Page 129 of Tips and Trysts

Felix’s eyebrows shoot up right as Everett’s eyes narrow.

“You can’t be serious. This guy is a grifter,” he protests, waving his hand in Felix’s direction.

“Or,” I offer, “he’s done the things he’s promising you. He obviously isn’t all talk.”

Felix beams. “You’re still as good as ever, Cora,” he murmurs, eyes raking over me, oblivious to Everett watching him and looking for a reason. “So good.”

“Fine,” Everett relents before cocking his head in the direction of the parking lot. “Come with us, Felix.”

***

Felix’s immaculate eyebrows are high as he watches the edited video of Governor Logan threatening Everett at the Cunningham. Stunned, he removes the white earbud and places it on the table next to a ceramic sugar packet holder. “This is the most incriminating evidence I’ve ever seen.”

Bored, Everett sighs. “Yep.”

“I knew there was shit brewing in the Logan camp, but I didn’t realize it was this bad.” Felix slides my phone back to me. “Are you going to press charges? Revenge porn is a misdemeanor.”

“Felony in Virginia, actually,” Everett replies, sighing again. “And no. No charges.”

“Why the hell not?” Felix demands.

Everett’s motions are slow and elegant as usual. He raises his shoulder. “Seems like overkill.”

“The right person could win a Pulitzer with this,” Felix murmurs, and it’s not clear if he’s speaking to us or to himself. “Bet we could even get it dubbed in the media. Peg-gate.”

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Everett finally says, “I have about sixty thousand emails and messages right now, and as fun as it is to sit in an old-time chain restaurant with my girlfriend and her ex, I should probably start collecting the shambles of my life. Can we speed this shit up?”

“Hey, why don’t you look around?” I offer, rubbing Everett’s arm. “Maybe check out the gift shop.”

Everett glances to the side where the restaurant’s shop teems with antique style rocking chairs, printed shirts, pancake mix—anything fitting the bill of nostalgic country Americana. It was the first restaurant we spotted on I-95 once we drove out of Richmond proper, and we figured nobody would recognize us here.

“Fine,” Everett agrees before sliding out of the booth. He stands next to the table and buttons his expensive suit jacket. “But don’t call it peg-gate. That’s pathetic.” He brushes his hair back with a practiced flick of his fingers and departs while saying, “Strap-gate is less clunky.”

“He gets antsy,” I tell Felix once Everett disappears into the aisles. “He doesn’t like to sit still.”

Felix nods. “I get it.”

We stare at each other across the table, and for a moment, I’m twenty-one again and back in Cambridge on my first date with a guy I’d had my eye on for weeks.

“Who approached who?” I finally ask. “Did you go to Warren with the blackmail story, or did he seek you out?”

Felix is quiet for a moment, blue eyes ticking over my face until they land on mine. “Are you going to tell anyone?”

I place my phone on the table as proof I’m not recording. “I won’t.”

“It was the night of the party at his house,” Felix explains as he reclines and exhales. “He asked what it would take to get dirt on you.”

“What did it take?”

Felix is too pleased with himself when he raises a shoulder. “Access. How do you think I got invited to the luncheon today? Secrets are a currency, Cora. They’re better than money sometimes.”

The subsequent silence feels arid, like something sucked the life out of the space between Felix and me. There was a time when I envisioned a future with this man. We would graduate together and take pictures in our matching caps and gowns. We could write books together. Travel the world together. Have all of ittogether. And one day…

“Why did you do it?” I finally ask, nearly regretting the question once it’s out there.

“I told you. Access.”

“No, why did you take credit for the preliminary findings report?”

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