CHAPTER37
The whole thing turned into a big powwow with everyone throwing around ideas of what should be done.
"There's more here than just the personal affront to you guys." James, who'd been silent for a while, finally pitched back in.
"What you're all overlooking is the criminal aspects of the situation. Our experts are leaning towards some of the pictures being doctored."
"Connie..." Mom was reminding Connie that she'd told her that same thing not long ago.
"It's also against the law to willingly set out to defame a person's character; putting everything we have together so far, we have the connection between Poole, O’Reilly, and Humphreys, but that can easily be explained away, and though it might instill doubt in the public sector it wouldn't stand up in a court of law. We know from what we've learned that it was a setup, but unless these fucks were stupid enough to document any of this shit, there's no way to prove any of it. Unless we can get them on tape discussing it."
"I know one thing we could do, sort of." Derrick had on his thinking cap.
"We could set up a sting, so to speak, give them that nudge you were talking about. We have someone send them each a cryptic note alluding to the fact that their secret has been uncovered. Kind of like I know what you did last summer."
That shit sounded good to me as long as I get to be the motherfucker who goes around with a large hook jacking people's shit up. Bonus!
James seemed to be giving it some thought. I was quietly rubbing circles on Butterfly's back. She'd calmed the fuck down somewhat, but I was sure this couldn't be easy on her, being the eye of this particular storm. No one liked being made a fool of. I hated it for her; I hated it for me.
"I'm thinking in order for any of this to work; you two are going to have to lay low, at the very least, don't let anyone know of your reconciliation; give them a false sense of success, let them believe their scheme worked. You have appearances coming up pretty soon, Gage. You should make them; if anyone asks which they will, you're taking a breather to get your head together; you don't know what the future holds."
"Fuck that shit, James, we've had enough, I've had enough, we're not hiding from those fucks like some dirty little fucking secret, while the fuckers who orchestrated this fuckery are walking the streets without a care in the fucking world. You'll have to come up with another way to do your shit. No more hiding. Come on, Butterfly, you've had enough for the day." I grabbed my girl and jetted.
I wasn't really mad anymore; I'd reached a place of calm. Don't ask me the fuck how. I just know none of this fuckery mattered. I had my girl back, we were tight, and I'd been putting my seed to good use the last couple of days. By this time next year, I should be a proud daddy. So yeah, you know what? The rest of the world could go fuck themselves.
My first appearance was on a late-night show a week later. During that whole week, my girl kept having attacks of the nerves. She was scared of everything, and no matter how much I tried reassuring her, she was still antsy as fuck. I guess she'd just have to wait and see.
Unbeknownst to them, I had a surprise up my sleeve.
On the day of my appearance, I woke up in New York. My mom and dad were here, and of course, I brought Butterfly with me. We'd flown into a private airstrip on Long Island in the family jet, so no one really knew where we were.
Fuck what James had said. She wasn't hiding away in Montana while I flitted around the country.
The word is that the Pooles are headed for divorce. Fucking liars. More like the public raising their collective eyebrows at her quick forgiveness made them rethink their strategy. I didn't really much care about that shit right now. The time for that would come later. It was time to take my motherfucking shit back.
I didn't tell beautiful what I was up to until we were on our way to the studio. We had to pull off some serious maneuvering to pull that shit off, but we did it. While the paparazzi were staked out in front of the hotel, we were staying at a family-owned private residence on Central Park South. Fuckers.
The people behind the scenes of the show were all a-twitter when we showed up; even the host had no idea I was bringing butterfly with me. No one knew we were reconciled. I spent our time in the green room calming her the fuck down; she was like a cat on hot coals.
When they came back to get me, that's when I put my shit in motion; as the host introduced me to the crowd, the applause started when I walked out onto the stage holding my fiancé's hand, my grandmother's rock shooting out sparks of light from her finger, they brought the mother-fucker down. No one was left sitting, women were crying, men were giving the dog pound, and the host was smiling like he’d won the fucking lottery. Fuck yeah.