Page 37 of Mr. North
“…just weird . Really weird. I’ve never seen a more unattractive birthmark on a human being before. It looks like a huge ink spot.”
The woman at the other desk titters. She takes a drink from a coffee mug, crinkling her nose as she cranes her neck to look up at the giant screen behind her. “I always thought the next woman to capture Raphael North’s attention would be a little…blonder .”
The guy with the laser pointer laughs. “That why you’ve been bleaching your hair all these years, Melissa? You’re hoping to make an impression?”
Melissa pokes out her tongue at him. “Screw you, Kyle. I met North once at a charity event. He complimented me on my dress.”
“He didn’t rip if from your body, spin you around, bend you over and fuck you seven ways from Sunday against a ten foot high pane of glass, though, did he?” one of the other guys says.
“He fucked me with his eyes ,” Melissa retorts.
“And you’ve been fingering yourself every night to the memory ever since, I’m sure.”
David’s face crumples into confusion. “Man, what kind of news show is this?”
“All I’m saying,” Melissa adds. “Is that every single woman Raphael North has slept with in the past has been a blonde. He’s obviously trying something new on for size, but let me tell you…” She flips her hair over her shoulder dramatically. “A man’s future actions can only be predicted by those of his past. And a tall, willowy brunette law student is no supermodel. This Elizabeth girl doesn’t know the first thing about surviving in Raphael North’s world. She’s gonna realize very quickly that she’s out of her depth.”
“So, as ever Melissa has made her feelings known straight out of the gate,” Kyle observes. “You’re saying you think Elizabeth Dreymon is now a little fish in a very large pond? That it’s sink or swim for her from here on out?”
“Oh, no.” Melissa shakes her head as she takes a swig of coffee. “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. There is no sink or swim for this poor girl. She. Is. Going. To. Drown . She’s going to publically drown in the most humiliating way possible. There’s no lifeguard on duty to pull her out of this particular shark tank.”
* * *
I turnmy cell phone off and I put it in the cutlery drawer in the kitchen. I’m not sure why I choose the cutlery drawer, but it makes me feel a little less anxious when it’s shut away and I can’t see it. The damn thing started blowing up the second I turned off the television and told David he had to leave. He hadn’t wanted to go at all.
“You’re going to need help screening all the offers, little sister.”
“What offers?”
“For your story. That’s how a kiss-and-tell works, Beth. Damn, don’t you know anything about the media? This is precisely why you need me as your manager.”
“I know how a kiss-and-tell works, you moron. If you think I want to sell my story, have my face plastered all over the internet and the television evenmore than it is now, you might as well get the hell out of my apartment right now. ”
He’d sulked off, drinking a soda from my fridge, but not before a parting shot across the bow. “I don’t care what they say, Bee. I don’t think you need an ass lift. Maybe just do some squats or something.”
Now it’s four in the morning, and I can’t sleep. I’ve taken a Valium and even resorted to chugging Nyquil straight out of the bottle, but I still can’t pass out. My phone is screaming at me from the cutlery drawer. Screaming . It’s turned off, but I can still somehow hear the notifications and the ring tone blowing up, countless people messaging and leaving voicemails, all of them asking, did I see the news? Was that really me fucking Raphael North against the window of a Manhattan high rise? What’s he like? How did I meet him? Am I going to see him again? And, of course, the inevitable, incessant calls from the media. David was right; they’re going to be unbearable. If they managed to find a copy of my driver’s license somehow, then obtaining my cell number would be a piece of cake for them. They’re relentless when it comes to anything Raphael North related, and they haven’t had anything good on him in years. They’ve been left picking over the bones of brief shots taken of him on the roof of the Osiris Building or hearsay from office cleaners and old family friends who haven’t really seen him in over a decade. And now this? Him screwing a woman up against a window? They’re going to have a field day and no mistake.
At five-thirty, I tear the sheets back from my bed, unable to take it anymore. I’ve never been one to bury my head in the sand. It doesn’t get you anywhere, and oftentimes the longer you leave something to fester, the worse the situation becomes. Nothing I do can possibly make this situation worse, and I need to know. I need to know if Professor Dalziel has seen one of his students on the news and has already emailed her, telling her she must report to his office in the morning to discuss the matter. My hands are shaking violently as I rip the cutlery drawer straight out of the cabinet and dump it on the counter, fumbling as I pick up my phone and turn it on.
At first: nothing.
The blue screen lights up, a bright, cheery tone chiming out of the speakers, signaling the device is awake and functioning. I place it down on the counter, my hands braced against the wood, and I stare at it, waiting. Only three seconds pass before the onslaught begins. Thalia. My mother. David. A number I don’t recognize. Another unknown number. Thalia. Thalia. Thalia. Mom. A slew of missed calls from too many different people to even try and catch the numbers. And then: Raphael North.
I open up the text app, and I almost burst into tears as I scroll down the long list of new messages. There must be at least ten or fifteen between the newest of them and the message from Raphael. My ears fill with the sound of my blood rushing around my body as I hit the small blue circle next to his name.
R aphael :This is bad. Call me. Better yet, let me send Nate to get you.
T hat’s notthe only message from him. The very first—he must have sent it before he saw the news—has my head spinning, reaching for a chair at my small table, needing to sit down.
R aphael :There’ll come a day when you see me the same way I see you, Beth. You’ll feel like your eyes are opening for the first time in many years. You’ll feel your heart stutter and slowly reawaken inside your chest. You’ll realize you’ve been asleep at the wheel for so long that you no longer know which direction you’re driving in. When you get to that point, you’ll realize that nothing and no one can come between us. No one can stop us from being magnificent if we refuse to let them. Trust me. Believe me. Give me a chance.
T hirty minuteslater he’s obviously seen the video footage of us online or on the giant flat screen in the penthouse living room and he’s started to freak out.
R aphael : Beth, don’t panic but you need to call me ASAP.
R aphael : Don’t answer your phone to anyone you don’t know, Beth. We were recorded earlier. Some footage has been leaked to the news. I’m getting it shut down right now, but it’s pretty damaging.
R aphael : Answer your phone, Beth.
