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“How did you find out all of this about Mari?”
“Quite easily. I had Lucy followed, then I had you and your current fuck toy followed. From there, a simple matter of inquiries as to who the lovely black lady is, which apartment she lived in. And from there, full name in hand…well, you know how simple background checks are. And boy, are some of those southerners talkative. Mention following up on a resumé reference, and as far as they’re concerned, they’re helping a friend or family member get a job.”
His dad paused as if waiting for him to catch up.
“You know it’s true, Jim. I know you’re in denial, but I’m sure evidence is there that I’m telling the truth. She has most likely been using you, and you can expect to see the sordid details of the wealthy, handsome groom who jilted his beautiful young bride, who then fell into the comforting arms of his widowed father while he quickly went on to date below his station. Tell me, Jim—what else did you share with her? I must prepare Madison so she can start working on the statements.”
Jim hung up and ran to Maribel’s bedroom.
He might have thought twice before about sifting through her stuff, but his dad’s revelations killed the usual extended courtesies.
When he came across what looked like a recording device in her underwear drawer, wrapped in a silken red nighty, his insides collapsed.
He hit play and listened to his own voice recounting intimate details to the one person he had dared to trust in a long while.
Sickness turned to pain, anger.
Maribel, like so many other girls he’d dated, had just been acting. Saying everything he wanted to hear, doing everything she needed to do to get what she wanted out of him.
Before, it didn’t matter so much because his relationships with women had been mutually beneficial—he knew what the ladies were up to, and as long as he was getting what he needed out of it, they were both happy, though the women were obviously hoping for something more—beyond being wined and dined.
This time, though, he’d been duped.
He’d gotten what he didn’t even know he wanted, and she’d made him give what he otherwise wouldn’t have given, had he known.
She took some choices from him, and now, he felt violated in so many ways.
He should have known better; he should have realized that what he’d started to feel and what it seemed they had couldn’t possibly be real; it was obviously manufactured as a result of his desperate condition.
How could he have ever thought he’d found something special? How could he have allowed his thoughts to get entangled with her, his heart attached?
He should have figured something was up when she invited him over and didn’t sleep with him.
How could he have been so stupid?
When it came to women, there were always ulterior motives.
He placed the voice recorder dead center on top of the mail pile, which he’d arranged in a sort of artistic geometrical design.
She wouldn’t miss it. She’d know immediately something was up.
As angry as Jim was, as betrayed and hurt as he felt, only sadness overwhelmed him as he gathered his things and accepted never seeing Maribel Gibson again.
* * *
Maribel
“You were right, Annie—I couldn’t do it. It’s just not me.”
Mari heard Annie let a breath out, likely in relief.
“I’m really glad to hear it,” she said. “It’s one thing to report on the weather or expose corruption or whatever, but committing to turning someone’s pain and tragedy into entertainment? That’s not the Maribel I know and love. His story’s an interesting one, but it doesn’t have to be the one.
“You think after publishing something like that, people won’t come to you for more of it? Is that how you want to establish your brand? You’re doing the right thing, dropping it—I know it, you know it. I doubt you’ll regret not splattering this man’s personal struggle on a page, inviting everyone to pick at and ridicule his pain just because he’s rich. Plenty of rich assholes out there, some of whom I might not be so sympathetic about, but it doesn’t sound like this guy’s just some clueless douche.”
“I know. Ugh. So messed up how quickly I got desperate. I just always thought…I guess I thought I’d have more choice in the matter somehow—like I’d get to pick and choose worthy stories right in the beginning.”
“You still can, can’t you? Nobody says you have to write for some trashy magazine or something; you can still work on your own terms.”
“Freelancing? Guess what would be a great way to get people to trust me with doing articles for them—an amazing frickin’ exclusive.”
“No one’s saying you have to give up your dreams. Some bloggers find ways to make money, YouTube vlogs, etc. You still get to choose. You have plenty of other options; you just haven’t had a chance to explore them yet. People find a way to do what they want all the time, and the Maribel I know will figure it out. Meanwhile, the way you talk about the guy—sounds like things have progressed.”
“Things definitely got…cozy between us. I feel strongly about him, Annie, and I really hope he doesn’t freak out once I tell him I’m a reporter.”
“You just have to tell him asap.”
“I know. I’ve been waiting for the right time. Obviously, the night I met him wasn’t a good time, and neither was last night. I think later today, though. I agree I can’t keep it a secret forever. I just want to make sure he has a good sense of me and can trust when I do tell him that he is not in any danger; his secrets are safe with me.”
“Don’t wait too long, girl.”
“I won’t.”
* * *
As she got to her door, Mari realized that she’d been smiling the whole time she was on her way home.
Although she was jobless with no promising prospects on the horizon, she felt happy.
She was coming home to a man who managed to make her feel things she hadn’t allowed herself to feel before.
He had even managed to make her start thinking of other possibilities outside of her five-year-plan.
She turned the knob.
As soon as she opened her door, she knew something was wrong; the place felt completely empty.
“Jim?”
Maybe he had dashed out to find a coffee shop where he could get some “real coffee?”
She peeked in her bedroom and the bathroom, and when she returned to the receiving area, she did a double take.
She hadn’t noticed it at first in her concern for Jim’s whereabouts, but the strange little pile on her countertop filled her with dread.
She realized Jim had to have gone through her clothing drawer to find the recording device, and as she started to feel violated, she remembered what was on the recorder and why he’d put the stack together—he had discovered the truth about her, and she would probably never see him again because she’d violated him.
She flipped through the stack of mail, opened a few, and realized she had actually procured another promising job opportunity.
When one door closes, another opens, her mom’s voice said, but only sadness filled her at the thought of possibly having found work but lost Jim.
She knew she should’ve been ecstatic that things had worked out after all—she had beaten the odds and gotten what she’d come for. Sort of.
But she had also lost something she hadn’t planned on and wasn’t prepared to let go of.
Maribel hadn’t allowed herself to see what she really wanted all this time.
She had been bent on playing it safe, sticking to the path she’d carved out for herself.
She hadn’t allowed herself to imagine her relationship with Jim could be much more than a temporary fling, and now she realized she would love to accept everything he had offered her.
Pain seared through her as she thought of him somewhere out there hurting, the sting of betrayal scarring him.
She wouldn’t even get the chance to explain herself!
r /> No—she had to find him.
But where to start?
Call him, of course.
She squeezed her eyes together as she remembered one important thing: she had given him her phone number, but he’d never used it, so she’d never actually gotten around to getting his.
Some reporter you are—it would have been so easy.
Or perhaps he was just that practiced; after all, a guy like that dating casually can’t give his real number to every trollop he takes for a spin. It probably only took one crazy bitch to hammer home how important it was to limit direct contact with him.
She wondered, did he change his burner phone after every chapter? Once every six months?
Sure, he could obviously afford to just use burner phones all the time, but how cumbersome would that be?
Focus, girl! Think. You don’t know where he lives, you don’t have his real phone number...
But she did know a few places he liked to go, and her best bet now was to haunt them.
She remembered what she’d said about Washington Square Park and Greenwich Village.
