Page 13 of Need to Know

I picked up my cheeseburger and focused on the sight of the glistening, greasy meat and melted plastic-looking cheese for a moment before taking a huge bite. It was all I could do to stop myself from reaching for Nate again.

****

CHAPTER SEVEN

Nate

Honestly, I’m a little embarrassed. I had way too much to drink at the after-party and now I was paying for it. The stress of the attempt on my life and my husband’s infidelity pushed me over the edge. How much crap can one person deal with in twenty-four hours? I guess I was on my way to finding out! Now I nursed the hangover from hell, lessened a little by Jack leaving Ibuprofen and a bottle of water by my bed before he’d returned to his room.

I’d arranged for a private charter jet to take us to New York and so we were at Charles De Gaul airport. The Maritime studio staff was travelling direct to LA, and so Roz and Anja were the only other travellers with me. I immediately went to private bedroom cabin on the jet. I hate to bad mouth the architect of my career, but Rosamund Appelbaum doesn’t have an off-switch. Roz is a control freak, and during this junket several things were out of her control and someone would pay! She still raged about the fuck-up with our US security detail’s paperwork, and then the useless last-minute guards who didn’t seem like they could tie their own shoelaces! I couldn’t cope with my agent chatting incessantly during the seven-hour direct flight. Anja would have to bear the brunt of that…I’d send her a gift basket as a thank you!

The security breach during the interview was handled, but it was the attack at the French première, that was the worst of it. The attacker knew my real surname. No one in the business knew I’d changed my name after my father’s death. I’d wanted a clean slate and didn’t want my career to be associated with the tragedy that had happened to our family. But the attacker had called out my real surname and he brandished a knife. My head swam with anxiety, fear, and confusion. The police told me the man was named Yin Chow, he was a Chinese national in Paris on a student visa, studying Cyber security at Paris Tech. I’d never met the man, didn’t recognize the name or have a clue why he’d wanted to attack me, but he’d failed. I was on my way home now and determined to put the whole debacle behind me.

I caught a few hours of sleep, but as soon as I awoke my mind spun with intrusive thoughts. I was travelling home to face Erik’s very public betrayal. I should have been furious, considering ways to get one over on him, but revenge seemed too exhausting, too petty, and toxic to be worth my energy. Instead I focused on thoughts of Jack. And once I let his gorgeous face affix in my mind, I couldn't stop myself from thinking about the best part of last night. We’d shared the hottest kiss of my life. And even though I was a little drunk at the time I remembered every second of it. I should regret making a pass at my friend but, sober, I didn’t feel a moment of guilt for taking what I’d wanted. Jack wanted it too, wanted it with a ferocious, all-consuming passion that took the breath from me. I’d revelled in the taste of him, the scent of his skin, the erotic sounds he made, the way his hands gripped my ass and roughly pulled me closer, his sensual body moving under me, grinding his cock against mine. I was getting hard now even thinking about it. It was satisfying to know there was definitely no physical issue with my junk! My body was waking up from a time of dormancy and that in itself was a minor miracle.

****

We landed in New York at one-nineteen p.m. The jet taxied into a hangar to give me maximum privacy and security. I realized immediately I was not happy to be home in America. The air felt different in Europe. Here it was heavier in my lungs, weighted with feelings I resented being forced to examine. Leaving the cocoon of my cabin, Roz revealed that she’d received a text message telling her there was a group of paparazzi outside the airport waiting to get shots of my return. Luckily, Roz had pre-arranged a covert exit. A member of the airport security staff checked our passports and then Anja went on her way alone. Roz and I were driven to a rear exit where a black town car awaited with our luggage already on board. Exhaustion ebbed and flowed like the tide waiting to bowl me over. I’d used the travel time to the vehicle to fit the new nano SIM card that Roz supplied.

As the town car moved off Roz scrolled on her phone. “The reviews after the Paris drama are great, very positive across the board. It’s begun a conversation about the dangers of fandom, and the need for boundaries to protect celebrities from unhinged fans,” Roz shared. I rested my brow on the cold window and stared at the passing traffic as my device rebooted. Roz then announced,

“The studio wants you and Jack to do a live Zoom interview with Entertainment A-OK!”

“Ah shit! When?” I said, irritated. I reset the biometric finger print on my device and signed into the cloud, and then began deleting the phone numbers of Erik’s sycophant friends from my contact list. Could I not just get a few days of peace? “You know I hate it when you throw interviews at me like this! I need to sort my marriage out…and my head,” I grumbled.

“It’s on Wednesday. You’ve got a couple of days to deal with your business,” Roz pacified. “Look, we gotta ride the wave of the positive press coming after the attack in Paris. Jack is quite the hero, and focusing on this positive narrative takes the press attention off your marriage. This is a good thing.” Roz soothed, “I’ll discuss the strategy with Freiberg tomorrow and we’ll go from there.”

I let out an audible sigh. It’s not as if I had a choice, but I guess a Wednesday interview meant I would at least see Jack on a video call. The thought of his wide boyish smile and sparkling eyes soothed my irritation a little. The town car pulled up in a quiet neighbourhood ten-minutes-drive from the airport, where both of our vehicles were parked. We’d completely evaded the paps, and so that was one less thing to worry about.

The chauffeur opened the door so Roz and I could exit the car, then he moved our luggage to our vehicles. Roz kissed me on the cheek before heading off towards her SUV. “Sweets, get some sleep and don’t forget to call your shrink—get an emergency consultation and sort your head out! Remember, I'm here for you,” she hollered as she walked, “I’ll call on Wednesday morning to prep for the interview.” Roz palmed a hundred-dollar bill into the chauffeur’s hand and got into her car. Then she pulled out into the street and was gone. I let out a sigh of relief. Rosamund Appelbaum was a formidable agent but my god; she was hard work and I was emotionally worn out from spending so much time with her.

I tipped the chauffer too and headed to my SUV. As soon as I closed the door I sat for a few minutes and listened to the blessed silence. Finally, I was alone with my thoughts again. I’d devised a code word that I shared with my friends and family so they knew I’d changed my phone number. The first thing I did was sent text messages to my mom, and my sister Beth. Then I messaged my closest friends, Marco, Edith, Hiro, and Dane. Finally, I sent a message to Jack. He’d returned to London hours ago. I wondered what he was doing, and who he was doing it with. Didn’t he say something about a voiceover project? He was probably working…or sleeping, while I was heading into a fight with my bastard husband. A boulder of sadness lodged at my sternum. How did it come to this? Roz was right; I needed a session with my therapist. And so during my drive into the city I dialled the office of Dr. Ira Kushmann to arrange an appointment.

****

CHAPTER EIGHT

Nate

After the bumper to bumper, stop-start drive I finally parked my SUV in the underground garage for our building and, dragging my case, took the elevator up eighty floors to the penthouse. I was emotionally and physically drained, my belly in knots with the fear of what was to come. As soon as the elevator reached the top floor and the doors slid open my gut lurched with grief. I knew before I’d even stepped out of the elevator that my relationship was irreparable. For the ten years we’d lived here the framed architectural drawing of Erik’s tallest building, the Sky Ladder, was the first thing I’d seen when the doors opened. It gave me comfort to see it, made me feel like I was home at last. The tall, clean lines of the building reached for the stars, as I’d done during my quest for an acting career. But now as the doors opened, I saw a blank white wall. My breath caught as I stared at the absence and wrongness of it. Erik had removed the ladder…there was no going back!

What the fuck?

How dare he?

My husband could be many things, manipulative, controlling, emotionally detached, and jealous, but I’d never thought he was a coward. I never thought he’d move out without even talking things through and trying to save our marriage.

I let out a defeated sigh, then stepped out of the elevator and dragged my case down the hall and around the corner into the vast open plan lounge and kitchen diner with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the famous Manhattan skyline. I let go of the case handle and strode towards the oversized dining table where a hefty manila envelope sat. As I got closer, I noticed the platinum wedding band on top of the envelope. I stopped in my tracks; pain blossomed in my chest, sharp and immediate, as if I’d been punched in the sternum. I couldn’t breathe.

A noise in the direction of the hallway to the bedrooms stole my attention. Someone was here. I didn’t move, my mind racing through possibilities in the wake of the Paris attack. Were we being burgled? Was someone else trying to kill me? I heard footsteps in the hallway and then a waspish male Norwegian accented voice said,

“Thank goodness this is the last of it, now let’s get out of here before your ex—“ Cole stopped speaking as he stepped through the doorway and his shocked watery green eyes affixed on me. So, there was no burglar, or assassin, it was far worse. I was drained from jetlag, and weighed down with sadness. Now I was face-to-face with the twink who seduced my husband and ended my marriage. Cole worked as Erik’s personal assistant, a job gained through nepotism, not talent. He was the antithesis of me; short in stature with a skinny build, a deathly pale complexion with close-cropped dark hair. He always held his mouth in a moue of distaste like he’d licked something nasty. I know, I’m bitter, but as far as I was concerned Cole was unremarkable. I guess he had hidden talents, and somehow, he’d given my husband something I couldn’t. When Erik stepped through the doorway and his silver-grey eyes met mine…in that moment I got it. It was as if I was seeing, truly seeing Erik for the first time. I understood myself; I knew what I wanted, and what I didn’t want. You see, in that moment I felt a little bit sorry for Cole, who was now standing straight-backed with a triumphant expression on his face–as if he’d won a game I didn’t even know I was part of. I hadn’t noticed how quickly Erik was aging. I’d been out of the country for just a week but even in that short time he was looking older, a little more grizzled. When we met Erik was twenty years older than me and the age gap was irrelevant. I’d adored him because of who he was and how he treated me. He was creative, wealthy, dominant, and exciting. Back then I didn’t have a problem stroking his ego to make him feel young and virile. But, now I realized how much I’d changed. Not long before I met Erik, I’d lost my dad under horrible circumstances, so I’d desperately needed a strong male influence in my life, someone to look after me, guide me and show me the world. I’d needed Erik then, but didn’t need him now, not in the same way. We’d formed a strong emotional bond that I’d hoped would last forever. But it didn’t. I’d truly fallen out of love with him.

I glanced at what Cole was holding, and then it hit me how naïve, how trusting, and how fucking dumb I’d been. Three bagged suits in clear plastic wrap were draped over one of his arms, and he pulled a large wheeled silver suitcase. I knew immediately that none of those suits belonged to Erik because my husband was fussy about tailoring and fabric colour. His signature palate was black and white, all-the-time. During our years together I’d occasionally tried to coerce him into colours, pinstripe, herring bone tweed, even a patterned shirt, or tie. But Erik’s vanity was king. He said black made him look trimmer, he knew what he liked, and wouldn’t be swayed, the end! The silver suitcase Cole was taking with him had sat in our walk-in closet room for a long time. I’d thought nothing of it. It wasn’t mine so I figured it must be Erik’s. But no, it wasn’t Erik’s at all. The case was in the walk-in when I returned from Toronto after wrapping on Need to Know. I saw this set up oh-so-clearly now. Bile churned in my empty stomach and the burning acid threatened to overwhelm me with nausea. Erik had been adamant he didn’t want me to do the movie. He’d fought to make me stay, but I’d chosen the movie over his wish for me to be at his beck and call 24/7. Cole flirted with my husband in front of me from the first time we’d met. Maybe Erik kept the temptation at arm’s length for a while? Maybe not? No matter, because I was sure now that Erik had given into the flattery of his new toy boy, and while I was away for six-months of training and filming, Erik moved Cole into our penthouse, and he’d probably moved Cole into our Palisades house in LA too, but any evidence of that was consumed by fire. They’d been living together in our home, fucking in our bed, in our shower, on our couch…maybe even on the dining table? Erik did love to be bent over and railed against that sturdy table.

I inhaled a calming breath; I would not lose my dignity in front of the boy my husband was fucking. I wouldn’t give Cole the satisfaction he seemed to covet.

“Nate…I uh, didn’t expect you home so soon,” Erik said warily as he moved to stand beside Cole, a guiding hand pressed to the small of his new guy’s back. They eyeballed one another, sharing a silent conversation. I once shared looks of silent conversation with my husband. The sight of the intimacy between them made anger blaze in my chest and I wanted to punch something, or someone!