“Not too tired, shockingly.”
“Well…I wanted to talk to you tonight because I needed to know if you wanted to try something new in our relationship.”
“Sure.” I climbed into bed. “What is it?”
“Phone sex…” His voice became deeper. “Have you ever done that before?”
I held back a laugh and quickly took off my shirt, tossing it to the floor. “Yes.”
“Would you want to do it with me? Like, right now?”
“Yes.” I grabbed my vibrator from a box and slipped under the covers, happy that I wouldn’t need to think about Andrew to have an orgasm anymore. “Yes, I would like that very much.”
“Good,” he said. “Well…”
Silence.
“Well, what? Are you there, Brian?”
“Sorry, I was taking off my shorts.” He hesitated. “So, what are you wearing?”
“Nothing…I’m naked.”
“You’re naked, Aubrey?” He sounded as if he didn’t believe me. “Are you sure you’ve had phone sex before? This is the part where you’re supposed to tell me that you have on lingerie. Work with me, please.”
“Okay…I’m wearing a black thong and a black—”
“No, not black. I don’t like black. Try blue, navy blue.”
“Okay, it’s a navy blue thong and a blue bra.”
“Yeah, that’s more like it. Now, take off the panties with one hand.”
I lay there motionless, not sure as to whether I should turn on my vibrator or not.
“Now, imagine me...” He groaned. “Imagine me impaling you with my cock—so deep inside of you, so deep…”
I sighed.
“Can you picture it?” His voice became hoarse. “I need you to picture it…and touch your vagina.”
“What?”
“Your vagina. Touch it.”
I stood up and put on a pair of pajama pants.
“Are you touching it, babe?”
“Ohhh yeah…” I pulled a sweater over my head. “I’m touching my vagina…”
“Are you thinking about me licking your folds? Running my tongue along your ass crack?”
“Brian, you’re actually…” I shook my head. “You’re breaking up…”
“I’m going to stroke you down real good with my tongue, babe. Then I’m going to ram my c**k into you again and again—never stopping even if you say no…You can’t say no…”
I grabbed a sheet of paper and crumpled it next to the phone. “I can’t hear you anymore, Brian…Reception in my bedroom is getting really bad….” I hung up in the middle of his panting and scrolled through my old emails—breaking down and reading the old messages from Andrew, the only man who could ever make me cum with words…
Whether I hated him or not, I needed a release and I knew this was the only way…
Stay (n.):
A court-ordered short-term delay in judicial proceedings.
Andrew
“Mr. Hamilton?” The flight attendant tapped my shoulder. “All of the other passengers have departed the plane sir. Thank you for flying first class, and I hope you enjoy New York.”
“I’ll try.” I stood up and grabbed my briefcase from the overhead bin.
I’d tried to get out of coming here for weeks, but it was to no avail. The second I booked my ticket, I canceled all of my consultations and meetings, asked for an extension on my current case, and packed one suitcase. Just one.
I didn’t need to be in this city longer than a day, and I refused to even testify. I was going to submit a written testimony to the judge and immediately return to Durham.
As I walked through the airport, I noticed that a few things had changed, but not as much as I’d hoped. People still walked at a breakneck pace, the air still reeked of failure, and the top newspaper was still The New York Times.
I placed a few dollars into the paper machine, twisting the key so it could spit out my copy, and then I flipped to the middle section where the justice pieces were kept.
There it was. Section C. The story that covered the entire page:
Another Hearing in the Ongoing Hart Trial:
Henderson to Testify This Week
I skimmed the article, slightly impressed that the journalist was writing facts this time and not smearing my name for the hell of it.
I also noticed there were still no pictures of me.
Figures…
“Over here, Mr. Hamilton!” A brunette waved as I stepped off the escalator. “Over here!”
I walked over and she held out her hand.
“I’m Rebecca Waters, lead attorney.”
“I know who you are.” I offered her a firm shake. “How fast can we get to the judge’s chambers?”
“The judge’s chambers?” She raised her eyebrow. “I’m supposed to check you into the hotel so we can discuss your testimony…You’re supposed to stay here for a couple weeks.”
“My return flight leaves in fifteen hours.”
She looked shocked. “You only want to submit a written testimony? After all this time?”
“I find it quite impressive that you know how to listen and comprehend at the same time.” I looked at my watch. “Where is the town car?”
She groaned and led me down the bustling terminal, through the gates, and into the executive car lot. She was babbling about how “important” this case was, how it would finally close a chapter on my life, but I wasn’t listening.
My mind was literally counting the seconds I had left in this place.
“Good morning, sir.” The driver grabbed my bag as we approached the car. “I hope you enjoy your stay in New York City.”
I nodded and slipped into the back seat, rolling my eyes when Rebecca sat next to me.
“Could you at least stay for one night and think about this, Liam?”
“What did you just call me?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Andrew…I mean, Mr. Hamilton. Could you at least think about it?”
“I just did.”
“Fine.” She pulled out her phone, and I looked out the window as the car coasted through the city.
I winced as we passed a billboard where my old firm once held an advertisement, shut my eyes when we passed Emma’s favorite toy store.
“Mr. Hamilton…” Rebecca tapped my shoulder. “As a lawyer, I’m sure you know how much more compelling an oral testimony can be over a written one. I am begging you to reconsider this.”
“And I’m begging you to get over it.” I looked her directly in the eyes. “He and Ava ruined my life and I don’t have shit to gain by sitting in a courtroom full of strangers and explaining how. You want an emotional testimony? Hire a f**king drama student to read my words to the jury.”
“Things have changed. It’s not like it was six years ago.”
“That’s why The New York Times still won’t print my picture?”
“They won’t print your picture because they think you’re an ass**le.” She snapped. “You also won a huge and expensive case against them years ago or have you suddenly forgotten that? Take it as a compliment that they’re even mentioning you in a positive light.” She tossed yesterday’s paper into my lap. “They even ran that piece. Looks pretty damn good to me.”
I picked up the paper and brought it close to my face, and before I could read the article, two words caught my eye: Aubrey Everhart.
Her name was at the bottom of the page, mixed in with several others, in a beautiful black ad:
The New York Ballet Company to Celebrate New Cast Members with Saturday Night Gala.
Tomorrow…
“I just…” Rebecca was still talking. “I just think you should at least stay for a night, clear your head, and really think about this.”
“I’ll stay until tomorrow.”
“Really?” Her eyes lit up.
“Yes.” I stared at Aubrey’s name again. “Really.”
Harass (v.):
Systematic and/or continual unwanted and annoying pestering, which often includes threats and demands.
Andrew
The prosecutor shook my hand over coffee and tea the next night, batting her light brown eyes.
“Thank you so much for agreeing to stay for a few weeks, Andrew,” she said. “This is going to be a real help in this case.”
“I’m sure…” I stood up and walked over to the window, looking at the snow covered streets below.
“Your old partner has definitely hired the best lawyers money can buy, and has paid fines and suffered penalties for years, but I think we can finally send him to prison with the new evidence that we have. That, and your testimony, of course.”
I said nothing.
“I’m not sure how you would feel about this, but…” Her voice trailed off, and seconds later she was by my side. “Would you like to catch up on all we’ve missed since you’ve been gone?”
“Excuse me?”
She rubbed my shoulder. “You left New York and you never looked back. You didn’t call anyone or keep in touch…We were such good friends and you—”
“Okay.” I cut her off and grabbed her hand, moving it away. “First of all, no, I do not want to catch up on shit. I don’t give a damn about what I’ve missed.” I looked her up and down. “But from the look of things, it hasn’t been much. Second of all, yes, we were friends. Past tense. You didn’t call or keep in touch with me when everyone in this city was dragging my name through the mud, did you?”
Her cheeks reddened.
“You didn’t even call to ask me if the rumors were f**king true.” I pointed to the door. “So, please don’t think that just because I’ve agreed to help put an ass**le where he belongs, that you and I are, or will ever be friends.”
“I’m so sorry…”
“It’s six years too late for that.” I turned around. “I’ll be in court when I’m needed. You can leave now.”
I waited until I heard the sound of the door close and called the town-car driver. “What time do I need to leave for the gala if I want to be there once it starts?”
“Now, sir.”
I hung up and slipped into my coat, taking the penthouse’s private elevator to the lobby. Rushing through the hotel’s exit doors, I spotted the car across the street and headed over.
“We should be there in about thirty minutes, Mr. Hamilton.” He looked at me through the rearview mirror. “Are you meeting a date at this event tonight?”
“No,” I said. “Why are you asking?”
“Because if you were, I was going to suggest that we stop at the floral stand that’s three blocks down.”
“We can stop.” I looked out the window as he pulled off.
I’d thought about telling Aubrey that I was in town, or “good luck” for her performance tonight, but I didn’t see a point. Besides, last night, in a moment of weakness, I sent her a rather vague email and her rare response didn’t encourage further conversation.
Subject: Happiness.
Are you happy with your current life away from GBH? Are you pursuing your ballet dreams finally?
—Andrew
Subject: Re: Happiness.
Please stop emailing me and delete my number.
Thank you.
—Aubrey
“Mr. Hamilton?” The driver held the door open. “We’ve arrived…Do you plan on getting out of the car?”
“Thank you.” I grabbed the bouquet of roses and lilies off the seat and gave him a tip, telling him that I needed him to stay close, that I may be bringing someone else back with me.