Chapter 28
The Journal
The first time I met Patrick Vanderpool I wanted to throw up.
You have no idea what it’s like.
Some people are comfortable telling lies.
It comes as naturally to them as breathing.
I struggled with it, even as a kid. My mom always knew it was me who had accidentally dropped a plate on the kitchen floor, or left a window open by mistake, or stained the couch – even when I denied it as sweetly as I could.
She could just tell.
Could Patrick tell?
It was late, and I was in his office, copying. I heard his voice before I saw him.
He was talking to Geoff, that lech. I turned round, caught a glimpse of them both in the hallway. They were laughing and slapping each other on the back. The laughter had a cruel quality to it. As if the only enjoyment these men could have was at the expense of someone else.
I turned my back, focused on the copier.
It was after seven, and almost everyone else in the campaign office had gone home, with just a few staffers in the mailroom licking envelopes and folding posters for the next day’s drop.
‘So you’re the new girl,’ said a voice.
It wasn’t Geoff’s Brooklyn drawl. This voice had an education and money behind it.
I turned to see Patrick leaning against the desk, looking me up and down.
He had a smile on his face, but there was no warmth to it.
He looked at me like I was rare steak. The thing about men with power is that they can’t help but remind people of it, even in their smallest gestures. It hangs off them like a bad smell.
‘How long have you been here?’
He put an emphasis on the ‘you’, as if I was some gold-plated Ferrari he’d just discovered in his garage.
‘About a month, now.’
‘A month? How come I haven’t . . . You know what? Never mind. Thank you for all of your hard work on the campaign. Together we can really rebuild this state: restore it to what it used to be, you know?’
I smiled and said of course, and added that I was rooting for him to win.
He cocked his head, looked me up and down and said, ‘As much as I really appreciate all your efforts, it’s getting a little late to be working. You want to get out of here and go somewhere?’
I played the innocent.
‘Go where?’
‘Anywhere . . . ah . . . Why don’t we go get a drink and you can tell me what you think of the strategy? I assume you’ve seen the latest poll numbers?’
‘Sure, that would be fun. And yeah, I saw the numbers. The needle is starting to move in our direction.’
‘Spectacular,’ he said, throwing his arms wide. He smiled and his gaze lingered on my legs.
I’m no fool. I knew what he wanted, and it wasn’t my take on campaign strategy or poll numbers. Don’t think I’m an innocent in all this. I know exactly what I’m doing.
I do.
I promise.
I’m not under any illusions.
This is where I knew it could go.
Maybe where I hoped it would go.
And it’s not because I’m attracted to Patrick. I just need to get close to him. Real close.
I need this man to trust me.
If that means he gets into my bed, then so be it. I told myself I could do it.
Then I felt his fingers brush against the small of my back, and the wave of revulsion and anger that followed it.
I swallowed it down.
Could he tell?
‘Why don’t you grab your coat and I’ll call for the car.’
The bar was one of those well-hidden places on the fourteenth floor of a skyscraper.
There was no sign for the place in the lobby, and nothing outside the building to indicate that it was even there.
But this was the sort of place that not only didn’t need to advertise, it didn’t want to.
The lighting was low, with ornate crystal lamps on each table, a black floor, black leather furniture and a long black marble bar.
More lighting behind the bar sat in the gold filigree recess that housed the shelving for spirits.
Almost every table was occupied, and apart from the low, unnerving jazz track, it was quiet enough that no one had to raise their voice to be heard.
‘You like this place?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, it’s very cool. Too cool for me.’
‘You belong in places like this,’ he said.
I looked around at the other women in the bar. Sleek, dark cocktail dresses and heels. I was in black jeans and a charcoal low-cut tee. Boots though, which I was now grateful I’d chosen that morning instead of my beat-up Nike Cortez.
‘I’m not dressed for somewhere like this,’ I said. ‘I’m not even sure I have anything to wear that would make it look like I fit in here.’
‘Don’t be silly. You’re the most attractive woman in the room.’
I smiled, and tried to hide the embarrassment by staring into my drink and stirring it with my cocktail straw. He’d ordered for me, of course.
‘You think I suit a place like this?’ he asked.
‘Sure, you’re, well . . . you know who you are. I mean, you can go anywhere.’
‘I wasn’t talking about money, or power. I mean look around. Half of the guys in here are models. Or they look that way. I know I’m a little older, but I’m not out of place here, am I?’
That was my cue. He’d let me know he was into me, now he wanted to know if the feeling was mutual.
If you didn’t know him, and you didn’t know who his father was, I guess on a pure aesthetic level he was physically attractive.
Good body, a big smile, cheekbones, blue eyes and that slightly roguish hair, which was kinda preppy, but in a good way.
He dressed smart and smelled of money – there was that too.
I gave him a smile, said nothing for a few seconds, then bit my bottom lip, and flashed him a coquettish look. Like he was handsome, but I didn’t want to admit it.
‘Your looks make you fit in just fine,’ I said eventually.
He liked that, took the compliment with a sip from the same muddy cocktail we were both drinking.
‘I get the impression there’s something you’re not saying. You think I’m too old for this place?’ he asked.
‘No, I don’t think that at all,’ I said, and stirred my drink.
‘What then?’
‘Well, people come to places like this to meet their lovers. But you’re not a single man, Patrick,’ I said.
It was the first time I’d used his name. And he liked the way it sounded on my tongue.
‘Does that bother you? I only ask, because you’re very beautiful. I like you. I like you a lot.’
I almost said I didn’t mind at all. That would have been the easy thing. To give him what he wants. To fall willingly into his bed.
To make him trust me.
But that would be a mistake. Not yet.
I reminded myself this man had everything he’d ever wanted in life. To deny him gave me power, and only made him want me more. He liked the chase. If I gave in to his desires too soon the whole thing would fall apart way too quickly.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘It’s not just your situation – it’s mine. I work for you. We only just met, really.’
‘Of course, no problem. So what do you like to do in your spare time?’
‘What spare time? Your office is pretty busy, but you know, at the weekends I like to read and go for a long run. Sometimes I just chill in bed the whole day and watch old movies.’
He nodded, and said that sounded fun. I knew what I wanted to say next, but wondered if it was too soon. Was I playing this at the right pace? I took the chance.
‘What I really love is the ocean,’ I said, and he leaned forward, put his elbows on the table and gazed into my eyes.
‘My parents moved around a lot – my father was in the military. But I remember we had five good years in Monterey, at the Presidio. In the summertime, me and my friends would cycle to Del Monte beach and just spend the whole day there. It’s so beautiful.
Those summers used to feel like they lasted for a whole year.
If I wasn’t swimming, I would just sit and stare at the water.
It was so peaceful, especially early in the morning.
Before we moved to Monterey, I’d never seen the ocean, but it got into my bones.
I love it so much. That’s the one drawback to living in the city.
Yeah, there’s beaches, like, hours away, but it’s not the same.
It’s too crowded. There’s too much noise. ’
‘You know I have a house in the Hamptons? A beach house?’
‘No way,’ I lied.
‘It’s amazing. I get up in the morning and stare out at the ocean, then I get coffee and walk right out my back door onto the beach. And there’s no one else around. Just the sound of the waves hitting the shore.’
‘That sounds like heaven,’ I said.
‘Would you like to come out there with me sometime? Maybe for a weekend?’
I couldn’t believe my luck. Yes, I said. I would like that very much.
I knew he had a house in East Hampton. I’d stared at it for hours on Google Maps.
I’d found the floor plans in the District Planning office and studied them.
I’d walked past it on that same beach dozens of times.
And a dozen times more I’d run past the driveway on the country road leading to it.
I knew who his nearest neighbors were, and even got a tour of their property, posing as a potential buyer, to see if I could get a better look at Patrick’s house.
I knew everything it was possible to know about it.
But I’d never been inside.
If I played this right, then that was about to change.
I could feel my pulse quickening, and I let the excitement bleed into my voice.
I said, ‘I’d love to spend a weekend with you in the Hamptons.’
‘Then that’s a date,’ said Patrick.
Pain. Loss. Grief.
These were my companions. These were my guiding stars.
They had led me here.
They would lead me to the truth. The truth was in that house in East Hampton. I knew it in my heart.
Pain, loss and grief don’t take things away from you, not always. If you use them right, they can give you something back.
They would give me revenge.