JACK: Las Vegas Bad Boys(26)
“Sure,” JoJo says. “Hope you don’t mind that I tagged along. I saw Claire at kindergarten drop-off. I’ve been helping Mary with the kids a bunch this week. And Lucy has the baby.”
“What’s Mary off doing?” Emmy asks.
“Actually, she and Connor are at this marriage counseling thing in Los Angeles. Which is sort of insane.”
“Good for them,” Emmy says. “I wish you’d brought the baby though; she’s so cute.”
“Emmy has baby-fever,” Claire says, smirking, and fills a glass with equal parts orange juice and champagne.
“Haven’t you only been married a few months?” JoJo asks.
“Right?” Claire laughs. “She has no idea what she’s hoping for.”
“Hey,” Emmy says defensively, “there are worse things than getting knocked up by the man you love.”
With that, all three of them turn to look at me.
Because apparently I am the worst thing.
“So,” Claire begins. “What’s the crisis?”
I roll my eyes, looking at Emmy. Hating that she’s spinning my story out of control.
“Look, I don’t want to talk about it. Jack and I had a really good time together—”
“Sounds like it, by the way he stormed out of here,” Emmy says.
“Wait, Jack was here and then left? This morning?” Claire asks.
“Yeah, apparently they had a sleepover, then they came here for free food and got in some weird code-word-fight and he left.”
“You guys already have code words?” JoJo asks, seeming impressed.
But impressed, I am not. “You guys, I love you, tons. But whatever is going on between Jack and me, is private.”
“Are you kidding me with that?” Emmy asks, pouring a glass of just champagne and handing it to me. “Drink. Then tell us the actual truth. Remember my horrible past? Claire’s secret daughter? JoJo and her arranged marriage? Honey, I think your privacy got thrown out the window the moment Ashley started stirring Jack’s pot.”
“Eww, is that a sex thing? Stirring pots?” Claire asks.
“No,” Emmy says, smacking Claire on the back of her head. “It’s the actual thing that Ashley did to get a rise out of Jack and then upset Tess—and honestly,” she says, turning to me. “I think you’re overreacting, honey. Did Jack show you the photos? They just aren’t that bad.”
JoJo frowns. “The ones this morning are more than a little bad.”
“This morning is still happening, what do you mean?” I ask, another wave of dread crashing through me.
JoJo pulls out her phone, tapping on the screen. “It’s not like a verified news source. It’s just people on Periscope.”
I look at her blankly.
“The app,” she explains. “It gives live broadcasts of whatever you film. And it’s linked to all your social media.”
“What did you see?”
JoJo grimaces. “You really haven’t seen it? Honey, that’s why I thought you were having this pow-wow. I mean … a live sex tape is pretty serious.”
“What the hell!” I grab the phone from her and tap the Play button.
For the next ten minutes we watch with our mouths covered in shock, as a video of Jack and me in the limo—just, what, thirty minutes ago?—is filmed through the driver’s window.
The footage is dark, but there are unmistakable gasps and moans. And cries. Me repeating, “Jack, give it to me harder.”
“Oh, my God.” I cover my face. “Delete that.”
“You can’t delete Periscope videos. Obviously, we’ll report it and it will get pulled down,” JoJo says.
“But by now it’s probably already been downloaded on other sites,” Claire says.
“I’m so sorry, Tess. I really thought you guys knew,” JoJo says.
“Let me call Ace,”Emmy says. “Whoever that driver is, he’s gonna get fired.”
“How are you going to find the driver? There are thousands of them,” Claire says. “And okay, say they find him: how does this help Tess, right now?”
“Can I see the glamour.com articles?” I ask, trying not to hyperventilate, trying to get a solid assessment on this entire situation.
JoJo nods and quickly pulls them up. “This, and then scroll down and you can see some more. But don’t look at the comments.”
There I am, leaving Jack’s place, frame by frame. And there I am, entering my apartment shot by shot.
“Why does anyone care who Jack sleeps with?” I ask.
“The only person who cares is Ashley,” Emmy assures me. “Seriously, no one else on the planet cares who leaves whose apartment.”