Devastated Page 3

  He gave her a sympathetic smile even though he was the one who deserved the sympathy. “I won’t say it didn’t hurt. But my campaign has done nothing wrong, and the investigation will show that.”

  “But I saw you dropped several points in the most recent polling Channel 2 did on the race.”

  “We’ll make it back up.”

  She perked up. “I think I can help—in a way. The Tribune wants to do a profile of you, and all the other candidates, of course. I think it will help the voters get to know you better, on a personal level. It’ll be more interesting than the campaign literature they receive in their mail.”

  “Well, I am honored. I don’t know that I’m that interesting.”

  “Your background is very interesting: how you came to this country and worked two jobs as a high school student to support yourself even though your family could probably afford to buy an entire college; all the work you did as a nonprofit housing attorney—the pro bono cases you took on behalf of tenants who couldn’t afford a lawyer; the role you played in securing a location for mental health services in Chinatown.”

  “That was a team effort.”

  “From what I heard, you were the one who actually made it all happen, but you let Councilwoman Huang take the credit.”

  “It’s not important who gets the credit.”

  “See, that’s exactly what the voters don’t see but should—your modesty, your dedication to improving the community. Right now, a lot of voters think you’re just a puppet for business interests. And Oakland Forward reinforces that perception.” She paused and decided to rush the words out before they stuck in her throat. “And it’s my fault.”

  “Your fault?”

  “When I was, um, spending time with Ben, I saw a text from Ezra Rosenstein to your nephew. I told my editor about it.”

  He made no response, so she continued.

  “I’m sorry. It was a private text, and I...I’m sorry.”

  “Well, there was nothing untrue in that article.”

  “Ben didn’t, um, say anything to you about it?”

  “He blamed himself for the article and acknowledged that Oakland Forward had been his idea initially. I would have told him a PAC was unnecessary, but it is what it is. Did Ben know you worked for the Tribune?”

  “Technically, I wasn’t with the paper at the time I knew Ben, and I never told him I was a reporter. How... How is Ben?”

  “I haven’t heard from him recently. I think he’s in Tokyo right now.”

  “He didn’t do anything wrong. I believe he was trying to do everything right. And he’s completely devoted to you and your campaign. I...I misled him, and because of that, you’re being investigated by the FPPC.” She bit her lower lip. “I wouldn’t blame you if you—and Ben—hated me.”

  “I can’t speak for Ben, but hate doesn’t do anyone any good.”

  “Will you still let the Tribune do a profile? I don’t have to be the reporter writing it.”

  A woman knocked and opened the door. “Gordon, your precinct folder for East Oakland is ready.”

  “Thank you,” Gordon replied to her.

  “You’re walking East Oakland?” Kimani asked him.

  “Why not?”

  “Not a lot of people choose to walk East Oakland.”

  “I don’t feel right ignoring the neighborhoods there just because they’re not the safest.”

  “If you’re still good with the Tribune doing a profile, I’d love to have one of our reporters and a cameraman join you on your walk.”

  “Sure. Will you be coming along as well?”

  “Only if you don’t mind.”

  “I would be happy for you to come,” he said with a forgiving smile.

  Her emotions swelled. Her instincts on Gordon had been right. She only wished her instincts had been right about Ben. Or maybe they had been right—she just hadn’t listened to them.

  She had no expectations that Gordon would tell Ben that she’d apologized, but if Gordon could forgive her, maybe one day Ben could as well.

  Chapter Four

  In his dreams, Ben ravished her against the walls of the caves located on the beaches of one of the Lee Corporation’s resorts in Thailand. Or he fucked her hard and rough while she struggled in rope bondage—hogtie, frogtie, strappado, piledriver—he’d do them all with her. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t the experience sub she’d pretended to be for the Scarlet Auction.

  And sometimes they made love beneath a cloudless California sky.

  Whatever the dream, Ben always woke to the most annoying hard-on. He had banged plenty of women since leaving San Francisco, but it felt like he was suffering from blue balls. All because he couldn’t fuck her.

  “It’s stabilized,” his pollster had called to tell him. “I think Gordon’s taken all the hit there is from the FPPC investigation—unless something new comes out.”

  “You think the Tribune is still digging?” asked Ben as he stood fully dressed in a suit and looked out the window of his hotel room at the Tokyo skyline. Turning around, he looked to his bed, where two naked women lay. One of them had woken up and started to pet the breasts of the other.

  Ben had jacked off in the shower earlier instead of waking the women.

  “I have no idea, but their readership in Oakland has shrunk a lot in recent years, so their impact is limited. The question is whether or not the other news outlets will pick up on the story, too.”

  The Tribune’s readership will be zero soon enough, Ben thought to himself. He’d had his attorney, Murray Jones, form an LLC to facilitate the purchase of the Tribune so it wouldn’t be immediately traceable to the Lee family. He didn’t want any negative press to come from it.

  The two women were now kissing. Having concluded his call with his pollster, Ben took a few minutes to watch the women, their soft white limbs wrapped around each other.

  “You know she works there now,” Stephens, who handled special projects and had done the initial research on Kimani, had told him when Ben had first sat down with him to discuss shutting down the Tribune.

  Ben had narrowed his eyes, suspecting he knew whom Stephens referred to. “Who?”

  “Kimani Taylor. The woman you had me look up. She started there a few days ago.”

  “You mean she wasn’t with the paper when... She wasn’t there before?”

  “Not on the payroll. She was working for some finance firm.”

  It hadn’t mattered whether Kimani was formally with the paper or not. She had been doing her job as a reporter.

  “So she’ll be out of a job,” Bataar had said.

  Ben had given the large Mongolian a hard look. “Not my problem.”

  Kimani was smart, Ben had reasoned. She would land on her feet. Maybe she wouldn’t have the job she wanted, but she was too capable to starve.

  Still, he felt a stab of guilt. And anger. He shouldn’t feel guilty over a woman who had played fast and loose with his family’s affairs.

  The women on his bed were now kissing each other vigorously. One started masturbating the other, who made soft lilting pants. Remembering how delicious each gasp and every groan of Kimani’s had sounded, he felt a faint stirring in his crotch.

  Not every memory of Kimani had to do with sex. He remembered how stunning she had looked for their dinner at Ishikawa West in that halter and her new weave. He remembered how her face had lit up the first time she had gotten up on her water-skis, the gleam in her eyes as they played one-on-one basketball outside on the patio of his penthouse, the way her brow furrowed when he’d made her drink hot tea on a summer day, the passion in her voice when she talked about social issues.

  He remembered everything.

  A knock sounded at the door. Bataar was here to drive him to his meeting with investors.

  After adjusting himself and taking one last look at the women, who had now angled themselves with legs spread wide so they could grind their genitalia against each other, Ben went to get the door.

&n
bsp; “Morning, boss,” Bataar greeted, his gaze going over Ben’s shoulder to the bed.

  “Want a minute?” Ben offered, turning so that Bataar could have a less obstructed view.

  Bataar shook his head. “Too early in the morning. I don’t want to have to battle a hard-on for the rest of the day.”

  With a laugh, Ben closed the door behind him and the two men headed to the elevator. Once inside, Bataar shared some news that did not please Ben.

  “Stephens told me it’s official—Jake pled out on misdemeanor charges.”

  Ben frowned. “Bastard.”

  “Yeah. His bodyguard, too. Total pussy underneath that tough-guy exterior.”

  “I was referring to the district attorney for not pinning Jake with something more than a misdemeanor.”

  “I guess if he tried Jake for aggravated assault, he’d have to try you as well. I’m surprised Vince didn’t press charges for his broken arm.”

  “He still could. I doubt the statute of limitations has run out.”

  “Probably doesn’t want it publicly known that he got beat up.”

  Ben didn’t care one way or another if Vince wanted to press charges against him, except that it might generate negative publicity for Gordon, who probably couldn’t afford to get hit with any more scandal, even though it involved extended family and not the candidate himself.

  “I put a guy on Jake ever since he made bail,” Bataar said as they stepped out of the elevator. “I just don’t trust the fucker.”

  Ben clenched his jaw. Kimani had been right about Jake all along. He should have listened to her. Instead, he had actually considered handing her back to the son of a bitch. If he hadn’t returned to the cabin when he had...

  He cursed himself.

  “According to my guy, Chin Ko, Jake went by her place.”

  Ben stopped and turned swiftly to stare at Bataar. “What do you mean?”

  “He didn’t go in or try to talk to her.”

  “By ‘her,’ you mean Kimani.”

  “Of course, boss. She’s the one you’re interested in.”

  Ben was about to tell Bataar to keep his personal observations to himself, but he wanted to hear what else he had to say about Jake.

  “Chin said Jake parked his car across from her duplex and sat there for ten minutes before driving away.”

  What the fuck...

  “Anything else unusual?”

  “Not so far. I’ve got Stephens’ hacker in Singapore trying to track Jake’s movements online, but we haven’t hit on anything yet.”

  Ben felt a pit in his stomach. “Put a guy on Kimani.”

  “Twenty-four seven?”

  “Of course. Why do a job half-assed?”

  “I’m going to need a bigger budget.”

  “You already went over budget when you hired Chin.”

  “Just want to be sure, boss.”

  His blood pressure soaring, Ben started walking again. Bataar had to scramble to keep up. Once outside, Ben put on his shades, the same pair of Louis Vuitton that he’d lent to Kimani their first day on Jake’s boat.

  Ben’s car was waiting out front. After he and Bataar got in, Ben turned to the man who had watched out for him for the better part of seven years. “If anything happens to her, you’re fired.”

  Bataar had a look of self-satisfaction on his wide mug. “Anything else, boss?”

  Ben frowned. “Yeah. I’ll fuck you up so bad, your dick will be coming out your nose.”

  Seeing that his boss wasn’t joking, Bataar only nodded. “Okay, boss.”

  Chapter Five

  “That was fun,” said Robin Alvarez, a fellow reporter at the Tribune, after they had returned to the campaign headquarters for Gordon Lee. “I’ve never been on a precinct walk before.”

  She turned to Ron, the bearded photographer for the paper. “Did you get any good pics?”

  Ron was scrolling through the photos he had taken of Gordon. “Yeah, I got some good action shots. Check these out.”

  Kimani and Robin peered over his shoulder as he scrolled through pictures of Gordon talking to voters, Gordon wiping his brow as the Indian summer sun beat down on him during the second hour of their precinct walk. Gordon cheerfully waving to passersby, and Gordon laughing after he missed a terrible shot on a basketball court.

  “I like that one,” Kimani said when Ron landed on a photo of Gordon taking a break, sitting down on the sidewalk with a stack of his campaign literature next to him, a wall of graffiti behind him. Gordon had remarked at the time that he wanted to look into supporting the expansion of mural projects for East Oakland.

  “This is going to be a great piece,” said Robin. “I can’t wait to write it. I mean, cowrite this with you, Kimani.”

  “It’s all yours,” Kimani said. “I’ll help you with the research, but I don’t need to be in the byline.”

  Robin and Ron looked at her in disbelief.

  “But you’re the one who set up the interview with Gordon,” Robin said.

  “He would’ve said yes if you had asked. It’s better if I...” She decided not to finish her thought, in case it raised questions with Robin and Ron. “You’re the more experienced writer, anyway.”

  “Yeah, but you’re new. Don’t you want to get every byline you can?”

  Kimani looked at the tables where precinct maps, voter lists, and door hangers had been organized by neighborhoods. The neighborhood with the largest stacks of folders and literature was East Oakland.

  “I shouldn’t have the byline because I’m biased,” Kimani explained. “This way, I can volunteer for Gordon’s campaign.”

  “I have to admit, he doesn’t come across as much of a dynamic leader,” Ron, who lived in Oakland, said, “but I’d definitely consider voting for him now. He’s seems to know his stuff.”

  “I’ll see you back at the office,” Kimani said, “I’m going to take my lunch break here in Oakland.”

  She grabbed a folder and some door hangers from the East Oakland pile.

  “I’ll take this precinct,” she told the coordinator in charge of precinct walking.

  The young woman took a look at the precinct map. “That’s East Oakland. I have a few neighborhoods left in the Rockridge area if you want one of those.”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t look like you have a lot of folks walking East Oakland.”

  “Well, they’re not the safest neighborhoods, especially for women. You’re not planning to walk the precinct alone?”

  “I grew up in Oakland. I know my way around.”

  “Still, I don’t think Gordon would be okay with that. If anyone on the campaign were to get hurt—”

  “I just came back from walking an East Oakland precinct with Gordon.”

  “Still, I’d feel better if you took one of the other neighborhoods. Even this one off International Boulevard is better.”

  “Okay,” Kim relented. She accepted the new packet from the coordinator.

  But on her way out, when no one was looking, she grabbed an East Oakland packet.

  SHE TOOK AN HOUR LUNCH break to drop door hangers in East Oakland before taking the BART, Bay Area Rapid Transit, train back into the city. When she arrived at the Tribune offices, she sensed something wrong the instant she walked into the newsroom.

  Robin rushed up to her. “You missed the big announcement,” she said.

  At first, Kim thought it was the good news that Sam had hinted at the other day, but the air of despair didn’t match her expectation.

  “What was the big announcement?” Kim asked.

  “We’ve all been given two weeks’ notice.”

  After a moment of stunned silence, Kim asked, “They’re shutting down the paper?”

  “I guess we all saw it coming, but I thought we’d hear about it with more notice than two weeks.”

  Kim went to find Sam, who was sitting in his office looking out the window.

  “I missed the announcement. We’ve all been given two weeks’ notice?”
/>
  Sam swiveled around, a resigned look on his face. “I’m afraid so. I’m sorry your job here didn’t last very long.”

  “So it’s definite? I thought there was a chance the paper would stay open with new ownership.”

  “I thought so, too. Why else would anyone want to acquire us?”

  “Who’s the new owner?”

  “Some company called New Western Media. I’ve never heard of them. Turns out they’re newly formed. Their paperwork was filed recently with the Secretary of State’s office.”

  Kimani sank down into a nearby chair. “New Western Media. Do you think they’re affiliated with a rival paper?”

  “I wondered that at first, but we know all the owners of the various media outlets in this geographic area. New Western Media doesn’t seem to be linked to any of them. The only good news in this is that we all get a severance package worth three months’ salary and extended health insurance.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Three months! That’s very generous. And odd.”

  “I thought so, too. I quizzed Ralph, one of the original owners. He said he was just as stunned about the closure. He actually thought New Western Media was a good Samaritan, an angel funder, who was coming in to save the paper. It’s the strangest thing. This company acquires us in record time, all shrouded in mystery, and the only communication we get from our new owners is a letter from their attorney’s office providing the two weeks’ notice and details of the severance package.”

  “Do we at least get to keep the press going during our last two weeks?”

  “I think so. There was no mention of turning off the presses immediately.”

  “So, will we still have time to run the profiles of the mayoral candidates?”

  “If you hustle.”

  She nodded. “I’ll get it done.”

  “When you start job hunting, I’m happy to be a reference for you. Just know that I’ll be serving as a reference for many of your colleagues as well. I hope everyone lands something.”

  “What about you?”

  “I guess I could always be a lecturer again. I like teaching, but I’ll miss the press. I’ll miss the clicking and clacking of computer keys in the newsroom. I’ll miss hunting down a good story.”