Girl After Dark (21 page)

Melissa,

This is Esme, Carson’s stepmother. I understand that things are getting serious between you two and it’s important that we talk.

I would like you to meet me this afternoon for coffee - I will be at Sarabeth’s on 92
nd
and Madison at 2pm. I expect to see you there.

Esme

This doesn’t sound good, I think. This doesn’t sound good at all …

I’m so nervous about meeting Esme, I turn up a whole
hour
early. It’s been playing on my mind all day. I just know this isn’t gonna be good. After all, I’ve not told Carson about her email, have I? And I suspect that she knows I’m not going to tell him, either.

Life seemed so perfect last night. I finger the locket and the brand new key charm that Carson had made specially for me, and I feel a sense of dread, like I’ve messed everything up. I was already feeling guilty about keeping my most recent blog posts from him, but now this too? It’s just all getting too much.

I’m already on my third coffee of the day and feeling genuinely jittery from all the caffeine, too, so when the waiter comes over and asks if I’d like anything else, I tell him I’ll just take a peppermint tea, thanks.

There’s no mistaking the tall, thin woman who stalks in like a lioness at dead on 2pm. Today she’s dressed in a white suit — and the effect is kind of scary, like Dynasty-era Joan Collins, out for the kill. And in the cold light of day, she looks even more icy-cool and beautiful than she did at the fundraiser.

Again I feel a sharp lurch of nerves.

“Let’s make this quick,” Esme says, taking her seat and narrowing her eyes at me.

“Hiii,” I reply. “Nice to see you too.”

She shoots me a tight little smile. “I’m sure you’re a very nice girl,” she begins, “and you’re obviously attractive, so I can see why Carson may have had his head turned by you. However, I feel obliged to let you know, before this gets any further out of hand, that he’s practically
engaged
to Maria Vanderbilt.”

“Engaged?!” I splutter, my head spinning. “I don’t understand! He said he was single …”

Of course, I think, I
knew
this was good to be true. Carson hasn’t been ‘too busy’ to see me at all. He’s been with his fiancé, this Maria whoever-she-is.

But the more Esme talks, the more I realise that this ‘engagement’ is more likely wishful thinking on her part than anything else.

“It’s been arranged since they were babies,” she explains. “Of course, they’re both playing the field for now, but everyone understands what the situation is. Maria is away at finishing school at the moment, but she’s back this summer and we expect an announcement to follow.”

This sounds like a total fantasy of Esme’s to me. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the first Carson had heard of it, too. Esme’s gone out of her way to bring me her, to get me out of the picture. She must think I’m a real threat to her plans. And scary as she is right now, I’m not about to back down.

I take a deep breath.

“I haven’t know Carson very long,” I reply, “but I do know him well enough to know that he’s a real gentleman. He wouldn’t waste my time if he truly belonged to someone else the way you’re suggesting. And more than that, Carson knows his own mind. He wouldn’t want something like that. He’d want to make his own decision — and I’m sure he’d choose love over any familial obligation,
if
it even exists.”

“Listen Missy,” she hisses, her eyes narrowing even further and her thin lips forming into a snarl. “Carson may well be playing Mr Pro-Bono Human Rights Activist at the moment, but we all know that his true destiny is with the family firm. And he will need a wife to match.”

Her snarl turns into a knowing smile and her eyes flicker with a strange delight.

“And from what I’ve heard about you? Well, I’m not sure your social profile is quite up to scratch.”

“I appreciate your concern for your stepson,” I say. “I know he’s very important to you. But Carson’s romantic life and
mine
for that matter, are no business of yours. Thank you very much for inviting me here, but I have to leave now.”

And as I gather my things to leave, outraged, Esme says, “Well, I was hoping it wasn’t going to come to this, but I’ve had my people look into you and I know who you
really
are …
Honey
. If you don’t finish things with Carson, right away, then I will. I’ll tell him everything — in fact I’ll do better than that. I’ll show him the videos! You’re not the only one who knows Carson. I know for one minute that he isn’t going to want to stay with a cheap little tramp like you.”

§

I walk through the streets, dazed, Esme’s words ringing in my ears, my heart feeling like it’s about to break.

I feel so stupid.

For a moment back there, I actually thought I’d beaten her. But now I can see that I should never have underestimated her.

At first I don’t even realize where I’m going, but after a while I realize that I’m walking in the direction of Carson’s office. After all, I really need to talk to him — and preferably before Esme does.

I reach the office quicker than expected. It’s in the East Village. It’s busy but certainly not glitzy. Everywhere I look there’s people milling around the large, open plan office. It’s a kind of organised chaos, I guess, with stacks of paper and mismatched desks scattered all around. And it’s pretty down to Earth, compared to all the fancy things I’ve associated with Carson so far. This is just real life.

And best of all, the people working there seem really happy. There seems to be a lot of talking and laughing, debating and joking going on.

Then I see him. He’s in a corner office, his head down, working away.

He looks up after a moment and our eyes meet. His face breaks out in a smile but he seems confused and surprised to see me here. He gets up from his desk, walks towards me and I head towards him. We meet in the middle of the busy office.

“Listen,” I say. “I need to talk to you. It’s kind of serious. Can we go somewhere quiet?”

“Sure,” he says. “I know just the place.”

§

He takes me out to a quiet bench in Tompkins Square Park.

“So what’s the matter?” he says.

“I haven’t told you properly about why I left London,” I begin hesitantly. “But I really need to. I know I can trust you.”

So I just come out with it — I tell him everything, absolutely everything. I tell him about Will cheating on me, about him leaking the video, about how I lost my job, about how pretty much the whole internet thought I was a slut afterwards, and how I’ll never be able to take down all the videos, how absolutely anyone, in just a few clicks, will be able to see me strip naked and touch myself, for as long as the internet exists.

To my relief, Carson reacts not with anger or disgust. Instead, he’s just thoughtful and quiet. He leans in and kisses me. Then says, “You’ve been really worrying about this, haven’t you?”

I nod.

“I wish you’d told me sooner,” he says. “I’m just angry that somebody betrayed your trust like that, is all. I would never do anything like that to you. I’m glad you felt able to tell me. If I could get my hands on that little twerp I’d wring his neck. But I’m just going to have to settle for being grateful that his stupid actions sent you here to me — into my arms.”

I feel a huge wave of relief flood through me.

“You aren’t the first person this has happened to, by any means,” he continues. “It’s called Revenge Porn. The internet is flooded with images and videos of girls, all posted by skeezy ex-boyfriends. I wish I could tell you that the law could protect you in this situation. But I’m afraid the law hasn’t quite caught up to this just yet.”

“Tell me about it,” I say with a sad smile, remembering all my panicked telephone calls to my lawyer, back when the video was first posted.

And I know I should probably tell him about Esme now, too, but that seems like a whole different conversation. Right now I’m just glad that he’s being so understanding about all this and hasn’t judged me.

“I’m so lucky I have you,” I say, hugging him tight.

“I could say the exact same thing,” he replies.

Next morning, my mobile chirps into life. One new message, from Carson:

I know you’ve been anxious about things. I want to prove to you that your happiness is all that matters to me. So I’m sending a car round to pick you up at 8. I’m going to cook for us. I’m a pretty good cook. But maybe you could bring desert?

So I spend the afternoon baking cupcakes — and I even rope in Dad to help, too.

“Hey, we should have Carson round for dinner some time like I promised him,” he suggests as we’re cleaning up the kitchen afterwards. 

“Sure,” I say. “I’d really like that. You know, things are going really well with him. So I’m glad you like him too.”

“I’m glad to hear it. But Honey,” he says, his face growing serious. “There is something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”

Oh no, I think. What now?

“Since your love life is back on track, isn’t it about time you thought a little about your career too?”

“Oh!” I say, smiling when I realise he’s not about to tell me he
doesn’t
like Carson after all. “Well actually, I’ve been looking into Creative Writing programs and I’ve applied to the MFA at NYU. I really like writing but I’d like to write about someone who isn’t me for a change. But as you know, those courses are so hard to get on and even if I
was
successful, it wouldn’t start until the Fall. But in the meantime, I’m going to work hard on my writing - maybe even attend a few informal writers workshops. I’m in the right city, after all …”

“I’m glad to hear it!” Dad says. “You’ve always been so good at writing. I think that’s an excellent idea.”

I hand him a freshly-baked cupcake, still warm to the touch, and say, “So, what are you doing tonight?”

“Same as always.”

I know by that he means staying in alone, listening to jazz and reading the New York Review of Books.

“This is tragic, Dad,” I say. “We’ve got to find you a girlfriend.”

“I’m a lost cause, I think, Honey.”

“Don’t be so sure,” I reply.

“Whatever you’re planning, stop it!” he laughs. “I can see right through you. You have to understand that I’m not a project to keep you busy until you start school again in the Fall!”

§

Carson greets me at the door to his apartment. He’s wearing an apron over his shirt and I can’t help but laugh.

But it’s for a good reason: he says he’s cooked us an absolutely amazing dinner.

I hand him my cupcakes with a sheepish smile. “It’s not exactly haute cuisine but I’ve used my special recipe and they’re really scrummy!”

“
Scrummy
?” he repeats, raising one eyebrow.

He leads me in and tells me to sit down, and I gasp when I see the table. It’s laid out beautifully — and he’s gone to just as much trouble with the food too.

He’s prepared a full, three course meal with matched wines - scallops to start, roast duck for main course, and then my cupcakes to finish.

I wish now that I’d prepared something a little more impressive. But it’s my tried-and-tested recipe and I know they taste really good.

Even though Esme’s attempt at blackmail has failed, my conversation with her is still obviously on my mind.

“Think you’ll ever join the family firm?” I can’t help but ask him, as we’re finishing the main course, sitting across from each other, the lights of the city sparkling outside his windows.

“Actually?” he says. “It sounds kind of corny, but what I really want to do is set up my own charity. And if I do, I need somebody by my side who doesn’t care about money. Nothing like the kind of girls my stepmother wants me to marry.”

Like Maria Vanderbilt, I think.

Carson gestures around him at the beautiful apartment. “I have all this,” he says. “I already have so much. If I wanted to, I wouldn’t even need to work. The family money is very well looked after and incredibly well invested. But I want to make a difference, Melissa. And when I do, I’ll need a woman by my side who is also driven and wants to do her own thing.”

I smile.

“Sounds like someone I know,” I joke.

“Oh yeah?” he grins back, taking a step towards me, his hands resting lightly on my hips.

“She’s driven alright,” I whisper back, my hand now slipping beneath his shirt, my fingertips stroking his toned abs, “and she
definitely
knows what she wants …”

His hands take me by surprise, moving to my ass and lifting me right up off the floor in one easy motion. I gasp, throwing my legs around his waist and my arms around his shoulders as he kisses me, walking us back towards the large L-shaped couch in the middle of the room.

He lays me down on it, my legs still wrapped around him, his kisses moving to my neck now, his hands feverishly pulling at my dress, threatening to rip it with his eagerness.

I’m just as eager, pulling at his shirt, tugging at his belt, wanting him naked,
now.

And as he pulls himself reluctantly off me to take off his shirt and pants, I get that same thrill all over again as I set eyes on his perfect body, as gorgeous as any swimwear model —toned, athletic and sexy as hell.

Tonight there’s no teasing, no foreplay — he’s back on top of me in a flash, the very moment I’ve got the last of my clothes off my body, his mouth against my neck, his hands cupping my ass, lifting me off the couch a little way as he guides himself inside me, stretching me so wide, filling me so deeply with his hotness.

And for once I actually say out-loud the things I want him to do. “Fuck me, Carson,” I whisper in his ear. “Please. Fuck me
hard
.”

He responds with a groan, urging himself even deeper inside me, his whole body tensing as he does just as I ask, harder and faster with each thrust, my hands on his ass now too, the moans escaping my lips as I feel that familiar electricity building within me.

It’s as if he can sense it, too, because he goes even harder then, our kisses becoming feverish, my nails clawing at his back as I cry out, my body trembling and bucking as I come, hard.

“I’m so close too,” he murmurs, a few moments later.

And this time, another naughty idea flashes through my head.

“I want to taste you,” I whisper in his ear.

So he pulls himself back off me, and soon I’m the one on top,
my whole body still trembling as I work my kisses down over his chest and then with a gasp I take his hot hardness in my mouth, tasting my own sweetness on him, feeling how damned hard he is now -- how close. I only have to jack him a couple of times before he pulses against my tongue, his hot cream flooding my throat, his hands fondling my breasts, my eyes closed as I gulp him back, still shuddering from my own electric pleasure …

“I hope that wasn’t too ...
intense
?” I murmur afterwards, snuggling up into him, my head against his chest.

“What are you talking about?” he laughs. “That was incredible!”

It’s crazy how safe I feel in his arms right now; so complete.

“I’m really, really happy,” I whisper, toying with the hair on his chest.

“Me too,” he replies, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek.

There’s this pause, and I
want
to say it: I want to say the L Word, it’s on the very tip of my tongue ...

But for some reason – maybe fear that it’ll freak him out or scare him off – I stay silent.

§

Next morning, and for once Carson doesn’t have to disappear off to work. In fact, we’re having a lazy morning in bed — drinking coffee and eating the leftover cupcakes.

We’re even watching the
Gilmore Girls
on his laptop, too. It’s my favourite and despite Carson making out like he’s not a fan, he seems to strangely know a lot about all the characters, which leads me to suspect that he’s seen more of it before than he’s letting on …

And maybe it’s because of the show, but just then our conversation turns towards small towns.

We’ve both grown up in cities, but Carson’s parents have always had country houses, too.

“My nan had a caravan in Rhyll,” I joke.

“What does that even mean?” he laughs back.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I don’t expect you to understand. It’s just this seaside resort in Wales. It’s kind of tacky, basically the opposite of the Hamptons. And if you’re a very good boy, I promise I’ll never take you there.”

He laughs.

“Anyway,” I continue, “how about you let me take you for another walk this morning?”

As much as I’m enjoying lazing around in bed with him, the sunlight is spilling through the blinds and I can just see that it’s a really beautiful day out there.

“I’d be honored,” Carson replies.

“In that case,” I say, “I’m just gonna go and take a quick shower.”

Carson’s en suite bathroom is just as fancy as the rest of his apartment — a large walk-in shower and wet room. But even though this is the case, I wash quickly, not wanting to be separated from him for too long.

I run happily back into the room, eager to rejoin Carson, my face bare of makeup, my hair damp, but immediately I can tell something’s changed.

Even though he’s sitting with his back to me on the bed, there’s something different. Something cold about him. The atmosphere has totally transformed. And it’s not until I see what’s on the screen of his laptop — not
Gilmore Girls
anymore but Girl After Dark — that I understand what’s happened.

He turns round to face me and he looks so hurt, so wounded.

“I thought I could trust you,” he says, quietly.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice shaking. “I know I said I’d stopped it but … I felt bad because there were all these people who still read it, and they felt like my friends and I didn’t want to let them down. I thought that if I just wrote a couple more posts then it would be fine. Honestly, I’d already planned to stop it. You have to believe me.”

“How could you?” he replies.

“I told you, I thought they were my friends …”

“I don’t care about your so-called
friends
,” he snaps. “I care about the fact that you spent a night with somebody else. With a
stranger
in the park. I thought we’d agreed to be exclusive, Melissa?”

“No, no, no!” I cry. “You don’t understand! It’s creative writing! I made it all up. That didn’t actually happen …”

“You expect me to believe that?
You don’t know me
,” he quotes from my very first post. “
Nobody does. I’m not going to tell you my name, not ever. But what I am going to tell you is the truth …
Of course it happened!”

I’m shaking now. So scared I’m losing him. I don’t even quite know what’s happening. I never for a minute thought that he’d believe those posts were real. And now I feel dizzy and sick. But I know I need to try and explain …

“It
was
all the truth at first,” I say quickly, “but then I met you and things started to get serious. When I said I was done with Girl After Dark, I meant I was done with sexual experimentation. But I really enjoyed writing. So I decided to get creative. It’s all fiction, Carson, I swear.”

“How can I believe you?” he snaps. “Esme was right, I don’t know you at all.”

“Carson,
please
,” I sob, running to him, putting my arms around him. “You
have
to believe me …”

But he pushes me away.

“Get out,” he says, then falls silent, and even though I’m sobbing and pleading, he doesn’t say another word.

I fall silent too, the air cold in the apartment.

I’ve really lost him, haven’t I?

I quietly pick up my things and leave his apartment, my hair still wet, my face still without makeup.

I step out onto the sunny street — that same street I’d hoped we’d be walking down together, hand in hand — dazed and shocked, my head spinning.