Trillionaire Boys' Club: The Connector

by Aubrey Parker

  It’s terrible of me. I’m being triggered by my emotions. Even so, I have to give Corey a wan smile instead of a hello. I have to hold up a finger to ask him to wait while I answer the phone.

  Nathan’s voice takes me away. Literally. My feet start to wander, and by the time I hang up, I’m way down the hall, on the other side of the dorm from Corey’s room.

  I don’t even realize I’m in a haze until the phone is back in my pocket and Corey’s voice is coming around my side, saying, “Hey. Alex … are you okay?”

  He looks at my face, but must not like what he sees because he hugs me.

  It’s a full minute before I realize I’m crying.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  ALEX

  I TELL COREY EVERYTHING.

  I omit the details of the sex acts, of course, but admit that Nathan and I have been doing it.

  I tell him that we did it the day he went with me to Nathan’s office, after I went back up for my purse. That we did it in the administration building’s closet, then again in his apartment. I say too much, I’m sure, because the whole thing feels like confession. I don’t want to explain my actions away, as sure as I suddenly am that they’re all part of the same wrong direction. I almost want him to find me depraved and disgusting. Because who fucks a guy they’ve just met? Who then, after being ignored for days, accepts an invite to a dirty janitor’s closet in a public place?

  I can’t bring myself to blurt the details of Nathan’s Trillionaire Club, but I come close, once we’re alone in Corey’s room. Dulles is out for the morning and Corey’s playing hooky from class. I tell Corey that there’s a big deal Nathan wants — practically needs — to make with Ashton Moran, and how the deal with our university was intended to make that other deal more favorable to Nathan.

  Corey nods along. If he feels used, he hides it well. He holds my hand, keeps his face impassive, letting me finish.

  I tell him what Nathan said last night, comparing business to Krav Maga.

  I tell him how Nathan wanted me to introduce Jenna to Ashton … then step between them and withhold her from him after he started drooling, until he signed Nathan’s papers.

  I tell Corey about my dark night — how it all hit me at once in what now feels, in retrospect, like some sort of a breakdown. I’m better now, but I wasn’t then. I’d realized all the things I’d done that weren’t like me at all, and the mosaic of actions wasn’t good — especially as I found myself considering spending Jenna like currency, so I could keep getting the sexual drug I’m suddenly so addicted to.

  Corey manages to keep his face neutral, and waves away my apology, saying it was no big deal and that he knew it wasn’t really “his Alex” talking. I hurt for Corey as I do for myself.

  It feels great to unburden myself after holding it all inside, but that load has to go somewhere. Much of it is settling on Corey’s shoulders. He truly seems to love me — or at least want me — and hearing this all must crush him. But at the same time he feels responsible for me. He’s always tried to take care of me, and though it usually annoys me, deep down I’ve always sort of appreciated it.

  Now I’ve shown him that he’s failed. Despite his best efforts at protection, I’ve still strayed into some very dark corners.

  Lastly, I tell Corey about the phone call.

  I tell him how Nathan said his deal with Ashton definitely looked like it would fall through — or at least into a configuration that made the rest of what he was trying to do impossible.

  I tell Corey that Nathan asked how I was feeling. That he asked if I’d seen Jenna yet today, and if I’d spoken with her.

  And I tell him how our call ended after Nathan’s story about his dead deal, after I didn’t really want to talk about Jenna. I asked when I could see him again — knowing that I’d chosen a little girl’s pathetic words, asking in a sad and desperate way for the big man’s attention.

  And Nathan, brusquely, said, “We’ll see,” then hung up before I could respond.

  I told Corey how I’d forfeited my pride and called him right back but got no answer.

  “I’ll go to the dean,” Corey tells me after I finish, his face harder than I’ve ever seen it. “I’ll tell him I was wrong about Ashton Moran.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Even if you could do anything, which you can’t, it’d only hurt Moran.”

  Corey’s jaw is determined, his eyes furious. “We can call the press. Don’t you think they’d like to hear a story about how Nathan Turner likes to pick up young girls and …”

  He trails off, probably realizing his error before I point it out. The press already has plenty of stories about Nathan picking up young girls. As long as they’re over eighteen, there’s no scandal — only delicious, magazine-selling sensation. Nathan’s brand, like Moran’s, is that of a womanizing playboy. What Corey’s suggesting will help, not hurt him.

  “Then I’ll …” But again he stops, unsure.

  I give him a gentle smile. “Just let it go, Corey.”

  “I want to help you.”

  “You are helping me.”

  “I’m not helping you at all. If it weren’t for me, none of this would be a problem.”

  It’s only half-true. I’d already had my tryst with Nathan before Corey brokered a landmark deal that, I now realize, he deserves to take pride in but now never will. The deal sucked me back in, and made Nathan seek me out that day in the admin building.

  But in truth I was hooked already — and, judging by the way things went in the closet, part of me suspects Nathan was, too.

  “It’s okay, Corey. I really just needed to get it out.” I pat his hand. “I feel better now. And a bit like an idiot.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s like you said. He was just using me. It’s so obvious.”

  I see a strange twist in Corey’s demeanor, and realize with surprise that he’s going to start defending Nathan — not for Nathan’s sake, but so that I can justify feeling fooled rather than stupid.

  “I don’t know. Sounds like if anything, you were kind of using each other.”

  “That’s not much better, Corey.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He moves around his threadbare couch as if he’s been poked in the back by an errant spring. “I just mean … you know. He wanted … companionship.”

  “Hmm. So he wanted the companionship of a young girl. Good for him.”

  “You know what I mean. Because, you know … that day, before he spoke at your class? You … you know … wanted his companionship, too.”

  Poor Corey. Bless his heart. He’s trying to say that I thought Nathan was hot and wanted to fuck him, at the same time Nathan was thinking I was hot and wanting to fuck me. But Corey can’t think of me in sexual terms — at least, not when paired with a man that isn’t him — so I’m getting this kindergarten version of events.

  You were horny; you both wanted to bump uglies. Maybe he’s not evil. Maybe he’s just a dude with a boner.

  But Corey won’t say it. I have to interpret. “You weren’t there. The things he said … it was all mind games.”

  But was it? I remember feeling flattered. Beautiful. Desired. And not just for my body. The way Nathan talked to and about me, it was like he respected and trusted me. He used inclusive words, told me plans that nobody else knew, as if wanting my opinion. Or my participation. Or my blessing.

  “Guys … say stuff to get what they want, Alex. It’s not really mind games. It’s just … you know … the way things sometimes work.”

  “He lied to me. He manipulated me. He told me that if I didn’t use my friend to get him what he wanted, that we were through.”

  “He said that?”

  I sort of shrug.

  But Corey says, “You … hell. You don’t know what you do to guys, Alex. It’s not rational.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He’s blushing. I want to hug him and tell him it’s all right.

  “You know. Guys … get a little crazy. It’
s not our fault. It’s biological. The drive to reproduce, you know?”

  This is the wrong thing to say. Corey’s blushing like a stoplight, having just basically said that my presence knocks men a few notches down the evolutionary chain — to the point where sex is about survival.

  “You’re not like that.”

  He looks away. “We all tell lies of one sort or another.”

  I watch Corey’s turned head and suddenly understand. He means lies of omission. Lies that make a person timid, unafraid to go after what he really wants — something Corey’s done since I’ve known him.

  “Corey?”

  He looks at me. He can barely meet my eye.

  “I like you a lot.”

  But he knows what that really means. A day’s worth of awkward conversation passes between us in seconds. We skip past the part where I tell him he’ll always be a friend and nothing more. We skip past the part where he declares his love, then is forced to backpedal and justify the declaration to himself. We skip past the part where we can’t speak to each other because it’s too strange. And then all of a sudden I realize that Corey’s finally gone after something without hesitation: he’s going to make a bid for my friendship if that’s all that there can be.

  “I just want you to be happy,” he says.

  What a coincidence.

  I want that, too.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  ALEX

  NATHAN CALLS TWICE MORE THAT afternoon. I decline both calls, but he doesn’t leave me a message. I get one text, though all it says is Call me. I text back, telling him that I haven’t spoken to Jenna. Then, feeling bold, I send another text announcing that I don’t think I’ll be speaking with Jenna at all. We’re talking between the lines, and anyone reading my text might just think I don’t anticipate seeing my roommate for the rest of the day. But Nathan knows exactly what I mean.

  As if to prove it, my phone rings just after dinner — an unknown number with a 310 extension, which I happen to know is Los Angeles. I don’t think I know anyone in LA, but when the caller hangs up and tries right back two more times in a row, I decide to answer. Three calls in a row means the caller has something urgent to say and knows you’re screening. Three calls in a row is a pompous sort of cellular shout, saying, Look at me; I’m more important than anyone else!

  So I pick it up, wondering what I’ll hear. It could be anyone, including someone in my building. Used to be, an LA number came from LA. These days, the wandering nature of cell phones mean LA can be everywhere.

  “Hello?”

  “Alex?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is Alyssa Galloway. We met last week.”

  Ashton Moran’s PR agent. How well I remember. Alyssa was an intimidating woman in every way. She was taller than me, more statuesque than me, had better hair than I had (a deep brown, but silky), and held herself tall while I felt five inches tall. Nathan spoke of her as if she was the power behind Moran’s throne. Her manner was sharp, her confidence obvious, and I remember thinking that it would be a bad idea to get in her way.

  Alyssa struck me as a woman who always got what she wanted, regardless of who might be blocking her path.

  “Hi, Alyssa.”

  “Have you spoken to Nathan?”

  “I spoke to him this morning,” I say.

  “Did he say I might be calling?”

  I feel my eyebrows draw together as my forehead tightens. “No.”

  “Well. Anyway. I am. How are you?”

  “Is this about Jenna?”

  Alyssa seems disarmed by my sledgehammer delivery. But I wasn’t fooled by her fake pleasantries, and frankly I’m exhausted by all of this. Fuck her if she wants to beat around the bush. She wants to play pimp? Fine. I intend to make her face it.

  She quickly recovers, and answers without flinching. “Why, yes. It is.”

  “I suppose Ashton wants to meet her.”

  “He does.”

  “Then maybe he should pick up the fucking phone.” I’m angrier than I realized. If she were here, I’d be staring lasers.

  “It doesn’t work that way, Sweetie.”

  My lip curls.

  “Ashton comes with some … baggage. He doesn’t exactly like to spend time at mixers and bars, and everyone thinks they already know him. For things to go smoothly, in this case, he’d need an … introduction.”

  She almost said, “recommendation.” I’m sure of it.

  “I’d rather not … introduce … my best friend to Ashton Moran.”

  “When you spoke with Nathan earlier, did you tell him this?”

  “I texted it to him.”

  “I see. And he was okay with it?”

  “I really don’t give a shit what he’s okay with.” Then I hang up.

  The next day, I get a tentative email from Geoffrey — one of those emails that doesn’t say much, but I can read the subtext fine. I’m supposed to engage, to let Geoffrey know I got it so he can lob another shot my way. So I do, and when Geoffrey gets back to me, asking casually if I got any phone calls from Moran’s camp, I reply that yes I did, and yes, I more or less told them all to go fuck themselves.

  Then I ask about Moran. About what his temperament is these days toward certain covert organizations.

  And Geoffrey lets me know, two days after Alyssa’s call, that the deal is dead. It all fell through.

  Moran pushed, and Nathan wouldn’t be nudged.

  I don’t reply to that email.

  An empire has fallen, all because of me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  ALEX

  THERE’S A KNOCK ON MY door. Jenna and I both look up and see Corey’s head, poking through the crack.

  “You got a minute?” he asks me.

  “Sure.”

  But Corey says nothing. He seems to be waiting for more, though I can’t imagine what.

  “In my room,” he finally says.

  I look at Jenna and we both sort of shrug. Then I get up and so does Jenna.

  Corey holds out a polite hand. “Just Alex.”

  “Are you sure?” Jenna asks. “I hear three-ways are more fun, and I’m pretty bendy.”

  The joke lands well on neither of us. I’ll admit it; hearing “in my room” and “just Alex” from Corey immediately conjured thoughts of beds and private acts. I remind myself that I’ve made that all clear to Corey, doing all I can to keep that lid closed so that he won’t foster any hopeful ideas. We’re friends. And that’s all we’ll ever be.

  If Corey needs proof that I go for guys of another type, he can look at my phone, my text history. Nathan won’t leave me alone now that Moran has bailed on him. His messages are all increasingly terse. He insists on speaking to me. He has something to say.

  God help me, I still think about him way too much. I’ve confessed as much to Corey, now that he knows most of it anyway. He’s been my shrink, trying to keep me centered —although I imagine I’m wearing his patience thin by now.

  “Ha ha,” I say, saving Corey from needing to respond, then I leave Jenna in the room to follow him.

  We take the stairs instead of the elevator, but instead of going right into his room, Corey stops me right outside his door then speaks in almost a whisper. I immediately realize why. Dulles is inside; I can see movement through the cracked-open door. This pulling-aside now means that whatever Corey has to tell me is definitely personal, and that I’d be embarrassed for Dulles to overhear as well.

  I’m so through with all of this. I’m so emotionally spent. It’s only been a week since I parted ways with Nathan, but I feel like I’ve been beaten for years. I’m tired of talking about it, and I resent Corey’s well-intentioned whatever-this-is that I’m positive will retread the same topics.

  I feel like telling him to just forget it ever happened. But Corey’s always looked out for me, and told me last week that if he can’t be with me, he just wants to see me happy. So far, he hasn’t missed a chance to advance that cause a bit at a time, and by whateve
r means are necessary.

  “Don’t be mad at me, okay?” Corey says, as if reading my thoughts.

  “I’m not mad at you.” But I’m getting there, for sure.

  “You know I always try to do what’s best for you.”

  “You’re not my dad, Corey.”

  “I know.”

  “And I don’t want to be a bitch again, but I sort of don’t really need your constant protection. Okay? I’m a big girl.” I smile and touch his arm to soften the blow, then add, “I promise.”

  “It’s just …” He trails off.

  “What?”

  “There’s some stuff you can’t actually do on your own.” He must know I’m bothered, because he rushes on, flustered. “Not like that. I just … Fuck.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s … hell … it’s just easier to do it, I guess.”

  Now I’m curious. “To do what?”

  “Just don’t be mad, okay? I swear I think this is best.”

  I study Corey. I still have no idea what the hell he’s doing or talking about or has done, but the way he inserted think into that sentence feels to me like hedging bets. Whatever this is, I’m sure he meant to state things more confidently. Once upon a time, he didn’t think it was best; he knew it was. But I see doubt and nerves in him now, and can tell he’s afraid I’ll disagree, and blame him for …

  Well … for what?

  Corey answers my quizzical stare by opening the door.

  And I realize it’s not Dulles inside the room: It’s Nathan.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  ALEX

  AFTER COREY CLOSES THE DOOR and I hear his footsteps retreat down the hallway, Nathan looks me over. He seems to have been sitting, but stood to greet me. I have no plans to sit, and I’m already disobeying Corey’s request not to be mad.

  Nathan’s eyes are different. They’re somehow softer — holding some of his usual hunger, but now dampened by something else. I don’t know how to take this different man, so very like the one I recently knew. He’s changed. A different facet of the same stone.