Page 9 of Grift

Jessica

My father surges out of the hallway the Carney men just disappeared down and my stomach sinks. The way Senator Geary Kensington immediately steps into his public persona, the mask sliding into place, is terrifying to witness even after a lifetime of exposure.

While I’m not fully up to date on my father’s business dealings, I know he owns a stake in this casino. It’s why we’re here at all. In fact, when he’d demanded that I come to this event an hour before it started, I’d assumed it was because my mother or brother Camden weren’t here to make an appearance.

Thankfully my mother had sent a dress, jewelry and a makeup kit along with the car to pick me up from my small walkup apartment. My gala outfits are restricted to what’s more basic for philanthropic events I occasionally attend with my mother. You don’t need the latest eveningwear when you work in a museum.

But my mother is here. The beautiful and poised Marlana Kensington, holding court and keeping some Boston Brahmin enthralled. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but her flawless platinum hair and the blood red rubies at her throat catch the light perfectly.

She’s probably telling a witty story about a summer on Nantucket or something from her recent board meetings. Whether it actually happened or not is fifty-fifty, but it’ll be a story that’s created to deliver a very precise experience. One that reminds you how important, how rich, and how powerful she is – and how lucky you are to be enjoying a moment in her orbit.

My father’s eyes sweep the room. He’ll find her and then move in to cinch whatever deal she’s set up. An investment opportunity, a campaign contribution, or just some next level social maneuvering. My mother was born to be a politician’s wife.

But Geary Kensington is moving swiftly in another direction: mine.

The realization stops me cold.

I can’t imagine what I’ve done to attract his attention. My father and I had once been close, but after one life-defining event in college set our relationship on a whole different trajectory, the best we’ve done is reach an uneasy truce. I’d stay out of the limelight, live a quiet life, and do whatever he asks without fail in penance for all that I’d cost him.

In turn, he tolerates my presence – just barely.

His love isn’t something I’ve been able to regain.

And over time, in the wash of hurt and shame and fear that had come to define my life in the wreckage of those years, that is one of my smaller griefs.

Iron gray hair, steel gray eyes and a charcoal suit: my father always knows how to make an impression. A few constituents stop to speak with him as he crosses the room, but burn of his gaze never leaves me.

There’s no mistaking: he’s coming for me.

My skin feels chilled, my throat dry, and something like panic catches in the back of my throat. My mind races. What could I possibly have done? Why would he invite me here and then be looking at me like he’s ready to skin me alive? I’m almost thirty; it’s been a long time since I’ve had to be afraid of my father’s direct, physical violence.

After the scandal, I’d quietly moved back to Boston and into a small apartment my parents own. I finished up my degrees locally at inexpensive state colleges, working to pay as much as I could on my own. Even though I have a doctorate in archeology, I’d taken a behind-the-scenes career route and went to work in a museum as a curator. I rarely go out. I rarely date. My few friends are mostly from work.

“Jessica, I’m so glad you could come,” my father’s voice is like velvet, loud enough in case anyone’s listening. Terror prickles at my skin. His personal security detail trails him. Ron, the latest security thug, stands three feet away with an earpiece and I see Carl, a more familiar form from his long-time security retinue, circling.

“There’s something I want to show you,” he says, sliding a hand under my elbow. It’s not a gentle touch or a guiding hand. His grip is iron and if I don’t keep up, it’s going to be clear he’s dragging me toward the exit.

A man steps in our path. “Senator, I was hoping to talk to you about the waterfront bill.” The man’s eyes move to me, and then rake up and down my body in a way that leaves me even colder. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Of course. You’ll have to excuse me just for a moment, Chip. I have to catch up with my daughter. She’s always so busy with her work at the university, you know,” he says, an emphasis on the word daughter that leaves the man chagrined.

But he’s no gentler as he pulls me through the doors. And I don’t mistake it for any protective instinct. He just wants to be clear that he’s not getting caught with one of his mistresses.

We cross the atrium, and go down another hallway that leads to a secure door.

“Wait here,” my father orders security detail that’s been trailing us.

Shock rockets through me. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been alone with my father, not even on a holiday. He swipes a pass in front of a security box and doors part, revealing a long gallery in front of us. In spite of myself, I step in and move toward almost instinctively what looks like an ancient Roman bust.

Is this authentic? Is this even legal to have in a private collection?

For a second, the sight of the artifact distracts me, until my father’s voice shatters even that small peace. “I thought you’d like this. The Trinity has a private gallery. It’s quite a collection, or so your mother tells me.”

I look around and then give him a well-trained smile. “It’s very impressive. Thank you for showing me. But I know you must be very busy tonight.”

Saying things without saying them. I can’t ask him what he wants, but I can tell him that I know if he’s taking time away from something that matters – which isn’t me – he can get to the point and save us both the charade. The familiar stab of pain is there, but I shove it down.

He points to the single bench in the middle of the hallway, positioned for viewing in front of a massive painting that portrays the Vatican. I sit and wait, holding my breath as I fold my hands demurely in my lap, ankles crossed and to the side. He’ll find no fault with my presentation, even here, if I can help it.

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