52. Graham
52
GRAHAM
T he evening doorman at Gramercy recognizes me immediately, and his reception is cool. “Good evening, Senator.” One look at his ears tells me he’s either a boxer or an MMA fighter. He’s built like a tank, and he’s almost impossibly handsome on top of that. I hate the way he’s looking at me, like I disgust him.
“Mrs. Capshaw is expecting you. Floor fifteen.” He gives a curt nod toward the elevator bank. I walk away from him, feeling small.
The Gramercy is a big step up for Avery. The plastic surgeon she hooked and married not long after our divorce can certainly keep her in the lifestyle she loves. Personally, the vibe in this part of town makes me itch. I’m happy not to live here anymore. I never felt like I belonged, no matter how much money my family has. Wealth is part of who I am and where I come from, but showing it off the way it’s done in this part of town isn’t my style. I’d rather be known for my ideas, my work, than what color my credit card is.
The elevator moves so fast, my ears pop, and when the door opens on Avery’s floor, our brief phone call comes back to me. I haven’t seen her since we signed the final divorce papers in an office downtown that smelled like pine and smoke. Hearing from her was unexpected but not unwelcome. I was angry with her for awhile but also understand that had it not been for Marianne’s overwhelming influence, we’d probably still be married. Avery’s grief and desire to belong left her wide open for Marianne to manipulate.
In short—I don’t blame Avery for realizing she wanted more than I was able to give her. I also understand that the memories we share aren’t good ones. I smooth my tie as I stand before her door, taking a breath to prepare to face her again. She wouldn’t say why she wanted to meet—wouldn’t give me a topic or a reason when I asked, only that she wanted to speak with me privately about “something.”
She sounded calm enough, so it hadn’t raised any alarm bells, but I question the timing. I’ve been on the news a lot lately, and I understand my party’s positions aren’t exactly popular with the residents of Manhattan. Avery’s not a political person, but I don’t know this Capshaw guy she married or if he has his own agenda.
“You look nice,” I tell her, revealing my first impression. She’s in high-waisted jeans that fit her like a second skin and a pale blue shirt the color of her eyes. Her hair is down, perfectly styled, like she came straight from the salon.
“You look stressed,” she says, stepping aside for me.
I grapple over whether to give her a hug or not. She splits the difference, rubbing my arm and offering a warm smile. “Thanks for coming. Sorry for the cloak and dagger, but I thought it wouldn’t be smart to be seen in public together.”
“Are you planning to tell me what this is about?”
“Well…yeah. No time for small talk, huh?”
Some version of me would apologize, but I don’t know that guy anymore. He’s been replaced by someone with no personality until a camera is on him. “Sorry,” I tell her. “You’re right. I’m stressed. Not getting much sleep. ”
“Well, I have a favor to ask. Do you have the bandwidth for that?”
“Honestly, it depends on the favor. If it has anything to do with legislation, I’ve already got my hands full.”
“It doesn’t. Come and sit.”
I follow her to a cozy living area decorated in warm neutrals and faux fur throws. She takes a seat in an armchair, and that leaves me with the couch. I’m surprised at how much emotion surges just from being in the same room with her again. Our marriage may have been a sham, but the miscarriage was as real as it gets. I never felt like I did enough to help her through that—too busy drowning my own misery in Silas. My guilt moves front and center once again. If I have to scrape the edges of my souls, I’ll dig up some bandwidth to deal with whatever she wants. It’s the least I can do.
“Do you still talk to Silas?” she asks.
One question, and it feels like she’s aiming a gun at me. I stare at her with wide, disbelieving eyes. For a moment, I wonder if she’s seen it. The recording I watch more times a day than I care to admit. Is this a trick? A test? “No.”
“Because he’s suing me. I didn’t know if you knew that.”
“He’s…” I can’t wrap my mind around it. I shake my head to clear the sudden fog. “I’m sorry, he’s what?”
“He’s suing me for releasing a sex tape.”
I stop myself from asking which one. There’s only one she would know about. “The one Marianne released?”
She nods, lips pursed in annoyance.
“He’s suing?”
“Yep.”
“I haven’t spoken to him,” I tell her again.
“Well…would you mind? I don’t really think it’s fair that my new husband has to pay for a mistake my old husband made.”
Those words light a small fire in my chest. “I’m not the one who hired a private detective to blackmail a good divorce settlement out of my family.”
She flips her hair with an air of indignation. “So you’re saying I could’ve just asked?”
“I feel like that would have been a better place to start, yeah.”
She sighs, rubbing her forehead and letting her hand fall limply onto the arm of the chair. “I was so stupid, and I’m sorry, truly. But do I deserve this?”
I’m not a hundred percent sure she doesn’t. As a lawyer, I have to admire Silas’s strategy. He had to know he couldn’t go after me or Marianne, but Avery with her new husband is ripe for the picking. She won’t want a scandal, she’s likely to settle out of court, and frankly, Silas does deserve compensation for what we did to him. I wonder how long he’s been planning this.
“He didn’t deserve it, either,” I say.
“Graham, do you really want all this dragged up again? Please talk to him. Get your dad to give him some money—anything. Roger is pissed.”
Avery’s husband. Dr. Roger Capshaw. “I understand that, but I’m sure he doesn’t want to be involved in this either.”
“Roger?” She laughs. “He’s like a dragon the way he hoards money. He’s not giving Silas a dime without a huge fight.”
Another unpleasant development. “It’s not like you can win the suit,” I say, trying to get her to see reason. “He’s got a case. Ultimately you are responsible for the video. Maybe you should be calling Marianne to bail you out.”
“Graham!”
“What?” I ask, some of my resentment rising to the surface. “She’s not taking your calls?”
“Don’t be a dick!”
I breathe heavily, running my palms down my thighs. “Look, the answer is no—I don’t want the video circulating again. And I don’t like that he’s targeting you as the responsible party. He’s got plenty of other ways to make money than by filing a lawsuit.” Like blackmailing me with an even more damning video. “I’ll talk to him.” God help me.
My father offered to pay him off once. He’s likely to offer again especially with this legislation so close to passing. The margin in the senate is too slim to lose even one vote. If I get run out of DC on a rail, the vote they lose could be mine.
But talking to Silas? About this?
Just the thought of it makes me want to throw up. He’s blocked my number, so what am I gonna do? Corner him at his apartment? His job? He’ll hate me even more than he already does.
But maybe…
I shut the filthy thought down before it fully forms. It’s sick and desperate and completely beside the point. Regardless, I need to excuse myself before my thoughts run away with me. I stand, and Avery scrambles to her feet. “Graham, I’m sorry.”
I shake off the apology. What fucking good does it do now? “You and Marianne nearly ruined his life.”
“I know,” she says, hushed and ashamed.
“But you don’t think Dr. Roger will understand that?”
“Understand? Maybe. Pay two-point-five million dollars to fix? I don’t think so.”
“Two point five…”
She nods, eyes watery.
“Fuck.” My father won’t like that number, either.
“So maybe there’s some room to negotiate down?” she asks hopefully.
Christ, she’s selfish. “I said I’ll talk to him. Jesus. Is that not enough?”
She startles, never having seen me snap before. “I’m sorry,” she says again, and it reminds me of the night Silas told me to stop apologizing. I get what he meant now. How nauseating and useless the words are, especially when repeated on a loop.
“Forget it,” I mumble, moving past her to the door .
“Are you okay?”
“Do I seem okay?” I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
She gives my back a rub and comes dangerously close to hugging me, but I manage to step away. I don’t want her comfort. I don’t want anyone’s.
I leave Gramercy and cross the street, walking down two blocks to sit on a park bench facing The Eastmoor. I can’t see well enough from here to determine if Silas is in the lobby. The doors are heavily decorated with iron fashioned into a trellis, but I picture him there regardless.
And then, just after seven, after I’ve sat and stared for more than an hour, he emerges with his jacket hooked on a finger, slung over his back, his familiar, worn backpack on the other shoulder.
Our eyes meet suddenly, like a crash of lighting. He hesitates in his stride, begins to walk again, then stops again to watch me. It feels like my heart stops as he weighs whether to cross the street.
I want him to, and I’m terrified he will. Of course he’s here. Why else would my ass have remained stuck to this bench for so long? Something inside me always senses him. Finds him. My life will forever collide with his. I never needed that location app.
If he were on the other side of the world and some horrible fate befell him, I would feel it. I would know. God, I need help. I’m still so in love with him despite everything, it’s turned me delusional.
“This is a bold move,” he says, in front of me now, looming and gorgeous.
“You’re suing Avery?”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
“Well, funny thing happens when you co-author a bill turning sex workers into felons. They lose their jobs.”
“ What ?” I ask sharply .
“Katia’s closing up shop. I’ve been let go. Thanks for that, Senator. You know Trixie’s life doesn’t pay for itself, but maybe rich kids like you don’t realize we don’t all have money trees on our terraces. Most of us don’t have terraces.”
“I didn’t...” I’m struggling. The law hasn’t even passed yet. It’ll be months until it’s enacted even if it does. And I never thought it would stop anyone from carrying on exactly how they have been. I only thought it would make them cleverer about it. Katia especially. She’s shrewd and savvy. I’m certain I wasn’t the first politician to use her service. “No, I know. But Katia is?—”
“Smart enough to read the writing on the wall. What are you doing here? Did Avery send you?”
I nod.
His jaw tightens.
My anger and frustration resurfaces. “She’s not the one responsible.”
“Of course she is. Why are you defending her? What do you care?”
I have no fucking clue why I’m doing anything. “Can we go somewhere else and discuss this?”
“No. I have nothing to say to you. So what do you want? Why are you here?”
“You’re asking for too much money.”
He barks a laugh. “Am I? Do you know what my life was like once that video came out? I was followed by the press for weeks. I lost two jobs—couldn’t even get an interview for a new one. The only reason I have this one is because my friend is married to the owner of the building. Pity and guilt. That’s how I got this job. Have you ever googled me? You wanna know what comes up?”
I shake my head, not because I haven’t done it, but because I have, and I don’t want to think about the things people have posted and said about him online—the articles that have been written. The speculation about me. I stonewalled the press with a blanket denial, and I’ve never wavered. I made myself boring and it put all the attention on him.
There’s an entire article in the Post titled “Who is Silas Manning?” and the primary source in the interview is his ex—Benjamin Alderman, who painted a portrait of Silas as a gay, promiscuous man who sometimes accepted money in exchange for sex. He never came out and straight up said Silas was an escort—he made him sound more like a low end prostitute—and I’m not sure which is worse.
Memories are short, though, and news cycles move on. I managed to create enough doubt about my own image in the video that people stopped questioning me, but I don’t think anyone really believes it wasn’t me. It’s amazing what people will overlook when you throw up enough smoke and mirrors and they need your vote. I clear my throat because it’s closing up fast. “I’m only saying, I think you might have better luck if you lowered the dollar amount.”
“How much did she get in the divorce?” he asks.
My own jaw locks up. I’m not telling him that.
“Ten million dollars,” he says correctly.
“Did you read that somewhere?”
His smile is cruel. Wicked.
It’s hot, too, reminding me of the last time he smiled at me like that. It makes my stomach flip with anxiety and lust.
His gaze drops to my lap like his thoughts are going to the same place. “I’m not asking for less,” he says. “If she won’t pay, you both know what’s gonna happen. I don’t have anything left to lose, Senator.”
I swallow hard, dreading the nightmare he seems eager to drag me through. I don’t think Avery was exaggerating about her husband’s unwillingness to pay a sum this high to make it all go away. He’s a surgeon, not a titan of industry, and who knows how much Avery still has from the divorce settlement .
“Please, Silas. This is between you and me. Don’t drag her into this.”
“Are you asking to be blackmailed?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“Wow. I thought there was no way I could think less of you, but you keep managing to surprise me.”
“Is there anything I can do to?—”
He cuts me off with a derisive laugh. “You want to work it off? That’s sweet. Ironic, but still, I’m sure Avery would appreciate the effort.”
Heat floods my face, the idea too appealing to my sex-starved soul. “Is that a real offer?” I find myself asking.
He shakes his head, his look of disgust unmistakable. “In your fucking dreams.”
With that, he turns and walks away, leaving me with a desperate ache in my groin and saliva pooling in my cheeks.