by Tabatha Kiss
We didn’t belong. I didn’t belong.
But the school board wanted to look good that year and they drew my name out of a damn hat, ripping me out of the dense, crowded public school where I spent my youth learning how to blend in and dropped me into a haven for rich, entitled heirs and heiresses.
I connect my thumb to the screen, stopping the scroll on a face. Brownish-black hair, deep dimples, and bright, green eyes.
“Ugh,” I groan.
“What?” Jackie asks.
I offer the phone back. She picks it up and takes a look.
“Oh, baby,” she says. “And to whom do I dedicate my next orgasm to?”
“Max Monahan,” I answer.
“Monahan…” She raises a brow. “As in Keith Monahan?”
“The great criminal defense attorney himself.” I nod. “That’s his son.”
“And just what about Max Monahan makes you go ugh?” She admires the portrait again. “Other than the painfully obvious good kind of ugh…”
“I had such a crush on him… but he was just like all the other assholes.”
Jackie smiles. “Will he be there tomorrow night?”
“Probably. Maybe.” I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Do you want him to be?”
I tilt my head at her. “No.”
“Well, if he is,” she slides her phone into her pocket, “I say we stop and say hello.”
I wince. “Please don’t sleep with him.”
She scoffs. “It never even crossed my mind, Phoebe. I have some semblance of loyalty.”
I furrow my brow.
“Okay,” she says, “I might have pictured myself bent over in seventeen and a half different positions already but can you blame me?”
I imagine those green eyes again. “No.”
“I promise…” She throws up a Scout’s Honor with her fingers. “I won’t touch him.”
“Thank you.”
“Anyway…” She rises from her chair. “I have some filing to pretend to do. Buzz if you need something.”
“Bye — Hey, Jackie.”
She pauses in the doorway. “Yeah?”
I lean forward. “Seventeen and a half?”
Her lips curl. “Check your email in five minutes.”
The door closes behind her. I shake my head and I kick against the floor to swivel my chair toward my computer monitor. My eyes graze that stack of manuscript pages on my desk again but I purposefully ignore them. It’s going to take a bottle of good wine to get me the least bit eager to read through that trash again. Maybe I’ll even enjoy it better that way.
Not that it matters. It’ll get published eventually because the author just so happened to marry into a rich family and little Bradley Dumbfuck will probably steal my job while he’s at it, too.
I’ve worked way too hard and come too far to let this promotion fall into his unqualified hands. If there’s anything I can thank Belle Academy for, it’s the pretty logo on my résumé. A potential employer takes one look at that gold and blue seal and you get a personal phone message from the CEO themselves. I’m not smarter or better than anyone else who applied. I just lucked out.
The rest of my classmates? Mommy and Daddy bought that seal. A golden ticket to whatever they wanted to be — not that it matters much in the end because most of them go on to work for their daddy’s company anyway.
I went to a state school on scholarship and used that seal to get my foot in the door of whatever job I could find. That’s usually as far as I could go once the potential employer realized that my disabled mother and truck driver father wouldn’t be making significant private contributions to their company every year.
Mr. Fellows took a chance on me. Six years later, I’m his number two gal but something tells me that won’t matter now that Bradley has his eyes set on the corporate job in New York City.
I palm my computer mouse and tap open my email inbox. That message from Sally glares back at me, taunting and tempting me until I’m finally forced to click on it. I navigate to the class portraits and scroll down to find Max again.
Speaking of nepotism. I’m not at all surprised Max Monahan turned out to be just as morally bankrupt as his father, if the news reports of their company representing murderers and thieves are even the least bit true.
What a waste.
A notification from Jackie pops up in the corner of my screen. I click it open without thinking, instantly greeted by two naked bodies entwined together with—
“Oh, god!” I gasp and blink away, only to slowly open my eyes again to admire the various poses.
My head tilts. “Hmm…”
Two
Max
What a waste.
There are far more important things in the world than my high school reunion but you wouldn’t know that based on my news feed right now.
I lean against a wall at LAX, scrolling on my phone past the dense haze of photos and messages posted by my classmates over the last few days.
I can’t believe its been ten years!
Can’t wait to see you all again.
Where did the time go? I feel so old.
It’s not like social media hasn’t kept our lives front and center to each other this whole time anyway. I’ve already seen photos of Blaine McNally’s kids and Carter Queen’s London wedding (and island honeymoon/annulment) and Sally Sweet’s nose job. I’d much rather spend my evening elsewhere.
I glance at the monitor on the wall above my head. Flight 929. Delayed.
I chuckle to myself. He must have hit something.
My phone vibrates in my hand. I turn it up to find a new text message.
So, am I getting you alone tonight or what?
Sally. She’s been dropping hints for weeks, telling me she can’t wait to be near me again and that she gets so wet every time she sees my face on the news. I’ve done my best to steer the conversation away from my dick but Sally wears desperation like a runway model wears this season’s shoes.
I reply.
No.
My thumb barely rises off the screen before she fires one back.
And why not?
I’m hesitant to argue but my fingers tap it out anyway.
Because you’re married.
She replies just as fast.
We’re separated!
I shake my head.
Still married.
A pouting emoji pops up. I roll my eyes and drop the phone into my pocket.
I’m not that guy anymore but I’m not surprised they still think of me that way. A bit of questionable ethics comes with the Monahan name. I’ve spent the last few years doing everything I professionally can to distance myself from that reputation. Easier said than done, turns out.
My phone rings and I reach for it, praying that it’s not Sally. Luckily, it’s just my dad but that doesn’t make hitting the answer button any easier.
I clear my throat as I raise the phone to my ear. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m great. Thanks,” I say. “How are you?”
He ignores it. “David just told me you’re passing on the Argento case.”
I flex my jaw. I’d hoped that bit wouldn’t hit his desk until at least Monday. “Yeah, I’m not interested.”
“And why not?”
“Because he’s guilty.”
My father sighs. “Oh, come on. Not this bullshit again—”
“I’m not standing up and defending an Italian mobster in court.”
“It’s not your job to pass judgment, Max,” he growls. “You represent clients — and you represent the ones I tell you to represent.”
“It’s just one case, Dad. David can handle it,” I say.
“David isn’t my son.” His voice rises. “David’s not the future of this practice. You are. I don’t know where this sudden crusader-for-justice attitude came from but I want it checked at the door on Monday morning before you head to the prison to meet with Arge
nto. Do I make myself clear?”
Several people come walking out of the gate, some rolling their carry-ons behind them as they head toward baggage claim. I glance at the monitor again. Flight 929. Arrived.
“I gotta go, Dad.”
“This conversation isn’t over, Max.”
I hang up and let the phone go into my pocket.
Laughter and voices pull my attention across the airport terminal. I watch for several minutes as the last group of passengers come walking out the gate. Families and friends reunite together with embraces and smiles. A child races toward a man in uniform with tears in his eyes. A young couple falls into each other’s arms and kiss. It’s a good feeling. For one moment in their hectic lives, they stop to appreciate just being near each other again.
Reunions. One of life’s little ambiguities.
They can be good, like old friends coming together for the first time in years. Or bad, like a fucking mobster being released back into the world on a damn technicality.
I’ve had my hand in one more than the other. About time I changed that.
“Maximillian.”
I look to the empty gate to see a man standing a few feet away from me with an old suitcase slung off one shoulder. He wears a black suit and a red checkerboard tie with a pilot’s cap casually flung on the side of this head as if he wasn’t the coolest motherfucker in the room.
“Thaddeus,” I say.
He opens his arms and launches toward me. “Come here, you pretty bastard!”
I laugh and hug him back, accidentally knocking his cap off in the process but he doesn’t seem to care. We trade a few hard pats on the back before releasing each other.
“How you doing, man?” I ask.
Thad bends over to grab his hat. “Couldn’t complain at all, even if I wanted to,” he says, brushing it off and sliding it onto his dirty blond head again. “And you? You’re looking well-laid.”
“I try.” I chuckle, my eyes drawn to that checkerboard tie again. And not in a good way. “Cool tie,” I quip.
“Thank you.”
“What was with the delay?”
He exhales hard as he loosens the knot. “Eh, just a loose screw on the landing gear. Had to wait for them to find it before taking off.”
“Yikes.”
“No big deal. Got to spend a little extra time with that new flight attendant.”
“Carrie?”
“Katie.”
“Ah.”
“She’s still not biting, though,” he says. “Think she’s got a boyfriend or something.”
“Or she’s just not interested in hooking up with co-workers,” I suggest. “Like a professional.”
“Hot chicks with morals.” He sighs. “I mean, what’s that about?”
“I think you might be the real reason why we need feminism, Thad.”
“It’s a burden I’m proud to bear.”
We start walking through the airport as he claws into his back pocket for his phone. “I am more than pumped for this reunion. Sally’s been texting me like crazy this week.”
“Let me guess, she gets so wet every time she sees a selfie of you in your uniform?”
He chuckles. “You, too, huh?”
“Yep.”
“The desperate housewife.” He smirks. “I like it.”
“She’s all yours, man.”
“Why? Who do you have your eyes on?”
“I don’t,” I say.
“Bullshit.”
I surrender my hands. “No, really. The only reason I’m going to this thing at all is to have a long-overdue drink with you.”
He lays his palm over his chest. “That’s beautiful, dude. I’m touched.”
“I have too much to worry about right now,” I say. “The last thing I need is a distraction — as hot and bothered as she may be.”
His face winces. “Dad still being an ass?”
“Something like that.”
“Broken record, Max. You should just quit.”
“Yeah, maybe tomorrow.”
He scoffs. “Again, I say, broken record.”
“I can’t just quit.”
“Yes, you can,” he argues. “It’s easy. You just walk up to your old man and say the words, ‘I quit.’”
“It’s not that simple when your name is on the wall,” I point out.
“It’s not your name,” he says, his voice echoing across the airport lobby but he doesn’t seem to care. “It’s his name. A man makes his own destiny.”
I look at him. “That might be the most profound thing I’ve ever heard you say, Thad.”
“And tonight,” he grins, “I’m making my own destiny all over Sally Sweet’s new nose.”
I let out a heavy sigh, amused and unsurprised. “It troubles me that the fates of hundreds of lives are in your hands on a daily basis.”
“Yeah, that is a bit unsettling.” He winks and pats my shoulder. “Thanks for letting me crash with you this weekend.”
“Anytime.”
“And I am very, very sorry — in advance — for the mess I’m going to make all over your bed later.”
I laugh and slap his hand off my arm. “You are not having sex on my bed, Thad.”
“Why not? I’m sure Sally will let you watch.”
“No.”
“If I promise to tag you in every once and a while, can we use your bed?”
“No.”
“Well, would you at least film it?” I glare at him and he throws up his arms. “Okay. All right. Message received. We’ll take the couch.”
“Thank you.”
We reach the entrance and start the long trek across the parking lot toward my car.
Three
Thad
“What are you doing over there?”
I flick my notepad closed. “Doodling,” I answer.
Max glances at me from the grill on his patio, his sleeves rolled up with a beer in one hand and a charred set of tongs in the other. “Doodling what?”
“Boobies.” I shove the pad and pencil into my back pocket and stand up.
He chuckles. “Well, grab those plates, would you? These are done.”
I pick them up from the bench beside me and wander over as he raises the lid. A cloud of delicious steam rises into the air and I inhale the scent of perfectly grilled sirloin.
Max grips one steak in his tongs and drops it on my plate, along with a potato wrapped in tin foil. “Bon appétit, buddy.”
“Thank you,” I say, staring at the masterpiece of dead cow and carbs. “I’ve missed you…”
“You could literally hit up a steakhouse in Dallas like twice a week, man,” he points out.
“I could but I don’t have to tip you.”
“I wouldn’t turn one down, though,” he says, grabbing the nearby bottle of mustard sitting next to the grill.
“Okay, here’s one.” I point at his plate. “Don’t do that.”
Max flicks open the mustard bottle and squeezes a healthy portion along the side of his steak.
I shake my head, grimacing. “It takes a special kind of pervert to dip a perfectly good steak in mustard, Max.”
“I am an adult and I’ll eat my steak how I want to, Thad.”
“You know…” I smirk as my phone vibrates in my pocket, “if you brought out some that same sass with your dad, you’d be a much happier man.”
He lets the lid of the grill slam down and points at my phone. “Who’s that?” he asks, ignoring my jab.
I laugh at the message. “I’ll give you two guesses.”
“Sally?”
“Ain’t she just sweet?” I hold it up for him. “I want you to know — and only you — that I’m not wearing panties tonight.”
“Yeah.” He lovingly sighs. “She sent me that an hour ago.”
“Well, at least, she’s consistent.”
We head back inside as I scroll through my emails to open the link to our class portraits. A few quick flicks and I find my silly, big-too
thed grin. Sun-bleached hair and tanned skin. The life of the whole damn party.
Poor bastard. He had no idea how much that life was about to change. Well, maybe not change. Crash and burn around him is more accurate.
We plop down on Max’s sofa in the living room and I grab the remote first to surf and find something interesting to experience my steak with. He sets down his plate and reaches for his phone lying beside it. A quick check of the screen and he winces before setting it right back down again.
“Hey…” I say, chuckling. “She didn’t send you a picture, did she?”
“No,” he answers. “Just my dad.”
“What’s he want now?”
“Oh, just complete and utter compliance in all things. Nothing major.”
I slice off a bite of meat and shove it in my mouth, chewing and staring at him with purpose. I won’t bother saying it. He’s heard it all before from me and I’m not wasting another five minutes of my life trying to convince him again.
He nods and I brace myself for the same three words he always says. “Yeah, maybe tomorrow.”
Four
Phoebe
I can’t believe I let Jackie talk me into this.
I stand in front of my bathroom mirror, staring at myself and seeing nothing but flaws. I’m sure everyone does this but I haven’t done it in a long time. I thought I was over my wide hips and my double chin and thick ankles but I find myself focusing on them for much longer than I usually do.
Just like I did in high school.
I slip on a pair of black slacks, being careful not to wrinkle them too much. I ironed them earlier, along with the white blouse dangling from a hanger hooked on my door knob. Simple and comfortable. That’s what I need if I’m ever going to survive a night at Belle Academy again.
As I’m buttoning up my blouse, my doorbell rings. Must be Jackie. She’s early but she usually is. One of her best — and only — professional qualities.