“Yeah, so stay away from him,” he said.
“Elliot, you can’t say something like that and not explain.”
He sighed, clearly debating with himself. “For a while at NYU, he and I were buddies, if you can believe,” he said. “We met at orientation, and we clicked – you know how social he is. He brought me right out of myself. I mean, his dad is, like, an industry legend, he knew all these people and had all this experience. I looked up to him. And because of his connections, we all expected him to be top of the class. He expected it too.”
“What happened?”
“Me.” A ironic smile flickered across Elliot’s face. “I started coming top of the class in pretty much everything and that was hard for him to handle. We drifted, started hanging out less and less.”
Knowing Ralf as I did, I could believe he would struggle not being the top student. “Go on.”
“And then, one day, he asked if I could help coach him through final assignments.” Elliot laughed bitterly. “I was so grateful my friend was talking to me again that I helped. Ibrainstormed, shared ideas … and then he stole my concept, presented it as his own.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yep.” Elliot raked a hand through his hair. “I complained, of course. When it came down to proving it, it was his word against mine. And who is going to take the word of a working-class kid from Bridgeport over Niles Fisher’s son?”
“What happened?”
“NYU failed us both for plagiarism,” Elliot told me. “Forced us to retake our last class and delayed graduation. His parents went nuts and he’s hated me ever since for exposing who he really is. Of course, he could afford to live rent-free and retake the class at his leisure. Me? I was drowning in debt, I needed to start earning a living, but …” He shrugged. “No one was gonna hire the guy who flunked film school thanks to plagiarism, so I had no choice but to retake that class and try not to bankrupt myself.”
“You know he told me the opposite story,” I said. “That you stole his idea.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Elliot said with a bitter laugh.
“You should have told me.” I said.
“I know,” he said. “And I wanted to. I guess I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.”
“Trust me, I believe you.” I’d witnessed Ralf’s ambition up close at the photo shoot. “He doesn’t care who he tramples over.”
“Right. And it kills him that I’m RJ’s right-hand man,” Elliot said. “That’s why the thought of you kissing him pisses me off. Because he’s not a nice guy and you could—” His voice gave out.
“Could what?” I said. “Do better?”
“Oh, I know you could.” Finally, he held my gaze and I shivered at the fire that burned there. Pedestrians flowed around us as we faced off, unwilling to back down.
“I don’t want Ralf, Elliot,” I said slowly, deliberately. “I never did.”
His smile was tentative. “How can I make this up to you?”
I had a fair idea, but I was clinging to the vestiges of professionalism. “That’s up to you.”
His eyes drifted to something behind me. A subway stop. “I have an idea.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Over an hour later, I was ambling down a busy, sunny boardwalk, a cloud of candyfloss in hand. “So this is Coney Island.”
“Indeed.” Elliot mumbled through a mouthful of sugar. “Drink it in.”
The air was fresh with the tang of the sea, mixed with sickly-sweet smells from the many food vendors dotted along the boardwalk. Screams of delighted children echoed from the amusement park, mingled with the roar of the rollercoaster and the shouts of various touts and street entertainers.
“So, is it the same?” he asked.
“As what?”
“Black Pool,” he said.
