Esme Chapter 5 free porn video

Chapter 5 Esme stared out of the window, watching the Fall sunset. She'd half believed Manhattan apartments like this only existed in the movies. She took another swig of her wine. "I think MM is about ready for the speeches now," Freya took her by the arm, "we need you over here." She led her to the side of MM who was holding a martini and smiling broadly. She listened while he spoke not really taking it all in. It was funny to look out at her colleagues dressed in their Halloween costumes. She felt Freya's Eleven from Stranger Things was the best, but she accepted she was biased towards her best friend. Jason, dressed as Snoopy had his arm and paw around her waist. They had been engaged for just over a month now. Something MM said caught her attention. "... and it's thanks to their fearless reporting that we broke the story of AWW dumping waste in the Uniontown water supply." Everyone turned to look at her and her partner. She wanted to curl up in a ball. "Let's raise our drinks to our newly award winning celebrity couple, Esme Entwistle and Sal Peters." They all cheered. There wasn't much for newspaper folk to celebrate these days, so their little win really meant something. Sal put an arm around her and pulled her into a kiss. As the others cheered, she wanted to die. After the speech they were surrounded by well-wishers. Sal kept his arm around her. "Great costumes, Batman and Catwoman right," commented Andrew Crookes, a short balding guy who always dressed like a teenager. He was one of Sal's acolytes. Esme broke free and squeezed over to Freya. "I'm a cat, not Catwoman," she moaned, "I should never have told him what I was coming as," Esme gestured down at her costume. It consisted of an old LBD with a fake cat's tail stapled to the bum, plastic cat ears, and whiskers drawn on to her face. Freya put her hand on her arm. "Why don't we slip away? Get something to eat? Jas knows this knew Thai place not far from here." She looked around, Sal was holding court with his cronies, "I promised Sal I'd join him and his friends in the bar," for an exciting night of beer and hot wings and being pawed at, "It's our big night," she sighed. "Oh come on, what are you going to do after you beat them all at pool?" "Spend their money?" Jason laughed so much he started coughing. Esme felt a hand on her back. "Hey Es, guys," she pulled away from Sal. "what are you talking about?" Sal, refusing to be beaten, pulled her back. "Freya was suggesting we get food?" Freya smiled, doing little to hide her irritation. "Sounds great, they do food down at the bar." "I thought I could get something with Freya then come join you," she touched his chest, half fluttering her eyes at him, all the time hating herself for doing so. "Girl talk you know, about the wedding," She wanted to vomit. Sal's face froze. "Sure," he kissed her cheek, "just don't be late. You don't want to miss all the fun." Then he wandered off. Jason and Freya exchanged glances, Esme caught them. "Sorry, sorry! I promised to give your boyfriend a chance and I will..." Freya pleaded. "He's not my boyfriend! It's a working relationship..." she saw the look her friend was giving her, and the huge grin on Jason's face. "Oh, I give up. Let's blow this joint." The restaurant was one of those street food places, which meant sitting on stools at a high bar side by side. "Not the best place to wear heels," Esme waggled her feet in front of her. "I've noticed you've been wearing them more since you've started hanging out with Sal," Freya said shrewdly. "even though they give you a couple of inches on him." Esme failed to stop a small smile passing over her lips. Outside the window it had started to rain. While Jason and Freya discussed their up and coming engagement party, she watched people pass by. They drew their coats around them, hiding their faces from the elements. She saw herself reflected in the glass, imposed over the top. Her phone buzzed, making her jump. Looking down she recognised the number. Turning to Freya and Jason she said, "I need to take this, back in a mo." It was quieter at the back, near the toilets, she answered, "Sheriff Rees, how can I help?" She could hear the nerves in her voice. "Ms Entwistle, it's been a while. Can you talk?" "It's a bit noisy here, but go ahead." "I've been speaking to the family," he didn't need to specify. "they saw your article. They are willing to meet you again." "Great, I can get a flight out there..." "Oh, that's not a problem. They're coming to New York next week to see a specialist." "Er, great I guess. A shame not to see you and Donna," and it was. She'd missed his calm, even tones. She hated to admit it but his accent, and his manner, reminded her of Jay. He laughed. "Well you'll have to get your boyfriend to drive you down soon. Sorry that's probably sexist..." "It's fine, and he's not my boyfriend. At least not anymore. We had a fight." From nowhere she felt close to tears. She hated Jay for that. "Sorry, none of my business," he said. She could picture him looking away, in that way all men did when confronted with emotions. "It's OK. I'll have to come down soon anyway. Let's see how it goes with Aiden and his family." She took out her notebook and pen and scribbled down the details Rees gave her. She was old school in that respect. 'A notebook never crashed on me,' as she liked to tell Freya. "Can I ask one question, Ms Entwistle?" "Sure, and please, it's Esme." "This Sal Peters, what's his deal? Wannabe Perry Mason?" "Who? Oh, yeah. He's not that bad when you get to know him." She thought there are a lot of things he wants to be, Perry Mason wasn't in the top ten. A laugh. "I'll take your word for it. But that article," a pause. "it meant something. Got people talking. Well done." He put the phone down. She wanted to hug him. She came back to the table. "Who was it?" Freya asked. "The source...on that other story out there." She saw the look of recognition come over Freya's face. "Right. Got it. Everything OK?" Jason smiled. "I'll excuse myself so you can talk freely." He started to get up and Esme said, "No need. The subject is coming here for something and is willing to meet." Freya smiled. "That's great. Right?" Esme just smiled and nodded. -------- She met them at Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. She was grateful that the specialist was there and not one of the hospitals in Midtown - it was that much less likely that she would see anyone or anyone would see her. She had said that she would meet them in the lobby of the main building. She came out of the A Train at 168th Street and walked towards where she thought the hospital was. She had thankfully never been there, other than on a bike ride over the George Washington Bridge, and was too winded on the ride up then to notice what building was where. When she came over the hill today, she noticed the sheer number of buildings, many new, that constituted the hospital. She made a mental note to look up what used to be here, to see who had been pushed out to make way. In the brief time she and Jay had been together, he had made her appreciate what he called, 'urban archaeology.' The way that, when a five story building was knocked down to make way for more 'unaffordable housing,' you'd see old adverts on the side for services long unnecessary, like corsetry and typewriter repair. She remembered walking around a council estate in Sheffield when she was a teenager. They were demolishing the flats and had already blown the fronts off. You could see each apartment, still with its own wallpaper, like a giant doll's house. Jay took her once to a film series at Film Forum called, 'New York in the 70s,' where they showed old movies. He had taken her to see 'Serpico,' with Al Pacino. She was most interested in how much different a performer young Al Pacino was. However, she found herself watching the backgrounds, seeing the small 'mom and pop' restaurants and stores, as Jay called them, that were now replaced by chain stores and overpriced boutiques selling unaffordable accessories to what he called the hedge fund set. She thought how much cities had changed in her own country in that time. Shops shut all day on Sundays, no malls, the constant threat from the IRA. She laughed, thinking about how Sal would have been bored out of his mind. With the exception of 'The Godfather' which she thought he only professed to like because he had to, his tastes ran towards big budget action films. She had determined that, if it didn't appear to be filmed by a three year old with ADHD on a sugar high, it was too slow for him. She had actually made him watch 'Sense and Sensibility' just to torture him. It was torture for her as well - dramas about well-born Englishmen only reminded her of the heritage industry back home - but she had had enough Marvel to last her a lifetime. She had spent the morning agonizing over what to wear. She had put on a pair of black jeans and a t shirt, but then decided that was too casual. The Jankowskis had agreed to see her and she didn't want to look like she was just hanging out. Then she had put on the green dress that she had worn to the gallery opening and rejected it as 'too feminine.' She didn't want to remind Aiden of what his future could be, what her past was. In the end, she decided on a her white button down shirt and black cotton trousers. Professional yet androgynous. From a distance, she saw them sitting on a bench. Aiden appeared to have grown another inch, if that was possible in only a few months. His hair was a little longer, but not so long as to mark which way he (or she) had chosen to go. Bob looked like he had put on a few pounds. She remembered her father had lost weight after her diagnosis, primarily because he went from a half pack to two per day. Lorraine looked tired. She pictured her dealing with the taunting Aiden received, the stares she had said that she got in the supermarket and her other two children on top of that. She only hoped that she bore it better than Esme's mum did. She tentatively walked over. "Thank you for seeing me. I don't deserve your kindness but appreciate..." Before she could say anything, Lorraine said, "why didn't you tell us you were a reporter? I know what Orson, Sheriff Rees, said, but I want to hear you say it, to see your face..." Esme was shocked but glad it was out in the open so early on. Had she had the courage, she would have brought it up herself. Esme looked at her, willing herself to meet her eyes. "I should have said something but I didn't because, when I came to see you, I wasn't coming as a reporter. I had no intention, and still don't, to be clear, of ever writing about this. I came because I alone know what it's like to be going through this. When the sheriff called me, I only wanted to help Aiden." And she looked over at him for just a second. He stared back blankly. He was wearing jeans and a t shirt, through which you could see his breasts. When he shifted nervously, she could see the strap of a bra poke out. She remembered back to when her mother took her shopping for one the first time. She had driven to Birmingham, so that 'we can have a day, just the two of us. No one else around.' She said it in an upbeat tone, designed to make her feel better but Esme remembered how awful she felt. "That is truly it. I thought no more about being a reporter than I thought of the bands I like or the food I eat." She offered her phone to Lorraine. Lorraine looked at her hand. "What are you doing?" "I was offering my phone, to show you that I am still not a reporter. That this isn't being recorded. That I'm here as a friend, if you'll let me be one." Lorraine gently closed Esme's fingers around the phone and pushed her hand back. "I believe you. I needed to hear you say it. Bob? Aiden?" Bob nodded and Aiden said, "I guess so." And then he smiled, a sad, gentle smile. Esme said, "Thank you. I am eternally grateful. If it makes you feel any better, I almost killed Sal in the car on the way home." Bob laughed. "I saw that story you and he wrote on industrial pollution. You're quite the topic of conversation out our way." "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" she offered, tentatively. Lorraine smiled and said, "yes. I am grateful it came to light. Between cancer and infertility and god knows what else," and Esme noticed the way she studiously avoided looking at Aiden. "I'm glad that someone said something..." "That's what we, I was trying to do," Esme said. Bob said, "Well, yeah, but there's a whole lot of people who aren't too happy. AWW's one of the biggest employers in the county and one of the few new ones in a long time. I've heard people say a clean river's not much if you can't eat." Esme said, "I understand that. It's like that where I'm from. I guess I just don't understand why they have to be mutually exclusive, you know." While his parents went off to phone home Esme took Aiden to find food. There was a small Subway near one of the entrances. He had a footlong meatball sub, while she had 6" turkey breast and lettuce. Ah, to be young and growing, she thought. They chose a bench in an area marked as a 'visitor's garden'. The space, a small open air square surrounded on all sides by high walled hospital buildings, looked neat and well-tended. A young woman sat on a low bench watching them. She wore an old coat over pink scrubs and was trying to light a cigarette. She took a long drag and then gave a loud phlegmy cough. She remembered covering a story at Sloan-Kettering and seeing the cancer patients out front smoking. "How's it going?" They sat a polite distance apart, both staring at the small ornamental pond in front of them. Aiden shrugged. "Everyone talking at you?" Ignoring the signs, she threw a small wad of bread into the pond and then watched as several fish surfaced, their mouths gaping open. "They don't talk at me. They talk over me. They think I'm too young to understand." He kicked, half-heartedly at the gravel with his foot. An elderly couple wandered into the garden. The woman was having trouble walking and needed to lean on the man. They watched them as they walked to the other side of the garden. They sat down, obscured by a tree. "What are you into?" Aiden looked shocked at her question. "I don't mean it like that. What do you like? Films, comics, computer games. That kind of thing." He relaxed a little. She watched him as he talked about the latest computer games. Most of what he said washed over her. She'd never had the patience nor the coordination for computer games. It'd taken her a whole summer during Primary School to master the original Mario Kart. "You like the online multiplayers?" "I know what you're going to say, it's because I can be who I want to be right?" "No. I was going to say I'm no good with those. All the gore makes me sick and I get stressed when the other players hassle me." "You're such a girl," and they both laughed. They sat silently watching a bird land. Its feathers were black and reflected the weak late Fall sun. She had no idea what species it was. It danced around looking for worms, or something. "You know birds are default male in the womb. Mammals are female." His eyes stayed focused on the bird as he spoke. "If a bird had what we have, they'd be male." "I didn't know that." "A doctor told me that at one of the meetings." She imagined it was to make him feel better. She wasn't sure if it did, but she would have appreciated someone doing the same for her instead of telling her to wait in the sitting area. Aiden threw the bird a bit of his sandwich. He had tomato sauce on the tips of his fingers. "How are your parents holding up?" "I hear mom crying when she thinks I'm asleep. I overheard dad say he keeps fighting at work. They think I don't know but I do." "What does your dad fight about?" He ignored what she said and said, "That guy over there keeps looking at you," There was a man leaning against the wall. He was pretending to look at his phone. He was in his forties. His suit looked expensive, but he'd put on weight since he bought it. "Just ignore him." She took a bite of her sandwich, wishing she'd added salt. Aiden kept watching him. "Does it happen a lot?" "You get used to it. They're not looking at you, just seeing what they want to see." "Yeah, that's right creep," he yelled. "Leave my sister alone!" The man was clearly not enjoying the attention. Aiden put a protective arm across her. The man left. "S-sorry, I don't mean..." he seemed to notice where his arm was for the first time, pulling it back quickly. "That's OK," she kissed his cheek. "My hero. That's the second time you've come to my rescue." She watched as he couldn't look at her. So he definitely fancies girls. She'd often wondered about her own sexuality. Had she always fancied men or had her change brought that on? She remembered a supply teacher back when she'd been in Primary School. One of the few men who had taught her and her class. How his arms filled out the shirt he had worn. Aiden rolled up the paper from his sandwich and threw it into a nearby bin. A good shot. He then licked the sauce from his fingers. "I just don't like people who think they can stare, y'know?" He looked at her. His eyes were penetrating and earnest. She smiled. "You know I know." ---- Esme eyed the magazine pile with a great deal of suspicion. It had grown, substantially, since the last time. "Be with you in a moment," she heard Freya calling from the bedroom. "No worries." "What's up Esme?" Jason came out of kitchen eating a sandwich. "Just hanging, waiting for bridezilla in there," she pointed towards the bedroom. They both laughed. "How's it all coming?" He just shrugged. "I'm not sure I have much of a say, I just go with the flow. You're the maid of honor, you probably know more than I do." She stared at her feet. "Maid of honour is such a weird term." He laughed. "I know, like you should have an apron and a feather duster." "Do me a favour Jason, don't suggest that around Sal." He just laughed, gave her a hug and then wandered off to make coffee. The hours ticked by slowly as Freya took her through different bridesmaid dresses. In all honesty they seemed equally vile to Esme. She was surprised and horrified at what Freya was thinking about. She had never seemed like the peach taffeta type. Jason sat in his armchair looking on his laptop, Freya was the other side of her with the iPad. Esme sat in the middle, legs curled up under her. She felt like the crowd at Wimbledon, watching two top athletes knocking the ball back and forward. They were arguing over the seating plan and which aunt wasn't speaking to what uncle over some long forgotten misdemeanor. "What do you think Esme?" "Huh?" she'd been miles away. "Should I make Jason's cousin's daughter a bridesmaid?" Esme looked between them. She had a vague memory that their holiday had been spoilt earlier that year because of Jason's cousin's boorish antics. "I suppose it might be a way to mend bridges," she winced as she saw the look of triumph on Jason's face and the disappointment in Freya's. "Well, you'll be the one babysitting the brat." Then, perhaps realising what she'd said was a little harsh, she rubbed her eyes. "I need some wine." "There's whisky," he volunteered. "No whisky, it's work tomorrow." The couple looked at each other. "Do you mind going down to the store?" "Urgh." Jason looked unhappy at the prospect of getting up. The wind beat against the window. "I could go," Esme leapt up, wobbling slightly as her feet had gone to sleep. As much as she loved them both, she wanted the break from the wedding talk. "That'll be great," Jason smiled. "Well, you're the guest... I don't know," Freya started. "Don't be daft, the number of times I've slept on your sofa in the past few months,. "True. You staying over tonight as well, Kitten?" Freya leant back, stretching out her arms. "I promise no more wedding stuff when you get back." "Well now you have to stay." Jason leaned back in his chair. "Otherwise this one will try and smother me with a Brides magazine." Esme stood there swaying slightly, trying to judge if they were just being polite. "You know I will Kitten." She threw an old magazine at Jason. "You don't want that on your conscience do you?" The store was just around the block, but the wind was bitter. Esme pulled her pea coat around her and buried her face in her scarf. Inside it was all narrow aisles between tall shelves and artificial lighting. Esme was trying to make up her mind between a cheap Shiraz and a slightly more expensive Malbec when she heard them come in. She could see Jay and his friend reflected in the circular mirror the store owner used to keep an eye on customers. She had seen him since the fight of course. Mainly from across the office, usually speaking to MM or Freya. Her friend had provided her with updates on his whereabouts and their conversations, but her reports had given her little to no information on how he was, what was going on outside of work. Who he was with. It was Patty who saw her first. "Oh my god Esme." Even though she knew it was coming, Esme nearly jumped out of her skin in shock when Patty went in for a hug. "We've missed you!" "Er, thanks." She hoped she sounded genuine. She had a vision of being a teenager and muttering 's'upose' to her dad. Jay stood back a little, looking like he wanted to say something, his eyes watery from the wind. She looked at him. "I liked your photos from Detroit." She had cut them out of the magazine section and kept them in a shoebox under her bed, where Sal wouldn't accidently find them. There was one in particular of Jay reflected in the broken glass of a closed factory she kept on the bottom of the pile, just in case. "Thanks." He rubbed the back of his head. "I read your article. It was excellent, you really deserved that award." Patty looked from one to the other. "Look, you two talk. I'm going to go look for...something...over there." She touched his arm. Jay just muttered something close to a 'yes'. Esme couldn't help but stare at where her hand had touched his arm. "So," he started. She touched one of the bottles of white that was between them. She could feel the coolness of the glass through the holes in the gloves Freya had knitted for her the previous winter. "So," she said, lifting the bottle and intently studying the label. "Yeah, so." Esme just looked at him, wondering where this was going. "Anyway, sorry," he said, looking at her hands. "For what?" She hated playing the girl, forcing him to explain himself. "For being a massive asshole. For what I did to you." Putting the bottle down, she pushed her hands back in her pocket. She wanted to speak, but had no idea what to say. She'd imagined shouting at him, hitting him even. Now all she did was stand there, feeling the cramp in her legs from sitting on the sofa for hours. "I was a total jerk. You told me something really personal and I didn't see how important, and brave, that was of you." Again, she didn't know what to say. Should she say 'I understand?' 'You were?' The ever wishy-washy 'we both were?' Liking none of these options, she opted to say nothing. Jay nodded in the direction of the whiskey where Patty was intently studying labels and obviously straining to listen. "Patty and Pete made me see that." "You told them?" she was shocked as much by how panicked she suddenly felt as anything else. "No, not everything. Definitely not that. Just that you opened up to me about something and I was a total idiot about it. That it was my male ego. I'm really sorry." She wanted to say 'why didn't you say all this earlier? We work in the same office!' But she didn't. He looked so sad. For some reason, she didn't want to cause him further pain. "So you and Sal..." Esme just stared at her feet. He looked down at her feet. "I guess they are kind of interesting," he said. She laughed, but didn't lift her eyes. "If you're happy, I'm happy for you. You deserve happiness. You deserve someone who treats you better than I did." Words wouldn't form in her mouth, her throat went dry. "Thanks," she said quietly. "I better get going. The wine." She pointed dumbly at the shelf. "Freya and Jason are expecting me." She grabbed two bottles of the Malbec, hoping in some disjointed way her purchase would impress him. Outside the store, she held back slightly. She could hear Jay and Patty paying at the counter. Patty's voice carried. "Fucking idiot. Of course she still cares! Did you see the way she looked at me when I touched you. I thought she was going to break my arm off." Later that night, she was curled up on the sofa. Through the wall, she could hear the faint sounds, the odd giggle and creak of a bed spring, that told her that her friends trying to have sex quietly. She took out her phone and put her headphones on. Pulling the duvet over her head, she smiled. She slept better than she had in a long time. --- "What going on?" Esme looked at the guys crowding around one of the hot desks. "free food?" "You could say that. Fresh meat," Freya smiled. She was carrying several files. Sweat had plastered her bangs to her forehead. "So. I don't want to know?" "I'm afraid you have to. MM's orders. Let me introduce you." Freya took her by the hand and led her over. The guys looked a little put off by their presences. "Just helping our latest recruit get settled in," one said. Esme recognised him as Brad, a freelance writer who seemed to like hanging around the office with Sal and his gang. Brad adopted a 'Masshole' accent, even though she knew that he had graduated from Hotchkiss and Yale. She had once caught him using 'summer' as a verb . "Brad, guys. You are so kind. I'm sure Zoey really appreciates it. She went to Harvard." And she gave Brad a look. "And J-School, but I'm sure she needs five of you to give her the password for the Wifi." Freya put the files down on the desk. Four of the five guys moved away muttering something about work to do. Brad stayed still, giving Freya and Esme cold looks. At the desk was a young woman, probably in her early twenties. She was short, blond and smiled so much Esme thought she could taste the Prozac in the air. "Zoey, this is Esme the reporter I told you about." Zoey sprang up and offered her hand, she thought she could see a few amused looks from some of the men. "Careful of the Ice Queen, Zoey," Brad muttered. Freya gave him a dirty look. "Don't listen to him, Esme's a pussy cat really. She's a better writer," and she looked at him and smiled, "and doesn't put up with Brad's yachting stories." "Not yachting, sailing. There's a difference..." His voice trailed off, the Masshole accent fading away. "Well George Plimpton, didn't MM ask for your article by midday? There are other freelancers who aren't just standing around." Brad shrugged. "No rest for the wicked. I'll leave you in the capable hands of Elsa and the Hall Monitor." Then he left. "Elsa?" Esme looked at the two women. "From Frozen," Freya explained. "Oh..." She looked at the back of Brad's head. "Nice Disney reference big man. I had no idea you liked princesses." "Men can be such jerks." Zoey looked at her. Her eyes seemed so wide and so blue. The bar they chose was called the Lucky Shamrock. Despite its name, it had little to do with Ireland or gambling. Instead it was Korean, fried chicken specifically. K-Pop blared on the big screens. Esme was always fascinated by the girls in the videos, how plastic the girls looked. It was large enough to get lost in and the shots were half price before 7pm. "I really want it to be something special, a voice for all those who feel disenfranchised since the election. Like the Trumpcast or Pod Save America, but with popular culture as well. You're from England, have you heard the Srysly podcast on the New Statesman?" Zoey, she observed, didn't seem to need to breathe. Like one of those whales that can dive for hours without needing to come up for a breath. There was something very endearing about the way she spoke with her hands as well as her voice. That said, Esme was not happy with what Zoey was bringing into her life. She'd said to Freya. "Why would I do a podcast, why do I need a partner?" "MM says we can't waste an accent like yours on print." "I hate it when they objectify my accent." "Please. Save it for someone who doesn't know you," Freya said. "I saw the way you used it on your boys." "Oh... shut up!" But she knew she'd lost the argument. Her new success meant they were going to want to maximise her media profile. Whatever that was. The waitress came to the table carrying a tray of bright blue shots and bottles of beer, Freya supervised handing them out to everyone. "OK kids, we all know the ritual. Let's all welcome Zoey to the family." They raised their shots and cheered her. Freya came and sat on the other side of Zoey. Esme noticed that she'd blocked off Brad. "Where's Sal?" Esme couldn't help but notice the lack of enthusiasm in Freya's voice. "On his way. Interview went late." She picked up her bottle of beer and started peeling back the label. "Some district attorney who's looking to turn a good drugs bust into a run at the governorship in a few years." "Jay coming?" Freya took a swig of beer and looked away. "No, I think he's out of state with Carl. A piece on that Jewish woman who's running in Florida. Has a chance of making it to the Senate apparently." She turned to look at Zoey who was squished in between Freya and herself. "It's going to all be about the midterms from now on in. That's America lots of elections, little democracy." Zoey laughed. "Who are Sal and Jay?" Before Esme could answer Freya butted in. "Sal is another reporter, you'll meet him. He's Esme's boyfriend," she said with a grin. "Sort of boyfriend," Esme said with a glare. "'Sort' of boyfriend," copying her accent. "And Jay's a friend," she said, giving Esme a smile. "One of the photographers on the staff. They all worked on the Uniontown water supply story together." "That's great, perhaps we could get all three of you together for the podcast?" Esme noticed the grin on her friend's face, although she hid it well. "Maybe, let's see. Do you have any other ideas?" For the next half an hour or more, she let Zoey do the talking with only the occasional comment. She found herself drawn to the screens. Strange pop songs that seemed oddly disconnected from her. Mostly teenager in love. There was more than one girl who seemed to be dreaming of a boy or boy band. The plots weren't hard to figure out, even if they were in Korean. It was like she was looking through a window into another dimension. A mirror world where everything was just slightly different. "Esme." "Huh?" "Zoey just asked you what you thought Theresa May's plans for Brexit where?" Esme sighed. "To be honest, I think May's only plan at the moment is to get through the day without crying. She's the dog who chased the car and caught it." She was drawn back to the nearest screen where a teenage girl was writing a love letter, behind her the spiralling mass of Seoul. How funny to think that was filmed only a few miles away from the DMZ and North Korea. She'd seen a documentary about the DMZ between the two Koreas, how it had become a sanctuary for wildlife in the midst of the rapid industrialisation of the south. Zoey's voice brought Esme back. "Are you worrying about Sal?" She pointed downwards. Esme hadn't realised she had her phone out in her hand. "Oh, no." She shook her head. There were no new messages on her phone. "I'm sure he's on his way. He's probably just having a drink with the DA. He'll join us later." She looked over at Brad and the others. They looked like they were preparing for a late one. "I think the alcohol has gone straight to my head. I'm feeling a little woozy. Sorry, but I might head home." The other two women looked concerned. "Don't worry about me. It's just been a long day." Out on the street, she pulled her coat tightly around her, thrusting her hands deep into her pockets. She could feel the cold air against her skin, waking her up a little. She could smell the snow on the air, it'd be here soon. Taking out her phone she wondered about Jay. He'd left the day before and she hadn't heard anything from him. Not that there was any reason why he should text her. She started writing a message. Esme: 'New girl seems nice, though they are going to make me do a podcast with her. Soon we'll be a paper written by millennials, for millennials that millennials will never read.' It was a lame joke, and she wasn't sure if she counted as one of them. What was the cut off point anyway? Her finger hovered for a few minutes before she hit send. Where was the harm? She was allowed her own friends, although she knew she'd never tell Sal. She'd only got a few paces when she got a reply. Jay: 'Lol, you'll be wanting your own safe space next x,' She laughed, tracing her finger over the x on the screen. There was a train stop nearby but she decided to walk to the next one. She was enjoying the fresh air. As she fumbled to connect her earphones, she noticed she'd missed a notice on WhatsApp. An invitation to join a group. It'd come from Patty and been sent a few hours ago. The group was called the Breakfast Club. Its cover picture was the poster from the film, only the heads of the actors had been replaced by those of Patty, Pete, Jay and two others she didn't know. Whoever had made it had put Jay's head on the nerdy kid's body, which made her smile. She hit accept and headed off. Common People by Pulp was playing when it started to snow. It reminded her of childhood, before everything started getting so complicated. --- "These aren't too much are they?" Esme tugged at the straps of her black jeans. They were cut low at the front adding emphasis to the band logo on the front of her t-shirt, which in turn drew attention to her breasts. "They are jeans, Esme. Why would they be too much?" Freya said with a tone, that betrayed her seemingly innocent smile. Freya nudged her aside she could look in the mirror as well. With Jason gone to Vegas for the bachelor party weekend, Freya was staying over again. "It's no use, I'm going to have to do my eyes again." Esme stared at her eyelashes, cursing her shaky hand. By the time she came out of the bedroom, Freya was sitting at the kitchen table chatting to her new flatmate James. He was showing her the fashion website he worked for. It was based on the principle that you paid a fee to 'borrow' a dress or something from one of the other members who had the app. It felt weird to her to watch her old and new flatmates talking together. She had the sense that her ears should be burning. "He seems nice," Freya spoke as Esme locked the front door. "He is. He's just not the best flatmate ever." She gave her friend a hug. "I'm sure you say the same to Jason." "Jason, thankfully, doesn't put empty milk cartons back in the fridge. Anyway, what is it we're doing again?" Esme linked arms with Freya. "It's a film club. They meet one Friday every month for dinner and to watch old films on Pete's projector." "And I'm coming because?" "You're my plus one." Esme squeezed her arm. "And Sal?" "Is away doing some extreme sports thing in Vermont. Anyway, I said. This weekend is all about you!" "Me, uh huh..." Freya's look was penetrating. Pete's house was a brownstone in Bed-Stuy. Apparently working for a TV production company paid well, or he bought early. She noticed that one of things New Yorkers shared with Londoners, besides a sense of superiority was an obsessive focus on real estate and when it was purchased. Esme rang the bell and stood back. She admired the old door. Was it original or reclaimed? "Hey, you made it." Pete opened the door and took Esme into a hug. She tried her best not to freeze up. "This is?" "Sorry, this is Freya. She works with Jay and me." She tried to look over his shoulder to see who was inside. Freya took Pete's hand and smiled naturally. Esme wondered how she could do that with a stranger. "The famous Freya. Jay says you practically run the paper." Pete's manner was easy, despite the cold weather he wore shorts, a t-shirt and V-neck sweater. He could have just walked out of a photoshoot for the Gap. "She really does," Esme could feel her anxiety rising. She wanted Freya to like these people. Freya just shrugged, hands back in her pockets. "It's true. I can't deny it." Esme had heard that Pete had spent years doing up his house. When he'd bought the place, the radiators were shot and all the wallpaper dated back to Watergate. She hadn't been prepared for how much he had done. The floors were stripped back and polished. The walls white and off grey, with original features subtly emphasised. "It looks like a gallery. One of the nicer ones," Freya whispered to her. They were led through to the kitchen where there were a few people milling about. She recognised Patty over by the cooker, but couldn't see Jay. "Everyone good with tacos? Esme, you love tacos, right?" Patty asked her, after she'd introduced Freya. "Perfect, how did you know?" Patty gave her a wry look. "Oh, a little bird told me." She then started to discuss other options with Freya. A door opened into another room and she caught a glimpse of Jay helping to stretch a blanket over a fitted bookcase. She watched his back muscles as he stretched out his arms to reach a ledge. She thought of the generations of working men and women whose genes had combined to create that. Then the door closed. "Beer, Esme?" She turned to see Patty holding a bottle. Iron City. "That'd be lovely, thank you." She smiled, trying not to give too much away. She needn't have worried about Freya. She and Patty seemed to get on immediately. Again a skill she didn't have. Although she was a little suspicious of them chatting away at the back. There was some trouble going on with the projector so she decided to check her emails. As always it was just stuff she'd never even open. Once a month, she'd go through clearing her in box, although recently she'd begun to wonder why she even tried. On the second scan she noticed something strange. She got up out of her chair looking around. Sure she wasn't been watched, she crept out onto the patio in the back garden. Carefully she opened the email. "Hey Esme, how's it hanging?" She turned to see Jay leaning against the wall, a cigarette in his hand. "Needed some fresh air," he laughed at his own joke, then in a more serious voice added. "I don't normally smoke but we've been working on that projector for almost an hour." She was stuck, not sure what she was supposed to say. Instead she just looked at her phone dumbstruck. "Everything OK?" He came closer, she had to fight the instinct to back away. "An email. From my brother." She held up the phone as if offering proof. "I didn't know you had a brother." "Neither did I." She stopped herself. "At least I haven't seen or heard from him in a very long time." "Because of the, er," he spoke in a whisper, "the thing." She nodded, moving a little closer to him. "What happened?" "My parents didn't take it well. I guess he followed their lead." "Imagine reacting badly and being that selfish. You'd have to be a total jerk," it made her laugh. She put a hand on his arm, then pulled it away quickly. "I guess it wasn't his fault, my parents refused to talk about it. It was like this, huge dirty secret, just hanging over us like the clouds over the Irish Sea." "Very poetic." Again, she laughed. "Want to sit down?" Jay sat on one of the plastic chairs, while Esme sat on a lounge chair. She suddenly felt very aware of how long her legs were. Jay's frequent and not too furtive glances didn't help. She pulled them up to her chest, then stretched them out, then pulled them back again. They both stared at the garden, a euphemism, if ever there was one. One oak tree and three scraggly plants. Clearly, this was the last thing on Pete's to-do list. "What does he want?" "To see me." She kept her eyes on the floor, wishing she hadn't put on odd socks that morning. "Is that good?" she could feel his hand next to hers, brushing against her skin. She forced herself to look up at him. "I don't know, maybe. He says my niece Olivia wants to meet me. He's taking her to Disney World in Florida for Christmas. Says he'll pay for me to come down." "You should. Maybe take Sal as well." She smiled, noticing the edge in his voice when he spoke Sal's name. She shook her head. "I don't want to take him." There was a pause. "No. You want to see them on your own first?" "No." She put her hand on his. "He's not who I'd want to meet my family," she said, very quietly. "We better get back," he said, moving his hand to on top of hers, linking his fingers through hers. He turned his head to look back through the glass sliding door. She took the opportunity to look at him in profile. "They got the projector working?" She didn't want to look around in case moving broke the spell. "No. Patty and Freya have made cocktails," he said, with a smile. They walked in and Esme noticed the setup of the room. A couch. A loveseat. A leather armchair with an ottoman and a couple of folding chairs. Leslie and Mark, a couple, had taken the chair and ottoman, her leaning back into him as he wrapped his arms around her. Esme envied the closeness. Rob and Lee, who Patty had said, 'aren't a couple but should be, if they'd both ever finally come out,' sat on the couch, far enough apart so as not to be obvious but not far enough to allow anyone between them. Pete sat behind the projector on a stool. This left the loveseat and two folding chairs. Esme sat down on the loveseat. She thought that she should be polite and take a folding chair, but she had been sleeping on Freya's couch a lot recently. Ostensibly, it was for wedding planning but, if she was being honest, she wanted these last minutes before Freya disappeared from her life. "Freya, come sit." Freya smiled. "Why don't I sit over here," she said. "In case Patty needs help in the kitchen." She thought she saw Freya give Patty a quick glance. "Why don't I take the other chair then?" Patty smiled, and touched Freya on the shoulder. "That's mine. Go to the loveseat, love," she said, in a deliberately bad British accent. Something that sounded as if the Queen mated with Ringo Starr. She sat down on the loveseat and Jay sat next to her and smiled. He put his arm on the back of the seat, not touching her. Pete said, "OK, I've got it all ready to go." A cheer arose. "Is everyone ready?" Esme watched as the leader spun around - '4, 3, 2' and then the credits came up. She had seen the movie, The Apartment with Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine, repeatedly. Judging from the crowd, all creatives, she assumed that everyone had. And she wasn't wrong. Everyone laughed ahead of the laugh lines and started improvising dialogue, like a screening of 'Rocky Horror.' As the movie went on, she felt Jay's arm move off the back of the seat and onto her shoulder. She smiled and leaned in. She had missed the warmth. When Sal held her it was public, like a pony being paraded by its owner. As the movie continued she tried to keep facing forward. The loveseat was too small, every single movement caused further contact. When he turned his head she forced herself not to look, but she could feel her cheek heating up. Near the end, as Shirley finds out that Jack has quit his job and refuses to let his boss use his apartment anymore, she felt Jay staring at her. She saw herself as Shirley running to Jack's apartment. When Shirley heard what she thought was a gunshot Esme jumped with her, which made Jay smile. She leaned over and kissed him. She could feel Freya and Patty's eyes burning a hole into her, and she didn't care. Jay pulled away. "We shouldn't. I mean you and Sal..." She smiled, lip syncing with Shirley. "Shut up and deal." --- She stood outside the apartment building, her coat collar turned up against the wind. She'd told Sal she was going out to choose table decorations with Freya. Mentioning wedding stuff usually shut down further questions. Anyway, he'd be working late a lot on his series about social media and the New York club scene. Pressing the button she felt the cold metal through her knitted gloves. As she waited she could see her breath in front of her. "Hello?" "Hi, it's me." Jay buzzed her in. Pulling off her woolly hat she examined herself in the large elevator mirror. The hat had pushed her hair down flat on her skull. She ran her fingers through it trying to get it how she liked it. It was still short, but she'd let it grow a little at the front. Her bangs were starting to resemble a quiff. As the elevator reached the right floor she adjusted her skirt. Standing outside the door, she shuffled her feet. It was a plain, boring door. Modern chipboard made to look like wood. She could see a shadow at the back of the spyhole growing closer. "Hey," he smiled. She pushed forward and kissing him. He led her into the living room. It was a guy's living room. Ikea furniture, a huge widescreen TV. One wall was covered in photographs, some the standard 6 by 4, others larger or black and white. She walked over, moving her eyes over the wall. "You've added some?" She stared at a black and white photo of an elderly couple lying on sun loungers. The woman held one of those fold out silver cardboard things, using it to funnel the sun to her face. "Florida?" He stood behind her, his breath on her neck. "Yeah, on the Keys. That's where Hemingway..." She turned, her body pressed against his. "They are good." She touched the picture, pulling back quickly, knowing he hated it when people touched his pictures. "Really good." "This is my favorite." He picked one of the wall. Black and white, a couple, well off, sophisticated, about mid-thirties. The woman was just starting to show her pregnancy. They both beamed out of the photo. "They look great, who are they?" "Fellow New Yorkers. Visiting family, Jewish I think. He owns a computer software firm, she works for a big sales team. I like her expression. Fear, triumph. She's successful, got what she wants, but risks losing her identity at the same time. All those things going on under the surface at once." He held one side of the picture she held the other. She wondered if he knew she couldn't have children. Was this his way of bringing it up? He must have Googled her condition. His erection poked into her backside. She started moving, rubbing up against him. "Less talking, cowboy. More action." The moonlight came in through the window. No matter how cold it got Esme had to keep the window open a little. The curtains blew in the gentle wind, casting moving shadows over the floor. The vinyl record had reached the end of one side. Esme looked over at Jay, he was asleep. As quietly as she could, she padded over to the record player. She touched it gently, well aware it was his pride and joy. The speakers made a screeching sound as she accidentally nudged the needle over the record. She turned quickly, but it hadn't woken him. Changing it over, she left it playing. She walked around the room looking at his things. His shelves were over stuffed with books. In between them were old bills, photographs and other brick-a-brack. She found the stubs of old cinema tickets and wristbands from gigs. Picking them up she turned them over in her hands, wondering who he had gone with. Standing on tiptoes she was able to reach the top of the shelf. She found a photo in a cheap plastic frame. She recognised the three faces looking back at her as Jay and his two younger sisters. They all wore swimming costumes and in the background was what looked like a water park some place. The girl she guessed to be Amber was sat on his knee covered in a towel. He had his arms around her. She found it hard to reconcile the wide, cheeky smile with the drunk angry woman she'd met in Nagy's. Then again, how different did she look from photos taken of her at that age? Esme nearly knocked over the whole shelving unit when her phone buzzed. She watched in silence as Jay turned over. She grabbed her phone and headed to the toilet. In the bathroom's bright light she read the message, it was from Sal. 'Hey babe, not going to make it over tonight. Probably staying out late with my boys.' She looked at it for a moment. He must have forgotten they had agreed to go their separate ways that night. A lucky escape. Rather than reply she went to her Pinterest app. She searched for short skirts and spent fifteen minutes pinning various pictures, wondering what would suit her. Esme woke the next morning to the smell of frying bacon coming from the kitchen. It felt odd to be awake on a Saturday morning without a hangover. Over the last couple of months, she'd either woken on Freya's couch surrounded by empty wine bottle or next to Sal after a night of drinking shots with him and his buddies. She ran a hand through her hair and scrambled for her bag. After ten minutes or so of scrutinising her face in her tiny makeup mirror she decided there was nothing to be done and she'd just have to face him as was. Searching around for something to wear she found an old t-shirt with the faded logo of the Pittsburgh Penguins on it. She spent a further ten minutes worrying what he'd think seeing her wearing it. She could feel the differences in the texture of the carpet as she padded into the living room area. The smooth, flattened down surface near the doors and the thicker, springier areas in the living room. It was only a small apartment. Half taken up by a bedroom that could just fit a large bed and wardrobe and shelves in it, and a bathroom big enough for a shower but not a bath. The other half comprised of a living room with a small kitchen space. The border between the two was marked by a small table with three chairs. She chose one and sat down. "Hey." She brushed her long fringe out of her eyes. She half expected him to be mad at her for staying. He turned, seeing her for the first time. "Hey you. I was going to bring you breakfast in bed." "Awww." She felt awful, he was being so thoughtful. "I'm sorry." "For what?" She ran her hand over the Formica table, tracing the 50s minimalist pattern with her finger. "You were doing something nice for me and I ruined it." His back to her, facing the stove, he shook his head. "You can still eat it here. I'm making a full English breakfast." She got up and wandered over to him. Looking over his shoulder, she was what he was making. Most of it was black. "Err, that's a lovely thought." He put the spatula down with force. "You people eat some weird shit," then a little dejectedly. "It all seems to have congealed." "Well, you're not supposed to cook it all in the same pan." She pushed him aside. "Look do you have any eggs left?" he nodded. "and flour?" Again, he nodded. "Great. I think I can rescue the bacon. How about I make us some pancakes?" They sat down to their meal, Esme curling her legs underneath her. He made no attempt to disguise the fact he was watching the t-shirt rise up her thigh. She pretended not to notice. "Any plans for today?" He watched her closely as he spoke. She shook her head. "Not even with Sal?" Again he watched her closely, again she shook her head. If he'd been out all night he wouldn't be up before 2. And then he'd spend the evening playing computer games with his friends who had crashed at his. "When are you going to tell him?" Jay's voice stayed even but she found it hard to meet his gaze. "I will. I just," she stuck her fork into her pancakes and bacon but didn't lift it to her mouth. "This thing with my brother," a pause. "It's hard. I, I can't deal with both things at the same time," she put her fork down and made herself look at him. "does that make sense?" He looked at her for a while. "I guess. It is a lot to deal with in one shot." She reached for his hand and was relieved when he let her take it. "You've won, you really have. I was stupid to go with Sal. I don't know what I was doing..." "You were trying to hurt me, like I hurt you?" He sounded sad, which made her feel worse than if he'd been angry. She shook her head. "No, not exactly." She looked at his face, desperate to see understanding. "I wanted to punish myself." It felt like she was tearing the words out of herself. "for not being who I should be." He got up, pulling her up with him. "So what now?" He kissed her. "We could make the bed?" she rubbed her smooth leg and against his hairy one. The hairs tickled her skin. "That's a big job. It needs two people," he said, in a serious tone. She pulled a mock serious expression. "It could take all day." --------------------------------- "And we've been talking with Sal Peters, the Reporter's legendary investigative reporter, about the city's crumbling infrastructure," Zoey said, with a slight giggle in her voice, as she touched the inside of his forearm. "Thank you again, Sal." The four of them were huddled around a small coffee table. The producer, Tasmin knelt at her laptop, which was linked to the mics. "My pleasure, Zoey. And Esme." 'Thanks for including me,' Esme thought. Esme intoned. "This has been The Weekly Briefing." It has been decided, not by her, that she should do the introductions to 'take full advantage of your accent.' "Available on iTunes, Stitcher, SoundCloud and wherever you download podcasts. Rate us on iTunes, please," she said, hating the very sound of the words. At least they went with that, she thought. They had wanted to go with something worse, and had considered 'The Report Card.' Some genius, probably one of Sal's cronies, had anonymously suggested 'Longer and Deeper' - 'y'know, because they go longer and deeper into the stories.' Tasmin pointed at them and said, "And...we're clear." Esme took off her headphones. Sal and Zoey were already headed out of the studio, laughing and talking. The producer just looked at her and raised an eyebrow. Zoey kept touching his arm, his shoulder and his elbow. Esme noticed the way he kept looking at Zoey, taking in the short black dress and wedge heels like a hungry lion eyeing a zebra. A stupid, giggly zebra. What made it worse was that she liked Zoey. She was smart and friendly and, quite frankly, deserved better than Sal. Esme decided to confront him. "Sal, may I speak with you for a moment?" Then, through gritted teeth. "In here." He looked at Esme, then smiled at Zoey. "Uh oh. Duty calls." Zoey looked at Esme, then quickly away. Then she all but ran away, Esme impressed with how quickly she could move in her heels. She was always envious of that. She always felt like she moved like an adolescent giraffe. Sal looked at her, smirked and led her into the empty studio. Truth be told, it was a former supply room, onto the walls of which the maintenance staff had tacked rudimentary soundproofing. Esme wondered if it would block what she expected to be an impending argument, but didn't necessarily care. "Bloody hell, Sal. In front of me?" "What?" he said, with a sneer. "What the hell are you talking about?" "Oh, Sal," she said, in a snide tone. "The legendary investigative reporter," she said, rubbing his arm. "You two couldn't even wait until I wasn't there." "What the fuck is your problem?" "What the fuck is my problem? What the fuck is my problem? She's throwing herself at you and you don't even give a fuck about her." "Who the fuck are you to say about whom I do or do not give a fuck?" Esme looked at him. "Yes, I know how to string together a proper sentence, Esme." "You just like her because she's young and blonde and plays to your ego, o legendary investigative reporter. Worse yet, you two do it front of me, your supposed girlfriend? Jesus, have some class, Salvatore." "Salton," he said, looking her dead in the eye. "What?" "My name is Salton, not Salvatore. After three months of supposedly being my girlfriend, you think you'd know that. Christ, at least I thought you were a reporter." Esme looked away and said, "Shit." She looked back at him, expecting a smirk. "Yeah, shit is right. You don't know shit about me. And do you know why?" Before she could answer, he said, "because you don't give a shit about me." "I do," she said. "I do give a shit about you," she lied. "No, you don't. And that's fine because I didn't give a shit about you either." She stared at him, dumbfounded that he called her out on it. And disappointed that he didn't care about her. "It's nothing personal. I used you. You used me. We used each other." She smiled, grateful that it was out in the open. "That's a redundant sentence, Salton..." "Shut up. My mother thought it was classy. Everyone called me 'saltine,' instead. You know I'm right." She hated that he was. "You have no respect for me. You never have." "That's not true, Sal. I do respect you." "No, you don't. I think you respect me as a reporter, but not as a person. You think I'm an asshole. You think my friends are douchebags. If I like something, you hate it. If I hate something, you like it. And, it took me a while, but I'm fine with that. Zoey made me realize that." "Excuse me? Zoey?" "Oh, for fuck's sake, Esme. Stop it. Stop pretending that you care. Please. You've been fucking Jay for as long as we've been together," he said, deliberately air-quoting 'together.' "I'm not a fucking idiot. That was part of the attraction, to be honest." Esme felt wounded and vulnerable. She mustered up all of her courage which was, to be honest, not much at this point. All she could come up with was. "Sorry?" She felt like an idiot. Like a girl. A stupid young girl. "I was fucking you in part to get even with him. I knew you two were together and I used your secret to get even with him." Esme started to tear up, hating the fact that she was doing it front of Sal. His voice softened, to a tone that she had never heard, that she didn't think he was capable of. "Don't worry," he said, his voice completely absent of bluster. "I would never, will never reveal your secret. I am not that big of a prick. I have never told anyone nor will I." "Thank you," she said, softly. "I am sorry too." "For what?" "For thinking you were an arsehole," she said, with a small smile which brought one in return. "You aren't. You're not only an excellent reporter, you're a good person..." He smiled. "Better than you thought?" She laughed. "That and objectively good. So how long has this been going on?" He laughed. "About a month and a half. Month seriously. How about you and Jay?" Esme coughed. "Excuse me." "I'm a better reporter than you obviously," he laughed and she had to smile in return. "You've been eye-fucking him constantly and you two do a piss poor job of hiding it. I mean you two won't be in the same room with me and turn white whenever I'm around." "Oh bloody fuck...about a month. I never meant to hurt you," she said, for lack of something better to say in the circumstances. "I know that. We both got something out of it..." "Nothing healthy, I'm afraid." He laughed loudly. "God no. Unless you count working out all of our shit on each other. Zoey said I was getting even with my mother." Esme raised an eyebrow and smirked. "No, hear me out. She says that I was seeking out women who wanted nothing to do with me, because I didn't want affirmation. I just wanted to hurt her. That make sense?" She smiled. "And what about me? I need to punish men because I'm angry or something about my life?" She meant it as a joke. He smiled. "You tell me...I'd like to continue working with you, if that's not a problem. You're an excellent reporter." "Of course. Like I said, so are you." "We're not going to have the conversation where we say that we're going to be friends and we should all go out together, are we?" "Oh good god fucking no," she said, sticking her hands in her pockets and rocking on her heels. "The car trip to Pennsylvania was enough for me, thank you very much. I swear that I almost left you both there. Do you drag Zoey out with your 'boys' too?" He laughed. "Sometimes. Sometimes we do what she wants. She actually made me go to a rom-com...." "Oh bloody hell. Did you go to a strip club after to cleanse yourself?" He laughed. "I almost enjoyed it. Now, you have something on me too." "Thank you Sal. Try not to fuck this one up," she said, as a joke. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. Do me a favor and don't hold this against her, OK? It's been killing her. She really likes you." 'Enough to fuck my supposed boyfriend,' she thought, then thought better of it. She and Sal never acted the couple, why should Zoey have thought anything?