The Night in Question

by Nic Joseph

  “Well, I don’t—”

  “How much money, Paula? A number. You can’t expect to—”

  “A hundred and eighty thousand dollars.”

  It just fell out of me. It was the only number in my head, and I said it because I didn’t know what else I was supposed to do.

  If there had been silence before, it was deafening now. Maybe it was my imagination, or maybe it was quieter because I’d stopped breathing now that the number was out there.

  When a full ten seconds passed without a word from Hooks, I spoke again. “Hello?”

  “You really have lost your mind, you know that?”

  “Is that…too much?” I asked, and I instantly wanted to kick myself as the question came out of my mouth.

  He laughed, the same humorless laugh from before, and I shifted in my seat.

  “I have to say, if you weren’t blackmailing me, I’d almost find you cute. Endearing. That is, like I said, if you weren’t such a horrible person. Does your husband know about this?”

  The question caught me off guard, and I actually dropped the phone onto the couch. In the dark, I scrambled for it and put it back up to my ear.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Your husband. He’s tagged in your Twitter photos, Paula. You didn’t think this through. It’s Keith, right? Does he know what you’re doing?”

  I was silent, completely frozen, and I realized that he was right—I hadn’t thought it through, not enough. I’d just been moving forward, stumbling along. But the thought—the mere idea—of Keith finding out about what I’d done made it almost impossible to breathe, and I struggled to find the right response.

  “I’m going to take that silence as a no,” he said smugly. “So you think I have a lot to lose if my wife finds out where I was on Saturday. You have a lot to lose too. I’ll get you your money, but I’ll get it together when I can.”

  There was something about his final words that snapped me out of it. He was trying to bait me, to intimidate me, to make me feel that we were in this together, and I had to remind myself that I was the one who’d seen him.

  I was the one who still had his phone with all the text messages.

  And, most importantly, he wouldn’t be calling me if he wasn’t willing to pay.

  “No, you’ll give it to me in one week,” I said. “Because if you don’t, I’m posting screenshots online. No, I don’t want my family finding out, but I’m willing to bet that you don’t want yours to find out about Emma, or her little pup, Dante, or your midnight trips to Oak Street. If you want to take that chance, go for it.”

  He was silent for a long time. I was determined not to speak first, so we waited, and when he spoke, his tone had changed.

  “You’re fucking nuts,” he said, surprise in his voice.

  I was tempted to respond, but I still held myself back, and after another minute passed, he finally spoke again.

  This time, he sounded tired and maybe…resigned.

  “The crazy thing is that she doesn’t mean anything to me,” he said. “Emma Bentley is just some stupid whore, and I’ve never regretted hooking up with a fan more than I do now. I’ll get you your money.”

  The line disconnected immediately, and I sat there in the dark, my heart racing, my stomach tied up in knots.

  This is not your responsibility, Paula.

  You have to let it go.

  And yet…

  Emma had mentioned that there were big changes coming for Allure. And judging by their text messages, she was going to sell her business for a man who’d just called her a “stupid whore.”

  There was a chance, of course, that he’d—very misguidedly—said that only for my benefit.

  Maybe he thought that by expressing his loyalty to Tiffane, he’d get me to back off.

  But his tone had been too callous for that.

  No, he hadn’t said it for my benefit.

  He’d said it because he meant it.

  Emma had opened herself up to me in the park the other afternoon. I owed it to her to at least let her know that her Prince Charming was a humongous piece of shit.

  Besides, I’d always been a fan of canapés.

  PART 2

  the night in question

  Chapter 16

  Paula

  The Night in Question

  I finished my shift at the diner on Saturday and then hurried home to get ready for Emma’s dinner party.

  I think, deep down, there was a part of me that knew that I would go the moment she’d invited me that day in the park, that each one of my promises to myself that I wouldn’t go had been as half-hearted as they’d been useless.

  I chose my outfit carefully, settling on my favorite little black dress, a large, red-and-gold statement necklace, and my favorite pair of bright-red pumps with a little gold buckle on the back. They were my special occasion shoes, the kind that got you noticed, and even though I wanted to fly under the radar tonight, I couldn’t resist. I combed my hair straight back from my face, just to test it, and then went for my usual side part, tucking one side behind my ear and fluffing the other side with my fingertips. Then I left the apartment, brushing Shelby’s head with my hand before I walked out.

  My excitement began to wane as I sat in my car outside Emma’s apartment. I’d wanted to text her to let her know I was coming—it’s what any normal guest would do—but then again, everything about me tonight was far from normal. I couldn’t afford for Emma to have my cell phone number; it was just too messy.

  Hopefully, she’d meant it when she said I could just show up.

  I was sure that Hooks wouldn’t be there, yet I was nervous about that too. What if, for some odd reason, he was the one who opened the door when I arrived? What if her small circle of friends knew about the affair and she’d invited him too? I knew it was close to impossible—Hooks wouldn’t spend Saturday nights out in the open with his girlfriend and her friends—but I couldn’t help but worry about it.

  I checked my phone and saw that it was five minutes to eight. I took a deep breath and got out of the car, then walked to the building and up the steps. It was surreal; only a few nights ago, I’d sat in front of the same building tinkering with my DAC app as I watched Ryan Hooks walk up to greet the half-naked woman who had watched him from the second-story window.

  Now, I was going in to meet the same woman, holding a cheap plant I’d bought at the grocery store. I’d picked it up at the last second—my mother was a firm believer that you never showed up at someone’s home empty-handed—but now I was regretting it.

  It’s not a housewarming party, Paula.

  I would be in and out. I would eat dinner, pretend to be interested in the designs, and find a moment to get Emma alone. I would convince her that she shouldn’t sell the business to travel with Hooks, and then I would leave. She still didn’t have my contact information, and I would keep it that way. If she pressed it, I would give her a fake number.

  I took another breath, this one much longer and slower, before reaching up to push the button next to Emma’s name. I waited, wondering what I was supposed to say. But nobody asked who it was; they only buzzed the door open, and a moment later, I was stepping inside.

  I was instantly awed by the simple, modern decor of the apartment building. I couldn’t imagine how often they cleaned it, but there wasn’t a speck on the plush, tan carpet under my feet or even a smudge on the cream-colored walls.

  When I got to the second floor, I could see Emma standing in the door, though she was facing back into her apartment and talking to someone. She spun to face me when I was just steps away and then smiled, stepping back to let me inside.

  “Chris!” she said, an expression of surprise on her face. But instead of asking me why the hell I’d shown up without confirming that I was coming, she reached forward and gave me a hug.

 
; I was caught off guard for a moment and just froze, one arm cradling the plant, the other reaching around to pat her awkwardly on the back.

  “I’m so happy you could make it,” she said.

  “Sorry I didn’t call,” I started.

  But she shook her head. “Oh, don’t worry about it. There’s plenty of space and plenty of food.”

  I held the plant out, and she smiled and took it from me. “That was so kind of you,” she said, and it sounded genuine. “Thank you.” We walked inside together, and she set the plant down on a small table near the door.

  The room was bright, large, and beautifully put together. There was a dining table against one wall, decorated so carefully that it looked like it should’ve been featured in an IKEA catalog. It was covered in a satin tablecloth that looked so soft, I almost reached out to touch it. There were eight place settings around the rectangular table, three on each side and one at either head of the table. Each setting contained a plate with a beautiful yellow-and-blue napkin folded delicately on top, a wineglass, and a bamboo place mat.

  There was a man walking toward me, holding a glass of wine. He was a few inches shorter than me in my heels, with thinning black hair and a huge, toothy smile.

  “Chris, this is Joshua Burlap. He’s the owner of Klein’s on Halsted in Lincoln Park. We’re planning on having our launch event there next week, which is just fantastic. “Joshua, this is the artist I was telling you about, Chris…”

  Emma turned to me with a puzzled look and then a sheepish smile. She trailed off in a way that made it clear she was looking for my last name, but I played it off by reaching out quickly to shake his hand.

  “Great to meet you,” I said.

  “Nice to meet you too,” he said slowly and deliberately as he let his eyes trail from my head to my shoes and back up again. He smiled in a slow way that made a soft “Ew” fall from my lips, and I froze, my hand still in his. If he heard me, he ignored it and gripped my hand tighter, leaning in. “I love artists. The ideas that must go on in there…”

  He used his chin to gesture up toward what I must assume was my head. Then he just stared at me and continued holding my hand. I pulled it away quickly and nodded.

  “Uh, yeah,” I said, watching as Emma turned to walk toward the kitchen, where I could see two women in uniforms pulling items out of large insulated bags. “Lots of thoughts and…things like that.”

  “Where do you get your inspiration?”

  “Well, I do portraits for the most part, so…” He continued to watch me, and I cleared my throat. “My inspiration for those is, um, mostly the faces of the people…that I’m doing the portraits of.”

  A woman walked out of the kitchen toward us, with Emma right behind her, and I was happy for the interruption.

  “Chris, this is Beverly, my friend and neighbor from upstairs. You met Bev’s husband, Andrew, on Monday at the park,” Emma said.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand.

  “You too,” Beverly said. She was shorter than me—maybe five foot six or so—and she had thick, dark-brown hair, which was pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She watched me with something that felt very much like suspicion. “You’re the artist, right?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “How long have you done that?” Her question came out abruptly—more interview-like than conversational—and I blinked.

  “My whole life, in some way or another,” I said. “But professionally, since I graduated top of my class from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.”

  That came out more defensively than I’d planned, but Beverly didn’t seem to notice.

  “We’ll need to talk about your rates,” she said. My eyes widened slightly, and she continued. “I’m Emma’s lawyer, and I’ve also been handling a lot of the finances for the company in the startup stage. No sense in beating around the bush. We’ll want to get that part sorted out pretty quickly. Since I’m sure you’re not here to do charity.”

  “Geez, Bev, let the woman have a glass of wine first,” Emma said with a laugh. “I’ll go get you one. Red or white?”

  I considered turning her down, but I was too tense; maybe it would help. “White,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Beverly opened her mouth to ask another question when I heard a man’s voice behind me.

  “Hello again!”

  I turned to see Andrew, the man I’d met in the park with Emma, walking into the apartment. He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, and he had a smile on his face.

  “Bev, this is the woman I was telling you about, the one who also takes the time to research dog parks before bringing her pup there.”

  “Oh,” Beverly said, raising her eyebrows slightly, barely able to feign interest. “That’s how you met Emma, right?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I said, suddenly aching for the glass of wine. I looked past them toward the kitchen.

  Is this what people do when they meet for the first time?

  Ask each other a shit-ton of questions?

  “Hey, did you take Sammy out?” I heard Andrew ask his wife.

  She frowned. “I got home from the office and came straight here. You were at a baseball game. You don’t think you could’ve done that?”

  Andrew glanced over at me with a sheepish smile before turning his back in an attempt to shield me from their conversation. He lowered his voice even further, but I could still hear him. “I didn’t say you should’ve. I just asked if you did,” he said.

  “Like those aren’t the same thing.”

  “They aren’t,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Emma returned with the wine, and I thanked her before taking a sip.

  There was movement by the door, and I watched as a tall man walked in, followed by a petite woman with bright-pink hair. The woman flew through the door and wrapped her arms around Emma, giving her a long hug.

  “I’ve been waiting for this all week!” the woman said.

  Emma stepped back with a laugh. She turned to look at me. “Chris, this is my little sister, Meggie, the wonderful designer I’ve been telling you about. And this is her boyfriend, Patrick.”

  The couple looked up at me, and I could see the recognition cross their faces at the same time. I flashed back to meeting them in Klein’s Boutique a few days ago, how they both had gone on and on about how selfish and cruel Emma was.

  There was a long pause, and then Meggie stepped forward to shake my hand, her eyes narrow. “Nice to meet you,” she said abruptly.

  Patrick nodded his head toward me but didn’t say anything else.

  “You too,” I said, combing my mind for something else to say.

  Joshua Burlap walked back into the room at that moment, and he smiled broadly when he saw Beverly standing there.

  “My favorite lawyer,” he said. “Looking amazing as usual. Someone’s been hitting the gym.” He turned to Andrew and gave him a small smile and a shrug. “Sorry, man.”

  “Thank you, Joshua,” Beverly said coolly. “But never apologize to my husband for making an inappropriate comment about me. He is my husband, not my keeper. You’ve offended me, and hence your apology should be directed my way.”

  There was a long, awkward pause, and then Emma stepped forward, breaking the silence.

  “Well, since everyone is here, I think we can go ahead and eat,” she said, walking over and placing a hand on the back of one of the seats at the end of the table. She waved a hand at the rest of the settings. “Please, everyone, take a seat. There’s no assigned seating, so sit wherever you like.”

  We all hesitated for a moment, waiting for someone else to move, but finally, Meggie walked over and plopped down next to her sister. Patrick followed her, sitting in one of the middle seats, leaving one chair on the other side of him. Beverly followed Meggie’s lead, sitting on the other side
of Emma, and Andrew quickly slipped into the middle seat across from Patrick. Joshua and I settled into the remaining seats on opposite sides of Patrick and Andrew, leaving the other host place setting untouched.

  “All right,” Emma said with a smile. “Let’s have a good night.”

  Chapter 17

  Like clockwork, the two members of the catering staff emerged from the kitchen, holding plates in their hands. They set the food down in front of Emma and then began to work their way around the table before hurrying back to get more plates. I looked down at the food—one small plate was the beef canapés that Emma had promised, and the other held a salad of microgreens, with walnuts and grape tomatoes.

  “So, Meggie, how excited are you about having your first show?” Joshua asked, leaning forward to grab a piece of bread from the center of the table. He picked one up and examined it before tossing it back in the basket and grabbing another one. “Your work is really incredible, and I am absolutely honored to have the first showing at Klein’s.”

  Meggie smiled. “I am excited,” she said. “I will just feel a lot better once we figure a few things out.”

  She shot a glance at her sister before stabbing a tomato with her fork and putting it into her mouth. The answer felt abrupt, and there was silence for a few moments as everyone tried to decide if they should continue down that conversation path or pivot somewhere else.

  “We should probably tell you a little more about Allure Apparel,” Emma said, looking down the table at me. “We make shopping for clothes sort of like shopping for makeup. We recognize that different colors are more flattering for different skin tones, so once you find the piece you like, you can find the exact shade of that color for your skin tone. So instead of one pink pair of high-waist pattern shorts, we have thirteen.”

  “That’s a cool concept,” I said.

  “After dinner, we can show you some of the books.”

  Meggie looked up at me, nodded, and then went back to her plate.