Chapter Thirty-Seven
Grace
When I return to work, nobody tries to throw eggs or rotten tomatoes at me. So yay for a win?
But that doesn’t mean there’s no harassment. Some people with no lives have discovered my Instagram account—or maybe Viv let it slip using another anonymous account she created just to egg them on—and currently my inbox is full of people yelling at me for being a “horrible human being who doesn’t deserve to live.”
Why do so many people phrase it as “don’t deserve to live,” as though that’s somehow nicer than saying “deserve to die”? But apparently, I am underserving of life according to a bunch of strangers online. And so is my baby because it’s just a “tool to steal her sister’s man.”
Well, I refuse to give them any power over me. It’s not like I have to check Instagram or anything. But the rabid mob behavior is unacceptable. Someone more fragile, or at the end of their rope, might feel compelled to take a drastically harmful measure.
They also say I shouldn’t continue to work at the Pryce Family Foundation because a horrible human being like me shouldn’t be in a position of power over the most vulnerable segment of the population. Of course, they have no idea what I do at the foundation. I never meet the people we help. I just organize fundraisers so we can raise money to assist. As a matter of fact, most of people I deal with are vendors and venue people and donors, who are far wealthier and more influential than me.
Several people in the office greet me, congratulate me on the marriage and ooh and aah over my ring without mentioning the gossip. They probably know me too well to believe the garbage online. Furthermore, it’s Elizabeth’s policy to not discuss or address unfounded rumors that don’t concern our mission. Her stance is “Rumors do not advance our goals. They hinder us by sapping our mental energy and focus.”
“If you need a guy who knows a guy, let me know,” Tolyan says, his voice as flat as usual. But a glint in his eye seems to indicate he’s joking. He needs to work on his delivery—not that I’ll tell him that, since he can get scary when he’s annoyed.
“Yeah? You know somebody who doesn’t mind effing up a girl?” I tease.
“I might. Just because somebody lacks a penis doesn’t mean she should avoid accountability.”
“I’ll…keep that in mind. Thanks.”
I check my email. Another venue came through, so the art auction can continue as scheduled. Of course, we’ll need to move a lot of items from the old place to the new, but the contract from the previous hall specified they’d cover the cost incurred in a situation like this.
At eleven thirty a.m. I get a text from Joey.
–Joey: So all Ted has to do is show up at noon?
My belly jitters a little. I can’t believe Joey not only responded last night but offered to do what he could. Although he promised to do me a favor, in my experience people often become too busy when asked.
–Me: Yes. With his friends and entourage.
–Joey: And be himself?
–Me: Yes. Don’t let me down, Oh Fairy Godmother I didn’t know I had.
–Joey: You know what? I think I like you. Don’t worry. Your wish and all that.
I cover my mouth to suppress a little squeak. Huxley said I was foolish to involve Joey and Ted, but I want them there if possible. Ted’s fame will ensure what I’m about to do will get the attention it deserves. Viv used the details of my wedding to make her post go viral. I can do the same with the people at my wedding, although I’m not asking anyone but Ted and Joey. Huxley said I should ask his brothers instead, but I’m too nervous to bug them. Plus, none of them are as famous as Ted Lasker.
Then I close my laptop, gather my purse and drive to Huxley he probably ran his fingers through it one too many times, and now it looks like an orange flame.
“My daughter!” Ted announces dramatically as he spreads his arms open and hugs me. He air-kisses both my cheeks. “So. I heard you wanted me?”
“Yes,” I say, laughing.
“You don’t know how much it delights me to hear it. I really should’ve had seven girls, rather than seven boys.”
Huxley shakes his head. “And you would’ve made at least seven therapists very wealthy.”
“Wealthy? They would’ve become impoverished because there wouldn’t be any need for me to see them!”
When it was just me and Huxley, people were glancing at us surreptitiously—they’ve likely seen Viv’s ridiculous post with over a thousand comments. But now that Ted is in the group, people openly stare and pull out their phones. Many linger, rather than leaving. Some are probably gathering the courage to approach the man.
The huge contemporary clock embedded in the wall facing the main street chimes noon. Lawyers and other professionals start to trickle out of the elevators for lunch.
Showtime . I go to the security desk and insert a USB stick into the AV system control, then hit play.
The screen comes on. A man and woman roll around in my old bedroom, their clothes strewn around them. In the upper-left corner is a nightstand with a framed photo of me and Mom on it. It’s obvious the room doesn’t belong to the couple.
The guy’s pale ass is moving in a frenzy of thrusting.
“Oh fuck, Viv.” Peter’s grunt comes through the speakers. The audio on the camera in my bedroom is topnotch, just like the seller claimed.
More in the audience pull out their phone. Some are texting, some are filming. Go for it.
“Just a little more,” Viv says. She twists her neck, and the movement reveals her face for the camera. A few gasps rise from the crowd.
Guess some people are recognizing her as Nelson Webber’s daughter—and my sister.
“Damn it, just shut up.” Peter lets out a loud moan. “Fuck, that was good.”
“Yeah.” Viv’s voice is a bit too even. She didn’t come. Not even bothering to fake it.
Not that Peter notices. “You’re the best, babe,” he breathes out. “Jesus, just amazing.” Then he flips over. His now-spent cock would’ve flopped on the screen like a dead goldfish, except for a small eggplant emoji I put over it. The public doesn’t deserve the punishment of seeing it.
“Oh shoot!” a woman in the lobby says.
“Whoa, that’s a small dick!” Ted exclaims. “Did you see how that eggplant icon was enough to cover it? Who the hell makes a sex tape with a dick that small?”
“Somebody with no shame,” Huxley responds.
Titters fill the lobby. I try not to laugh.
“I know,” Viv says on the screen.
“So much better than Grace,” Peter agrees.
A sneer twists Huxley’s face. Ted shakes his head.
“She’s a cheap whore, just like her mom. A man like you knows quality.”
“No shit. And deserves it, too.”
Viv’s giggle fills the lobby. “I know. Hey, do you think she’s going to cry if she finds out?”
“About what? Us?”
“Yeah.”
“Probably. I mean, it isn’t like she’s got many options. Just look at her.”
“True. She’s the kind of girl you fuck, not marry.”
Peter sure loved to throw that line at me, and it wasn’t even his own original thought. How unsurprising.
“Who the fuck does that marshmallow dick think he is?” Ted thunders, his face reddening as though somebody called his penis small.
“A guy Grace fucked, but didn’t marry,” Huxley’s succinct response follows. His eyes hit me. “You never told me he was awful in bed as well as out of it.”
I give him a look. “You didn’t ask.”
“You know my dad likes you,” Viv says. “I can see a bright future ahead of you.”
“You’re the best.” Peter kisses her.
And the screen cuts to him in the bed, alone, looking up at a person. The angle’s such that you can’t see it’s me he’s addressing.
“Get off your ass and get lost before I call cops for trespassing. Don’t ever come back.”
I cross my arms. It’s still strange to hear myself on the speakers. Huxley puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Nope. I should get to live here until I find a new apartment,” Peter says.
“ What? ”
“Wow,” Huxley says.
“I moved out,” Peter says over the speakers.
“When? Why?”
“Last month. I thought it made sense for me to live here with you. Saves money. I sold my old couches and TV for a decent price.”
“So his dick is small, and his bank account is smaller?” Huxley says loudly.
“Just so we’re on the same Kafkaesque page… You decided to move in here without telling me because you’re too cheap to pay rent for your own apartment?” the me on screen demands.
“Not cheap. Smart.”
“Broke!” Ted says. “What kind of a cheap ass does this? Grace, my daughter, you should’ve dated better men. Like me. I would’ve never moved in with you, and I certainly never would’ve fucked a girl as ugly as that Viv Webber. At least I’d have the decency to invite you if I was going to expand my female horizons, assuming I found a chick hot enough to be worthy of us. I would’ve never left you out, and my dick is bigger. Which is important. A dick like that?” He gestures at the screen. “You might as well be using a baby’s thumb. Am I right?”
“Absolutely, boss,” Joey says with a bright smile.
Huxley curses under his breath. I stare mutely, unable to decide if Ted is saying things to pile humiliation on to Peter or if this is just how he is.
“Thank you…?” I say finally, since he’s taken time out of his busy day to come by and help this scene go viral.
“Dad, you were doing so great until thirty seconds ago,” Huxley grinds out.
“Eh.” Ted waves his hand. “Joey, put the whole video on my accounts, whatever they are. Make sure my online acolytes know how I feel, because that’s important.”
Did he just call his followers acolytes ?
“Really, this is just sad. I thought lawyers were supposed to be more dignified. I’ve seen porn stars with more modesty.” He checks his watch. “I feel like I have to do something now.”
“You have a meeting with Ryder Reed,” Joey says, mentioning one of the hottest Hollywood stars.
Ted snaps his fingers. “Oh yeah, Ryder. Let’s go, then.” He hugs and air-kisses me again. “I’m so glad I was able to visit. You did all right there, but if you ever need tips on camera angles or lighting, you come talk to Daddy Teddy.”
“I will.”
“And you know what? I’ll get you Ryder’s autograph. Consider it an early birthday present.”
I smile, unable to bring myself to tell him my birthday was four months ago. The man is all over the place, but at least he tries. I might be setting the bar low, but after Nelson, Ted looks like the father I’ve always wanted.
He leaves, causing a flurry of activity as his bodyguards clear a path and Joey says, “Make way, make way!”
Meanwhile, the porn video loops and starts back up, just in case anybody missed the good part from before. I can’t have that.
There is the sound of rapid footsteps—and Peter is suddenly rushing toward me, his face red. There’s something that looks like white foam around his mouth. Is he frothing? The sight is both amusing and pathetic.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he screams. Huxley steps forward, his palm out. Peter runs into the palm and glares at Huxley. “Who the fuck—”
“If you have something to say to my wife, say it with respect.”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
Huxley cocks an eyebrow.
A moan fills the lobby. Guess Peter in the recording just came. “Turn that shit off!” He gestures at the screen.
I blink innocently. “Why? I just wanted everyone to know the truth after what Viv and you did to me. A picture is worth a thousand words. I figure this vid’s worth about five million.”
“At least,” Huxley says. “The first showing was livestreamed, and more videos will go up. My father’s accounts have over sixty million followers combined, and he might even ask Ryder Reed to mention it just because.”
“You can’t record that without my permission! That’s illegal! Violation of my privacy! Not to mention, I never signed a release!” Peter’s scream is so loud, everyone can hear it. And nobody is leaving. This might be the most exciting office gossip of the century for these high-priced lawyers.
“You can’t expect privacy when you screwed my half-sister in my bedroom!”
He freezes, unable to continue. He looks like an intellectually challenged amoeba. After a couple of seconds, he recovers. “That doesn’t mean you can damage my reputation.” He jabs his finger in my face, almost touching my nose. “I’m suing your ass, bitch—”
Huxley’s fist shoots out in a lightning-quick jab, and Peter’s head snaps back. He falls on his ass and covers his mouth. “Augh!”
“Told you to speak respectfully to my wife.”
“Gonna sue yer ass!” Peter cries.
“I’d say that you have a promising career in porn, but your dick is too small, so maybe not.”
Peter pushes himself up. His lips are busted, and tears glisten in his eyes, for God’s sake. Huxley didn’t hit him that hard. I’ve seen what he can do to a man’s face when he’s really intent on damaging the other party. Peter starts toward the elevator bank, but notices a huge crowd of people pointing and whispering. He falters, his cheeks flaming. He spins around and runs toward the parking lot. That’s his motto: bluster, and if that doesn’t work, run. He’s going to hop in his car and drive away. Then later claim something like he had to be alone with his thoughts, as though they’re worth anything.
“That was satisfying.” I look up at Huxley. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for letting me be part of this.” Then he lets out a dark laugh that hints that the tap to Peter’s face isn’t all that’s amusing him.