Authors: J.M. Hall
Private Relations (5 page)
I’d never been more grateful to go to work.
When Monday morning rolled around, I was no different than anyone else in New York City. We crowded into subway cars, stood inches (if not centimeters) apart, keen on avoiding eye contact at all costs en route to our destination. Whether it was an iPhone, a Kindle, or even an old-fashioned newspaper, mankind had no shortage of ways to avoid actually speaking with one another.
Escorting paid well, though it wasn’t lucrative enough to be a full-time job. To supplement my income, I was a freelance investigator for Victory & Associates, one of Manhattan’s most prominent public relations firms. I liked the work, if for no other reason than it paid well and that being an independent contractor afforded me the kind of freedom a nine-to-five gig could not.
I walked along Park Avenue South, a Peppermint Mocha in hand, sunglasses on my face, and
Michael
Bublé
’s “Christmas
(Baby Please Come Home)” filling my ears. Who knows what awaited me when I walked through the door? My duties were varied, including everything from interviewing persons of interest; drafting statement for the press; as well as in-depth research on clients, competitors, and anyone else of importance.
I greeted out doorman with a smile, then rode the elevator up to the fourteenth floor.
It was just after nine o’clock, which meant our Monday staff meeting was about to begin. Technically, as an independent contractor, I wasn’t required to attend meetings -- but Kurt Victory, founder and principal of the firm, liked when I did so.
Funny that in a room full of seasoned PR professionals, I was the one Kurt often turned to for advice.
“You’re valuable, Jesse,” he’d said. “Precisely because you
aren’t
really one of us. We can’t pay for that kind of original thinking.”
But pay he did -- so well that even if I didn’t have sex with a single client of my own for a month or two, I’d still be able to cover my rent. Sometimes I’d consider Kurt’s offer to join the firm on a permanent basis, to become “one of the team” and give up the freedom I had in exchange for health care coverage, three weeks paid vacation and a 401(k) plan with a matching contribution to boot.
I hadn’t taken him up on his offer yet, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t do so in the future.
The elevator doors opened into the modern lobby, complete with frosted glass walls, recessed lighting and a red womb chair where guests could read
The New York Times
and
The Wall Street Journal
on any of our complimentary iPads. Not seeing anyone inside their offices, I assumed everyone had gathered in the conference room for the weekly meeting -- but I was wrong.
“Jesse!”
Kurt appeared in a flash, all but running towards me. I’d never seen him so alarmed, which was either very good or very bad. Everyone was in the conference room, yes. The weekly meeting had gone on as planned,
without
him. He had more pressing matters to attend to this morning.
“Sorry I couldn’t reach out to you sooner,” he said, ushering me into his office. “We got the call yesterday afternoon. Did you check your email? Not that you had to, but…”
“Kurt, slow down. Just tell me what you need and I can get started this afternoon.”
Kurt opened the door to his office and told me to step inside. I did as he asked, and that was when I saw him. A bit older, yes. His face didn’t quite have the youthful glow it once did, but the last ten years had only made him more handsome.
Same wavy blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes, the stubble that marked his cheeks and chin and the warm, dazzling smile that’d seduced me all those years ago.
“Jesse, meet our latest client: Robert Allen, principal of New Hope Academy.”
*
*
*
Fuck my life
.
Bobby was in the midst of giving us his sob story about how this “scandal” could give New Hope Academy a reputational black eye from which it might not recover. Simone, the teacher accused of sleeping with a student, was nothing more than a narcissistic bitch that got off on the idea of having a teenage boy utterly infatuated with her.
“I didn’t hire her, for the record,” Bobby added. “True, I was an assistant vice principal by the time she arrived, but I
did not
hire her myself.”
“Then who did?” I asked innocently. “Just so we have all the facts.”
Kurt shot me a quick glance, perhaps having picked up on the cadence of my voice. Still, I didn’t back down. After all, he was under the impression that Bobby and I knew one another.
“Principal White did,” Bobby replied. “Prior to his official retirement.”
“Yes, of course.”
Kurt didn’t know what to make of the little exchanged, nor did he seem all that concerned. He took notes on his Macbook Pro, peppering the conversation with the occasional question before his fingers flew across the keyboard once more. I’d seen him work plenty of times before, and it never ceased to pique my interest.
Here he was, one of Manhattan’s most successful crisis communications professionals, with his own namesake agency that was enjoying double-digit growth each quarter. There certainly hadn’t been any shortage of crises in recent years, either. CEOs caught banging their secretaries? Check. A high-powered surgeon found to have been under the influence while operating? Check.
Hell, we even helped a doctor hold onto his lucrative media empire after he wa caught snorting cocaine on a boat in St. Tropez.
Victory & Associates specialized in crises, but that didn’t mean I wanted to have my past invade my present, either.
“Mr. Allen,” Kurt began, “I won’t lie to you. Any alleged sexual activity between an adult and a minor will lead to a lot of unflattering media coverage. And, I’m sorry to say, I don’t believe you’ve handled the situation as well as you could have at this point.”
Bobby looked surprised, though not completely offended. He nodded, invited Kurt to continue. Kurt opened his mouth to speak, but then turned to me. I could take it from here, he said. After all, crisis communications was a specialty of mine.
“Is it?” Bobby asked.
I ignored his question and went right into the details. “Your first mistake was failing to notify your internal stakeholders -- students, faculty, parents -- about the allegations. By failing to do, you let gossip permeate the campus. That creates feelings of mistrust, even resentment. You
are
the leader of New Hope Academy. The news should have come from you.”
“I understand that,” Bobby said, “but my hands were tied. At that point, all of this was rumors and gossip. We couldn’t risk firing Simone without due process, because if it turned out the rumors were false…”
“Simone could have sued you for wrongful termination,” I said, completing his thought. “Still, you could have said something. You could have left it that she was placed on administrative leave after allegations of misconduct were brought to your attention. That
is
what happened, correct?”
“Yes, after we felt we had sufficient evidence, she was placed on administrative leave to enable us to conduct an internal investigation into the matter.”
“Do you know
for sure
what happened between Simone and the student in question?”
“Not yet,” Bobby said, his tone dripping with defeat. “However, the media is treating these rumors as truth.”
What happened next took me by surprise. As the so-called scandal unfolded, Bobby had been contacted by several crisis communications firms in Philadelphia, all of whom were ready and eager to take his case. New Hope Academy had an eight-figure endowment, which certainly led these firms to believe they would have plenty of money to afford a crisis retainer for three to six months, if need be. Instead, he’d gone through the alumni records and saw that in the years following my graduating NYU, I’d carved out a career for myself in ad agencies and public relations firms.
“I always knew you’d make something out of yourself,” he said. “Ever since you walked in to my sophomore English class, I knew you were destined for great things.”
“Wait a minute,” Kurt said, eyes peeled off his computer screen. “You taught Jesse in high school?”
“I’m a graduate of New Hope Academy,” I said. “Didn’t Bobby tell you?”
“No, he didn’t,” Kurt said, turning to Bobby. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I wasn’t sure he’d remember me,” Bobby said. “It’s been ten years, after all. And from what I’d heard back home, he left Philadelphia at eighteen and never looked back.”
“It was time to move on,” I said coldly. “All good things have to come to an end.”
At that moment, Kurt knew something was wrong. Perhaps it was my body language, or the way every word was spoken with an acidic tongue. I needed to get out of the office -- but I couldn’t risk leaving Bobby alone with Kurt, either. I took a breath, then stood up in front of the both of them.
“Bobby, why don’t you and I go uptown? I know a place where we can grab lunch and talk about the case in further detail.”
“Jesse,” Kurt said. “Are you sure that’s…?”
“You have the business,” Bobby said, all but cutting Kurt off. “I’ll have the Board of Directors begin the paperwork and we can begin the monthly retainer soon.”
“Excellent,” I said. “Kurt, I’m going to take Bobby uptown, probably Central Park West. We’ll have some coffee, maybe grab a bite to eat at an Italian bistro I know on Seventy-Ninth and Amsterdam. I’ll be reachable on my mobile if you need me?”
Kurt hesitated, but ultimately agreed. “We’ll catch up later this afternoon.”
“Thanks, boss.” I turned to Bobby, cocked my head towards the door. “You ready to go? We have a lot to catch up on. And if there’s anyone who knows the kind of things that happen at New Hope Academy, it’s
definitely
me.”
“Bobby, have you completely lost your mind?”
We sat on a bench facing the lake in Central Park. Sunlight rippled off the surface of the water while the skyscrapers of Manhattan loomed in the distance.
Bobby stared at the water, completely silent.
“I asked you a question,” I snapped. “What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” he said. “In my first few years as principal of New Hope Academy, I’ve completely fucked up.”
“I’m not inclined to argue. But that still doesn’t answer my question. Why the fuck did you track me down and come all the way to New York City when there are plenty of firms in Philadelphia that can help you through this?”
“I wanted the best, Jesse. From what I understand, you’re one of the most successful graduates New Hope Academy has ever seen.”
“Is that why they call every year asking for money?” I paused, put on my sunglasses. “Are you sorry for what you did? For what
we
did all those years ago?”
Bobby hung his head in shame. I assumed the irony wasn’t lost on him. It took a special kind of man to come to a PR firm seeking crisis counsel for a teacher having sex with a student -- when he’d done the same exact thing a decade before. What was he more embarrassed about? His failure as a principal or the idea that someone was having sex with a student right under his nose?
“Did you have any idea this was going on?” I asked him. “Or did you find out when everyone else did?”
“There was chatter for a few weeks, but I didn’t take it seriously. Simone had impeccable references, no criminal record. I never saw something like this happening.”
“Don’t you think you should have been a bit more skeptical? Seeing what happened between the two of us?”
“And what did happen between the two of us, Jesse?”
My stomach clenched inside my belly. I didn’t know whether Bobby meant to be cruel or if he just wanted my honest appraisal of things. How many times had I thought of this moment in the past ten years? The day when we would finally come face-to-face, and I would be able to voice every unspoken thought that’d lingered within?
“Jesse?”
“You shouldn’t have done what you did,” I said. “No ifs, ands or buts. You crossed a boundary that no teacher -- no
adult
-- should have. I don’t care what was going on through your mind. Having those kinds of impulses is one thing, but acting on them is completely out of line.”
“You didn’t resist,” he said. “At no point do I ever remember hearing you say the word
‘no.’ So tell me: What were we? Fuck buddies? Lovers?”
“The fact that you would use the word ‘lover’ to describe a sixteen-year-old is amazing.”
“I meant every word I said,” Bobby said, defending himself. “Don’t think for one minute that I didn’t. I always…”
“Don’t say it.”
He grabbed my bicep and squeezed. “All those nights we spent together? Every minute we lay in bed together -- the weekend at the shore? You think I would have done that if I wasn’t in love with you?”
“I’m not having this conversation.”
I got up from the bench and walked over to the bridge, not even bothering to look over my shoulder. Bobby was following me, yes. I leaned over the bridge, forearms pressed against the cold wood. The lake was beautiful -- perhaps one of the most beautiful pieces of nature in all of Manhattan.
Unintentional side effect: It brought back memories Bobby and I had shared together as well.
He moved up beside me, reached an arm around my shoulders. I didn’t resist -- not just yet. If I could fool Bobby into thinking he actually had a chance of getting me back into bed, I might be able to gain valuable information about what really happened at New Hope Academy. Like it or not, I had a job to do. Minimizing any reputational damage to the Academy and ensuring that a framework to prevent any future teacher-student sex scandals from happening in the future was crucial.
“Did you really mean it when you said that I was one of the most successful graduates the Academy has ever seen?”
“Of course. Why would I lie?”
“Tell me more about what happened. What’s the student’s name?”
“His name’s Drake. He reminds me a lot of you, in a way. There are just certain similarities. The way he speaks, thinks…”
“Please tell me you haven’t fucked him too.”
Bobby pulled away, insulted by the question. I was unapologetic in asking, both as a person and as his crisis communications counselor. I had to know everything that’d happened, everything the Academy had uncovered. Any secrets were not only stupid, they jeopardized my ability to effectively do my job.
“So, like I said:
Did you have sex with Drake?”
“Considering he’s my nephew? No, I haven’t!”
Bobby wasn’t lying. I could see the anger and disgust written across his handsome face. The idea -- the mere idea -- of an adult having sex with a nephew that he’d probably held from the moment he was born haunted him. And despite the inherent hypocrisy of such feelings, part of me
did
feel bad that all of this was happening. I didn’t feel bad for Bobby, however.
I felt bad for Drake.
Bobby covered his face with his hands before storming across the bridge. I went after him, told him to stop and wait and talk this through. It wasn’t about us any longer. Drake deserved to have this ordeal put behind him, and that was what Kurt and I were going to do.
“You don’t understand,” Bobby said. “Drake thinks he’s ‘in love’ with Simone. He’s infatuated with her. Even now, he’s still texting her, Skyping her. Vanishing at all hours of the night to do God knows what.”
Probably have sex with her,
I thought.
“He’s probably having sex with her,” Bobby said. “Happy?”
“Why would any of this make me happy?”
“Come on, as if you don’t see the irony?”
“If what happened between us taught me anything, it’s that I would never want what happened to me to happen to another teenager. So do me a favor and get over yourself right this minute.
“As of right now, I am the only thing standing between your nephew and a barrage of media attention that will mark him for the rest of his life. If the national media catches wind of this, there will reporters outside your door, his door, and the front gates of the Academy.”
“I don’t want that to happen…” He trailed off, seemingly terrified at the scenario I presented to him. So strange to see him concerned with someone other than himself. How did it all come about, anyway? How did his nephew Drake enroll at New Hope Academy, meet Simone, and eventually begin a sexual relationship with her?
“Look,” I said, “I’ll do my best to prevent this from ruining your nephew’s life. But I need to get a full rundown of what’s happened up until this point -- and I need you to keep our past out of all of this for the time being.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Your willingness to help,” Bobby said. “It means a lot.”
“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for Drake. You fuck up, and I’ll let him know just what kind of mind his uncle really is. Understood?”
Bobby nodded, too terrified to speak.
“Good. Now come on. It’s cold, I’m hungry, and we’ve got a crisis to solve.”
*
*
*
Coppola’s was a well known Italian restaurant on the Upper West Side, featuring everything from brick-oven pizza to veal Parmigiana. Looking out at the long, narrow dining room, all one could see were white tablecloths and wooden chairs, with a few paintings hanging on the exposed brick walls. Bobby and I sat on one of the booths at the center of the room, gazing down at the menus and avoiding eye contact at all costs.
“I’m fine with pizza if that’s good with you,” he said. “You still like pepperoni?”
I nodded, then called over the waitress to give her our order. She scribbled it down, then left us in peace. He’d given me a brief rundown of what he knew about Drake and Simone’s so-called love affair, but I still needed more details.
Specifically, did they have sex on-campus or not?
“I realize this isn’t something you want to think about,” I said. “But was there any evidence of sexual activity on the grounds of New Hope Academy?”
“Not that I know of,” he said. “Which will probably help absolve us of at least
some
responsibility, right?”
“One of the first things you’ll have to combat is the idea that other students were at-risk. Because if this happened under your watch, how many other incidents could have occurred over the years?”
“Is that what the press will really say?”
“I’m not talking about the press -- I’m talking about parents, donors, alumni. You know -- the people that really matter.”
“What you said earlier, about the media finding Drake? What would you consider to be a worse-case scenario?”
I ran a number of possibilities through my mind. “If Drake was identified, it’ll spread through social media first. Any profiles he has up at the moment will be scrutinized with a microscope.”
“Drinking, partying…”
“Exactly,” I said. “The good news is, I don’t think the press will identify Drake even if they could. The age of consent is sixteen, but if the adult in question is a teacher, any sexual conduct between the two is considered a felony.”
Bobby blinked, swallowed a lump in his throat. “A felony?”
“Relax,” I said. “The statute of limitations ran out on us a few years ago.”
“So Drake will likely stay under wraps?”
“Hopefully. Now, as for New Hope Academy -- that’s where things are going to get tough. Even if the sex occurred off-campus, we’re still looking at vicarious liability.”
The blank look on Bobby’s face showed me that he’d spent far too much time in academia since we’d last seen each other. I summarized as best I could: Vicarious Liability stipulated that New Hope Academy had a responsibility to protect Drake from harm. Drake’s having slept with Simone -- a felony per Pennsylvania law -- was proof that the Academy had failed to do.
“Now, are Drake’s parents planning to press charges?”
Bobby threw up his hands, professed ignorance. “I don’t think Drake would take the stand and say Simone raped him, to be honest.”
“All right. Then our most pressing issue is addressing and containing the situation at the Academy. What have you done so far?”
“We sent a letter home to parents after
Philadelphia
magazine caught wind of everything. Other than that…”
“So you didn’t take any preemptive action to notify parents beforehand? Even though you knew this was happening?”
“With my sister and my brother-in-law ready to kill me?” Bobby said, exasperated. “I’m an educator, not a lawyer.”
“That makes two of us. Kurt and the rest of the staff at Victory & Associates will work alongside the Academy’s legal team, however.”
“Are you working with Kurt full-time? He mentioned that you kind of come and go on your own schedule.”
“I’m an independent contractor,” I said. “I like my freedom, and Kurt pays well. It all works out.”
I reached into my messenger bag and pulled my iPad and keyboard, then started scribbling down a few notes. I’d have to go back to the office and draft a holding statement, maybe a quick Q&A that could be posted on New Hope Academy’s various social channels. Perhaps one of the interns could do a quick media audit thus far, see what’s been written about this whole mess and what reporters we need to keep an eye on.
“Care to share what you’re writing?” Bobby asked.
“A few thoughts to help get you out of this mess.”
“Let’s face it, Jesse. I’m done.”
“Oh, you’re definitely stepping down from your position as principal at New Hope Academy. Whether or not your sister and her husband sue you for civil damages is in their court.”
“The Board of Trustees will come to that decision,” Bobby explained. “Probably before they decide to fire me or have me burned at the stake on the quad.”
Bobby’s tone dripped with defeat. Yet could I honestly feel bad for him?
“I can’t save your job,” I said. “But I can try to make sure that the Academy moves past this. Eventually.”
“That’s what’s important.”
“How altruistic of you,” I quipped. “Come on, let’s head back to the office.
“No.”
“No?”
“I want more time with you. There’s still more we need to talk about.”
“I didn’t take this assignment to rehash the past. And Bobby, you’re not the first grown man to have sex with a teenage boy. It’s been happening since Ancient Greece, and it’ll keep happening until the end of time.”
“You are so cynical,” he said. “What’s happened to you?”
“I grew up, that’s what’s happened.”
“You used to be so kind, full of wonder. Your smile could…”
I didn’t know whether to walk away or laugh in his face. Yes, I’d been young and full of wonder. How could I not have been? New Hope Academy had taken me out of the doldrums of Philadelphia and into one of the most beautiful areas in Southeastern Pennsylvania. It was
supposed
to be my ticket to a better life, and in many ways it was.
