Before
Frankie
I’m sitting at the bar at City Grille on the Upper West Side, eyes glued to the TV. I’ve been here for forty-five minutes. Scotty is late. He warned me he might be, even though it’s just around the corner from his apartment.
“If you don’t mind coming to me,” he said on the phone. “The kids have been a mess lately. I don’t like to go that far in case Hilary needs me back home.”
I think back to those early days on the trip—how Scotty gushed constantly about Hilary. There was a lot of eye-rolling among the men—yeah, right. Still, Scotty’s affection for his wife was clearly genuine. It was endearing.
The Yankees game is on, and I’m watching to avoid eye contact with two different guys who I can feel are watching me.
One is two stools down to the right. The other is to my far left.
Both harmless, I’m pretty sure, though the one to my right does seem like the overconfident type.
Like he might slide over soon and strike up a conversation.
I’m feeling wired pretty tight. If I go to shut him down, I’m going to hit too hard.
All things considered, I’d prefer to avoid a hostile back-and-forth with yet another man right now.
I’m just registering some motion to my right—the guy maybe gathering himself to make his move—when the door opens and Scotty finally hurries inside.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. Everyone was in full meltdown tonight, including Hilary. Maybe especially her.” He smiles ruefully.
“Is everything okay?”
“Let’s just say having a wife who tells it like it is isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be.” But then he smiles. “Love. You take the good with the bad, right?”
“Right,” I say, not that I’d know firsthand.
The bartender appears in front of us just as the guy to my right storms out the door. Scotty points to my whiskey. “Another?”
“Yes, please.” Though I’m not sure I really need another.
“And a Diet 7UP,” Scotty says, unabashed by the bartender’s disapproving scowl. He’s quiet for a beat before turning back to me. “So…this about Richard?”
How mortifying. Does Scotty think I called him here to get the inside scoop on Richard’s feelings for me? We’re not in seventh grade. “No, what do you— No.” The worst part is that now I do want to pump him for information. Has Richard said something to him about me?
“Sorry,” he says. “I just thought…” He shakes his head. “I thought maybe you and he…Anyway, Brooks and I were talking at the memorial service—”
“How is Brooks?”
“Not great. His life is a bit of a shit show at the moment. He was about to be made CEO of his family’s company a few weeks before the trip, but he ended up gambling his trust trying to leverage some position with stock and it backfired.
Brooks without his money is—” He bl0ws out a quiet whistle.
“His wife will also definitely leave him.” Scotty looks worried, maybe that his own wife will do the same. “I feel bad for the guy.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Anyway, sorry—off topic.” Scotty glances my way. “What is up with you?”
“I, um, called because I need some legal advice.”
He laughs. “Oh. Hilary is always saying I should talk less and listen more. Anyway, my legal specialty is white-collar crime—insider trading, that kind of thing. So it depends what you need advice about. But if I can’t help you myself, I can try to find someone who can.”
The bartender delivers our drinks. I take a sip of whiskey, fortify myself. “There’s someone harassing me.”
Scotty frowns sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you know who’s doing it?”
“I think so. There’s this guy. Something from a long time ago.”
“Let me guess,” he says. “You turned him down?”
“Something like that.”
“Men.” He blinks a few times and clears his throat. “And I’m assuming this harassment feels threatening?”
And just like that, I am seventeen again.
I can feel the Senator tightly gripping my arm after he showed up outside my dorm.
He’d been texting about the NDA for a couple days and I had been ignoring him.
I was so afraid and ashamed and…sad. There had been such rage in his eyes when he confronted me.
I can feel its heat even now. Maybe that’s why I feel intimidated, even though it also doesn’t exactly make sense that the Senator would suddenly use force to keep me quiet when I’ve been quiet all along.
I nod. “He’s a threatening person, physically. And it seems like he plans on blackmailing me.” It feels disingenuous to bring all this up without mentioning Richard. But Scotty’s the only lawyer I know, and I need advice quickly.
“So where do I come in?”
“I went to the police earlier today, and they said I should have a lawyer write a ‘strongly worded letter.’ That it will take them a long time to look into it because he hasn’t done enough yet for it to be criminal.”
“I could easily write something like that for you,” Scotty offers with a wave of his hand. He takes a sip of his 7UP. “I write ‘leave my client alone’ letters of one kind or another all the time. It will be mostly bluster, you should know. But a lot of what lawyers do is bluster.”
“There’s something else that might be a problem.” I hesitate. “I signed an NDA a long time ago.”
“An NDA related to this guy?” Scotty raises his eyebrows.
I nod.
“And it’s still in effect?”
I nod again.
Scotty grimaces. “I’m assuming you took money in exchange?” It sounds so unseemly. “Sorry to ask, but as a contractual matter it is relevant whether there was money exchanged.”
“Yes.”
“Well, he could argue you’re violating the agreement by even making the accusation.”
“Accusation?” I ask. “It’s just stating facts.”
Scotty waves his hands apologetically. “I’m not saying that in a pejorative way, but that’s what he’ll argue.
You obviously can’t get someone to sign an NDA and then go around committing crimes against them they can’t report.
But if the police don’t think what he’s done rises to the level of criminal behavior, then you could have a problem. ”
“He sent me threatening texts. That’s how I ended up at the police.”
“Did the agreement say that he couldn’t have contact with you?” Scotty asks hopefully. “Usually, there’s a reciprocal aspect, but not always. You’d be surprised. But if it says he’s supposed to stay clear, and he violated it, then it doesn’t matter if what he did was criminal.”
“I don’t remember what the agreement said,” I say.
“Well, that could be important leverage here. The first step will be to get me a copy of the agreement so that I can review it.”
I stare down at my drink. “I don’t have it.”
“You lost it?” he asks. “Because I’m sure—”
“Technically, I burned it.” It had felt like such a brave act of rebellion at the time. Now it just seems crazy and stupid.
“You burned it?” he asks. “As in literally?”
From the look on Scotty’s face, he is also leaning toward psychotic rather than brave.
“Well, I’m sure your lawyer kept a copy. I can just—”
“I didn’t have a real lawyer,” I say. “I had an NYU law student who looked over the agreement. She told me I shouldn’t sign it. But I did anyway. I just wanted the whole thing to be over. I don’t even remember her name.”
Scotty screws up his face like he’s concentrating really hard. “That’s…”
“I was really young,” I say. “And really upset.”
Angry, too. I can feel it in my body even now, vibrating my bones. In the end, I’d turned all that anger at the Senator right back on myself. Let it devour my soul. But I am not that person anymore.
“Like I said, a letter from me is only going to be so effective,” Scotty says, his tone gentle. “It could violate your agreement. It’s impossible to know without reading the NDA. But if my letter does violate it, all hell might break loose. It’s a big risk for potentially no reward.”
I close my eyes and nod as disappointment washes over me. “Right.”
Scotty’s discomfort is palpable. I want to thank him, to tell him he can go. But I’m too afraid I’ll start crying if I try to speak. We are quiet for a long time.
“So, when is your show?” he asks finally. “We should all come. Or Hilary and I and Richard and Gretchen, at least. Richard could buy out your whole show like that.” He snaps his fingers. “And what I lack in buying power, I make up for in enthusiasm.”
From the guileless way he suggests this double date, I wonder if I imagined his earlier suggestiveness about Richard and me.
“Thank you—I appreciate that.” And I do. Though the thought of Richard with his wife at my show is painful.
Scotty nods, staring at the TV. He hasn’t made a move yet to leave. “Have you spoken to Richard since we’ve been back?”
The question feels heavy, probably because of the photo sitting in my texts. I consider saying no, but what if he already knows from Richard that we have seen each other? Lying could make us both look worse. Then again, so could any part of the truth.
“We saw each other for coffee. I was sad I couldn’t be at the memorial service.” As if one has anything to do with the other.
Scotty’s face tightens. So much for sounding casual. He stares down into his glass.
Richard and I are a situation with no good explanation. So I scramble to create one.
“Richard wanted some advice on buying some new art.” I know it’s not a great cover story, but it’s all that comes to mind.
Scotty narrows his eyes. “I thought he has dealers he works with.”
Shit. I shrug. “He said he wanted to balance his collection with some younger artists. Advice on the fall shows at some of the smaller galleries can be hard to come by.”
Scotty looks like he might be buying it.
“Richard and I haven’t spent much time together since the trip.
We saw each other at the service, but even there we didn’t really talk.
None of us are very good with feelings.” He hesitates, and there’s something cool about his expression when our eyes meet.
“Listen, I love Richard, he’s one of my closest friends, but he’s…
Some people are just too charming for their own good. ”