasant ride,” she said in Tigrinya.

  His face contorted in shock. “But—”

  “Never assume you know who is listening,” she spat out.

  “What kind of Eritrean girl is named Delysia Daniels?”

  Delysia ignored this and turned and walked up the sidewalk as fast as she could. A line of stragglers were hanging out in the front of the lounge, hoping to be invited in by someone on the list.

  “Is that—?”

  “Delysia Daniels?”

  “Delysia! Hey, girl!”

  Delysia’s face flattened out into a sweet, slightly shy smile that had long since become automatic in public, then lifted a manicured hand to wave. No matter that it still trembled slightly. Her phone vibrated in her inner pocket; she reached into her jacket and pulled it out, picked it up.

  “Delysia!” Faye, and as unceremonious as usual. “Are you there yet?”

  “Just got here.”

  The woman let out an outraged squawk. “It’s eight forty-five!”

  “I know, Faye. Cadillac was late. Long story.”

  “Are you aware I asked you to be there at eight and he’s likely been stuck outside, waiting for you?”

  Delysia was aware. In fact, yesterday, in her wine-soaked state, the thought of leaving a geeky, bespectacled professor in a line of clubbers, shivering indignantly into his tweeds or whatever, had seemed a little funny. Now she felt none of that amusement; she just felt tired. “Oh. I guess I forgot.”

  “You can’t afford to forget this guy, Delly. He’s furious and probably well within his rights to sue.” Delysia could hear the rush of a subway train; her frugal manager avoided taxis. “I’m on my way, myself.”

  “Well, has he called you looking for me?”

  “No! Is he outside?”

  Delysia scanned the throng outside the door, but none of the swankily dressed folks in line fit the description of him she’d made up in her head. “I don’t think so.”

  Faye groaned. “He’s left, then. Ask the doorman and get your butt in there, and prepare to grovel.” She hung up without any further ceremony.

  Delysia tucked her phone in her bag and tripped up to the doorman. “Hey, Will?”

  He nodded at her over his clipboard.

  “I’m meeting a guy here tonight. Alexander Hill? Dr. Alexander Hill?”

  To her surprise Will nodded. “Abbott-Hill,” he corrected, “and yes, ma’am. He arrived about an hour ago. Christian took him up to the Sky Bar.”

  “The Sky...” Delysia was truly dumbfounded. The Sky Bar? After four years she still hadn’t gotten the clearance to go up there; it was as VIP as it could get. “What the—? Is he a member here?”

  “He’s an Abbott-Hill, ma’am.” Will lifted a bushy eyebrow. “One of the Abbott-Hills? That Long Island family? The one that makes our farm-to-table house wine?”

  “Is he a member, though?” Delysia was frankly confused. She’d heard of the Abbott-Hills, of course. Aside from the high-priced wine, there was one who was a socialite—a real one, not a social media one—and a couple who were, perhaps, in politics? They were important in a vague, dynastic, name-on-buildings sort of way. Faye knew more, anyway. And you should, too. She mentally cursed the Cadillac driver. She’d have been all caught up if he hadn’t distracted her.

  “He doesn’t need to be a member, miss,” Will said in disbelief. “He’s an Abbott-Hill.”

  “But the Sky Bar?”

  “Well, Christian wasn’t going to leave him in the actual bar. That guy could probably buy this club and everything in it.”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “Here—” And Will typed something into his tablet, then nodded. “Had to put you in the notes. They wouldn’t let you in otherwise. Have a nice night, miss.”

  Flabbergasted, Delysia straightened her clothes, sent Faye a text telling her where she was going, and headed for the large glass elevators on the far end of the lounge. The SoHo Lounge featured a restaurant, a club, a lounge, and three indoor pools, all scattered strategically between swanky residences that hadn’t had an opening to the general public since 1982.

  The Sky Bar was the jewel in the tower. It was roofed in glass and had floor-to-ceiling windows that gave one the feeling of being a bird perched atop a skyscraper. A lush indoor garden combined with old-world-style seating that could have easily come from an English manor completed the eclectic look. The Sky Bar wasn’t a bar at all, not in the traditional sense. It was made for leisurely meals and quiet reflection, a place where the truly rich and famous could drop their armor and be themselves. Influencers like her didn’t have a prayer of getting into a place like that, ever, but because of Alexander Abbott-Hill...

  “Here, Ms. Daniels,” said the attendant. The ride up had been so smooth she’d barely noticed when the elevator stopped. “Please keep in mind that photographs are not allowed on this floor.”

  Fighting back a blush, she nodded.

  “You’re at the center table, middle of the palm trees. Your party has already arrived.”

  “Thank you.” All she could see from this distance was a brown blazer hugging reasonably broad shoulders, and a full head of very dark hair. He was talking animatedly to a middle-aged man in a blue suit; they shook hands, and the older gentleman walked away. Delysia squared her slim shoulders and headed over.

  “Dr. Abbott-Hill?” she asked.

  When he saw her he rose to his feet in a single gesture, offering her a welcoming nod. Up close she registered dark hair, almost black, as tightly curled as her own. Looks-wise he could have been any of the guys she’d grown up with in her community back in Dubai, and that sort of startled her; she’d been expecting a nerdy-looking hipster. His calm eyes held an unpredictable mix of browns, both light and dark, his lashes were just on the side of long, and his full mouth was compressed. He looked as if he possessed very little humor. His crisp white shirt, covered by a dilapidated tweed blazer, was pretty academic, as well. He was precisely the type of professor one dealt with exasperatedly during the semester but had naughty thoughts about in drunken, idle weekend hours.

  “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long?”

  “I have, actually. About an hour.” Oh boy, he was annoyed. Great. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Faye emerge from the elevator, looking as if she’d been struck by lightning. She managed to run smack into the man that Alexander had been speaking to, who apologiz
ed profusely before heading into the lift.

  Faye made it over by that time, out of breath. Her cropped blond hair looked as if she’d been through a gale of wind and one of her jacket lapels was standing up as if in salute. “Was that Senator Abbott-Hill?” she puffed.

  Alexander’s brow creased. “Why, yes, he’s my cousin. Do sit down,” he added, and pulled out a chair for Faye. “You must be...”

  Senator Abbott-Hill, mouthed Faye to Delysia, then sat and shot Alexander her sweetest smile. “I’m Faye. And this is Delysia Daniels,” she purred, as if she were offering up the best jewel in her harem. Delysia, to her irritation, felt color creeping up in her cheeks. Alexander looked polite, but it was clear he didn’t care who she was. Sort of like that driver. All of a sudden, she felt tired; all she wanted to do was go home, soak in a hot bath, and turn her phone off, for once.

  “Did you read the proposal, Delysia?” Faye asked, shaking out her napkin and placing it on her lap.

  “I—no. Kind of.”

  “Do it now, if you don’t mind, and then we can discuss. In the meantime—Alexander,” Faye said, and shot a sweet smile in his direction. “Do tell me about the senator...”

  * * *

  By the time their entrees arrived, Alexander had a headache.

  Faye had not shut up and her voice was no less grating in person. Delysia was quiet and kept her eyes firmly on the mackerel rillette on her plate. This muteness was so far off from her online persona that he was intrigued despite his irritation. Any direct attempts to draw her out were met with one-word answers. Perhaps she wasn’t feeling well.

  “We wanted to apologize,” Faye finally said after the wine had been poured. She’d had a bottle of his family brand ordered for the table ahead of time, much to his embarrassment. “Apologize in person, that is. It’s so difficult to keep track of these things, especially when you’re posting at the speed of light!” Faye’s laugh trilled so high it turned heads.

  “While that’s nice to know,” Alexander said, his face still like stone, “I would appreciate a retraction, or some sort of statement saying that...person wasn’t me. I’m sure you meant no harm,” he added, “but my academic community is fairly conservative, and this is casting me in a certain light.”

  To his surprise Delysia colored and looked up, making eye contact with him for the first time that evening. They were large and liquid-dark, and he was struck by the guardedness in them. “What sort of light?” she asked quickly.

  “It’s attention I would prefer not to have,” Alexander said after a moment of consideration.

  Faye seemed all too glad to jump in. “It’s attention, though! And publicity. You have gained a total of ten thousand followers in less than forty-eight hours. You can’t buy that sort of publicity.”

  “Publicity for what? I’m in academia, Faye. And my students have trouble enough paying attention without thinking I’m draping myself half-naked on the internet just for a laugh. My supervisor complained. It is essential we get this out of the way.”

  “Alex—may I call you Alex?”

  “I prefer Alexander.”

  “Well, Alexander—”

  “Faye, he’s not going to want to do it. Just leave it alone,” Delysia cut in. She was staring down at her mackerel again, and suddenly Alexander felt sorry for her. Fine lines around her full mouth said otherwise, but she suddenly looked very young to him, like the latte-toting girls who traipsed into his class every day.

  “Doesn’t want to do what?” Alexander asked, and both women fell quiet.

  “Faye drew up a...proposal of sorts, like she said earlier,” Delysia said. Her voice was so quiet now that he had to strain to hear her. “That’s why we asked you to dinner. And frankly, I’m wondering if it’s even a good—”

  “She’s wondering,” Faye cut in, “if I should even be here.” Her eyes had been darting back and forth between them, and now they narrowed as if she had just realized something. She stood and gathered her phone, her large handbag, and a stack of file folders. “You know, I’m just going to leave you two alone and let Delysia tell you all about it. Keep an open mind,” she added, and in a flurry of gusto and perfume, she was gone.

  Alexander let out a breath. “Is she always like that?”

  “Worse,” Delysia said, and dryly. She nervously tapped her fingertips on the tabletop, then reached for her wineglass and took a long sip. Alexander said nothing; he was never one to mind long silences, but it seemed to agitate his dinner partner.

  “Faye saw the potential for a profitable partnership for both of us because of my mistake,” Delysia finally said. “I’ll explain because I promised I would, but please—I’ll give you your retraction, whatever you want. I just want this to go away.”

  “Very well,” Alexander said, slowly. “I’m listening.”

  “You’re a historian, right? Of American travel?”

  “I am.”

  “Well—” She sighed and apparently decided to take the plunge. “If we did it, I’d need your help. And your train.” She bit her lip. “I also feel kind of stupid.”

  “Why?”

  “Faye was going on and on about how important—” There was a faint flush on her cheeks. Quite becoming, he thought a little distractedly. “I didn’t realize how closely you were connected with the Abbott-Hills. I’ve heard of them, of course, but you looked—” And here, she paused. “You look really normal.”

  Oh. Alexander shifted in his chair. “Ah. Yes. Well. I’m only a poor relation,” he explained, “and a distant one at that.” Not that it made much of a difference within the Southampton community. An entire wing of the library was named after his father, for God’s sake, and every faculty member who’d been there more than thirty years had seen Alexander in short pants and a Tigger T-shirt, at some point.

  Come to think of it, he rather liked that Delysia Daniels had no idea who he was.

  She was staring at him, still, then looked back at her phone, then back up at him. “It all makes sense now,” she muttered.

  “What makes sense?”

  “Faye’s proposal. Our proposal. Oh, let me just read the damn thing out loud to you.”

  “Haven’t you reviewed this yourself?”

  “Barely. I was busy on the way over here. Long story.” She took a deep breath, then spoke rapidly, reading off her phone.

  In exchange for the appearance of a fling with a member of one of the first families on the East Coast, she said, she would market his sole passion and investment—luxury train travel—in a way that could potentially reach thousands of the young, beautiful, and rich. Plus...

  “Amtrak reached out to me. Well, Faye. They want me—us—to design a four-city Northeast rail trip through Boston, New York City, Philadelphia, and DC that will stop for night and day excursions in the hottest spots along the way.”

  “They called me, too, although I haven’t had time to get back to them,” Alexander remembered. “How would that work?”

  “Well, I’ve got the sponsors already, or I will. I’d just need the help from you in planning. The trip has got to be as luxurious as we can make it, and include all of those elements you’re always talking about on your account page. Like, a vintage sort of thing. Think a luxury cruise, but by rail.”

  “Vintage,” he repeated. He couldn’t keep the skepticism from bleeding into his voice, and Delysia sat up in her chair.

  “Say what you will, but there’s a historical precedent for this—I’ve seen it on your page!” she burst out.

  “Well...” He knew that at least was true.

  “I know you think it’s a stupid idea. That’s why I didn’t want to mention it,” she said, and those twin circles of red were back in her cheeks. “If I’d read it carefully before this, I’d never had dragged you out here. Listen—”

  She took a deep breath, and the words came pouring out. />
  “People do this because they want an escape, Dr. Abbott-Hill,” she said. “They go on my page and they see this incredibly curated form of my life. It’s all filtered, and beautifully lit, and it’s therapeutic in and of itself. When I was younger I’d spend hours following the lives of stars and people that looked so incredibly gorgeous to me. It felt good, because what was around me—wasn’t.”

  They were silent for a moment, and Delysia continued, a new softness in her face. “Everyone wants to be recognized, and everyone wants to be important, right? Being an influencer sort of validates your existence and your choices.” She slowed down. “This trip will be so beautiful, so luxurious it’ll be like stepping back in time. Think of picking up a novel and reading it and allowing yourself to get lost in all the details—the food, the music, the glamour.”

  Alexander was surprised to find himself holding his breath. Her husky voice, as well as those large, arresting eyes in that lovely face, had captivated him despite himself. He caught himself after a moment of staring. Troubled, he picked up his water glass.

  “You should lecture my students,” he said dryly, and took a sip of water. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure.

  Delysia smiled, and there it was—the spark that he knew had captured the internet. “I know I have to appeal to the academic side,” she said. “So you could also think of it as a way to educate, too? I mean, how much of an audience does your work get outside of folks who are already looking for information on the subject?”

  “Not much,” Alexander admitted.

  “I’m not saying there suddenly would be an influx of undergraduates who want to study railway history, but...”

  “Heaven forbid.” He allowed himself a smile. “Then I’d have to teach them.”

  “It’d be a way to finish that train you’re renovating,” Delysia pointed out. “And use it. We’d get financing for all that. Plus, I don’t know if you’re tenured already, but this can’t hurt with that either.”