Chapter 22 #2
She knots the sash, sits at the edge of the bed, legs crossed, one foot flexing in a slow arc. “If you wanted to give it a try with her, you should. There’s not much point in pretending otherwise.”
I start to speak, but she waves me off.
“No offense, Thomas, but I could tell you weren’t really here tonight.” She looks at me, a little amused. “I was going to fake it, but then I thought, what’s the point? I’m too old for that shit.” She leans back, arms braced on the mattress, perfectly relaxed. “Besides, you weren’t even that hard.”
I flush. She’s right, and the bluntness of it makes me want to laugh or punch a wall.
“I’m sorry,” I say. I mean it, but the words sound like an afterthought.
She smiles, wry and practiced. “Don’t be. You’re a good man, but you’re not good at lying to yourself. Or to me.” She fidgets with the robe’s belt, then says, “You want to know the real secret? Nobody’s that good.”
I watch her, unsure what to say. She changes tack, like a lawyer steering a witness.
“So, what’s wrong with her? The caterer. Is she married? Crazy? A Truther?”
I almost laugh, but then the words come out. “She lied to me. She filmed us having sex—without telling me.” I can’t keep the disgust out of my voice.
Elaine pauses, then tilts her head. “Did she upload it? Share it? Try to blackmail you?” The questions come rapid-fire, legal instinct sharpened to a blade.
I shake my head. “No, she just kept it. On her cloud, apparently. I found it by accident.”
Elaine shrugs again, this time with a little more heat.
“So what’s the big deal then? You think you’re the only man who’s ever been filmed?
Thomas, this is the age of over-sharing.
Everyone records everything.” She gives a short laugh, then pushes herself up off the bed, smooths her robe, and walks over to the window.
“I have a hundred clients who would kill for a sex tape scandal that wasn’t actually a scandal. ”
I watch her, a slow burn rising under my skin. “I just wanted honesty,” I say. “Not some fucking surveillance state in my own bedroom.”
Elaine doesn’t answer right away. She purses her lips, weighing the odds, and then reaches behind the base of the lamp, fingers searching, and then turns, holding something up between her index and middle finger. It’s a camera—so small it could be a button off a shirt, matte black and faceless.
She tosses it onto the bed. “There. Now you’ve been filmed twice without your knowing.” She watches me, eyes bright. “Don’t worry, it wasn’t for blackmail. I just like to keep a record. Call it a souvenir.”
My jaw tightens. I stare at the camera, then at her, then back again.
“You’re fucking joking,” I say. But I know she’s not.
Elaine gives me a look that’s almost pity.
“The world is different now, Thomas. If you want to fuck like nobody’s watching, you’d better start by turning off your own phone.
” She crosses her arms, robe opening just enough to show a line of breast. “Or, you could try to trust her. The caterer. If you want to be with someone who doesn’t keep secrets, maybe start by not keeping your own. ”
I pick up the camera and set it on the nightstand, careful not to crush it. I want to throw it through the window, but the energy leaks out of me. I feel empty and ancient.
“What are you saying?”
“Nothing,” Elaine says in a light voice. “Just don’t be offended when I say that you’re the one who’s behind on the times.”
I follow her with my eyes. “Is this how it’s going to be? Everyone just keeping tabs on everyone else? I’m the one who’s wrong for thinking that recording sex with another individual, without their consent, is wrong? Really?”
Elaine shrugs. “Maybe. There’s a fine line between right or wrong, and it’s blurrier than you think.
Trust me, it’s a big world out there, and I’ve been with a lot of men.
A lot of rich men, and I’m an attorney too, so I’ve seen it all.
All I’m saying is that maybe you should reconsider, tell the truth, and live with the consequences.
” She opens the door to the en suite, then pauses, turning back over her shoulder. “Go to her. You obviously want to.”
“I am telling the truth,” I seethe. “I have no idea what you’re getting at!”
Elaine merely shrugs, and enters the bathroom, shutting the door behind her, soft as a secret.
What the fuck? What was that about? I finish buttoning my shirt.
The perfume in the air is so thick I want to sneeze.
The city outside is neon and blue and utterly indifferent.
I grab my jacket, slide the phone into my pocket, and leave the hotel suite, my steps slow and even.
The hallway is empty, the air in it cooler.
I ride the elevator down to the lobby, watching my reflection in the mirror.
Blue eyes, hair mussed, a day of stubble, shirt collar askew.
I remember what Andie said the night she confessed to everything: We both need to be open about the truth. We both have to share because this is a two-way street.
The doors part, and the city waits.
Have I been truthful myself?
My mind spins as I walk out, still thinking of Andie, the way her laugh filled a room, the way her skin felt against mine, the way she tasted like the truth.
But Elaine’s right. Have I been honest with myself? With Andie?
Suddenly, I understand what the attorney was getting at.
I’ve fucked up. Big time.
Oh shit.
I step into the Minneapolis night, haunted by my realization. I need to talk to Andie because if there’s a future, then this is where it starts.