The Love Experiment

by Paton, Ainslie

  Hours later, she tracked Jack down to a meeting room that had been turned into what looked like a scene from a police procedural drama. There were two whiteboards covered with what looked like evidence. One had photographs, and she could identify Bix, Whelan and Noakes. The other had a scrawled headline that said Money Trail. Nothing she’d ever written had this amount of research and preparation. It was awe-inspiring.

  The room was packed, with faces she only vaguely knew and some she didn’t. No one in this room wrote for the website only. She had to hover in the doorway, which was just as well because she felt out of place. The other business writers sat around a table. Phil leaned up against a wall with another man who wore a suit. Jack stood at the front of the room.

  “Everyone here is sworn to confidentiality,” said Phil. He pointed to the man beside him. “This is Gerry Roscoe. He’s the Courier Group’s legal counsel.” He aimed his attention to the doorway. “No tourists. Get out.”

  Four people standing in front of Derelie pushed past her to scramble away. She caught Jack’s eyes, but his flickered off before he could make her feel like glass again.

  “Honeywell can stay. She helped me on a reconnaissance mission.”

  Was she hearing things? She glanced at Phil, but he was focused on Jack, so she stayed and for the next ten minutes listened as Jack outlined the evidence against Keepsafe and the role played by Bix. He didn’t acknowledge her again, but she forgot to be angry with him as the depth of his investigation unfolded. It made the stories she wrote seem insubstantial and pointless, forgettable, vacuous entertainment rather than news. Jack’s reluctance to spend time on the love experiment was framed in a whole new light.

  “He’s going to smash this. Bring the whole thing down.”

  She tipped her head up to see Spin standing behind her. “I get why he brushed me off now.”

  “Get out, Spinoza!” yelled Phil.

  Spin blew Phil a kiss. “Love you too,” he said, and backed off to laughter, but only far enough that he was out of Phil’s line of sight. He put his finger to his lips in a shhh gesture and motioned to Derelie to turn around so she didn’t give him away.

  She tuned back in to Jack, who was now talking about the victims. He motioned to Annie and she recounted a story about the Shenkers, injured in a car accident and denied their insurance, forced to sell their home and move to a trailer park to pay for medical care.

  “Questions,” said Jack, then answered questions about Bix’s professional background and how they’d pieced together the money trail.

  “What if your whistleblower is lying?” Derelie said, before she stopped to think that everyone would look at her.

  Everyone looked at her, including Jack.

  “This is not ‘Ten Best Looks for Summer,’” he said, and there was a rumble of laughter, which he acknowledged with a smile. “We vet all our sources.”

  Not even the barn-like presence of Spinoza blocking the corridor stopped Derelie from fleeing the scene of the crime as if she were the one Jack was intending to expose.

  Chapter Twelve

  Too many people wanted to talk to him, including Roscoe, so it took forever for Jack to get clear of the conference room, and when he did it was to run into Spinoza.

  Spin stood there, stance wide, arms folded, a bad-smell look on his face. “You feeling good about that?”

  “Would feel better if you got out of my way.”

  “You’re not going back to your desk.”

  It wasn’t a question and the man blocked his way to anywhere. “I didn’t mean it to be like that.”

  Spin shook his head. “That’s what they said about the Cubs.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Me? Nothin’.” He let Jack shove past, but only because it was clear he was headed for the web team. “Good decision, friend,” Spin said.

  As if Jack needed Spinoza as his conscience. This was exactly what he’d wanted. Honeywell had opened herself to a couple of cheap shots and he’d taken them. He didn’t have to think about it. She was soft, fresh and defenseless, and he’d used her weaknesses against her with no more effort than rolling a cigarette. His participation in the love experiment was over, if only because he’d seen her face and he’d left her cut up and bleeding.

  No victory in the ring had ever felt so small and worthless. No scoop he’d missed had made him feel like such a low, unconscionable shit.

  He had difficulty locating Honeywell’s desk. There was a midline in the office, hard news on one side, all the rest on the other. He had to cross over to where they talked about eyeballs instead of circulation, where they considered things like unique visitor counts, search engine optimization and bounce rates, where statistical algorithms ruled in place of a reporter’s second sense for a killer hook.

  Over on this side of the office they didn’t write the news so much as curate it, and though he knew it was the future of journalism, he didn’t like it, for all its key-word-dependent, page view hit, search engine referred conversion rates. It wasn’t reporting—it was repackaging. It wasn’t what people needed to hear about, it was what would distract, engage or amuse them.

  Crossing the midline made him feel like a dinosaur lumbering to certain extinction.

  Lost in the confusing layout of cubicles, he gave up and called her name. Expecting her head to pop up over the low walls and big screens, he was annoyed when he had to call again. But then, if their positions were reversed, he’d have made her work for it too.

  “Derelie Honeywell!”

  He got back, “She’s not here.”

  Well, fuck. Most of the workstations on this side were empty. No one over here worked to a print deadline. She’d probably gone home for the day. He turned to trek back to his own desk when he spotted her coming into the main office area from the service corridor. That was where the breakroom and bathrooms where. God, if he’d made her cry in the ladies’, he’d need someone to lay him out for the count.

  She saw him. She hesitated for a second, taking a step to the side as if to avoid him, but then she lifted her chin and walked straight for him. If she’d been crying there was no evidence of it, but there was a balled-up tissue in her hand and he didn’t like the symbolism of that.

  “I came to say I’m sorry.”

  She mashed her ruby lips together and frowned, head tilted to the side. “For what?”

  “For that.” He gestured in the direction of the conference room. “There was no need for me to say what I did.”

  “But I asked a stupid question.”

  “It wasn’t stupid. You couldn’t have known.”

  “But I knew everyone else there has been through that kind of rodeo before and I should’ve held my question, not wasted time.”

  That was one way to interpret it. “You’re not upset about what I said?”

  She shrugged a shoulder and looked away. “I deserved it.”

  “No, you didn’t.” He had to quell the urge to shake her. He didn’t like this meek acceptance, this lack of fire. It was as if he’d doused her in doubt and she’d sucked it all up till it infused her. He preferred her when she was mouthy. “I was a prick. Twice in one day.”

  “No, no, I get it. No need to feel bad. I was pestering you and I knew you were only humoring me. I should’ve taken the hint. It’s not like I didn’t know you were on a big story. I should’ve respected that.”

  “I was an asshole.” He’d deliberately belittled her. Why wasn’t she accepting his apology?

  “It’s okay.” She waved a hand. “I’ll work something out with Shona. I’ll explain to Phil.”

  “No, you won’t.” Madden would mince her up. “I’ll make the time for it.”

  “I’d really rather you didn’t. We’re not ever going to be... It’s, um, fine, really, it’s just a silly s
tory, and I didn’t understand the context, but I see the big picture now. I see it from your point of view, so I get it. Thank you for putting up with me. There’s no need to apologize, and look, I have to go. I can make a late class if I go now.”

  He didn’t know what to say. He stepped aside to let her pass, let her go to her desk, collect her things and leave the building thinking she was the one at fault, she was the one on the sharp end of a lesson she deserved.

  Back at his own cubicle, he checked his messages. There was work to do but he couldn’t focus, kept seeing Honeywell’s eyes swallow her face when he’d ignored her by his desk, and then how she’d flinched when he’d humiliated her in the conference room.

  Bundling up the folders on his desk, the random Post-it note scrawls he needed to follow up on, along with a couple of data sticks, he headed out. He ate a quick diner meal and endured a berating from another customer for the fact his story on unfair bank charges didn’t go far enough without doing anything to cut short the exchange for once.

  He made it to church, changed, and was looking for an assistant when he found Barney.

  “Saw your name on the wild card list. It’s too soon for you to have another fight.”

  Trust an ex-priest to have ethical standards. “I’m fine.”

  Barney poked a thumb at Jack’s brow, over the healing split from the bout with Ryan and Jack didn’t dodge away. “It’s not going to reopen?” Jack was a quick healer and grateful for it. That was the answer to question nine. “Why are you here so soon again?”

  “I want to fight. If I wanted confession, would you turn me away?”

  “I don’t do confession.”

  Barney struck, drove his fist into Jack’s ribs, knocking his breath out on a hard grunt and making his torso curl into the unexpected pain. He had to stop himself begging for another hit.

  “Satisfied?” He ground the word out, watching Barney’s timeworn face for the verdict.

  “You’re off the list.”

  “No, I need this.”

  “Why?”

  “Same reason as last time.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “I hurt someone today. I meant to do it. It was wrong, and when I tried to apologize it was only to realize what a good job I did at screwing with them. I made her think it was her fault and that I was entitled to treat her like shit.”

  “You want to be punished?”

  Barney was too clever. If Jack answered yes, he’d end up on the bench all night with that as his lesson in patience, tolerance and expecting the world to work in the order he wanted it to. “I just want to fucking hit someone.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  And there it was, he was benched anyway. Learning humility, the old-fashioned way. Barney was a demonic genius. Jack watched fight after fight, and as the night wore on, he knew it would be smart to go home and work, but he kept feeling the moment Honeywell sidestepped, then gathered her courage and faced him, turned his apology back on him and fucking floored him with it.

  She wasn’t defenseless. Whether she appreciated it or not, she’d swiped the ground out from under him. If he went home without exorcising some of that sting, he’d want to drink until he passed out. If Barney didn’t let him in the ring, he knew he could find a fight at a late-opening bar or a dealer’s street corner, but that option was a risk his career couldn’t afford, so he sat on, stewing over the words he should have used to treat Honeywell as a colleague, as a person he liked for her ability to take a hit and get back up again; to shake it off where he percolated.

  It was almost midnight when Barney motioned him over. Paired him with a man he’d never seen before. The guy was bigger, heavier than Jack, but he looked nervous, glancing eye contact, couldn’t stand still, his movements more involuntary than any kind of adrenaline rush.

  “Alvarez, Haley. Haley, Alvarez.” They touched knuckles. Barney clamped a hand on Alvarez’s shoulder and it seemed to settle him. “What’s your lesson, son?”

  “Courage,” said Alvarez, eyes on his hands. Something Honeywell had by the container load.

  “Haley?”

  He’d had all night to think about it, but it wasn’t easy. Humility didn’t quite cover it.

  “Jack?” Barney prodded with an amused twist to his fat lips.

  “Generosity,” Jack said, knowing the perverse logic of this would mean the only way to win tonight would be to orchestrate it so Alvarez’s courage was tested, but didn’t fail. Barney did nothing to hide his laughter, not caring that it spooked Alvarez.

  They gloved up. The church was virtually emptied out by the time they entered the pit. Alvarez looked like he’d rather run into a wall and knock himself out than take a swing at Jack.

  “I’m here to get hit tonight,” Jack said by way of encouragement. He opened his arms wide. Generous to his own detriment. “Go for it.”

  Alvarez took a step back and dropped his hands. “I’m not going to hit someone who won’t hit back.”

  Jack should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. The only way to win tonight was to hit Alvarez hard enough to wake his courage. Jack took two steps forward and gut-punched Alvarez hard enough to make the man stagger. His own stomach flipped as the moment felt too much like what he’d done to Honeywell. It was enough to prove to Alvarez that Jack wasn’t messing around.

  They traded punches, went four rounds, with Jack landing more hits, but having to work to avoid letting too many of Alvarez’s haymakers land. The guy had a colossal reach and he wasn’t tiring. The longer they went at each other, the more focused Alvarez got, the more punches Jack landed, the more eager to strike Alvarez was. There wasn’t going to be a knockdown here, they’d both be staggering before Barney called them off unless Jack forced things.

  “Who’d you fail, Alvarez. Who’d you let down?” he taunted, dancing out of reach.

  Alvarez came after him, forcing Jack to keep backing up. “Shut up.”

  “Your wife. Your kids?”

  Jack defended his face as Alvarez’s pummeled him. “Not married.”

  They were up in each other’s space. “Did you fuck up with your girlfriend?” Alvarez let out a grunt and Jack shoved him away. There it was. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing. I did nothing.”

  Alvarez came at Jack. He got the words “That’s not why you’re here” out before he took a jab to the hip.

  They tussled again. Alvarez was enraged now. He stopped being careful. “She has problems.” He landed a blow on the same hip. That was going to bruise.

  “What kind of problems?”

  “Depression.”

  He came at Jack hard and made him hurt. This was why Alvarez was here. “You walked out on her.”

  “Her problems aren’t mine.”

  “Nope, so why are you here?” The game was to make him say it. You didn’t get absolution until you said the words. The words were the power, not the punches, it was always the words that described the action; the thing you did that made you hate yourself that much more.

  Alvarez dropped his hands, his shoulders slumped. “Because I love her and I’m a fucking shit for abandoning her.”

  Jack could take any shot he liked, but his arms were heavy and his body hurt and this fight was over, at least for Alvarez. “Go back and make it up to her.”

  “She won’t take me back. Says she can’t trust me.”

  “If that’s all it takes to push you away, you don’t love her. She doesn’t love you if she won’t give you a second chance. Fix it or move on.”

  “I know it,” Alvarez said.

  They were done. They touched gloves.

  “If all you two ladies are going to do is waltz, get out of the pit so I can go home,” Barney called from the upper railing.

  Both of them wer
e unsteady and slimy with sweat. Jack could drink a river of water. He went to the ladder and hauled himself out of the pit.

  “I’m not coming back,” Alvarez said. He had trouble getting his feet to the rungs. “Barney told me you’re a regular. How much do you hate yourself to do this more than once?”

  “It’s not about that for me.” He’d have given Alvarez a hand up, but with gloves still on that was impossible.

  “Then what makes you do this? I hated every minute of it.”

  “Frustration.”

  Alvarez made the top of the ladder. He waved a glove at Jack. “I made you bleed because you’re frustrated? It has to be more than that.”

  No one part of his body hurt more, but his brow must’ve reopened. He’d feel it later. Generosity was helping Alvarez to his revelation, but it didn’t help Jack feel any better about what he’d done to Honeywell.

  “I’m not that deep,” he said as Alvarez stepped up beside him and the assistant attended to Jack’s laces. He recognized that as the kind of answer he’d given Honeywell’s questions. Flippant, careless, and guarded as fuck. He and Alvarez had smacked each other near senseless, which was exactly what Jack had wanted. The man deserved a more accurate response.

  And so did Honeywell.

  One at a time.

  “This fixes something in me. It takes the noise out of my brain. Gives me a quiet space. I’m more focused on the big picture for having had everything narrow to the question of how not to get hit too hard, how to stay on my feet. A fight is like renewal. It helps me forgive myself for what I screw up and to start over again clean.”

  Alvarez’s mouth hung open. Then he shook his head. “That’s what drinking is for.” He flexed his freed hands. “Or sex. You just need to get laid more.”

  Jack laughed, then closed the eye under his torn brow, prodding at it carefully. Now it hurt. “Tried that.” That was his go-to before he found Barney and the Church of the Cocked Fist. It’d only made life more complicated. “This is easier.”

  Alvarez laughed. “You’re doin’ it wrong.”