show that around Kyle. Too often, he could read her like a book.
Per MCC rules, she checked her coat, purse, scarf, and gloves into one of the lockers behind the front desk. A second correctional officer escorted her and several other visitors into one of the elevators and rode with them to the centralized visiting room on the eighth floor. The elevators opened and she and the other visitors were led into a security clearance area. She passed through the metal detectors, waited for a third guard to unlock a heavy set of doors made of steel and bulletproof glass, then stepped into the visiting room.
She’d been surprised the first time she’d visited Kyle at MCC. Perhaps the consequence of too much television, she’d thought they’d be separated by glass and would have to talk through telephones. She’d been pleased to discover that the inmates were allowed to meet their visitors in a large common room. Sure, the entire time they had four armed guards watching over them, but at least she could sit down with her brother face-to-face.
Ignoring the bitter sludge they called coffee—a mistake from her first visit never again to be repeated—Jordan opted for bottled water from one of the vending machines. She chose a table in front of a window encased by metal bars and took a seat. As she did every week, she tried to mind her own business and avoided paying too much attention to the other visitors waiting at the surrounding tables, assuming they preferred some modicum of privacy as much as she did. Her mind wandered, knowing she had several minutes to wait while Kyle made it past his various security checks before he could be processed through to the visiting room.
Jordo—I fucked up.
Those had been the first words out of Kyle’s mouth when he’d called her that fateful night five months ago. She’d had no clue what he’d done, but in the end it came down to one thing.
“Can you fix it?” she’d asked.
“I dunno,” he’d groaned worriedly. There was a hard thumping sound, which she’d guessed was his head hitting the wall.
“Where are you? I’ll come get you and we’ll figure it out.”
His words were slurred. “Tijuana. Gettin’ verryyy drunk.”
Oh boy. “Kyle. What did you do?”
His voice rose in anger. “I juz shut down Twitter, thaz what I did. The ho damn thing. The hell with Dani.”
Jordan hadn’t caught all of that, but she’d grasped enough to understand that her computer geek of a brother had done something very, very bad because of Daniela, his girlfriend.
Kyle had a knack for attracting the wrong kind of girl—meaning vapid, money-seeking, skanky ones—and, as Jordan ultimately came to find out through her brother’s inebriated ramblings that night, Daniela the Brazilian Victoria’s Secret model ultimately was no exception. They’d met in New York at a gallery exhibition for an artist who was a mutual friend. They dated long distance for six months, a record for Kyle. Then Daniela flew out to LA to shoot a music video—a great opportunity, she’d said, because she wanted to become an actress. Of course she did.
On the second day of the trip, she stopped calling Kyle. Worried, he left messages on her cell phone and at her hotel, with no response. Late on the fourth night, he finally got a reply.
Via Twitter.
@KyleRhodes Sorry not going 2 work out 4 us. Going 2 chill in LA with someone I met. I think U R sweet but U talk too much about computers.
Twenty minutes later, in her next tweet, Daniela posted a link to a video of her in Hollywood making out with movie star Scott Casey in a hot tub.
It was tough to say which bothered Kyle more, the fact that he’d been dumped over Twitter, or the fact that Daniela had no qualms about publicly cuckolding him. Given his wealth and her minor celebrity status, their relationship had been talked about in gossip columns in both New York and Chicago, and had been mentioned several times on TMZ.com .
Kyle worked in technology; he
Per MCC rules, she checked her coat, purse, scarf, and gloves into one of the lockers behind the front desk. A second correctional officer escorted her and several other visitors into one of the elevators and rode with them to the centralized visiting room on the eighth floor. The elevators opened and she and the other visitors were led into a security clearance area. She passed through the metal detectors, waited for a third guard to unlock a heavy set of doors made of steel and bulletproof glass, then stepped into the visiting room.
She’d been surprised the first time she’d visited Kyle at MCC. Perhaps the consequence of too much television, she’d thought they’d be separated by glass and would have to talk through telephones. She’d been pleased to discover that the inmates were allowed to meet their visitors in a large common room. Sure, the entire time they had four armed guards watching over them, but at least she could sit down with her brother face-to-face.
Ignoring the bitter sludge they called coffee—a mistake from her first visit never again to be repeated—Jordan opted for bottled water from one of the vending machines. She chose a table in front of a window encased by metal bars and took a seat. As she did every week, she tried to mind her own business and avoided paying too much attention to the other visitors waiting at the surrounding tables, assuming they preferred some modicum of privacy as much as she did. Her mind wandered, knowing she had several minutes to wait while Kyle made it past his various security checks before he could be processed through to the visiting room.
Jordo—I fucked up.
Those had been the first words out of Kyle’s mouth when he’d called her that fateful night five months ago. She’d had no clue what he’d done, but in the end it came down to one thing.
“Can you fix it?” she’d asked.
“I dunno,” he’d groaned worriedly. There was a hard thumping sound, which she’d guessed was his head hitting the wall.
“Where are you? I’ll come get you and we’ll figure it out.”
His words were slurred. “Tijuana. Gettin’ verryyy drunk.”
Oh boy. “Kyle. What did you do?”
His voice rose in anger. “I juz shut down Twitter, thaz what I did. The ho damn thing. The hell with Dani.”
Jordan hadn’t caught all of that, but she’d grasped enough to understand that her computer geek of a brother had done something very, very bad because of Daniela, his girlfriend.
Kyle had a knack for attracting the wrong kind of girl—meaning vapid, money-seeking, skanky ones—and, as Jordan ultimately came to find out through her brother’s inebriated ramblings that night, Daniela the Brazilian Victoria’s Secret model ultimately was no exception. They’d met in New York at a gallery exhibition for an artist who was a mutual friend. They dated long distance for six months, a record for Kyle. Then Daniela flew out to LA to shoot a music video—a great opportunity, she’d said, because she wanted to become an actress. Of course she did.
On the second day of the trip, she stopped calling Kyle. Worried, he left messages on her cell phone and at her hotel, with no response. Late on the fourth night, he finally got a reply.
Via Twitter.
@KyleRhodes Sorry not going 2 work out 4 us. Going 2 chill in LA with someone I met. I think U R sweet but U talk too much about computers.
Twenty minutes later, in her next tweet, Daniela posted a link to a video of her in Hollywood making out with movie star Scott Casey in a hot tub.
It was tough to say which bothered Kyle more, the fact that he’d been dumped over Twitter, or the fact that Daniela had no qualms about publicly cuckolding him. Given his wealth and her minor celebrity status, their relationship had been talked about in gossip columns in both New York and Chicago, and had been mentioned several times on TMZ.com .
Kyle worked in technology; he
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