Exposure (17 page)

T
he next day
, I woke up and mentally kicked myself. I was no closer to solving the puzzle that was Asher Sloane than I was the night before. And Asher was already in the shower, as he was going to have to be at work early that morning.

“Good morning, my love,” he said to me after he got out of the shower. “I wanted to invite you into the shower with me, but I knew that we would get going in there, and I don’t have time for that this morning. But I’ll make it up to you on Saturday, I promise.”

“I understand,” I said to him.

He put his finger on my chin, and kissed me lightly. “Also, I’m so sorry for this, but my driver is going to have to drop me off first. As much as I would love to escort you home, it isn’t feasible this morning, as I have a very early Skype meeting with some investors overseas. We’re actually looking into some of the more developed countries, such as Singapore and Hong Kong, so this meeting will be vital. I can’t be late.”

“Of course,” I said. “Believe me, I understand.”

“You always do,” he said as he put on his tie and combed his hair. He then picked up his briefcase and gave me his arm. “Shall we?” he asked me.

“We shall,” I said.

And we made our way down the elevator to his limo.

On the way over to his office, Asher was all business. He was looking over some reports and talking on the cell phone. He was speaking in a different language that I didn’t quite understand. Whatever it was, he knew it fluently. It sounded like Mandarin Chinese, but I couldn’t be sure.

I shook my head. I couldn’t believe that he knew this other language so well, and I wondered how many other languages he knew.

He finally got off the phone and shook his head. “Ack. It seems that a fire needs to be put out. Not literally, but there’s something happening with the Singapore deal.” He tapped on the shoulder of the driver, Manuel. It seemed that Asher had a lot of different drivers. “Manuel, I’m so sorry, but could you please try to hurry?” he said as he glanced at his watch. “Dammit,” he said.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“The deal is falling through. This is an amazing opportunity for the company to get into a really hot market, but one of the major investors in that company is wanting to back out of the deal.” He shook his head. “I only hope that I can salvage it.”

I nodded. “What language was that you were speaking?”

“Mandarin,” he said. “Many of the countries in East Asia have that particular language as one of their tongues. Singapore is one of those countries. Taiwan and China are the other countries that officially recognizes Mandarin as a language, although many other East Asia countries have significant populations that speak it.”

“That’s what I thought,” I said. “What other languages do you speak?”

“Japanese, French, Italian, Spanish and Russian,” he said, looking distracted. “What can I say, I have a knack for languages.”

“You certainly do,” I said.

He was looking impatient. He was twiddling his thumbs, and his knee was bouncing up and down. He was taking several deep breaths, as if he were trying to calm himself down. “This really sucks,” he said. “I hate traffic in this city.”

I laughed. “I know. Don’t you wish that we could fly like George Jetson to work? That would be so awesome.”

“I guess,” he said, obviously not in the mood for a joke.

Finally, the limo arrived at his building. He gave me a quick kiss and got out of the car.

“See you, CJ,” he said as he dashed into the building.

I watched him leave, and sighed. I sat back on the seat, and looked out the window as Manuel took me home. I was feeling empty, already. I so longed to always be with him, as selfish as that was.

The limo got to my building sometime later, and I walked out and into my apartment. I knew that I was going to do nothing in that apartment but obsess about Asher, and I so wasn’t looking forward to that.

But I had to. I had to find out more about him. I had to unearth the secrets that he was keeping from me. I was entitled to know. Perhaps I could handle the secrets once I knew, and perhaps I wouldn’t be able to. But they had to come out in the open.

S
o
, when I got back into the apartment,
I half-heartedly researched job prospects before I got more serious again about finding out about Asher.

I was going to have to find a different tact. I obviously wasn’t getting anywhere with my current searches, as much as I wanted to. This was proving to be an exercise in frustration.

I sat back in my chair, and chewed on a pencil and brainstormed. I started writing down all the thoughts that were coming into my head, without judging them. Some of the thoughts were going to be silly, I knew, because that was what brainstorming was all about. But that was the best way that I knew how to unlock what was going on in my head.

I wrote down the words “Eastern European,” and a question mark. I wrote down the names of Asher, Natalia and Anton. Then I wrote – “find out his mother’s name.” That would be obvious, really. If her name was something like “Marina,” or “Oksana” or “Olga,” or something like that, it would be a sure tip-off that something wasn’t fitting quite right.

Then I wrote down “so he’s Russian, so what?” And then I pondered that question. So what? Yes, so what? That would mean that Asher probably changed his name.

Asher probably changed his name.

With lightning speed, I followed up on that one. Asher changed his name. His first and last name. Why would he do that? What purpose would that serve?

I went down and laid down on my bed and stared at the ceiling. The first thoughts were benign – he might have changed his name because a lot of people do that when they come to America. They want to fit in, so they change their name. Not a big deal.

Ah, but combine the possibility that Asher changed his name with Sophie’s words and warnings. And the scar on his chest. And his changing the subject anytime I mentioned his sister. His dirt-poor beginnings. I mean, no running water, no indoor plumbing? How many homes in America didn’t have indoor plumbing?

A quick Google search indicated that just over 1.5 million households didn’t have indoor plumbing in America. I looked at the map, however, that indicated what areas had the highest percentages of households without indoor plumbing, and it seemed to indicate that most of these households were in the Southwest and in Alaska, with a smattering in Maine and in the upper Northwest.

According to the map, though, New York City had close to zero percent of households that didn’t have indoor plumbing.

So, that would seem to indicate that Asher was either lying about not having indoor plumbing when he was growing up, or didn’t actually grow up in New York City like he said.

I took a deep breath. What about Russia? I was gravitating towards Russia now, for a variety of reasons. One was that the names of his siblings were very common in Russia. Two was the fact that Asher said that he spoke fluent Russian. Three was his tattoo. Four was that his charitable works focused so much on that particular country. Yes, it was an emerging market, more than the other countries were in the Eastern bloc, which would be why he would focus on doing business with Russia as opposed to, say, Slovenia.

I tapped my pencil on the desk some more and wrote down the words “Asher is from Russia. Why would he lie about that?”

Why indeed? I had known some Russian immigrants in my time. There was an Igor who spoke very broken English, and there was a Steve who spoke absolutely perfect English. Steve’s Russian name was Sleva, or something of the sort, and he was best friends with Vlad. Vlad was in between Steve and Igor, as far as his English was – he spoke perfect English, but with a very heavy Russian accent. Steve spoke perfect English, period. Igor was difficult to understand, but he did speak pretty good English.

I was impressed with all of them, really, even learning another language at all.

All of them were over here working a menial job in a restaurant. I was working with them, too, the same menial job. I was trying to earn money right after college, because I had a hard time finding a full-time job at the time. One thing was for sure, though – not a one of them tried to hide who they were. They were all very open about it, and I was fascinated by them. We would talk for hours about their lives in Russia.

I was especially impressed with Steve, though. I had no idea that he was even from a different country until he told me. His English was that spot-on.

The memory of Steve led me to my next thought – that Asher had a knack for languages. I was impressed, more than impressed, hearing him talk on the phone with somebody who evidently spoke Mandarin Chinese. His inflections seemed to be perfect. I wondered if he was one of those people who not only had a knack for languages, but also had a knack for the spoken word. An ear for dialect and tone and pronunciation.

I decided that this particular avenue held the best chance of being correct. Not that it answered any questions at all, of course. The biggest question was still the “so what?” question. What was he hiding? Obviously, if Asher hailed from Russia, not the United States, what would be the big deal about that? He should be proud of his heritage. And he should be REALLY proud about the fact that he apparently emigrated into this country and was able to make himself into such an enormous success.

That would be the ultimate example of somebody chasing, and catching, the American dream. One thing is for sure – if all of that were true, and Asher was actually a Russian immigrant, then the news stories would be all over that stuff. Talk about a Cinderella story.

So, there would be more to the story, if Asher were from Russia. Therefore, I mentally crossed that possibility off in my mind. There was no way that the news media wouldn’t have picked up the story of a Russian immigrant, who grew up dirt-poor, coming over here and starting a company that was currently multi-national and worth billions.

I felt stuck again at that point. There was a piece of the puzzle that I was missing, but what was it? What?

My head started to hurt, so I decided simply to knock off my Asher research for the time being, and concentrate more on finding another job. I certainly needed to start working, because I hated having to live off of Asher’s money. My plan was to get a job, support myself, and give Asher back all the money that he gave to me. Of course, if I didn’t find a job for a long time, then it would be that much more difficult to pay Asher back.

S
o
, for the rest of the day, I
made contacts and updated my resume and portfolio. I even made a phone call to one of the lead fashion photographers, the one who Amy worked with the most. I gave Amy’s name when I contacted his assistant. I figured that anything would help me when I was trying to get back into the swing of things.

Through it all, I tried to process, really process, my grief for all that had happened to poor little Nathaniel. I thought about possibly bringing Asher along to visit him in the cemetery, which wouldn’t be a horrible idea, considering that Asher had been, thus far, very sympathetic to me. He understood, probably more than anybody, how much I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. That it was just a tragic mistake. A tragic mistake. One that would continue to haunt me for the rest of my life.

I therefore had many things weighing on me. Nathaniel, Asher and finding a new job. Not to mention trying not to become overwhelmed, which would surely spin me back into having problems. I was better, but I wasn’t entirely well.

Asher called me around 6 that evening. “Hello there, my love,” he said to me. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” I said. “Listen, tomorrow is Saturday. Are you working?”

“No,” he said. “I usually do go into the office for a few hours on Saturdays, but I planned to take tomorrow off. I thought that maybe you and I could spend the day together.”

“That would be great,” I said. “But I have something specific in mind.”

“What’s that?” he asked me.

“Could you please take me to see my little brother?”

“I would be honored.”

A
sher picked
me up for our trip to see Nathaniel. Because this was going to be such a somber trip, there was no limo action. Not that I didn’t want that, but Asher was really trying to be respectful, so he didn’t initiate it.

“I’m glad that you’re going to do this,” he said. “You probably need to. Is this your first time coming to the cemetery?”

“Yes,” I said. “It is. I haven’t been able to bring myself to do this. I wasn’t even at the funeral.” I hung my head. “I was already in the hospital at that point. I really had a nervous breakdown, in addition to my, you know.” I still couldn’t bring myself to admit, even to myself, that I had attempted suicide.

I sighed. My mind was preoccupied on doing this, but it was also preoccupied on what was going on. I knew that Asher was hiding something. My gut was telling me this, more and more, that there was something amiss. I had no idea how to ask him about it, though.

“What’s on your mind?” he said to me as I sat next to him, looking out the window. “I mean, besides the obvious.”

“Nothing. Just this. I need to do this to make myself feel just a little bit…whole. It has been something that I’ve been avoiding.” I knew that most of the reason why I was avoiding it was because I couldn’t leave the house. But I also was avoiding it because it was just too painful to face.

Asher took my hand and kissed it lightly. “You’re going to get through this. I know that it’s tough, losing somebody that you love very much.”

I nodded. “Your mother. I’m so sorry, I forgot to ask her name.”

“Alena,” he said. “With an A.”

“What a beautiful name,” I said, feeling that this was yet another ambiguous clue. Alena could certainly be Russian, and it also could just be an American name. Same as the name of Anton and Natalya. Still nothing quite definitive.

How I wish that his mother’s name was Olga, Oksana or Svetlana or something like that. Something that would be more definitive.

He put his arm around me. “You’re very brave for doing this, you know.”

“Well, you make me brave, really. I don’t know where I would be if I hadn’t met you.” And that was the truth. I probably would have still been in my apartment, cowering in there, and I soon would have been evicted by Scarlett. Asher saved me in so many ways.

He saved me in so many ways. So how could he be this horrible person that Sophie was making him out to be?

We finally arrived at the place and got out. I somehow knew just where to find the grave site, and we went over to it.

It was marked by just a tiny stone in the ground. There was a little angel in the center of the headstone and my brother’s name. I took a deep breath as I kneeled down next to it. Asher and I had brought some fresh cut flowers and a teddy bear, and I put them on the ground next to where Nathaniel was resting.

I prayed that nobody would take these things away, although I knew that this was a distinct possibility. After all, winter was quickly approaching. Still, I wanted to make the gesture.

Asher was silent as I sat there. I didn’t really know what to say or do at that point. “Nathaniel,” I finally said. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I love you so much. I miss you every single second of every single day.” I choked back my tears. “I love you, kid.” I ran my head over the smooth stone, and Asher put his hands on my shoulders.

We stayed there for about a half hour, and I stood up, ready to go. “Let’s go,” I said to Asher. “I want to come here periodically, of course, but I think that this visit has done me a lot of good.”

Asher was looking at a woman who was approaching. He was looking down at the ground and he cursed to himself. “Shit, of all places.”

She was tall and lean and had curly black hair and prominent cheekbones. Dressed completely in black and carrying an umbrella, which was odd because it didn’t look like rain, she walked faster towards us.

“Alexei,” she said when she got about fifty feet away. Asher was fidgeting and was telling me that we had to leave, and I was stunned by the whole thing, so my feet simply wouldn’t move.

“Alexei,” she repeated to Asher’s turned back. “What are you doing here?” It was then that I noticed her thick accent, which sounded Eastern European. Come to think of it, her face also looked Slavic, as it was broad and somewhat flat, except for the cheekbones.

She was an exceptionally beautiful woman.

Asher took a deep breath. “You must have me mistaken for somebody else. My name is Asher, not Alexei.”

She looked at me and then to him. “Is Alexei your identical twin brother?” she asked him. This wasn’t a sarcastic question, at least not judging by her tone. She sounded like she honestly wanted to know the answer.

He shook his head. “No, I have no brother.”

“You had a brother named Anton, no?”

My heart started to quicken. Asher was clearly being called out by this mystery woman, and it was clear that she was right about his name being Alexei. I could see it in Asher’s eyes, which looked…scared.

Asher turned to me. “We need to leave,” he said. And then he turned back to this mystery woman and said. “It’s very nice to meet you, and I’m so sorry that you had me mistaken for somebody else. Have a good day.”

At that, he put his arm around my shoulder and ushered me back to the waiting limo.