Just Two Much, page 7
“Fuck,” I swore, not so quietly, looking down at the table. Anonymity was important to my brother and I for obvious reasons. We would never be the average guy walking down the street, but we weren’t nobody either.
“I guess there’s only one thing to do then and that’s to see what the article says,” drawled Caleb.
And we took our leave, strolling back to the apartment, the day sunny and bright but with ominous clouds on the horizon.
15
Caleb
Clouds were only the beginning. It was more like a fucking blizzard of supernova proportions, debilitating the University and shocking in its magnitude. The papers came out the next day and the headlines themselves were unbelievable.
“A RAPE ON CAMPUS: A BRUTAL ASSAULT AND STRUGGLE FOR JUSTICE” screamed the cover of Rolling Stone. Plus, a few secondary publications had caught on, belittling the university, calling DUP and other fraternities “Greek Gangs” and the like.
I could hardly believe it. As I scanned the story, the so-called facts came rolling out. Evidently, Sandy, a pseudonym for the diabolical Brenda, alleged she’d been gang-raped at a frat party by seven guys. I snorted right there. I vaguely remembered a brunette dancing around with a friend during the party, but that particular brunette had offered herself freely and willingly, holding her cunt open for all. She wasn’t even cute in my opinion, skinny as a twig with bad skin.
But the rape was graphic and disgusting, recounted in excruciating detail in the magazine. Allegedly, someone had slapped a hand over Sandy’s mouth, preventing her from screaming, and when she bit it, someone else had punched her in the face, yelling, “Grab its motherfucking leg.”
Sandy also purported to remember every moment of the three-hour rape, in which seven men took turns doing her, while two more – including her date – gave instruction and encouragement. While the last man sank into her, evidently there were cries of “Pussy!” and “What, she’s not hot enough for you?” because the poor guy looked like he was going to cry or puke. Then the brothers egged him on, asking, “What, don’t you want to be a brother? We all had to do it, so you should too.”
I slapped the magazine closed at this point. I was a made brother within DUP and I knew that there was no “rape requirement” to join the fraternity, it was all fucking lies. Sure there had been some sex, even public sex, but nothing described in the article had happened. This was fucking libel.
I called my brother immediately. “Cade, did you see the article?” I asked as soon as he answered.
“Yeah,” he grunted. “Did you see that part about us?”
Oh shit. I hadn’t given the piece a close read, instead focusing only on the lurid details of the rape itself. “No, what?” I commanded.
He proceeded to quote directly from the story:
* * *
And two of the rapists present were the notorious Manning twins, Caleb and Caden, CFO and Head of Tech at Manning Pharmaceutical based in California. Will money shield the twins from their depraved acts? Will the rich “game the system” in this case? Only time will tell.
* * *
Oh fuck. That was bad. So evidently the press had no problem with outing alleged “guilty” defendants, although the identities of the victims were kept private. It seemed so unfair, so unbelievable. They were calling us rapists already, when we should have been presumed innocent. How was that justifiable whatsoever?
I growled menacingly.
“I hear you brother,” said Cade dryly, still on the line. “I hear you. What next?”
The truth was, I wasn’t sure. It was tempting to go public immediately, denounce the article, take out an ad in the Times to proclaim our innocence. But it would be playing right into their hands, creating more allegations that we were rich boys with the ability to buy our way out.
“We wait,” I growled. “And I’m giving Phipps a call.”
“Do that and tell him not to leave anything out,” replied Cade.
As soon as I hung up, I dug up the number to Phipps, a journalist with a blog. James Phipps had worked at the Washington Post back in the day, but had quit at fifty to start his own blogroll, deeming the traditional press too “vacuous” and “undisciplined.” He was a salt-of-the-earth type of guy, crusty but bold.
Phipps picked up on the first ring.
“My man,” he said, “is this what I think it’s about?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Look into it, will you? Hunt down all discrepancies, figure out everything there is to know about the accuser.”
“Do you know her real name?” asked Phipps. “It’ll give me a head start in destroying her story.”
I thought for a long minute. Was it a crime to disclose the name of the alleged victim? Maybe for the press, but not for me.
“Brenda Bey,” I said shortly. “That’s the place to start.”
“You got it boss,” said Phipps, “prepare for Armageddon.”
“Good, keep me updated,” I said grimly.
As I walked home, I thought about the consequences. Obviously, my brother and I would be exonerated. There had been no gang rape, nothing of that sort, nor had Cade or I touched anyone. Sure, it’d been a debauched party but there was no rape of Sandy. It was those two girls, Brenda and Vera, who’d offered themselves to a roomful of men. We would destroy them.
What required special handling though, was the total annihilation of Brenda’s credibility, the public outing of a desperate girl who had concocted this scheme for some bizarre reason. But why? What had driven her to mislead the public, to tell all these lies? A need for attention? Publicity? Didn’t she realize she was wrecking her future?
I pondered the issue as I strolled home. We’d need to be careful, deliberate, even delicate in every public move. There was no way the world could find out about our twinsex although unfortunately, there were unmistakable traces of our illicit behavior.
The stripping in Vegas … I cursed when I thought back to it. It’d been fun but there were cameras in those clubs, recording every move, more to protect the club against any liability than to catch the depraved acts of patrons.
But with the evil eye of the press on us, it was completely possible that someone would piece two and two together and realize that the twincest boys of Lucky Paradise Two were actually the Manning brother billionaires. Oh fuck.
As I opened the front door to the apartment, Karina confronted me, her face flushed, tears in her eyes.
“Caleb,” she pleaded. “Have you seen the article? Have you been to the DUP house?”
“I saw the article,” I said, “but what about the house?”
“It’s been vandalized,” she said tearfully. “Bricks have been thrown through the windows, there’s spray paint all over the walls making death threats, and there’s going to be a rally on the doorstep at three today. It’s awful,” she cried.
“Is there anyone still living there?” I asked, my face darkening.
“No, the university provided temporary accommodations to the brothers, but all anyone can talk about is “poor Sandy” and the culture of sexual violence at the school,” she said tearfully. “I can’t believe Brenda’s done this.”
“I can’t believe it either, but we’re going to prepare for the worst,” I said grimly. “We’re going to unravel this story even if it means hauling that bitch to hell by the roots of her hair,” I spat.
“Caleb,” Karina said in a wavery voice. “I wanted to let you know. Brenda’s asked me to come over, she says she needs emotional support. I said no, my brothers are named as attackers in the piece, I couldn’t possibly. But she’s so insistent. Do you think I should go?”
This was just the latest in a series of fucked up episodes. This Bey girl was so twisted that I wanted to throw her into an insane asylum where she belonged. But at the same time, my mind was whirring.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Say nothing, be careful, and just listen. Who knows what’ll happen? The crazy can only get crazier.”
16
Karina
I knocked softly on the door to my old apartment, trembling a bit with anticipation. What awaited me here? I felt like somehow my future rested on the next few moments although Caleb had been nothing but reassuring, telling me that all I had to do was listen and watch. But listen and watch for what?
As I heard footsteps approach, I looked around and shuddered. I’d forgotten how filthy the place was, reeking of garbage, the squeak of rats audible even during the day. Thank god my brothers had come to rescue me, wrapping me in their muscled arms, letting me stay in their palace in the sky.
And I wanted to help them. We were being torn apart by this awful scandal, the cause of which had just opened the door.
“Karina,” said Brenda joyfully. “It’s so awesome you’re here. Come in.”
Okay, this wasn’t what I’d expected. I thought she was going to be broken and hurt but instead, she looked totally happy and healthy, cheerful even.
“Bren,” I said slowly. “Are you okay? Have you been following the news? Do you know what’s happened?”
“Oh yeah,” she said happily, plopping herself down on a raggedy couch. “I know. It’s awesome isn’t it? I hope those DUP dipshits get their cocks cut off at the root.”
I gaped. I admit I didn’t have a good recollection of the party because of the pot I’d smoked. But my memory was that Brenda and Vera had been going at it like a couple of sluts, doing girl on girl, girl on guy, two girls on guy, gang bang in every single combination possible. And loving it, spreading their legs for all, according to my hazy memory.
But I said nothing of that.
“Bren,” I continued slowly. “Why did you talk to the reporter? Why didn’t you go to the hospital like I suggested?”
“Oh you!” she pooh-poohed. “You’re always so unimaginative, such a straight arrow. I was treated unfairly at the party and you know, those boys had it coming,” she said conspiratorially in a hushed voice. “There have been allegations of violence against some of them in the past, hazing and all that shit.”
This just confused me even more.
“But Bren, there was no hazing that night,” I said slowly. “It’s fall semester and hazing for DUP occurs in the spring. Why did the Rolling Stone article say that the rape was part of a pledge ritual?”
“God, Karina,” she huffed again, this time rolling her eyes. “Who cares about details like that? Hazing is hazing, I’m sure it’s a year-long thing even if pledging formally occurs in the spring. Plus, Vera would corroborate my story, it’s just that she’s getting married and doesn’t want the exposure,” she snapped.
“Vera was at the party, I remember that,” I said, shaking my head. “But you guys were talking to guys and partying hard, right? I mean, when did the alleged rape happen?”
“That night!” exclaimed Brenda, exasperated. “You were there!”
“I can’t remember much,” I said slowly. “You know that Bren.”
Turning the tables on me suddenly, Brenda said, “I can’t believe you’re not being a supportive friend,” her expression turning nasty. “You’re so concerned about yourself, your brothers, and how this is going to affect YOU. You haven’t given any thought to how awful I feel. I’m the victim, you know!” she spat.
I sat back, floored at her bad attitude. Of course Brenda deserved sympathy but she was coming off as a spoiled princess. Whatever the reporter had seen in her … I don’t know, but my friend was demonstrating very little credibility right now.
“Bren,” I tried again slowly. “How did you know Cole, the dude at the party who let us in?” Cole had been the sandy-haired guy, the one who’d told Brenda to bring her friends. He’d answered the door to the room that night.
“I know, isn’t he cute?” she gushed. “Cole’s in my Anthro 1 class, I’ve had the biggest crush on him since like forever. He seemed interested, but I wanted to fast-track him, you know what I mean? To realize that I’m hot property on campus,” she giggled.
“Karina,” she continued, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I had my old friend from high school text Cole.”
“Text him about what?” I asked confusedly.
“Oh you know, just telling Cole what an awesome catch I am, how Cole’s lucky to know me, all that kind of stuff. I expect Cole to be asking me out soon,” she said triumphantly.
That definitely wasn’t happening. Cole was probably squirreled away in a dorm room somewhere burning all his DUP stuff, trying to stay low profile. But clearly Brenda was out of touch with reality, believing that Cole was going to be pursuing a possible love interest at this catastrophic point in his life.
I sighed and shook my head. This was the most confusing, mixed-up conversation I’d ever had with anyone, bar none. I stood up to go.
“Listen Bren, I still think you should go to the police. If not the cops, you should at least go to the student crisis center because there are professionals there who can help you sort out your emotions,” I said bleakly. “I’m not sure you’ve realized the full import of what’s happened, and how this is affecting other people.”
“Other people?” she screeched. “It’s about me, can’t you see? I wasn’t named in the article but all the right people know it was me.” She rolled her eyes. “Go home Karina. You never had a clue.”
Hurt, I nodded. With nothing left to say, I left.
17
Caden
Our sister did really well. First, she pointed out the obvious discrepancy with pledging. There was no pledging ritual during the fall, all that stuff takes place in the spring when the weather’s warm. Secondly, and more important, was Brenda’s obsession with Cole. I remembered the dude, the sandy haired one who’d been stoned during the party. What was his role?
Evidently Brenda had a crush on him and had put up a high school friend to sing her praises. This already sounded fucked up and I briefed Phipps on the issue.
“So yeah, there’s some dude that the victim was crushing on,” I said into the phone. “Some stoner dude who’s a brother in the frat.”
“I’ve got better news for you than that,” said Phipps dryly. “There’s no high school friend whatsoever.”
“What do you mean?” I asked confusedly.
“This girl is way off her rocker,” confirmed Phipps. “She made up a third party to persuade Cole that she was worth dating. It’s fucked up. She was catfishing the poor guy by pretending to be her own high school friend.”
“But how did she do it?” I asked. “I mean, shit, that takes a lot of work.”
I could almost hear Phipps shrug over the phone.
“It’s not that hard,” he said. “She used ISPs which allow you to text without a cell. Lots of people use it to spoof.”
“Man,” I grunted. “This girl is even more fucked up than I thought. What about the married chick, what’s her role in all of this?”
“Ah Vera,” said Phipps. “Yeah, she’s basically dropped off the face of the earth as far as I can tell. She withdrew from the university and isn’t taking any calls, isn’t making any purchases, hasn’t shown her face in public ever since the scandal broke. She should have been interviewed for the Rolling Stone article, but as you can tell, not a lot of due diligence happened,” said Phipps dryly.
“Thanks,” I said, concluding the conversation. “Just send your bill to the usual address.”
I hung up and thought for a moment. As fucked up as it sounded, Brenda had likely concocted the entire scandal in order to get Cole’s attention. She had a crush on the dude, had made up a fake friend in order to convince him to date her, and now things had spiraled out of control. Now a rape scandal engulfed the university … all because she wanted a date.
I sighed. I felt sorry for the poor girl more than anything, she was so messed-up in the head. But actions have consequences and I wasn’t going to stand by doing nothing.
I picked up the phone again.
“Jake,” I growled as soon as he picked up. “I’ve got a request.”
“Anything, my brother,” said the CEO of Manning Pharma. “We’re at your disposal.”
18
Karina
Somehow everything’s spun around once again. Whereas the initial outcry from the rape scandal was outraged, somehow the tables have turned and Brenda’s story is slowly being discredited.
The first week after the article was terrible. There were protests in the main quad, Gloria Steinem made a speech about sexual violence on campus, and all Greek activities were temporarily suspended. Plus, the Police Department opened an investigation and all anyone could talk about in class were the horrific events of that night.
“Did you hear?” whispered a girl in back of me. “I heard that Brenda Bey’s the victim.”
“Oh really?” chimed in another, in a hushed voice. “I heard it was Vera Mack, but the Manning twins’ involvement is what gets me. I mean, really? Plus,” she added in a scandalized whisper, “I heard that the twins dance at a Vegas club in their free time. Can you believe it?” she giggled. “Billionaires dancing for dollars? Oh my god, one of them’s here!” she squealed. “Is that Caden or Caleb?”
I’d just seen Cade walk in as well, sauntering like he owned the place, his backpack slung casually over his shoulder. He wasn’t in our class – he was just picking me up.
Unaware of the girls in back of us, he leaned over to give me a casual peck on the cheek. “Hey sis, ready to roll?”
“Yeah,” I said tightly. “Come on, let’s go,” I said, refusing to even look at the women in back of us. It was so humiliating so I walked fast, refusing to look at my step, my eyes on the ground with my cheeks flushed.
