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“If it’s too much then what?” His eyes are right on mine. I don’t have an answer and he knows it. He sighs, and I feel like shit. “This isn’t about Joe. I love having Joe. I love helping out. I can start up college again next year, like we said.”
I clutch at straws. “I could pay you, maybe… if they do give me that extra money… or a babysitter… so you can go back…”
He looks stung. “Like it’s about money.”
“But it could be…”
“Stop.” He holds up a hand. “Just stop doing this.”
“Doing what?” I flick the kettle back on.
“Deflecting.” He has to tip the jar to scoop the last of the coffee granules into our mugs. Dregs. Story of my life – credit card debt from funeral expenses don’t leave much of a budget for anything else. “This thing with Alexander Henley,” he continues. “It’s not… healthy…”
Like anything about my life is healthy. I don’t say it.
“I know what I’m doing,” I tell him. “It’s just fun. Something to dream about. And I’m planning on working my way up, maybe be a team leader one day… maybe even an admin junior… and then who knows…”
“Right?”
“Right,” I lie.
“And you aren’t gonna do anything? Not when you get there? Not when you’re close enough that his seat really is there for the sniffing?”
I take my coffee black, saving the milk for Joe’s cereal in the morning. “Anything like what?”
Dean takes his black too. “Like stalking him. Like following the guy around until he catches on to you, and fires you, or sues you, or worse.”
“Worse?” The thought makes me smile. “What on earth could be worse than being fired or sued?”
“I’m being serious, Lissa!”
His raised voice takes me aback, and I check the door for Joe. He’s still flipping those picture book pages, smiling to himself, lost in his own little world like I used to be.
When I turn back, Dean’s pulled his phone from his pocket and he’s flipping across the screen, flipping through images I recognise from my own Google searches.
He turns the handset in my direction, and my stomach flips but I don’t look away. I don’t need to.
I’ve already seen it.
Already read everything there is to read on Alexander Henley Jnr.
“I did some digging,” he tells me, “while Joe had his nap this afternoon.”
My cheeks burn as I check out the headline on screen.
The legal Puppet Master pulling the strings of the dirty elite. Just who is Alexander James Henley Jnr?
I can’t see the rest of the text, he pulls his phone away too quickly.
Like hell it was just this afternoon. I didn’t find that crap, and I searched hard. Really hard.
Dean’s eyes are fierce. “There’s a woman here, or there was before she retracted her comments. Said he paid her. Said he’s dangerous. That she was afraid for her life.”
I roll my eyes. “Tabloid gossip, I’m sure. Sour grapes, maybe.”
“And if it’s not? There’s plenty of stories, Lissa, if you dig hard enough. All retracted. All hushed up soon after. What if he is dangerous? Who knows what a guy like that’s into? He’s not like us. He’s not from our world.”
“So, you thought you’d better fill me in now I’m up nine floors?” I shrug, sip my coffee. “I’ll probably never even get vaguely close enough to find out what he’s really into. As if a man like him is ever going to be into a little scrubber like me. Christ, Dean, are you blind?”
I wonder how long he’s been looking up Alexander Henley. I wonder whether he sees the beauty that I see.
I wonder if he’s saved a picture. Maybe several.
I wonder if he knows quite which way he swings yet, and if he’s still masturbating over gay porn when he thinks I’m asleep through the wall. I wonder if he’s masturbated over Alexander Henley.
The idea of a stash of photos makes me jealous. My phone has a cracked screen and barely any storage.
“That’s the thing,” he says. “I think you are gonna find out what he’s into. And I don’t think you’ll stop ’til you find out.”
I groan. “That polyester stripes don’t really turn him on, Dean, that’s what I’m gonna find out. That guys like Alexander Henley don’t date girls like me. That I’m not good enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough for a man like him. That’s what I’ll find out.”
He holds up his hands. “I don’t think that, not any of that. And you shouldn’t either.”
“Yeah, well he will. Probably.” That scratch scratch in my belly. The scratch scratch that seeing the job advertised in the paper managed to take away.
A Saaaaa, and then a Dee deee from the living room, and I push the door open. Joe is up on his feet, a big smile on his face as he claps his hands, picture book finished.
