Jamie stood next to me and surveyed the scene. “Well. I did tell you to steel yourself.”
“I remember.” My phone flashed with a text from Cal: Call me back. I’m getting worried.
I buried it in my purse and tossed that on Jamie’s papers. “I didn’t get a chance to say thanks for letting me crash last night.”
He ran a hand through his hair, bouncing a little on his toes. “I know Motel 6 isn’t what you’re used to these days. Full disclosure, I googled Cal.”
I snorted. “I’m fine.”
“Money was…well, never my goal, to be honest.” Jamie gave up bouncing and fell to the edge of his unmade bed. “It wasn’t something I ever cared about. I guess that’s another reason being a journalist suits me.”
I grew still. No matter how much he’d changed, I could still see the boy from my childhood, the one with the bright eyes and easy smile. The one with two loving parents, a nice house with a wide lawn in a good neighborhood, soccer and piano lessons, orthodontics, SAT tutors. “Jamie,” I said softly, “your family always had enough money. Why would it occur to you to care?”
He flushed, color high in his cheeks. “I guess you’re right.” There was a beat of silence, then he cleared his throat. “I got us off topic. Tell me about your lead.”
I lowered myself into the armchair in the corner of the room, leaning back and draping my arms over each side, crossing my legs. I’d gotten my first clue tonight. Moved the search forward, all on my own. But there was still so much ground to cover. I tapped my fingers against the armchair and looked at him. “Take out your phone.”
“My phone?” Jamie looked startled.
“I need you to start recording.”
Chapter Eleven
Transgressions Episode 705, interview transcript: Shay Deroy, Sept. 4, 2022 （unabridged）
SHAY DEROY: The turning point was when Don invited us to his house. Maybe it wasn’t—maybe we were already doomed by then. But looking back, it feels like that night was when things started to change.
It was about three weeks since he’d taken us to the Old Guard for drinks, and the time without him had passed slowly. No one on campus compared to him—not the students, who were immature boys next to him, or the professors, who seemed small and unworldly. By that point, even Clem was hinting to Rachel we wanted to see Don again. Most of the time, Rachel ignored us. She’d literally walk out of rooms while we were talking to her. But one day she came home and said he’d found a house and wanted to have us over.
We got dressed up again, because seeing Don felt like an occasion, and even though we wouldn’t say it out loud, each of us wanted to impress him. It was funny, because by then, the three of us had stopped dressing up for anything, even parties. It was Whitney culture, competing over who could put in the least amount of effort.
JAMIE KNIGHT: I’m familiar with Occupy Wall Street chic.
SHAY: Just a different kind of purity test. It turned out Don’s new house was only a few neighborhoods away, and it was huge. One of those historic Tudor mansions that are everywhere in the Hudson Valley. You know, the ones that look like witches’ cottages from fairy tales. When we got out of the taxi, Laurel made a show of saying, “Dang, Rachel, good for you.” She was still trying to be nice to Rachel, god help her.
It hurts to think how excited I was to go to his house, knowing everything that happened later. But at the time, it made an impression. It was bigger than any house in Heller. That alone made me nervous. But I was also anxious because I’d bought hair dye from the grocery store and dyed my hair blond, and I didn’t know what I thought of it yet. I was waiting to hear what he’d say.
When he opened the door, he was in jeans and a sweater, with the sleeves rolled up. It was intimate, seeing him dressed down. My legs felt weak. When I looked at Laurel and Clem, I could tell they felt the same.