“Name your poison.”
“Corona with lime. And thanks.”
I needed something like this, I think. Some time to kick back with a friend and think about something besides my extremely unconventional sex life. Which is why it’s so startling when Kip returns with our drinks, puts mine in front of me, and says, “Let’s talk Professor Jonah Marks.”
Although I don’t do an actual spit-take with my beer, I come close. “Excuse me?”
“Sources report that you were apparently emotional and beside yourself in front of the campus Starbucks the other day—and Mr. Marks seemed to take pointed interest in this. As if, perhaps, he was the reason for your upset.”
“He wasn’t.” Maybe Kip will let it lie there, but I doubt it. I try distraction. “What do you mean, sources? Do you own the baristas too?”
“Nothing happens on this campus that I don’t hear about sooner or later. My eye sees all.”
I groan. “You’re like Sauron in Lord of the Rings.”
“Except with less powerful bling. Now, fess up, darling.”
“There’s nothing to confess,” I lie, then switch to the truth. “I’m not dating Jonah.”
“Still merely considering it?” Kip nods, as if he expected this answer. From his Lisa Frank messenger bag he pulls a manila folder. “Good thing I took the liberty of preparing this dossier.”
“A dossier? Kip, this is epic overkill.”
“You don’t get to be Sauron of UT Austin by half-assing it.” He pushes the folder toward me, covering the Breck Girl’s vapid smiling face. “Behold the many secrets of Jonah Marks.”
Secrets? What does Kip mean?
No. Jonah and I have to trust each other. He hasn’t broken his word or pried into my life. I won’t pry into his. “I don’t know how you dig up dirt, but I’m not interested in going through anybody’s private information.”
Kip scoffs, “This is hardly private. Almost all of this comes from CNN. A bit of Wikipedia too.”
“. . . why would Jonah be on CNN?” Did he appear as an expert on earthquakes, maybe? But Kip wouldn’t bother showing me anything like that.
“It’s not so much the man himself as his family. I suppose you hadn’t realized Jonah Marks is of the Chicago Markses.” When I look at Kip blankly, he adds, “The ones who own Redgrave House?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Do you not even glance at tabloids when you’re in the supermarket line? Never mind. I’ll give you the swift overview.” Kip rifles through the papers he printed out for me before presenting one that pictures a Victorian house nestled amid high-rises. Yet it doesn’t look out of place; the house possesses a kind of dark glamour and power evident even from this badly reproduced photo. Stone tile covers the outside, and the large door is flanked by enormous statues a story high, which have been carved as if they were struggling under the weight of the enormous arch between them.
“National Registry of Historic Places,” Kip says. “Site of some of the juiciest stories in Chicago history, thanks to the wild and varied history of the Marks family. And our good professor’s childhood home.”
Now that I think about it, I have heard of Redgrave House—probably on some TV show about notable architecture. In that area of Chicago, so close to downtown, the lot alone must be worth tens of millions. Since Jonah’s family has never sold the house, they must be able to leave that cash on the table.
It’s not like I hadn’t realized Jonah was well off; he drives a nice car, tips generously, and dresses better than any other straight man I ever met. Still, nothing about his possessions or demeanor ever suggested he had this kind of money. Was he one of those snot-nosed prep-school kids whose head is inflated by entitlement before age fifteen? Surely not. Somehow, despite being surrounded by riches and privilege, Jonah has maintained a sense of priorities. And he pursues a challenging field of study instead of just living off his trust fund, which shows character.
“Okay,” I say, affecting even more nonchalance than I feel. “Jonah comes from money. What does that matter?”
Kip pushes more papers toward me. “The money doesn’t matter unless you’re out to marry your fortune, in which case, you’re on the right track. But you’re not that sort. You want the classic good guy, don’t you?”
It’s a rhetorical question. A few months ago, I would have said yes. But Jonah has taught me that I like a little badness too.
“Of course our professor isn’t one of my intimates. No doubt you already know him much better than I do, so I don’t want to judge him. And perhaps he’s worked through all of his issues. Because the boy has issues, doesn’t he?”
Oh, thank God it’s too dark in here for Kip to see me blush. “Uh, we all do.”
“Not like these.” Kip points to the news story in front of me, and my eyes widen as I read the headline.
HALE: MY WIFE IS A DANGER TO HERSELF AND OTHERS
At first I don’t get it. “Isn’t this—that guy Carter Hale?” I know him from the cover of business magazines—he owns some chain of luxury hotels, I can’t remember which. And there’s been some kind of gossip about his family lately, but how is that relevant here?
Kip answers my unasked question: “Carter Hale is Jonah Marks’s stepfather.”
Which means the woman in the headline is Jonah’s mother.
This is Jonah’s life. This is none of my business—or Kip’s either. I glare at him. “Why are you digging all of this up?”
“For one, clicking the link on CNN’s home page hardly counts as ‘digging.’ For two, people have a right to know if they’re getting mixed up with serious Greek-tragedy shit. And for three . . . as far as gossip goes, this is good stuff. Better than anything Kim and Kanye have come up with in a while.”
“Kip—”
“Will you just read the story already?”
I’m tempted to push the paper back and tell him where he can file it. And yet this was on CNN. National news. Jonah might assume I know about it already.
Don’t I need to know as much as possible about this man I’ve given so much trust?
Lawyers speaking on behalf of hotel magnate Carter Maddox Hale today told a Cook County judge that Hale’s wife, heiress Lorena Marks Hale, should be forcibly committed because she represents a danger to herself and others.
Testimony submitted to the court today reveals an incident in February of this year in which Mrs. Hale reportedly held a handgun on her husband for a period of nearly two hours, threatening to kill him and then herself. Mrs. Hale has previously been treated at inpatient mental health facilities for depression. He also alleges that she has made numerous threats to the lives and safety of those around her in the past several years.
However, Mrs. Hale’s lawyers deny the February incident and point out that Mr. Hale made no police report then or at any other time during the marriage. Absent documentation of Mrs. Hale’s criminal acts, legal experts say, a judge is unlikely to commit her against her will.
Even as the courtroom battle goes on, the couple continues to live together in the landmark Redgrave House near downtown Chicago—though reports indicate husband and wife now occupy separate floors.
Both Mrs. Hale’s legal team and lawyers employed by her children from her first marriage to Alexander Marks argue that Mr. Hale is acting not out of concern for his wife’s health but in an effort to gain sole legal control over the family’s substantial financial holdings—which include Mr. Hale’s hotel chains, Mrs. Hale’s inherited wealth, and a substantive interest in Oceanic Airlines stock. Alexander Marks, Mrs. Hale’s first husband and the father of her two adult children, cofounded Oceanic Airlines in 1975; she inherited a controlling interest in the airline upon his death in 1988.