41
Trevor is sorta crapping himself.
I guess I’ve felt this amount of loneliness before.
It feels like back in high school gym class when we played Dodgeball and I would stand in the back picking at my fingers pondering the day’s choice of cafeteria lunch and whether the chili con carne really was made of mystery meat.
Here I am in front of a computer staring at the photograph.
And the mystery meat in it.
“Who do you think it is?” asks Ashlee, appearing at my side.
I jump, not having heard her approaching. I have, needless to say, been jumpy all morning. “I’m … not sure.”
“I think it’s a ten-dollar-an-hour Mexican prostitute,” Ashlee decides. “And that is one very, very lucky prostitute. I’m picturing a sort of Pretty Woman scenario where they fall in love, he leaves the money, the prostitute doesn’t take it, comes to America and tries to update his wardrobe … ‘Big mistake. Huge.’ I could picture it.” She giggles after that, then stares off, picturing it.
I find my skin turning to ice at once. “That’s our boss you’re talking out.”
Ashlee turns back to me, her eyes glazed over. “Oh. I … I didn’t mean to—”
“And we need to handle this situation very seriously,” I go on, apparently deciding to take the righteous high road, like I have any right to be on it. “For Mr. Gage’s sake, and the company’s.”
Ashlee gives me one sad nod, then glances back at the screen, her eyes all over the picture. “You’re right,” she finally concedes. “I shouldn’t perpetuate all the stupid jokes everyone’s making in the office. We’re above that, you and I. We can see the seriousness in situations like this.”
I feel bad instantly. “I’m sorry for snapping, Ashlee. I just—”
“No, no. You didn’t snap.” She gives me a wink and nudges me. “You’re not like the others, Trevor. I can see why Elijah thinks so highly of you.”
Dear God, is today Make Trevor Feel Like A Guilty Piece Of Shit Day?
“Speaking of whom,” she goes on, leaning in closer to me and bringing down her voice, “is Elijah okay? He’s been really off all morning.”
“He’s just got some … personal things … he’s dealing with.”
“Hmm. Okay. I can handle that.” She smiles at me. “Do you think he’s into me? Like, even just a little bit?” Before I can even respond, she sputters on. “I mean, like, I’m not trying to be that girl, the one who zeroes in on the office cutie and starts blushing, acting flustered, and stops wearing any underwear. I’m wearing underwear, by the way,” she adds in a whisper.
“Office cutie?” I lift an eyebrow at her. “Of all the guys here, you think Elijah’s the office cutie?”
“Oh, by far. He’s real. And he’s sweet … funny … charming in a totally dorky way.” Quite suddenly, she’s blushing and flustered. “Anyway. Please don’t tell him I said all of this. He’s also a totally cocky bastard. Hey, maybe we should all go out for drinks at the end of the week. Elijah’s birthday is in a couple days, right?”
I drum my fingers along the edge of the desk, then face her. “Maybe just the two of you should go.”
Her eyes flash. “J-Just the two of us? … What do you mean? Why? What are you saying?”
“I’m saying maybe he likes you, too.”
Ashlee squints suspiciously at me, then prepares to respond, but is quickly interrupted by another intern rushing up to her to ask a question, and then the two of them are off. Ashlee looks over her shoulder to throw me a smile, then disappears around the corner. I return my attention to the image in front of me and the article whose comment section I’ve been tasked to babysit.
There is nothing more meta than helping minimize a scandal you’re right in the middle of among a team of people who don’t realize they’ve been staring at your naked ass all day.
The picture could not be more focused on Benjamin if my whole body was blotted out by a Photoshop eraser. The lighting from the fire is pretty bad, making shadows look like shapes, and licks of white and red look like faces that aren’t really there. I’m a skinny blur of fleshy vagueness with my head turned away, and Benjamin is completely in view, covering me like a protective animal. It’s almost telling, the way he’s shielding me from the cold air I remember so vividly from that beautiful night.
All that beauty is wiped away in an instant when twice more I pass Elijah in the office, and twice more he ignores me. Did Elijah really recognize me from the pic, or was that glare he gave me just about his ire from before? I’d like to say I’m flattered he can point me out so well in a crowd. I mean, it isn’t often one can say they have a best friend capable of recognizing them by their elbows.
But that “best friend” of mine doesn’t seem much invested in being my best friend at all today. He’s more invested in staples and whatever’s on that computer screen across the room.
My lunch break is cut in half by an urgent summoning of all the employees in the office to the floor. I’m standing in the back of the crowd when Rebekah and the three department heads—Julian, Samantha, and Quentin—address the room.
“Our favorite pop star client Hawk—the Jersey boy—will be coming through town tomorrow,” announces Julian loftily, “and plans to drop by the office. He is scheduled to meet with Mr. Gage at four in the afternoon.”
“That being said,” picks up Samantha, her voice unexpectedly deep and grainy, “Mr. Gage will expect that we are all on our best behavior and appearance tomorrow.”
Quentin nods at her and faces the room. “This is a really big deal, especially considering our situation involving Mr. Gage’s trip to Mexico. We must look on top of it, unworried, and diligent.”
“I’m going to be assigning some of you interns on cleaning duty, since we need this office to look sharp,” finishes Rebekah. “As he is meeting with some important people today, Mr. Gage will not be coming in—”
“Mr. Gage will be coming in,” interrupts a voice.
The room shifts, all the bodies turning to the man who cuts through the crowd—Benjamin himself. His face is flushed slightly, looking as if he just ran the whole distance here, but he offers an apologetic smile to the room as he stands in the middle of the semicircle of employees and faces us.
My heart melts just seeing him. I didn’t realize until now how badly I’ve needed to lay my eyes on my beautiful man.
My beautiful man.
“I have a few things to say,” Benjamin starts out, lifting his eyebrows and appearing dashing as ever in his fitted blue blazer, sexy slacks, and shiny shoes. “Firstly, I’m sorry for the tizzy that my apparent extracurricular activities have caused. Rebekah has been keeping me informed, and you are all doing an incredible job doing exactly what we’re paid to do for all our clients: minimizing, spinning, and rewriting the narrative. You are superstars, all of you, and thanks to your work, this unfortunate bad angle shot of my ass will be buried by tomorrow.”
A tittering, favorable laugh ripples softly through the room.
I may be the only one whose funny bone isn’t tickled as I stare at Benjamin longingly, desperate to be alone with him and discuss what’s going on.
“Secondly, as you were just told, our Jersey punk-ass Hawk is dropping by the office. Be on your best, but more importantly, just be yourselves.”
It’s at this exact moment that Benjamin seems to find me in the crowd, and his eyes flicker with emotion. Just be yourselves. He says this, yet plays off our weekend and the photo that came from it as a thing to minimize, spin, and rewrite.
It’s like suddenly we never went to Mexico.
My birthday never happened.
I’m still that twenty-year-old heartsick idiot from the nightclub who went home with a perfect stranger that fateful Friday night.
I pull my eyes away and stare at the floor, unable to keep eye contact with him anymore. Heaviness sinks into me as suddenly as if I was just filled with all the water of the Caribbean Sea, except it’s cold and unwelcome.
Benjamin must finish saying whatever it is he’s come to say because the room starts applauding out of nowhere, and then Ben gives everyone an encouraging nod and dismisses us, turning to speak to Rebekah and the other department heads as they slowly make their way toward his office. The door opens, they go inside, and then the door closes. The lights flick on, and I watch as Ben goes to his desk, hits the hidden switch there, and then his blinds flip shut and not even silhouettes can be seen.
Five o’clock cannot come fast enough. I grab my things and head for the door, uncaring of whether Ben is still in his office or if Elijah is making plans with Ashlee or literally anything else.
When I pass the front desk, an unexpected voice stops me. “You got some sun.”
I spin around to find Brady sitting where Dana the front receptionist usually is. “What?”
“Sun,” repeats Brady flippantly, his arms folded on the desk in front of him. His bright blond hair is unexpectedly tame today, tightly parted and flat against his perfectly shaped head. “You got some sun this weekend. Lots of it, in fact.”
I don’t like the superior, leery look in his eyes. “I was outside all weekend at my parents’ for my birthday,” I state, inventing my alibi on the spur of the moment.
“Oh? Do they live on a particular beach in Cancún?” he asks, immediately followed with an arrogant chuckle and a calm, “Just kidding. I wouldn’t dare imply that.”
Winter’s worst cold front rushes through my stomach. I don’t remember what I had for lunch, but it’s about to meet Dana’s prized desk. “What the hell are you doing at this desk anyway?”
“Dana has the week off. Rebekah trusts me. She appointed me front desk duty. It’s really one of the best tasks any of the interns could be assigned,” he points out, puffing up his chest. “I get to speak directly with clients, forward calls, set up appointments …”
“Congratulations,” I state flatly. “I’m sure your beautiful hair comes in handy when you’re answering calls.”
“It’ll certainly come in handy when I’m the first one to meet and greet the Jersey boy tomorrow.” Brady grins so big, he shows teeth. “Have a most excellent evening, Trevor. Don’t get too much more sun on your way home; you really don’t want to look like a tangerine tomorrow.”
I roll my eyes and turn toward the door again, clutching my stomach. It slams with a rattle behind me.
I can’t get home fast enough. The second I’m through the door and discover that I’m alone, I collapse against the kitchen counter and bury my face in my folded arms, rested on a smelly folded newspaper and a gaming magazine.
And then I start to cry.
I can’t help it. I can’t stop it. I have decided to throw myself a pity party for one, and if you’re not planning on feeling terribly sorry for me and all my grievous woes that I am suffering, then you are not invited.
Comically, my phone vibrates with a call just as I have that thought. I look up to see who my first invitee is.
My only invitee.
I answer the call, pressing the phone to my ear and quickly suppressing my annoying sobs. “B-Ben?”
“Hey, babe.”
I try to mask the obvious quivering of my voice as I struggle to regain my composure. “What the hell happened?”
He sighs into the phone before answering. “Some dick with a camera caught us, in short. There’s nothing much else beyond that. But if it’s any consolation—”
“It won’t be.”
“The story is already burying itself. It hardly broke ten thou on the big blog. Five thousand or so hits, collectively, on all the subsidiary sites. It didn’t even trend on Twitter or Facebook.”
I take a deep breath, wipe my eyes, then nod. “That’s a really good thing.”
“Yes, it is,” Ben agrees. A short moment passes. Then he adds, “I miss you, Trevor. I could barely sleep last night without having you by my side.”
I clench shut my eyes. I had a very similar experience, finding my pillows terribly inadequate to the big muscular one I got to press against me Friday and Saturday nights. “That makes two of us. Benjamin …”
“Yes?”
This isn’t going to be easy to say. “I … I think my roommate knows.”
He is silent for a while. I drop my forehead to the counter, curling up in this barstool as I stare down at my lap with the phone at my ear turning sweaty.
“Ben?”
“I’m here,” he finally says. “Why do you think he knows?”
“He broke my alibi I had for this weekend. Called my parents. Realized I wasn’t there. He saw the photo and … gave me a look in the office. He could pick me out of a crowd of ten thousand, Ben.”
“But did you confirm that it was you?”
“No. Of course not. I … I told him I was involved with someone in the office. But I didn’t say it was you.”
“But he still suspects it’s me?”
“I think so.” More like I’m three hundred percent certain.
“Alright.” He takes a quick breath. “Well, we need to let the card of plausible deniability play out. Divert him. You and I will be cool and collected in the office, alright? No one else will suspect—”
“Ben. I’m not another one of your clients.” I’m starting to get short with him. “Unless you really think what’s going on between us is nothing more than a scandal that needs minimizing.”
“Trevor, we can’t let this get out. You agreed. I agreed.”
“I know. And I don’t want it to get out either. But it may very well out itself whether we want it to or not. Even that fucking Brady is on to me. He kept noting how much sun I’ve gotten. And between him and Elijah—”
“Again, plausible deniability,” Ben insists, stubborn as ever. “I have handled hundreds—thousands—of situations like this, and even worse. Trust me when I say this will blow over, and things will be right back to how they—”
“Maybe I don’t want things to just go back to how they were!” I snap, rising up from my barstool as my heated words shoot into the phone. “Maybe I liked Mexico and what it did for us! Maybe I liked how I got to see into you for the first time! Maybe I liked how we grew so close that I felt like I’d known you for years!”
“Trevor, stop it.”
“I don’t want to just be your fucking intern!” I shout, my hand shaking. “I’m your boyfriend, Benjamin. I let you inside me. I gave you my fucking virginity and you want to minimize it.”
“Come on. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“And you’re reducing its proportion.” My words are quiet and cold now. “Minimize. Spin. Rewrite. How are you going to rewrite the weekend, Ben?” I ask. “Did you go to Mexico alone?”
“No. Babe, please …”
“I think you did,” I go on. “You went to Mexico alone. Maybe you picked up a cute boy in the bar—a Mexican nightclub—picked him up after staring lustily at him through the smoke and the mariachi music.”
“Trevor …”
“You wined and dined him, then took him out to the beach and popped your pecker in, just in time for the snap of an unseen camera. And where was I?” I ask coolly. “I was at home with my parents. I ate my mom’s birthday cake, calmly turned twenty-one, and I’m still a virgin.”
Ben has gone silent on the line except for his slow, measured breathing.
“I’m still a virgin,” I repeat, detached, staring off at nothing.
Then I hang up, slip into my room, and drop face-first onto my bed. I don’t want to see or hear or feel anything until the morning sun pours over my head like a bucket of warm water and this horrid day comes to an end.