Seven
ASH
I will never understand why grown men choose to sit around in towels, sweating their balls off together. I swear I can still see the imprint of the last guy’s balls on the wooden bench next to me. I scoot closer to the sauna door and lean back, pretending to love every minute of this germ retreat.
When Cole insisted I come to lunch to try to get more funding for one of his projects, he failed to mention that his source of funding was a guy who looked like a pug. From his forehead down to his stinky feet, our host has rolls up and down his body like someone forgot to iron him out this morning. Unlike the happy breed, this pug looks unmotivated to please any human, except himself.
RJ (aka. pug) twirls his moustache like an evil cartoon character and spreads his legs wider, revealing yet another roll on his stomach. “Times are tight, boys. I agreed to meet with you out of respect for your dad. We served together for a long time and shared many cold nights away from home.”
My dad never served in any branch of the armed forces and neither did this numbnut. He’s referring to the time he and my dad went to Finland to meet with some businessmen about a project he thought would make him millions. I can’t imagine either of them suffered with their five star accommodations and fur coats keeping them warm, but selfish men like RJ love to have their egos stroked before opening their wallets. By the way RJ won’t look Cole in the eyes, I know my brother won’t be getting more than the change in his pocket. Too bad he doesn’t have any pockets.
Cole chuckles and wipes a hand down his face. “Yeah, we’ve heard plenty of stories about your trip.”
“Not all of them, I bet. A man can’t share too much with his sons.” RJ cackles and elbows Cole in the stomach.
I can practically feel the sweaty skin-to-skin contact and have to force down the gag.
RJ sighs and leans back, closing his eyes so that Cole and I can have a private visual battle. I tell my brother that we’re wasting our time while Cole assures me that “he’s almost there”. This continues for a few seconds when a loud voice from the hall interrupts our silent dialogue.
“I don’t give a shit what they can and can’t do. I’m a freaking hashtag! Hashtag crayon dick. I want someone’s head, and I want it on a fucking gold platter.”
Before I’m able to create the visual image of a dick crayon, the door swings open and a guy storms looking like a navy seal storming a compound. In a towel. He slams the door behind him, looks up from his phone, and only then notices that other people are in the sauna. To his credit, he doesn’t look the least bit embarrassed and just shakes his head as if to say he doesn’t want to talk about it.
He opens an empty storage compartment to put his phone inside and slams the metal door. The sound resonates in the small space, making me cringe at the metallic sound. Hating him instantly, I don’t bother telling him about the sweaty balls spot he’s about to sit on and instead close my eyes and lean back with disturbing visions of penis crayons dancing in my head.
RJ is the first to fracture the silence with a noise that sounds like a pig’s grunt. “Any word?”
I open my eyes and realize he’s talking to the new guy, proving my theory that assholes attract assholes.
The new guy grunts and leans forward with his elbows on his knees, running his hands over his bald scalp like he’s giving himself a head massage.
RJ is still reclined against the wall with his arms now crossed over his cleavage. While he looks relaxed and indifferent, his eyes take on a vicious sort of gleam that has me on edge. “She still claims she wasn’t in on it?”
The new guy drops his hands and stares up at RJ with a “you’re an idiot” expression. I decide to reconsider my opinion of dick crayon. His voice is furious when he growls out a response. “It was from my computer, RJ. You think Calla broke into my apartment, set up cameras at every angle, turned on my computer’s camera, hit record, ran back to the restaurant, dragged me back to my bedroom, and fucked me in costume while the entire world watched? You’re a fucking idiot.”
I may have given penis crayon a standing ovation except I’m too busy choking on my breath to do anything but stare.
The guy sitting in the sweaty ball spot isn’t a stranger at all. He’s as familiar to me as the woman who co-starred with him in the Once Upon a Cock series.
The minute I slipped out of the ballroom, I dug out my phone and immediately put Calla’s name in my search bar. I wasn’t searching to be a dick. I searched simply because I felt like the entire world knew something I didn’t know about Jacob’s friend. But every stroke of the keys, I dug deeper and when I dug as deep as the internet would let me go, I realized I wanted to know more. I wanted to know everything. I felt like every article revealed a little bit more about Calla and her story. From her days at the University of Virginia to her brief career as a school psychologist, I learned almost everything about Calla, but something was still missing.
Instead of the confusing woman I thought she was, I read about a woman who was on top, both in her career and in the bedroom. She’d written three highly-acclaimed books for teens, and her last release gained her international publicity. When some famous actress gave an interview about how Calla’s book “saved her family,” book sales quadrupled. The entire parenting community seemed to know all about Calla and her “Just Ask Calla” blog.
It wasn’t until her boyfriend released a series of sex tapes that the rest of the world learned her name. With a few strokes of the keys, her ex set their sex sessions to Disney music and inserted background images to go along with some of the more popular films.
For twenty minutes I watched as Calla’s life imploded in fast forward. Though the editing was crap, the videos became a battleground for opponents of the internet. Calla lost her reputation and her job. Even though her ex, John Seder, claimed innocence in every interview, no one believed him. No one believed that he didn’t profit off of her rising fame.
Cole must see the anger in my eyes because he kicks me with his slimy feet and shakes his head stiffly.
RJ takes in a deep breath through his nose sounding like he has a partially blocked airway. Swallowing back the phlegm he dislodged, he puts his elbows up on the shelf behind him. “And no one else had access to your apartment? No friends? Enemies? Exes?”
Seder runs his hand down his face. “Lawyers already went over this. No one has a key. Someone not only remote accessed my computer but had my entire apartment under surveillance. Cops wanted to know the names of all of my enemies and not surprisingly, that list is really fucking long. You happen to be at the tippy top of that list, just in case you’re wondering.”
RJ snaps his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I’m not your enemy. We’re trying to figure out the best way to spin this, but my lawyer agrees that you could easily use this to your advantage. You were a struggling writer, locked up in your apartment trying to get your name out there. This will all die down, but once your name is out there, it will stay out there.”
Seder lifts his chin and shakes his head slowly. “Just because you’re fucking my mom doesn’t mean you get to play Daddy with me. I have one of those, and he’s an even bigger prick than you are.”
RJ flicks his eyes to Cole probably hating the fact that he has witnesses to this conversation. “Your mom and I just want what’s best for you. You know I’d do anything to try to help.”
Seder barks out a hard laugh and then tips his chin down. His expression is so furious that I lean away from him for self-preservation. On a long breath out, he growls, “No one can afford the price of your favors.”
RJ pinches his lips together as his already red cheeks grow darker. Shifting his eyes over to me, his expression shifts from resignation to a spark of something terrifying. “That Sanders kid knows your girl.”
I don’t bother reacting to the fact that RJ threw me under the bus to save his own pride. I just wish I could return the favor by throwing him under an actual bus.
Seder’s eyes pop open and his fingernails dig into his skin. He stares up at the ceiling, showing me a series of muscles twitching along his jaw and down his neck. “That right?”
A strange mix of hate and curiosity stirs inside of me, causing my stomach to tighten now that I’m the focus of conversation. While my initial impression of him barely skims the surface of his assholiness, I can’t help but acknowledge how convincing Seder is of his own innocence. Is it possible he’s telling the truth? Did someone record the entire thing without him even knowing it? Online experts repeatedly said it’s very possible—so easy a high school student could do it.
Either way, I can’t let my own personal feelings ruin an opportunity now that it’s sweating next to me. “Met her a few weeks ago at a fundraiser.”
“Probably Helping Hands,” Seder says evenly. “Jacob’s a good guy. Good for her.” He pauses and then closes his eyes like he can’t bear to see my face when I answer. “She bring anyone?”
I let the question linger in the air as I try to figure out what Calla would want me to say. It’s odd that I’m so protective of a woman I don’t even know. I’ve questioned myself countless times over the past few weeks, wondering why her name and her face have slipped in and out of my thoughts without bidding. Why I’ve skimmed her blog like I’m trying to piece together the woman who hides behind her words. The only excuse I’ve come up with is that I’m curious because she’s Cal—the person Jacob describes her to be. That woman didn’t deserve to have her life torn apart over an immature prank gone too far. That person didn’t deserve what the vultures in the media did to her—what public opinion took from her. They tore her to shreds just like they did to my mother, robbing her of the peace she deserved in the final months of her life.
Shrugging, I lean forward, feeling the strain of tension in my upper back. “Yeah, she brought someone.”
RJ interrupts my victory with a chuckle. “She brought that Mila girl who’ll blow anything that moves. My money is on that friend of hers. She definitely had something to do with the videos. Calla’s a fucking slut by relation.”
One second, I’m leaning forward and the next I’m standing over RJ with my hands balled into fists. RJ’s brows rise in an interesting sort of challenge, knowing that I can’t do shit. My family’s reputation lies in my fists and, with one false move, RJ will make sure wallets never open for us again.
Seder sighs and stands, staring down at his stepfather. “Allow me.” In a flash, he punches RJ’s nose so hard that I can hear the crack as it echoes around the wooden paneled room. Seder turns to take out his cell phone and tightens his towel. “Tell Mom I said hi.”
I fall back onto the bench in both shock and envy while Seder calmly walks out of the sauna. Cole wraps his arm around a screaming RJ and escorts him and his blood out of the room. Normally I’d be the first one shrieking, pushing my brother out of the way to get away from RJ’s blood, but the truth has me rooted to the spot.
Seder didn’t release the videos.
Someone tapped into Seder’s life, took the videos, stored them, and then manipulated the images for Once Upon a Cock, but to what end? Why would someone try to pull off such an immature stunt and not at least take responsibility for it? Why would anyone care enough to put Calla center stage? More importantly, why the hell do I care where anyone puts her?