After Her (24 page)

“He’s only forty-three,” I say. “My dad is fifty-five. That’s a twelve year difference that doesn’t matter because I'm not sleeping with him.”

“You’ve clearly thought about it otherwise you—” Midsentence, her eyes widen as if she’s reached some other conclusion. She yanks my arm, pulling me closer. “You aren’t in love with him, are you?” she whispers in a surreptitious voice. “Please tell me that this is just some harmless crush.”

“Can you give me more credit than that?” I retort. “Do you think I'm stupid enough to embark on some illicit affair?”

“Cass,” she says after a contemplative pause. “Whatever you
think
you want to do, just make sure to do the opposite. You’re involved enough with these people. Tonight is supposed to be the night you finally break away from them. Don’t complicate things by getting horny for Adrian Lynch.”

“Cassandra!” someone interjects before I can respond. “I thought I saw you come in!”

Sasha scowls, this time at the person approaching from behind me. Vivian sashays over, surrounded by a group of party guests who follow her like sheep. This must be that ambush Adrian warned me about.

“Ladies, gentlemen, this is the young lady I mentioned,” she announces. They all offer collective nods until she turns to me and adds, “This is my protégé, Cassandra Tate. She is the inspiration for tonight’s festivities. She’s currently a sophomore at Northham, here to show her support for our little charity event.”

Three middle-aged women in gaudy cocktail dresses and two indistinguishable men in black suits acknowledge me, each with their hands outstretched, anticipating my handshake. Neither of them notice Sasha. Vivian makes no effort to introduce her.

I gesture toward her in an attempt to bring her into the fold, but Vivian wedges herself between us, nudging Sasha aside to wrap her arm around my waist.

“Don’t be shy Cassandra. We’re all just like you…only a little more boring,” Vivian jokes and they all laugh on cue. I look around in search of Sasha, but the thickening crowd encloses around me, barricading her from me. All I see is an occasional glimpse of her fretful face behind a collocation of bodies.

Anytime I try reaching her, Vivian grips my arm to hostage me beneath the limelight of her friends and their scrutinizing eyes.

“Ah, so you’re the elusive ‘Cassandra’ Vivian won’t stop gushing over,” says one of the women wearing a strapless green gown that is much too tight for someone her age. She steps forward to shake my hand, but must adjust her bodice to keep her breasts from falling out of her dress. “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s me. Vivian’s dutiful intern.” I hoped to inject a dosage of sarcasm.

I want them to hear it heavy in my voice. To them, it’s a joke and they all simultaneously laugh. From then on, it’s like a press conference. One by one, they all ask me questions about Vivian’s charity and I respond like her coached publicist.

“Yes,” I say or “no thank you” and “of course I believe in what Vivian’s doing for the community.” I wish I could wash these lies from my tongue. I'm much better at playing the dutiful intern than I thought I was.

“Didn’t I tell you that she had an interesting sense of humor?” says Vivian while linking her arm around mine just in time for a photo crew to snap a quick shot of us in position. The cameras flash and I blink before the photo is taken.

I suspect Vivian orchestrated this photo opt. There is no spontaneity in this moment. Several hours of these ass-kissing remarks and the hungry crowd disperses from around me, leaving me alone with Vivian.

“You did great,” she whispers into my ear once they’re all gone. “They all love you.”

“Where did you send Sasha?” I ask while looking around. “You pushed her aside and now she’s gone.”

“She was in the way,” she replies matter-of-factly. “People came to see
us
, not her.”

“I don’t know any of these people,” I retort. “They aren’t here for me. They are only here because you need them to be. You needed that photo opt and you need your rich friends to see you as the perfect mentor. This isn’t about us. This is about you because everything is
always
about you.”

Vivian scowls, but says nothing. For the first time, it seems as if she has nothing to retort with. I almost smile at my little victory, for once able to claim the last word. I stalk away, leaving her behind me. She doesn’t follow.

I set out in search of Sasha, unable to locate her in the crowd on the ballroom dance floor. Everywhere I turn, I'm either photographed or questioned by someone seeking inside information about the Lynchs. 

I respond with brusque and trite words that sound forced. Vivian would be proud to hear. After almost an hour of wandering through the room of strangers, I stagger toward the buffet table to nibble on quiche. I reach for a bite-sized shrimp, but a second hand claims it before I can.

I glance at woman standing beside me, watching as she slips the entire mini shrimp into her mouth and swallows without chewing. After wiping her hands onto a napkin from the table, she looks me in the eye in a predatory sort of way.

“So I was right,” she says. “You are Vivian’s newest toy.”

“Excuse me?”

She smirks. “You remember me, don’t you?”

Under all the make-up, the flashy gown and expensive looking jewelry, I
do
recognize her.

“You’re Adrian’s secretary,” I say. “Francesca is your name, right?”

“Is that what Vivian calls me now?” she asks in a slighted voice. “The secretary?”

I flinch at her tone, taken aback by the unprovoked hostility.

“No, actually I just assumed—”

“Don’t get too used to being in that woman’s good graces,” she interjects. “Vivian is a kaleidoscope of contradictions. She’ll love you for a while. After she’s done using you up and tossing you aside, she’ll no longer give a damn about you.”

“Are you warning or threatening me?” I ask.

Her smile widens and she laughs, “Do you think that you’re the first girl she tried to recruit for Adrian?”

My face goes cold along with the sweat that masks my hairline. “
You
were her last intern?”

“Intern?”
she scoffs with condescending laughter. “You poor girl. You’re not her intern. You are her property. You belong to Vivian Lynch. Soon, you’ll belong to Adrian too…until he gets tired of you. Let me tell you what your future looks like. He’ll make you feel like the most important person in the world. Just when you think you might actually love him, he’ll throw you away like you meant nothing to him.”

“Is that what he did to you?” I ask and she laughs dejectedly as if the irony of it all is both amusing and tragic.

“I don’t have enough time to explain everything he did to me,” she says. “All I can do is warn you.”

“What are you talking about?”

She slips another piece of shrimp into her mouth then swipes a glass of champagne from one of the passing servers carrying a tray of them. After guzzling every drop in one mouthful, she licks the residual liquor from her lips and looks at me with bloodshot eyes, suppressing drunken laughter.

“I noticed that you brought a friend to the gala,” she says, her speech slightly slurred.

“Yeah, so?”

“Do you care about her?”

“What kind of question is that?” I ask.

“Take care of her,” she says and her tone is somewhat lucid. “Once Vivian sees her as a threat, your little friend will be nothing, but collateral. When Vivian wants something, she’ll let nothing stand in her way of getting it.”

She starts to walk away, but turns back to add, “I actually envy you. Not because of how Adrian looks at you, but because you’re still…you. I’ll never be the same person I was before I met those people.”

I watch her vanish into the crowd like some sort of apparition, taking with her every doubt I’d initially had about the Lynchs. My first instinct is an immediate one. I fish my cell phone from my purse to text Sasha.

Where R U?
I type, certain that she’ll remember to check her phone at some point. After five unanswered texts, I dial her number, wanting to hear her voice. All I get is the prerecorded voicemail greeting of her, ordering prospective callers to leave a message at the beep.

The music fades, allowing Vivian her chance behind the podium. She is stunning in that red gown with her hair hung in loose ringlets that frame her face asymmetrically. Every head turns to acknowledge her. The room holds its breath when she speaks. I continue scanning the room, still unable to find Sasha.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I want to welcome you to tonight’s event,” Vivian announces into the microphone, her chipper voice amplified through the speakers. “This is a momentous occasion that will mean a lot to millions of underprivileged college hopefuls seeking affordable education. Through my
Hopeful Scholars Foundation
, we have managed to raise two million dollars in donations procured from several affiliates standing in this room. Let’s give these beautiful people some applause for these generous donations!”

The room erupts with applause for the grinning donators turning to acknowledge the praise of their fellow peers. It’s astonishing how little it takes to amuse a roomful of wealthy socialites. I turn back to the buffet table, stuffing my mouth with more food to fill the void in the pit of my stomach.

I glance over my shoulder and spot Carrick standing in the corner of the room clasping a glass of champagne. His eyes focus on the stage, staring raptly at Vivian. My mind wanders back and I remember the last time I’d seen him look at her like that.

“Now,” Vivian continues monopolizing the microphone. “This evening is to celebrate all of your efforts. Thanks to your donations, I can guarantee that the students who receive this scholarship will attend a school of their choosing for an all-expense paid four-year university education. Thank you all! Remember to have a good time. Tonight is about you!”

The audience applauds once more as she departs the stage, permitting the orchestra to resume playing while the partygoers couple up and waltz to the music. I navigate through the crowd, nudging party guests aside en route to the stage.

Vivian works her way down the center of the room, betwixt the dancing couples. She stops briefly to chat up more guests, to smile politely and laugh at their lame jokes. I linger outside their social circle, waiting for her conversations to end.

The entire time, I watch her eyes. It’s subtle, but every few seconds, she glances to her left as if searching for something…or
someone
. I approach. She breaks away from the chatty party guests, saying something about how nice it was to meet them. I can tell from her tone that it’s bullshit. She’s dying to get away from these people.

As I step forward to close the gap between us, Vivian turns and makes a sudden beeline toward the nearest exit. I shove through the room, shouldering myself around the crowd. After pushing into the hallway, I spot Vivian at the end it, moving fast to get away.

I follow. She makes two lefts then a right before rushing into one of the banquet hall conference rooms. This end of the building appears off limits, vacant. There are no lights. I remove my stilettoes and tiptoe toward the conference room I’d seen her enter. I hear the voices, muffled from inside.

One of them, I'm sure, is Vivian. The other, I don’t recognize. So I move closer, close enough to nudge the door open a crack to see inside. It’s dark, but light from outside shines into the room from a nearby window. It outlines them both.

Two silhouettes fumble in the dark. I hear only sounds. A belt unbuckles. Something unzips. Heavy breathing. Wet skin noises. Then a moan. Someone comes up for air. As this silhouette turns around, I notice the face. Carrick.

“Don’t worry,” says Vivian as Carrick buckles his pants and she pushes her skirt down.

“I know what I'm doing.”

The two of them kiss and I, in a stupor, lurch backward, dropping my shoe onto the floor. The conference room door flings open. Carrick emerges, staring down at me through bloodshot eyes.

“Cassandra.” Vivian saunters from behind him, resting her chin atop his shoulder with her arms wrapped around his waist. “I wondered where you disappeared to.”

“What is
this
?” I snarl. Neither of them react. They each shrug, acting as if whatever I just witnessed is no big deal.

“Jack,” Vivian whispers into Carrick’s ear. “Be a dear and let me have a moment alone with Cassandra.”

He glances her, questionably. “You sure you—”

“It’s under control,” she assures him. And he leaves. I watch him go, readjusting his clothes along the way.

“How long have you been having sex with your doctor?” I ask.

“Don’t act so surprised.”

“
Surprised
? Vivian, I'm disturbed.”

“We’re two consenting adults,” she replies. “Nothing disturbing about that.”

“I knew something was off,” I say to myself. “Those phone calls you kept getting. That weird conversation I witnessed between the two of you at the hospital. The way he looked at you when you on stage. The pieces were there. I just didn’t put them together. How long has this been happening?”