That’s when I noticed it. She was breathtaking, yes, but if you really took stock of her, took in her little flaws, she was revolting. Nose tinged red from recently snorting. Of course, I thought, how else could you do what you did. Slight bruising expertly covered up with makeup around the throat and arms, evidence of her profession. I thought of my sister and wondered if Lola had a brother or even a father. Ribs protruding, proof to the naked eye that she starved herself to stay thin. Another product of our society. Another otherwise gorgeous girl made ugly by the pressures and influence of an L.A. life. I turned my head and observed the man sleeping in front of me.
And how are you different? I asked myself. You’d do just about anything for money. You’d risk this man’s wife and family. And for what? So that your dad can manipulate another business deal to make him even more cash than he already has? More cash to spend in places where cash needn’t be spent?
Lola crawled across the bed, yanking at Peter’s tie, and licking the side of his face, posing with her leg wrapped around his.
Click.
Another million can give you better security, ensure you can live within the lifestyle you’re accustomed, eventually give you freedom from him.
Lola switched it up. She unbuttoned his shirt and spread her lacquered nails across his chest, pressing closely to him and smiling a viper’s expression at the camera.
Click.
It’s not likely this Maggie woman will ever see these photos anyway. It’s low risk and you get a cool mil out of a night’s work.
Lola straddled him, unbuckling his pants and threw her head back in mock satisfaction.
Click.
Chapter Three
“Here’s your blackmail fodder,” I told my father as he sat at his desk.
He clapped his hands together in excitement, rubbing his palms quickly back and forth and grasping at the flash drive like he was the devil and I’d just thrown down sin, which is a little too spot on. I turned to walk out the door.
“Stay right there,” he ordered. I obeyed, standing where I stood but didn’t turn to face him.
I heard him pop the drive into his laptop then a few clicks of his mouse.
He groaned. “These are good,” he giggled like a toddler. “These are fantastic.” He paused. “Wow. I might have to give Lola a call—”
“Stop,” I said, refusing to face him. “I did your dirty work, but I don’t have to listen to another damn word.
“Fine,” he said, like I’d slapped him. “One day you’ll get it.”
“Trust me,” I said, “if ever the day comes that I ‘get you,’ that day will also be synonymous with my death.”
“Come here,” he said.
I faced him at his desk.
“Come around here,” he ordered.
He was logged on to an online banking session. It was a wire transfer. A million dollars made out to me. My heart began to race in anticipation. He slowly hovered the mouse over the send button and pressed. The click resounded through my head. It was different this time. Too reminiscent of the clicks that earned me the pictures. This transfer didn’t quite feel the same as all the others though, and my stomach dropped.
“You’re too afraid to accept it,” my father began, leaning back in his chair, “but I’m gonna say it anyway. That transfer. That, among the many others, is you ‘getting me’”
I backed away slowly. “No, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is,” he answered with the same serpent’s smile, elbows on the chair’s rests, hands steepled in front of him.
“I’m nothing like you,” I told him. Who are you trying to convince? “Nothing,” I repeated.
“Son,” he said, leaning forward, “you are me.”
I turned and bolted down the hall, away from his cackling laugh, away from his accusations, desperate to leave my own suspicions behind. I ran up the stairs, shedding pieces of my suit as I went, determined to shower, resolute in washing away what I’d just done, who I really was, but I was certain there was nothing that could cleanse me, to launder my poisoned blood. This was who I was. Hopeless personified.
I vomited twice, showered and brushed my teeth, but it did nothing to appease my unsettled stomach. I threw on a pair of Adidas pants and laid on my stomach in bed, curling my blanket over my head after turning on my stereo. I’d left one of The Cure’s albums in there.
Knock. Knock.
“Come in,” my voice cracked. I cleared my throat. “Come in,” I said with purchase.
My door opened and I lifted my head to see Bridge. “How was your date?” she asked, hopping on the bed and laying next to me. I shifted onto my back, the blanket falling between us, and tucked my hands behind my head.
“It was okay,” I lied.
“An untruth,” she said, throwing her hands behind her head as well. “But I’ll let it go for now.”
“You’re doing that a lot lately,” I teased. “How are you feeling?”
“It passed,” she said, getting quiet.
We shared a moment of silence.
Finally, I studied her, my brows creased. “You okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” she hedged, hopping up. “Hey, want to get dinner Friday? Just you and me?”
“Sure. Mom doesn’t have dinner plans for us?” My mom usually had every minute of our days planned when I came home.
“Nah, she and dad are going to his office Christmas party.”
“Okay. How’s school?”
She rolled her eyes at me. “You’re only four years older. You act like my freakin’ father or something.”
Someone has to. “All right, simmer down now. Simmer down.”
She rolled her eyes again but smiled. “Want to watch It’s a Wonderful Life?”