44
Trevor’s not here. Leave a message.
I stare at the oversized stuffed teddy bear across the room.
It stares back and offers no advice.
I’ve been having a staring contest with an inanimate object in my bedroom that is Elijah’s storage room for three solid hours.
“Trev?”
Just like the last fourteen times my roommate’s tried to speak to me, I let his words go ignored, preferring the company of this teddy bear who knows better than to try and speak to me now.
Brady—or maybe another intern who also had their phone out, for all I know—recorded the whole thing the second Ben’s (or was it my?) hand slipped and hit that stupid switch on his desk that opened the blinds behind us and exposed us to the whole office, much like drawing back the curtains on a goddamned stage.
And there I was, center stage, right in the spotlight before my audience of coworkers, eating out my boss’s ass.
Benjamin Gage’s ass.
The pictures were online within hours. I had already made it home by then, unable to face anyone or anything. Having to cut through that office full of gawkers as I ran out is one of the worst experiences I have ever had to endure.
The amount of humiliation I experienced was paralyzing.
And it hasn’t ended. It chased me all the way home.
And now it’s on the internet. Forever.
Really, I should be able to look back and laugh at this, right? I mean, it’s hilarious. Gut-busting, even. After my best friend Elijah and arch nemesis Brady secretly and not-so-secretly assumed that I was trying to fuck my way to the top, I’m no sooner caught with my boss’s pants down and my face buried nose-deep in ass.
I mean, if they’re going to call me a brownnoser, can we get any more fucking literal than that?
Yes, it turns out we can. On my way home, I tripped over the leg of a homeless man on accident, flew over a surprise stack of newspapers that ambushed me, and landed face-first in a puddle of something brown and greasy that I will spend the rest of the night caring not to identify. When I got home, I had more than a brown nose. I had a ruined pink shirt, a soiled black tie, and a nightmare of nastiness across my face.
It was even in my hair.
I cried, staring at myself in the mirror. I cried washing the crap off of me in the shower. Then I cried drying off and dressing.
Then I collapsed in my room and cried some more. After an hour or five, I’ve completely run out of tears. There’s not a single bit of moisture left in my face to squeeze out. Numb and struck silent by my own stupidity, I just stare across the dark room at the giant teddy bear whose glassy eyes catch the sliver of light coming from the hallway.
And I ponder my life.
It’s ruined. Everything is ruined. My career. My job. Whatever future I could have had.
But really, let’s not make this all about me. What about Ben? He’ll never live this down. He’ll be the man who fucks his interns, even if I was his first and only. If his little sexual hiccup in Mexico wasn’t bad enough, now he’ll be known as the man who really puts his interns through the rigorous ringer to achieve great heights. Yeah, achieving great heights by sinking to your knees and burying your sniffer in the boss’s bum.
“Trev. I’m coming in.”
Again, I don’t respond. Beep. Please leave a message at the tone.
Elijah slips quietly into the room, eclipsing the light from the hallway for a second. Mercifully, he shuts the door behind him, then stumbles in the dark over to my bed where he takes a seat, the springs beneath him squawking their disapproval like a family of metallic chickens.
“How are you holding up, buddy?”
I don’t respond or move. I even stopped hugging my knees to my chest an hour ago, too spent to bother with even that much effort. I’m just sitting on the squeaky bed, one leg hanging off, one splayed out before me, my back flat against the headboard and my hands resting limply in my lap.
He sighs. “Dumb question, I know.”
Elijah clicks his tongue, turning his face away. Though my eyes are adjusted to the dark, I can only barely see the silhouette of his messy hair when his head turns. The window doesn’t help much, offering little in the way of moonlight tonight.
“You know,” Elijah recalls, “I did tell you before the summer began that this job might require some ass kissing. I just didn’t think you’d interpret that so literally.”
“I’ve heard all the jokes,” I mumble, surprised by the grumbly sound of my voice, which I haven’t used once in the past several hours. “I made most of them up in my head already.”
“Some of the headlines are cute.”
I blink. “Headlines?”
Elijah turns toward me, but I can’t see his face. “Um … you do realize you’re exploding on the internet right now, don’t you? I’m pretty sure one of the YouTube videos had over forty thousand views in the first hour it was up.”
One of the YouTube videos. Just one.
You’d think I’d have a reaction to that. I don’t.
No reaction at all.
Just like the teddy bear across the room.
“Listen, I really … really … don’t want to judge you,” Elijah starts, “but I have to ask. How the hell did you seduce Benjamin Gage? And when? The man is untouchable.”
There hasn’t been any sound in this room for so long, Elijah’s voice seems unnaturally loud, rattling my skull and filling up my ears. “On a Friday night,” I murmur drowsily.
“On a Friday night …?”
“The Friday night,” I amend. “You and me, loosening up. The nightclub. The one you took me to.”
Elijah sits with that information for a second. Then, he slowly turns to face me, and in the dark, I see his jaw drop. “No way. No … fucking … way. Benjamin Gage was the guy from that night??”
“The one and only.”
“The rich prick?? Mister Rich Prick?? Oh my God!” Elijah is off my bed in an instant, grabbing his hair. “All this time! Holy shit!” He spins around suddenly, facing me. “So why didn’t you tell me back then, Trevor? This could’ve been our secret!”
“I didn’t know at the time,” I tell him. “I thought he was just a sexy man from the club. I didn’t recognize him until that first Monday when he showed up at the office—”
“And you freaking fell at his feet like you were diving into home base.” Elijah slaps his own face. “Damn, that’s fucked up. Wait a second,” he exclaims suddenly, lifting a finger as he puts even more of the puzzle together. “Wait, wait, wait. Our boss … was bathroom boy, too?”
My words are deadpan, affectless, spent. “Yep.”
Elijah starts pacing the room. “This is big. This is really big. I knew it when I saw that beach photo. I just …” He stops by the bed and stares down at me, his voice changing. “I just didn’t think this was your style, Trevor.”
“Style …?”
“Sneaking around. Dating the boss. Running off to Mexico, you punk. You were supposed to leave the country for the first time with me, bro. It’s why we got passports together!”
I shrug, then turn to stare out the window, defeated. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Elijah. My whole life is fucked.”
After a moment, he sits back down on the bed, inviting the springs to squawk again. “You … should probably know what happened after you left.”
“I probably shouldn’t.”
“The moment after you tore out of that office like your pants were on fire …”
“It wasn’t my pants. It was my face, from the humiliation.”
“Rebekah was first to take charge, ordering everyone to hand over their phones. Even Hawk. Oh my God, if I could describe the look on his face at being told what to do by the short, tight-bunned Rebekah—Hah!” He claps once, hooting. “Anyway, I saw there was a guy who was slipping off to the bathroom, hands in his pockets like he was hiding something. A certain someone. Brady.”
“His phone,” I mumble, catching on. “It was him.”
“Pissed off as I was at you, I didn’t like the way he slipped off so fast. I went straight to Rebekah and told her he’d gone off to the bathroom the moment she asked for everyone’s phones. When he came out a minute later and played his big innocent eyes, I knew he’d done it. So did Rebekah, I think, but there was no trace of a video on his phone. He must’ve sent it to himself, or shot a few photos over to one of our media outlets. He’ll be caught, Trevor. I know it was him. It’s just a matter of—”
“Time,” I finish for him, expressionless. “Like how much time it’ll take for the whole world to know me as the boss-fucker. How can I go back to campus, even? They’ll remember in the fall. Even my professors. Classmates. Everyone. I’m so fucked.”
Elijah sighs. “Listen. Rebekah, she’s not stupid. I know she thinks it’s Brady, too. She doesn’t trust that pompous pineapple. But she likes you. That’s why she let me go early … so I could come be with you. I … don’t know where Mr. Gage went.”
“Why are you being nice to me now?” I retort, the first hint of emotion returning to my voice. “You acted like I was dead to you since yesterday. You avoided me in the office.”
Elijah sighs again, then crawls up the bed to sit right next to me. I adjust, giving him more room, but then he throws his arm over my back and pulls me against him like a brother, not letting me get away. “I was pissed at you, sure. I’m still pissed at you. But I never turn my back on my best friend, especially not when he’s gonna need me.” He faces me. “And you’re gonna need me.”
“Are things really that bad?” I ask, nearly in a whimper. “The headlines? The articles? Is it really as bad as I think it is?”
Elijah bites the inside of his cheek, not responding.
“Oh, God,” I breathe. “It is that bad.”
“I …” Elijah tries playing it off with a little shrug. “I think we just need to let some time pass. I mean, think about it. New shit goes viral every damned day. People have short memories. And—no offense—but Benjamin Gage is really the focus of the whole scandal. He’s the one this will affect for quite some time. You’re … well, you’re just the intern.”
“Just the intern,” I echo, suddenly feeling very bad for Ben.
“Rebekah really feels a lot for you. I wasn’t kidding. Boy, have you gotten her all soft on you these past few weeks,” Elijah teases. “She had the biggest look of sympathy in her eyes when she told me I could go ahead home to look after you.”
“I still don’t think I deserve your kindness.”
Elijah turns his face to me, his lips near my eye when he says, “You remember the day we met? It was on the playground in third grade. Some dicks were fucking with you, trying to shove sand down your shorts. I beat the ever-lovin’ shit out of them, got sent to the principal’s office, and earned a week of detention.”
“Oh, come on,” I interject, a bit of life revived into me at the memory. “You only served one tiny day of that week because the principal pitied you.”
“Felt like a week to me!” Elijah boasts. “And besides, I would have served that whole week if I could, because that’s what friends do. They stand up for each other … even when their buddy’s face is mining for gold up their boss’s ass.”
I shove at him for that, but he keeps me tightly held against him, uncaring.
“I feel like I could have stopped all of this,” he adds, a tinge of regret in his voice.
I glance at him. “What do you mean?”
“I should’ve gone after Brady,” he explains. “Could’ve stopped him sending those pics and videos. I should have socked that fuck-nut right in the jaw.”
“No, Elijah. It wouldn’t have been worth it.”
“Fuck yeah, it would have been! I should have punched him, taken his phone, and snapped it in half.”
“Yeah, and then you would be in jail right now charged with assault and damaging his property. Then all I’d have is this teddy bear to look after me tonight … and not my … my best friend.”
He gives me another squeeze with his arm, then lays his head on top of mine as I sink against his chest. “Even then, you’d still have me, Trev. Even if I was sitting in a jail cell nursing my knuckles, I’d be proud. You always, always have me.”
I smile for the first time in hours. I don’t quite know when it happens, but I shut my reddened eyes, and suddenly I’m falling asleep against Elijah’s chest, letting go of my living nightmare and desperate for a sweet dream to replace it.
When the morning finds me, I open my eyes to discover Elijah gone and a cloud of indistinct murmuring and crowd noise in his wake. I blink a bunch of times, confused, then push myself out of bed and stumble out of my room to investigate.
Elijah is fully dressed and ready for his day, but he’s frozen by the front door, wide-eyed.
I rub more sleep out of my eyes. “What’s wrong?”
“Dude …” Elijah faces me. “Paparazzi, everywhere. Reporters. Journalists. The whole fuckin’ city.”
I’m wide awake in an instant, rushing to his side to look out the peephole in our door.
To my terror, he isn’t lying; there are reporters, cameramen, photographers, and journalists crowded right outside our door and pouring into the street.
I pull away to gape at my roommate. “You are not going out in that.”
He nods quickly. “Agreed. I’ll be eaten alive.”
“And I’ll be dessert.”
He frowns. “But I want to be the dessert.”
I’ve made my way to the couch to flip on the TV, then get the pleasant experience of reliving all of yesterday’s nightmares right before my sleep-deprived eyes. The news channels have censored versions of the photos and videos blasted everywhere. Cameramen are posted just outside of Benjamin’s building, the front of which I recognize all too well. There is crew at the Gage Communications building too, but none are able to get any comments from the people inside.
“What … a … shit show,” moans Elijah, having joined me by the couch.
“I’m at a loss for words. What the fuck do we do? You can’t go to work.”
“Me?” He shakes his head. “You’re not going to just sit here all day feeling sorry for yourself, Trevor.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Um, yeah, I am. I can’t go back into that office. Sorry. There’s no way I can face anyone there ever again. My career there is over.”
“But what about Ben?”
I bite my lip and glance back at the TV. What about Ben? The more I watch the coverage on the TV, the heavier my feelings become. I must be kidding if I think I’ll ever get any career again after this. The bigger picture begins stretching itself over my eyes, darkening my mind to the point that I can’t close my mouth. How can I ever dream to be taken seriously for the rest of my life? Every boss in the world that could hire me would laugh at me, or wait for me to make a move on them, or downright turn me away. No coworker would ever trust me, figuring me to just be an opportunist who screws his way to the top.
I’m ruined in every way possible.
And I think I’ve lost Ben despite it all.
Elijah gets up to check the kitchen windows, which face the front of the apartment. When he pokes a finger through the blinds, he instantly regrets it, the crowd of reporters outside coming to life with shouts and questions and demands. Elijah backs away from the window so fast, he trips over Salamander and crashes onto the floor, the ugly orange creature hissing and tearing across the carpet toward the bedrooms.
I grab the remote and mute the TV, unable to hear any more of it. Then I turn to my roommate, who’s finally managed to peel himself off the floor. “I’m sorry,” I mutter to him. “For all of this.”
“Nah, don’t go taking all the credit for this performance,” he teases me. “Mr. Gage’s ass gets a supporting actor nomination at the very least.”
I stare at my phone, wondering if I should dare try to call Ben. I haven’t heard a peep from him. I wonder if I ever will again.
“You should go to work,” I decide, lifting my gaze to Elijah. “Those vultures out there aren’t here for you. I’ll stay here and try to sort through everything and figure out what I want to do.”
Elijah shakes his head. “Not sure how I feel about that.”
“Go on with the internship, Elijah,” I insist. “Be both of us.”
He glances back at the door, considering it. Then he gives me a confident smirk. “I’ll call you on my lunch break. Then, when all of this dies down—and it will—you and I are going to go out and get some really, really hard drinks.”
I smile, despite my desire to stay in this apartment for months and hide from the world. “Sure,” I force myself to say, my heart not in it. “Really, really hard drinks.”
Elijah slaps me on the back, then picks up his backpack and heads for the door. The moment he opens it, an explosion of noise meets his face, then seconds later is immediately quashed out by the door slamming shut—which I promptly lock behind him.
With the news on mute and the house otherwise silent, all I hear is the distant humming and buzzing of reporters outside. I have to laugh to myself, wondering what the hell their questions could possibly be. “How did Benjamin Gage’s ass taste?” “Was his butt as warm and inviting as you dreamed it would be?” “Does he use Dove soap up his crack or Irish Spring?”
Really, am I that interesting? Is this whole story even that worth the time and attention of all these reporters who could be investigating homicides, kidnappings, corner store shootings, or even what Ms. Becky Buttersworth made for the PTA bake sale?
I stare down at the floor and find Salamander sitting there staring up at me. “Just you and me,” I mutter to the feline, who just twitches his tail, irritated, eyes half-lidded.
Just you, me, and a million vultures at my door.
And Ben … who-knows-where.