Chapter Twenty-Seven - Nolan
A buzzing phone wakes me and I sit up in bed, wondering what time it is. Ivy is still asleep, her face awash in yellow-orange light from the setting sun that makes her glow.
I get up and look around for my shorts and find them in the bathroom. The buzzing has stopped but another buzz tells me there’s a voicemail. I pull the phone out of my pocket, tab it, recognizing Claudette’s number.
“Nolan,” her message says. “Where is that girl? Did you take her home? Where is she? This is bad news. I need to talk to you now. Now, Nolan. I’m not joking.”
I end the message and go back into the bedroom. Ivy didn’t wake up so I go out into the hallway, walk along the catwalk that overlooks the living room, and hop down the stairs two at a time.
I grab a water from the fridge and I’m just about to call Claudette back when the doorbell rings. When I get to the foyer I can see Claudette through the glass doors, standing on the step, hands on hips, looking very pissed off.
I open it and say, “Jesus Christ, Claudette. I was just going to call you. No need—”
“Is she here?” Claudette cuts me off.
“Yeah, why?”
Claudette pushes past me, ignoring my question. “Where?”
“Upstairs. And keep your fucking voice down, she’s sleeping.”
Claudette shoots daggers at me with her eyes. “You fucked her.”
“What the fuck do you want? And why the hell did you follow me here?”
“I need to tell you something. But I don’t want her to hear. Let’s go into the kitchen.”
She doesn’t give me a chance to object or agree, just walks off to the kitchen. I follow, helpless to derail her when she’s in a mood like this.
The kitchen is open to the living room, so it only offers a little bit of privacy. “What?” I ask her.
“What do you know about this girl? Ivy Rockwell? How did we get her résumé?”
“Corporate sent it. Why?” My sister is agitated. Which is not uncommon. She’s about as high-strung as those horses down on the racetrack. Her hair is blonde, but not naturally. And it’s short and has a soft curl that that makes it look bouncy. How the two of us are related is beyond me. My hair is dark, my eyes green. And even though she dyes her hair, it’s not really dark, so the blonde looks good on her. Her eyes are blue though. My mother’s eyes, I suppose, though they are more gray than blue.
“Well, he’s fucking with you then.”
“Why?”
“Do you know who Ivy Rockwell’s father is?”
“Some pastor up in New England. Why?”
“Because he’s a little bit more than that, Nolan. He was on the board at Brown.”
“So?” I’m not following. And my sister likes to make her points in dramatic ways that I have no patience for. “Just tell me what the fuck is going on.”
“He was on the board when you were expelled, Nolan.”
“Hmm. Is that weird?”
“Don’t you think it’s weird?” Her eyes are wide in surprise. “I mean this girl shows up practically uninvited, with a fake résumé, and now we find out her father was on the board when you were kicked out?”
The five of us weren’t technically expelled. We were ‘asked to leave’ by the administration with the understanding we could return if we were found not guilty. None of us thought it would take two years to clear things up. And by that time, college was nothing but a dead end in the rearview mirror.
“Did you forget Amy, Nolan? The girl who tried to sue you six months ago?”
“Shit.” Amy was a manager at one of my clubs. She and I had a similar affair. Not the fantasy stuff. We never got that far. But the whole, I’ll fuck you before I hire you thing. We did fuck. And then I hired her and fired her all in the span of a few months. She was totally incompetent. We didn’t do anything while she was actually working for me, but we did before. And after. Which is why she tried to claim sexual harassment.
But Match did some digging for me and found out she was an outspoken advocate for the girl who accused us of rape. Some blogger who wrote the most vile things about us online. I don’t know what Match said to her, but the sexual harassment threat disappeared a lot more quietly than it appeared, and I never heard from her again.
“I think this Ivy girl is in on it.”
“In on what?”
“Trying to take you down. You know I was convinced that you were the reason the whole thing blew up.”
I was the reason. But I never told anyone. Match came and called his friend. And then we were told to shut the fuck up and not say a word, not even to each other.
So she doesn’t know what I did that night. No one does. Just me and that girl. And she’s dead.
I sigh and lean against the counter. “For what purpose though? I don’t get it.”
“Trying to milk us for money, Nolan. How stupid are you?”
I squint my eyes at my sister. “Don’t call me stupid. I don’t need a college degree to understand your paranoid reasoning, Claudette. I’ve gotten to know Ivy. She’s not like that.”
“You’ve gotten to know her? In twenty-four hours?”
“It’s more like thirty-six. And yeah. I think I know her better than you.”
“She’s trying to trap you. And by the way, Travis confessed that you made him call me and lie about another girl saying she was pregnant. I hope you’re using protection with this one. Or I’ll bet a thousand dollars she ends up pregnant with your child and sues you for support.”
“I always use protection,” I huff. But it isn’t true. Ivy and I fucked last night with no protection. I pulled out today. Besides, Ivy was the one who tried to warn me she wasn’t on birth control. I was the one who did it anyway. “That girl wasn’t pregnant. And Ivy wouldn’t do something like that. She’s a nice girl.” Far too nice for me, and not because I don’t want her. I do. She’s just a little out of my league.
“She needs to leave. You need to stop seeing her.”
“No,” I say. “No. I like her. And as long as she keeps accepting my invitations, I’m not gonna kick her aside.”
And… she likes the way I fuck. That’s not easy to come by. She’s in for the fantasy, I know it. It’s only a matter of time before we set that shit up. And holy fuck—I cannot wait.
“You’re going to get hurt, Nolan. I mean it. There’s something fishy about her. Something’s off.”
“There’s something off about you too, Claudette.” She recoils and puts her hand over her heart like I offended her. “But you don’t see me kicking you to the curb like trash.”
“I’m just saying—”
But my sister’s words are cut off by my buzzing phone in my hand. I look down and smile. “Look, it’s Corporate.” I tab the accept button and say, “Wassup, asshole? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you since yesterday morning.”
“Yeah, I just got home, man. Sorry about that. Some emergency meeting with a big hush, hush contract. Fuckers are trying to drive me crazy. Now what do ya need?”
“You know that girl you sent?”
“Which girl, Nolan? I’ve got like a hundred clients right now.”
“Ivy Rockwell? New England? Just graduated from Brown?”
“No, don’t recall. And why the fuck would I send you a recent college grad?” He practically snorts. “What kind of amateur do you think I am?”
“Wait,” I say.
“What?” Claudette says. “What’s he saying?”
“You didn’t send her? Are you sure? Ivy Rockwell? Her résumé said she got her MBA while she was still doing undergrad?”
“Yeah, right!” Corporate laughs. “Brown would never give up the extra years of tuition money. I’ve never heard of Ivy Rocks-her-face, Nolan. Is this what you wanted to talk to me about? Because I thought it was gonna be about that little deal we’re cooking up for Match.”
“That’s a no, by the way. I’m not in on that. That girl looks wild. You know Oliver, he’d never go for that. But anyway, fuck that shit. I need to know how the hell Ivy Rockwell got her résumé on my desk and how the hell the jet was sent to pick her up, if you didn’t schedule it.”
“I didn’t schedule it. And you know what? I’m kinda pissed about that. I needed the fucking jet today and I got a sorry, not sorry message from scheduling saying you’ve got it tied up in San Diego. What the fuck is wrong with you? You don’t schedule the jet for a forty-five-minute ride. Do you have any idea how much that costs? No probably not. That silver spoon is so deep down your throat—”
“Would you shut up for a minute?” I say. “This is serious. I have Ivy Rockwell here. In my fucking Del Mar house. Claudette says her résumé was fake and her father was a Brown board member, just like that last bitch who weaseled her way into my life.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, brother. I never sent her. Can I have the jet now? I’ve got scheduling on the other line. That’s the real reason I called. I need to take a trip and I can’t fly commercial.”
“Yeah, sure—”
“Thanks, man. Good luck with the girl. But if I were you, I’d get her the fuck out of there before you’re behind bars again.”
Corporate hangs up on me and I’m left standing there trying to figure this all out.
“What did he say?” Claudette asks.
“He says he didn’t send her. Has no clue who she is.”
“I told you, Nolan. I fucking told you! She’s up to something. I don’t know what her game is, but she’s not going to win. Get rid of her.”
And then Claudette walks out of the kitchen and a few seconds later the front door slams.
I follow, but stop in the living room trying to wrap my head around what just happened. If Corporate didn’t send Ivy, then who did?
“So…” Ivy says from above.
I look up and find her on the catwalk. Fully dressed in her shorts and t-shirt. Correction, my shorts and t-shirt. The ones I gave her this morning.
She walks to the stairs and descends slowly, her hand sliding down the banister as she walks. She’s dragging her little carry-on case behind her. “I take it the honeymoon is over.”
“How did you get to my resort, Ivy?”
“Your jet.”
“How the fuck did you get on the jet?”
“An invitation. Hand-delivered. I heard everything you guys said. I heard your bitchy sister say that stuff about me. And you know what?”
She’s mad. Very mad.
“What?”
“I’m going to solve all your problems and just go.”
“I just said Corporate could take the jet. So I can’t—”
“I don’t need your jet,” she seethes. “I’ve already called an Uber to pick me up and I’ll buy a plane ticket when I get to the airport. I’m not trying to get pregnant with your baby, Nolan. How stupid does a girl have to be to get pregnant with Mr. Romantic’s baby? I’m not interested in your money, or your fancy house, or that jet, or your job.” She practically spits the words out. “And I’m especially not interested in that fantasy of yours.”
When she gets to the bottom of the stairs she snaps the handle up on her little carry-on suitcase, hikes her purse over her shoulder, and says, “Good day, sir,” as she walks out my front door.