by Rachel Kane
“I mentioned to you the other day,” said Jane, her voice low. “You might not have been in a state to hear it. But you’re not the first person Secret Reader has gone after. This is what she does. She finds the mistakes, the accidents—sometimes even actual bad acts—and puts the darkest possible spin on them.”
I glanced up. “She? You know who she is?”
Jane smiled. “We have a disagreement about that. I’m convinced she’s a woman. Micah keeps saying it has to be a guy.”
“But that doesn’t matter,” added Alex. “What matters is, we have to come up with a story that is plausible, something the public will accept…and forgive. A story that will go down easy.”
I pushed the folder away. “I don’t like it. I’m not a liar. I won’t start lying over this.”
“Cam,” said Jane, her voice suddenly ten degrees colder. “Your…your mistake doesn’t reflect on you alone. Do you know what happens to literary agents who represent plagiarists? Do you know how much time I’ve spent on the phone with your publisher in the past 24 hours? If this blows up, there’s not an editor in the world who will take my calls. This is bigger than just you.”
I thought that by coming here, I could regain control. I could be a part of making the decisions that affected me.
It hurt to know that Alex was right. I shouldn’t have come, I should have trusted him on that. Who wanted to hear this? Who wanted to have their lives and their choices dissected, analyzed, turned into spin, like I was a product that needed better advertising, not a human being?
8
Alex
“He’s a handful,” said Micah, pouring me a whiskey. It was much too early in the day for it, yet I took the tumbler from him eagerly.
“You’d think he was in the fucking movies,” I said. “I’ve never met anyone that entitled, outside of Hollywood. Did you hear him? I’m not a liar! The man lied to my face.”
The whiskey was smooth, and I had to stop myself from draining the glass.
Micah chuckled. “He has you rattled, that’s for sure.”
“What do you mean?”
“One minute he’s a liar. The next minute you’re calling me to tell me you believe him. Now he’s a liar again. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Cam had gotten under your skin.”
Now I did drain the glass. “That’s ridiculous. It’s just a case.”
Back at his apartment, Cam had looked devastated. What was it he’d said? I spent the first two decades of my life as a victim, and I’m not doing that anymore.
I didn’t know what he meant by that, but it had been the truest thing I’d heard him say. There had been a bedrock of absolute conviction behind those words.
It made me curious about his past. Not a curiosity I would follow up on, of course. His past was irrelevant to the problem at hand, and I had no business prying. His early years were nothing to do with me.
I realized Micah was staring at me. He was back at his desk, leaning back in his chair, watching me think.
“What?” I asked.
“You know what.”
“Oh god, don’t play games. What’s on your mind?”
A wry smile crossed his face. “I’ve been trying to send you cases ever since you moved back. You’ve refused, over and over. But here’s a case involving an attractive young guy, fresh-faced and innocent, and you’re all over it.”
I got up and poured myself another glass. “You’re crazy.”
“And you’re predictable. Cam Carlyle is a cutie.”
“I can’t believe you just said the word cutie,” I said. “Micah, really, have some self-respect.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I totally approve,” he said. “As long as you don’t act on it—”
“Whoa, whoa,” I said. “Let’s get a few things clear. I’m not attracted to Cam. And even if I was—which I’m not—it would be irrelevant, because he’s a client, and I’m a professional.”
“You were a professional. As I recall, you’re retired now.”
“Nonetheless—”
Micah laughed. “Nonetheless? Are you arguing a court case? Just admit that he’s cute! In his own pompous, history-nerd kind of way.”
I took another swallow of whiskey. “Maybe you’re the one who’s attracted to him. Should I tell your beloved Jerome about it?”
Micah made a sour face. “Fine, tell me I’m wrong.”
“Look, I’m sure many, many people have found themselves swayed by Cam’s charms. He has that aura about him. I’m sure he can’t last five minutes at a bar without someone buying him a drink. But he’s not my type. And even if he were…I’m just not on the market, Micah. I don’t want any entanglements in my life. Not anymore.”
“Yes, you’ve said that. Speaking of entanglements, have you given any more thought to coming up to the lake with us?”
My bark of laughter surprised him. “Lake? I’ve got a case to work on!”
I surprised myself, too. I hadn’t expected to be so excited by the prospect of a case. Rolling up my sleeves, getting my hands dirty. Obsessing over details, planning interviews, talking to television and podcast producers, strategizing how the next few days would play out.
I was in my element again, and I’d missed it.
If I was attracted to anything, if anything had captured my heart, it was the work.
Micah was wrong. It wasn’t Cam himself I was interested in. Cam was just the entree. The real meat was the crisis, and I couldn’t wait to dig in.
There were two hours left on the countdown. Jane sent me a text: Inquiries were coming in. Did she know what Secret Reader was going to reveal? Would Cam sit down for an interview to talk about it? We have to move quickly, she said in her text.
I liked Jane, but she was mistaken. We had to move deliberately, not quickly. Once the proof of Cam’s accidental plagiarism hit the internet, the big question would be: Did anyone care? There were a million things that could pull people’s attention away from this scandal. There was enough happening out there in the world, in government, in politics, in the world of celebrities, that anything could distract the public from this.
You don’t make a big deal out of it, you wait for someone else to make a big deal first.
I’d been representing a young actor a few years ago. A real up-and-comer, talented, his name on all the gossip sites talking about his latest romantic interests. But one night he’d been pulled over for speeding, and the cops found enough MDMA in his glove compartment to haul him in for intent to distribute. His lawyer had called me in for an emergency midnight consultation. We outlined our plans, including suppressing his mug shot from getting out, planning carefully tearful confession interviews, everything…
…but then a much better-known actor had been arrested trying to board a jet with two kilos of cocaine in his luggage, and the entire world forgot about my client. We never had to do anything, the story went away by itself.
It was hard to explain that to people who weren’t in the image rehabilitation business.
If we pushed hard on the story now, the public would see Cam’s actions as important. They’d hotly anticipate every lurid new detail. If we waited…maybe by this time next week, Secret Reader would’ve found a new target to gripe about.
But that didn’t mean we sat on our hands. No, you had to be prepared, when the moment came. I created a plan, a series of interviews with people who Jane thought would be sympathetic. No gotchas. Also I’d work with Cam on a statement. It would be long and detailed, and absolutely nobody would read it, but that was the idea. By being open, transparent and boring, people don’t want to waste their time with it, they just accept whatever you say in the first couple of lines, before their eyes glaze over.
We were going to be ready.
I looked over at the countdown. Maybe it was better to say that I would be ready.
Cam was a mess. He’d looked so stricken when I sent him back home. There’s nothing to do now but wait, I’d told him.
It br
oke my heart a little bit to see him go. I hoped he’d have a friend with him when the countdown hit. Jane assured me that his pal Eli could drop by and wait with him.
It should be you, some voice inside my head told me. If you had any compassion, you would be with Cam when the countdown hits zero.
People don’t hire me for my compassion. They hire me because I know how to navigate a crisis.
I mean, look at me. I hadn’t felt this steely calm in ages. So in control. I never thought that getting back in the game would feel so good. It’s what I had needed all along, to recover from—
Don’t say his name.
No. I wouldn’t avoid his name. David Black had ruined my life, and I wasn’t going to give him power by trying to hide from him, even in my own head.
Micah had been joking about me being attracted to Cam, because he didn’t know all the details of my time with David Black. He knew some of it. Knew that it was a case that had gone horribly, horribly wrong.
But I don’t think Micah realized that David and I had become involved. That I’d let my attraction to a client cause me to cross a line.
It didn’t matter that Cam was, in his way, handsome. Lithe. Almost beautiful, when he turned his face a certain way, when he had that pained expression that told you what he might look like in the middle of his climax—
“Stop,” I said to the empty room. “Just stop. You’re not interested in Cam. You’re not interested in anybody, ever again.”
I had just about convinced myself of this, and was ready to get back to work, when my phone pinged again. This time it was a message from Micah.
Found her, was all it said.
9
Cam
When Alex called, I could barely breathe, I was crying so hard. I was shaking, sobbing, and at first couldn’t hear what he was saying. Eli and Jake were both here, trying to support me, doing their best, but nothing could get me through the pain. Not when I saw what was happening on the screen.
They had arrived with one hour to go. I had nearly worn a hole in the rug with my pacing, but I rushed to the intercom when they buzzed, and let them up.
Eli gave me a hug. None of us knew how awful it was about to be, but his arms tightened around me, letting me know that no matter what happened, my friend was here.
His boyfriend Jake always seemed uncomfortable around me. We’d had our disagreements in the past, but I welcomed his presence right now. He was a big bruiser type of guy, working on forklifts or something, the kind of job that required strength and tools. I had the funny idea that maybe he could knock Secret Reader in the head with a wrench.
I should jot that down for a future book.
“Are we early?” asked Eli.
I waved at the laptop. The countdown was at 53 minutes. “Front-row seats to the end of the world.”
Jake set down the paper grocery bag he’d been holding. “We brought beer and wine.”
“That’s kind of you,” I said. “Is it okay if I’m a horrible host, and ask you to get me a glass?”
Eli patted my arm. “You go sit. We’ll take care of everything. We bought snacks too. Chips and queso, and hummus, and that awful canned french onion dip you love so much.”
“A real party,” I said.
Jake popped open a beer and sat across from me. “Eli tried to explain what’s happening. I’m sorry you’re going through it.”
He was so awkward talking to me that I found myself smiling despite myself. “It’s just my doom, no big deal.”
In a way, Jake reminded me of Alex. Even though Alex had worked for years in PR, presumably in law offices under bad lights, there was something about him that said he’d be happier spending his life outdoors. I knew he had a garden, and spent hours working in it, tending it.
Hiding from something, I thought. Nobody could be that interested in a garden, unless they were avoiding something else in their lives.
Or maybe I just thought that way because I’m a mystery writer. I’m used to people having secret motives for everything.
Was a mystery writer. Past tense. God only knows if I’d have a career at all after this.
Eli came out with two plates of snacks, the bottle of wine under one arm, a couple of glasses tangled in his fingers. Jake popped up to help him.
They were a cute couple. Look at them, working together.
Ugh. It was bad enough that my life was over, but did I have to be reminded how lonely I was?
Hell, that part of my life was probably over too, wasn’t it? Who would want me, now that I’d been tainted by scandal? It wasn’t even a fun scandal. I hadn’t been caught dating someone I shouldn’t, I hadn’t streaked butt-naked through a football game, nothing interesting.
Just copying from a book when I hadn’t meant to.
I accepted a very full glass of wine from Eli, and sat back in my chair. I raised the glass. “To doom!” I said.
“To doom!” said Eli and Jake. Our glasses and bottle clinked together.
“Eli tells me you’ve got some Hollywood lawyer helping you?” said Jake.
I shrugged. “Not a lawyer. An image consultant. Isn’t that fancy? He’s kind of a jerk. Really, really likes taking charge of the situation. You can see that the job is perfect for him. He gets to rush in and rescue everyone, get all the credit, and then he can disappear.”
Eli laughed. “You are such a bitch, Cam, I swear. How did you get to be so judgmental?”
But Jake was staring at me. Like he didn’t believe me. Like he thought there was a secret meaning underneath my words.
He’s a goddamn mechanic or something, I told myself. Of all the people in the world, Jake is the person least likely to be able to peer into your soul.
I stammered, “Okay, he’s not that bad. And honestly, I need him.”
That bald admission brought a silence into the room, and looks of sympathy that I could not bear.
It was like the opposite of New Year’s Eve. We sat around the computer watching the countdown, drinks in hand, but instead of excited, happy anticipation, there was just a growing sense of dread with every number.
After a while they’d stopped trying to make conversation, as my answers got shorter and shorter.
We’d all pulled chairs over. This was the show.
Five minutes.
Three minutes.
Forty-five seconds.
“Ten,” we found ourselves saying together.
“Nine. Eight, seven, six, five—”
“What happened to the screen?” said Eli.
“Damn it, the browser is refreshing,” I said, wiggling my mouse. “Wait, did the internet go out? Come on!”
I closed the browser and opened it again.
The EVIDENCE of Cameron Carlyle’s Sinful Crimes.
There was the new post. Two screenshots.
I already knew what they were.
Upon this, Madame Duparc snatched up the saucepan without saying another word…
“And right then, she snatched up the wok, without saying another word,” explained Marie…
I watched the words glowing on the screen. Eli squeezed my shoulder. Jake watched me, as though I might collapse.
How did I feel?
I felt…numb.
There was the evidence of my mistake. My grand crime. If this were one of my novels, all the witnesses would be gathered around the kitchen, Roger standing by the door to make sure the villain didn’t try to make a quick getaway, while Katie explained the crime. She wouldn’t have used a computer; in my books, there were no computers, no cell phones either. She would’ve had the pages in her hand. Collins in one hand, Carlyle in the other.
I’d been waiting for this moment for days. It felt like I’d been waiting for it for years. And now that it was here, I felt nothing at all.
All that anticipation, all that fear, had drained away.
Was this acceptance? Had I reached a zen-like state, opening myself to fate, allowing whatever was going to happen, to happen?
/> But then the messages started coming in.
> OMG I WILL NEVER READ CAMERON CAR-LIAR AGAIN
> I can’t believe I bought all of her books.
> Cameron isn’t a girl. He’s a guy. How many MORE things has he lied about?
> Typical scammer. Always playing TRICKS on us. I never read his books and now I NEVER will!
They were scrolling down the screen faster than I could read them. Line after line of anger, invective, nastiness. People I’d never met stating firm and final opinions of me, of my work.
Mostly of me.
I was a scammer, a criminal, a fake, a liar (or, as some rushed messages had it, a “lair”).
“Holy shit,” whispered Eli.
“They really hate you,” said Jake.
My hands were already on the keyboard. “Help me figure out what to say,” I begged. “Come on, a good phrase, a witty comeback, a defense—”
“No!” said Eli. “That’s why you hired Alex! You can’t respond to these people, they’ll turn on you!”
“I’ve got to say something! They’re tearing me apart!”
> Does anybody know the number to his publisher? We should all call in complaints, get his books taken down!
> good idea you could also call all the bookstores in your town
> I can’t believe he had me fooled with that Katie Clemmons! I wonder how many MORE books he copied!
> I read somewhere that Cameron Carlyle isn’t even his real name, he probably has thirty different names, all copying and scamming.
My fingers trembled over the keys. The comments were coming so fast, I couldn’t keep up with them. By the time I’d written half a response, another screen of anger would flash by, and I’d erase what I had so far.
“You can’t,” said Eli. “You’ve got to step away from the computer. You really need not to be reading this right now.”
“This is nasty stuff,” agreed Jake. “Let’s close the computer.”
“No! This is my life,” I said, “my life they’re ruining, they have to know the truth, they have to—”
