“Is there anything I can do?” I asked. This felt so hopeless.
Phil shook his head, “I’m afraid not. Jack’s fucked every way ‘til Tuesday. They have models saying he slept with them—they signed affidavits. Combine that with the surveillance on you two for the past few days, and...”
I blanched, “What? They were watching us?”
Phil shook his head, “It’s damning, Abby. Jack’s not going to recover from this.”
“Then why are you helping him?” I asked point blank.
“I owe him a favor, one huge-ass favor. He called it in.” Phil slid designer sunglasses on his nose and pushed open his door. He stood and buttoned his coat like he was posing for GQ. Cameras swarmed the car, but he held up his hand pushing them back. He quickly opened my door, pushing me through the crowd to the door. Someone yelled slut. Kate threw the door open and pulled me inside.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and huge sobs came out of my mouth. I couldn’t stop them. Things were beyond repair.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Kate was doting. She helped me calm down before showing me the papers. Jack was on every cover with words like corrupt, prostitution ring, and scandalous. I didn’t want to read them, but someone tipped off the press. “These were run before the arrest this morning?” I asked Kate.
She nodded, “Yeah, probably late last night. See there’s no mention of the arrest in the printed copies. The online papers added it to the stories when it happened.” After a moment, she asked, “Abby, is there any way it’s true?” I glared at her like she was the stupidest person alive. “They’re saying he paid you for sex. That he’s done it before.”
Staring at the papers, I answered, “He proposed, Kate.”
“He’s been doing scandalous things with you for the past week, Abby. Is there any chance that you misunderstood...”
I cut her off, “No! There’s no way I missed the nonverbal hooker cue, Kate! I’m not that stupid and he’s not like that!” Why did people keep underestimating me? It was like they saw a dumb hick, and not the highly educated New Yorker.
Without looking at me, she asked, “Where’s the ring? He proposed, so where is it?”
My stomach twisted as I stroked my ring finger, “We were going to go and pick one out today.”
“That story, what he said, Abby,” she shoved a newspaper in front of me, “it lines up with the testimony of another employee. She said she was his sex toy, that he promised to marry her, and then fired her. She admits to trading sexual favors for money. She said her official job description was Jonathan Gray’s assistant.”
All the blood drained from my face. I picked up the paper and looked at it, trying to find the name of the assistant. “Kate, who said this? Why didn’t they name the source?”
“Abby, stop. Accept this for what it was,” her hand clasped mine. Her eyes were wide, concerned. “He used you. He got busted. Don’t make it worse than it already is by holding him up on a pedestal and denying the obvious.”
Tears were streaming down my cheeks. I shook my head, “It’s not true, Kate. He loves me.” But the papers surrounding me all told the same story; wealthy Jonathan Gray made his fortune by having sex with his models, capturing them in the throes of ecstasy, and photographing their illicit acts. He later painted the images of the women, claiming to have been inspired. More models were coming forward, telling the same story—they traded sex for a referral, for money, for fame--with Jonathan Gray.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Kate unplugged the phone to end the ceaseless barrage of reporters. She gazed out the window, long hair down her back. “There seems to be less of them today.” I nodded, staring vacantly. She turned to me. “This’ll pass, Abby.”
I looked up at her from my spot on the couch, legs tucked under me. I didn’t know what to believe about Jack. It was easy to say one person was lying—that one person would perjure herself—but five models came forward in the past twenty-four hours, all saying the same story. It made me sick. I sat in the living room all night, unable to sleep. The TV glowed in front of me, but I couldn’t watch. Everything was about me.
The news person was saying, “More pictures of Miss Tyndale have been leaked showcasing the perversion of this once elite studio.” They posted a picture of me from the photo shoot, blurring certain parts to make it acceptable for TV. I felt like I was going to puke. Kate grabbed the remote and turned it off.
“You don’t need to hear that,” she sat down in her chair. I didn’t move, didn’t blink. “Abby, Phil’s been trying to get hold of you. He said he was coming later, bringing Jack with him.” I glanced at her. “I told him I didn’t want that son-of-a-bitch here, but it has something to do with clearing your name. So I said he could come. Do you want me to stay?” She was hesitant, like she suspected there was lava boiling beneath my calm facade, ready to explode.
I nodded once, not looking at her. Jack. I couldn’t believe that he used me. I couldn’t believe that I fell for his lies. I’d known him for so long, at least I thought I did. It was clear that this wasn’t the work of Belinda. It looked like Jack was just a pervert who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar—and I was the cookie jar.
“What do I say to him, Kate?” It was the first thing I’d said since our conversation yesterday. “I feel so completely used,” tears streamed down my face. “He knew what he was doing, what would happen to me when he was done, and he did it anyway. The papers said he was doing the same thing to me that he did to the others.” I shook my head slowly. Life had taken on a surreal feeling and I’d gone numb trying to cope.
“Don’t think about that right now, Abby. Just save yourself, and we’ll pick up the pieces.” I didn’t look at her. Kate moved in front of me, took my hands in hers and said, “You’ll get through this.” But I didn’t believe her. It felt like I was dead on the inside, a walking corpse.
The knock on the door startled me. I couldn’t stand the thought of facing Jack. “Sit. I’ll get it.” Kate opened the door quickly. Jack and Phil walked in. Kate moved next to me protectively. “Say what you want and get out.” She was forceful, like a mama protecting her young.
I could sense Jack looking at me, watching my face. Tears continued to stream from my eyes. I was unable to stop them. “Abby?” he said, not coming closer because of Kate. “I have something that will clear your name.”
Slowly, I turned my face up to see him. He looked like hell, dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept since it happened. The last time he rested must have been when I was in his arms. My stomach churned like I had eaten glass. Swallowing hard, I asked, “Is it true? Just tell me, Jack. Was I so naïve that I couldn’t see what you were doing?”
He looked away, arms folding over his chest. He nodded once. Kate’s fist curled like she would hit him, but Phil spoke, breaking the nasty glare that Jack was getting. “Miss Tyndale, if you sign this paper, you walk away from this whole thing with no record. We’ve spoken with the state, and based on your previous experience with things like this, they’ll strike everything and let you walk.”
I eyed him suspiciously, “Why would they do that?”
“Because you would be the final nail in the coffin,” he sighed, rubbing his head like he didn’t want to say it, “of Jonathan Gray. If you attest to your acts as being of mutual consent and being too inexperienced to realize what Jack had offered you, they’ll clear your name.”
I glanced at Jack. Something didn’t sound right. “Jack didn’t offer me anything like that.” Jack’s blue eyes lifted, meeting mine. “What are you doing? You lied to me once, don’t do it again.”
Jack’s arms were folded tightly across his chest, “Sign it, Abby. You didn’t understand what I offered. The others did.” He looked me in the eye when he said it, but something was wrong. I could feel it. He was tense, mad, but not at me. Desperation oozed from him, thick, choking him.
I stood and walked over to him, looking into his eyes, “Tell me that you lied. Tell me that you don’t love me, and I’ll sign it.”
Jack’s lips formed a thin pink line, his shoulders practically shaking. “I don’t love you. I said those things to get you to do what I wanted, what I needed for my work.” His voice was cold, each word dripping with disdain.
Kate’s hand was on my shoulder, pulling me toward the counter, “Sign it, Abby.” She shoved a pen into my hand.
I looked at Phil, “What happens if I don’t sign? What will they do with me?”
He glanced at Jack, as if asking permission before saying, “Then you’ll be the only model who didn’t bargain out, and the last one standing takes the fall. There will be jail time, Miss Tyndale. There has to be a public fall of those accused. The scandal is too large for this to go away quietly. It’s in your best interest to sign the paper.”
I glanced at it, feeling the plastic pen in my hand. I flicked the pen on the counter, and said, “No. I’m not signing. I’m not that stupid, and if I was, I deserve what I get.” I glared at Jack. His arms loosened, like he was melting as I shoved past him, walking down the hallway and slamming the door to my room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
When I came out later, they were gone, but the papers were still there. The pen was still sitting there, ready to be used. Kate was making dinner, soup from the looks of it. It smelled wonderful, but I didn’t feel like eating. I sat on a chair, looking at her. “Would you have signed it?”
She turned around, a boiling pot in front of her. “I honestly don’t know. I’d want to do what was right, but I’d want to save my ass more.” I nodded, shoulders slumped, sitting on a stool. Kate said, “You have a way of doing what’s right, even if it kills you. Why’d you say no?”
