I’ve made a mental list of things that need upgrading regarding Hunter, starting with a new car. Back at the office, I put that list in writing.
Nearly automatically, I begin to text the specs to Pearce but then delete it. If we experience any blowback, I don’t want Pearce in the know about anything.
I look through my list of contacts at nearby car dealerships and scroll past the Mercedes and BMWs. She won’t want something flashy. She also wouldn’t want something too mom-ish, so Volvos are out. It needs to be safe, classy, and luxurious, but unique like her.
Then I order a new bouquet of flowers—fresh cut wildflowers—to be delivered to her house every week.
Next on my to-do list is making contacts in Manhattan and Los Angeles to find her an agent.
While she was showering, I’d sneaked into her room and taken some of her headshots. Creepy thing to do? Maybe. Don’t give a fuck about creepy anymore.
I email her headshot to a dozen or more acting and modeling agencies in Manhattan, and then I book the penthouse suite of my own Rushmore Hotel in NYC for the first week of winter break.
I open a checking account in my name and have the associated debit card issued to her.
I could have delegated some of these things to my assistant, or my accountant, or any number of people I have working under me. They would do all of it without batting an eye.
But I’m selfish. I want every transaction, every decision, regarding her to be mine and mine alone.
17
Hunter
On the first day of school, I snatch Addie’s schedule out of her hand while we’re at the lockers. When I see all the difficult classes she’s taking, I have the odd feeling that she’s lucky she doesn’t have a man to obsess over.
I sigh. “Well, at least one of us has brains.”
Addie slaps my shoulder. “Hey, don’t talk about my best friend that way.” She reminds me of the fact that I’ve completed so many fine arts courses at this school that they’ve had to make some up for me this year.
Addie has always been my biggest cheerleader, always telling me I could have graduated early and gone off to New York to take acting classes even before starting college if I’d wanted to. But my parents always like to step in and remind me that I need to be more well-rounded.
Later, at
lunch, Addie shocks me with a story about her first wet dream, and I start to wonder if, in fact, she does have a man in her life she’s not telling me about. I urge her to tell me everything.
“Who was it about? What was it like?” I ask as we sit under our favorite tree.
She’s really vague about who it was in the dream, but she describes how the dream ended. My girl had her first orgasm. I’m so proud. And jealous. How long will it be before Rushmore decides I’m ready?
“Lucky girl,” I comment.
There’s definitely something she’s not telling me, and I don’t like it. But then, who am I to judge? Boy, do I ever have a whopper to tell her. But instead, I change the subject to easier conversations like the most recent royal wedding.
Over the next few weeks, I don’t see much of Rushmore because of some work he’s doing in Capri. Most of my time is taken up by school, swim practice and theater, anyway. But that does nothing to stop Rushmore from making sure I feel his presence everywhere.
My bedroom is full of fresh flowers, and he has set me up with my own checking account with more zeros than I’ve ever seen in my life. Boxes of clothes, shoes, and high end bath products come to my house weekly. I can’t think of what he wants me to do with the checking account when an endless stream of material goods is being delivered to me.
He seems to have memorized my schedule, because after every class, and after every swim practice, a text is waiting from him. The texts are never the same. Common phrases such as Thinking of you. Or, Hope your day was lovely.
But he mixes it up with I saw a play on Broadway and all I could think was how you would have fit the lead role better. Or, I heard this song and it reminded me of you, with a link.
Random books and songs appear on my phone’s ebook and music apps.
It’s all sweet, but something is missing. What I really want is not gifts or random compliments or money. Those things are nice. But what I really want is time.
On the night he arrives back in the U.S. from Capri, we speak on the phone and I’m desperate to see him.
“I want you to sneak into my room and spend all night talking and getting to know each other,” I say over one late-night phone call after swim practice.