Thinking of You

by Rachel Kane

  They physically pulled me away from the computer, my hands in claws, still reaching for the keys. If I just stretched out my arms a little further, I could write the thing that fixed this. I could come up with the answer that would make it all go away.

  Foolishness. My own foolish pride, yet again. I couldn’t fix this. I couldn’t fix anything. Never in my life had I managed to fix a single problem, had just run from them, tried to get far enough away from them that I could hide, that I could start over, that I could get to a place where no one knew my past.

  “Where can I go now?” I cried, my voice strained. “Where in the world can I escape, where nobody will have heard of this? I’ll have to change my name!”

  Their arms were around me.

  “It’s okay,” soothed Eli. “We’ve got you, Cam. We’re here.”

  It wasn’t enough, he didn’t understand, I needed Alex, I needed someone who understood this, I needed—

  At some point earlier in the day I’d silenced my phone, tired of it pinging with each notification as the world readied itself for Secret Reader’s revelation. It was only now that they’d pulled me to the sofa that I realized it was ringing, and had been ringing, for some time, silenced, buzzing, vibrating, the screen lit up with calls.

  Most of them were from numbers I didn’t recognize. But there was Alex. Missed Call. Missed Call. Voicemail. Missed Call. It was hard to keep reading the screen, my eyes were so full of tears.

  I picked up the phone and answered.

  “Are you watching it?” Alex asked.

  “It’s awful. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen,” I said. I shut the bedroom door so I could be alone.

  “Look, I have some news, but I’m not sure you’re ready for it.”

  “What else could go wrong? My publisher decided to cancel my contract? My landlord is kicking me out? I’m… Ugh. Alex, my heart is already broken. Lay it on me.”

  “I will, but first…you’re not answering any of those responses, are you?”

  “My friends literally dragged me away from the computer.”

  “Good thinking. You’re going to be tempted to answer. But you can’t. Just remember that. No matter what you do—yell, hit something, whatever—don’t respond.”

  I slumped onto the bed. “What’s the news?”

  “We know who she is.”

  The phone slipped out of my hands. Fortunately it hit the bed rather than shattering on the floor. I picked it back up. “You what?”

  “Your lawyer is talented,” he said. “He found out Secret Reader’s identity. Well, her email address.”

  “What about her name, what about—”

  “No, no, not yet. But he’ll find out. That’s the important thing. He’s got calls into her internet service provider, her email provider… We’re getting close, Cam.”

  I looked at my bedroom door as though I could see through it into the next room, as though the computer were visible through the wall. “Not close enough,” I said. “I wish you could’ve stopped her before she posted.”

  “I know. Believe me, that would’ve been my preference too. There’s still work to do.”

  “But you keep calling her…well, her. How do you know her gender?”

  A soft chuckle. “Sorry, that’s Jane’s influence. I guess she managed to convince us this is a woman reader.”

  “Alex, I feel so bad. You’ve had clients go through this. When does it stop feeling bad? I feel like she tore my heart out. It’s almost like…it’s almost like when you break up with someone, except much, much worse than that, because the entire world hates me.”

  “I want to see you tomorrow. We need to go over strategy. But until then—”

  “Lie low, I know.”

  “Exactly. Look, Cam, the thing to remember is, the entire world doesn’t hate you. Most of your readers don’t get any sort of news from the internet, and certainly aren’t reading random web posts by a crazy person. They won’t hear anything about this. We’re going to keep it quiet, and you’re going to get through it. And tomorrow, we’ll decide what to do next. Got it?”

  I nodded, as though he could see me. Realizing my mistake, I said, “Got it.”

  “You’re sure you’re going to be okay? I could stay over,” said Eli.

  I saw Jake bristle a little at that.

  “I’m going to be fine,” I lied. “You go on. I’m going to finish the wine and go to bed. It has been a long, long day.”

  I didn’t go to bed. I sat up until four in the morning, scrolling, reading every single comment, my heart feeling emptier and emptier as the night wore on.

  10

  Alex

  “Is everyone looking at me?” asked Cam.

  I glanced up from my menu. “No one is looking at you.”

  “That guy over there, I’m pretty sure he’s staring. Is he a reporter?”

  When I turned, I saw the man he was talking about. He definitely had his eyes on Cam. I felt a little flare of jealousy, and scowled at him. He saw me and turned away guiltily.

  “He’s not a reporter,” I said. “He’s just checking you out.”

  I wanted to talk about strategy, not about how random restaurant patrons might be attracted to Cam. Would Cam be up for that, though? He looked exhausted, distracted.

  “How are you doing?” I asked him.

  “I got up at two in the afternoon with my head killing me, thanks to Eli’s cheap-ass wine.”

  I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of a drunken Cam. Drunk people made mistakes, like defending themselves online.

  “Were you on the computer all night?”

  He sighed. “After last night, I promised myself I wouldn’t look at it today, not even once. That resolution lasted about five minutes.”

  “I’d remind you not to do that to yourself, but I know it’s hard.” Maybe if I offered him sympathy, I could get his attention long enough to talk about our next steps.

  “I was so glad to get out of the house,” he said. “Anything to get away from the screen. I feel like I can still see the messages. Like an afterimage in my vision.”

  Not that I would tell him this, but I knew the feeling. I’d paid close attention to the messages, watching for patterns. Seeing how the public reacted was key to our plans.

  “The ones that really broke my heart weren’t the angry ones,” he said. “They were the sad and confused ones. Like, I don’t understand, I love Cameron’s books, why would he do this? Real fans, people who had been loyal readers. Ugh, god, it’s just awful. Do I look like I haven’t slept in days?”

  “You’re all right,” I said. “Maybe a little rumpled. Nothing an iron and some eye-drops wouldn’t take care of.”

  “Yeah, sorry I didn’t dress up for our date.”

  I froze. No reaction. Not even a blink. Was he messing with me? Calling this a date?

  Of course he was. He felt like things were sliding out of his control. So he was trying to get under my skin, just for a second. A way to establish control somewhere.

  “Maybe next time wear a tie,” I said.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s a joke. I know you don’t like me. Me, a criminal. A forger, a plagiarist. I just like seeing you get all fussy over the idea.”

  “I know it’s a joke,” I said, hating how stuffy my voice sounded. How offended.

  Cam was always doing this, I realized. Always jostling for control of a conversation.

  It was clever, in a way. He’d called himself a criminal, but now I couldn’t disagree with him without suggesting I liked him. He’d set the terms of the debate. One either liked him, wanted to date him…or thought he was a criminal. And to point out his logical fallacy would’ve made me seem even more uptight than I already felt.

  Yet I’d heard his voice yesterday, the pain in it. The tears. I knew that what hurt him wasn’t being found out, it was being accused of being immoral. Because, deep down, Cameron Carlyle was a moral person.

  You don’t meet a lot of those.

>   There was something upright, something decent about him, although I sensed he’d be mortified if I pointed that out.

  “Earth to Alex,” he said. I realized I’d been silent all this time, thinking. “I really am sorry. It was just a stupid joke.”

  “It’s fine,” I said.

  “You don’t like drama one bit, do you? Not even fake conversational drama.”

  My fingertip ran down the edge of the menu. “Not one bit,” I agreed.

  He stared at me, then nodded. “I never meet guys like you in the real world. You know, stable guys.”

  “Boring guys,” I suggested.

  “No. For years and years, I’ve seen stability as boring, but that’s not true, is it? Stable just means you don’t have time for bullshit.”

  What was he doing? Was he trying to connect with me? On a personal level? I wasn’t sure I liked that. I was here for a case. I had a job to do. I didn’t want to talk about my personal life.

  “The plan—” I started to say.

  “This experience is teaching me I don’t have time for it, either,” he said. “I’m done with drama. I’ve had enough for a lifetime.”

  Any further declarations were interrupted by the waiter. We ordered, and then I was left without the menu to fidget with. I put my hands together and set them on the table.

  “Now. The plan.”

  “Did you find her? Who is she?”

  I said, “Micah found her. His calls to her ISP paid off. Secret Reader’s real name is Renee Laud. Ring any bells?”

  He narrowed his eyes, thinking. “I don’t think so. I don’t know the name.”

  “I wondered. It would’ve been easier, if she’d been someone from your past. At least then we could make out an identifiable motive. You’re sure you don’t know her? Haven’t met her at a book signing, haven’t received any emails…?”

  What was interesting was how relaxed I felt right now, compared to just a moment ago. I was in my element again, interrogating, trying to put together the strategy.

  Thinking about the case was comfortable. Thinking about my private life, not so much.

  Shrugging, Cam said, “I can’t say I’ve never heard of her, and I can go back through emails, but I really don’t think so.”

  “If anything, that makes her seem more threatening,” I said. “A stranger who cares enough about this, that she tracked down your physical address. Came to your door.”

  Cam shuddered. “I know.”

  “But here is my question. Is there anything else she might know? Do you see what I’m asking? Are there any more revelations she might come up with? Other books with copied passages. Anything.”

  I watched him swallow and turn his head. He looked at the floor, at the restaurant.

  “No,” he said, not looking at me. “Nothing.”

  That bothered me.

  The first time I’d met him, my instincts had said he was lying to me…and here it was again, that feeling that he was hiding something.

  “Are you sure? This was pretty damaging, but I think you’ll survive it…as long as there’s nothing else.”

  He shook his head, finally bringing up his eyes to meet mine. “I haven’t done anything else wrong.”

  What are you not telling me? I searched his eyes like the secret might be written there. He looked at me imploringly. His eyes were so big, so hurt and innocent. I didn’t believe him. I had too much experience with lies.

  It left me feeling on dangerous ground. If there was more damaging information out there, we could be blind-sided. Then not only would Cam’s reputation called into question, but Jane’s, Micah’s…even mine.

  You’re retired. You don’t care about your reputation anymore.

  Now that I was sitting here across from him, now that I was invested in the case, I realized how untrue that was.

  I cared.

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all going to blow up on me. But how?

  There was a moment back when I had been involved with David Black, that I’d finally asked for help. Things had gotten too deep for me. I realized I had put everything on the line to defend an amoral monster. That I’d gotten tied up in it and couldn’t get out by myself.

  What had my eyes looked like, when I’d asked my friends for help?

  Had they looked like Cam’s, so big and open, tear-rimmed, begging for someone to believe him?

  No one had believed that I needed help, needed to be rescued. By then, so many things had come out about David, that many of them thought I was complicit. My friends turned away from me.

  I couldn’t do that to Cam. My instincts said he was lying, but my instincts had been wrong before. And even if I was right, even if he was hiding something, how could I turn away when I saw the pain in his eyes?

  We were in this up to our necks, no matter what happened. That’s the price of taking a case.

  But just because your heart goes out to someone, doesn’t mean you can show it. I couldn’t let Cam know I felt a connection with him. It would destroy everything. If he knew how vulnerable I had been, how I’d been in such a similar position… He’d never have faith in me again.

  “Okay,” I said. “Then our path is clear.”

  He blinked back the tears before they could fall. “It is?”

  “She took her shot. Now it’s our turn.”

  “We’re going after her? Are we going to sue, can we get a cease and desist—”

  I raised my hand. “No. Stop thinking of this like a battle. She’s not an enemy, she’s an obstacle, and what she’s blocking is the love of your public. Your true fans, the ones who want to read all your books, who want to love you. We’re going straight to them. We’re not going to address the scandal. Not one word about it. Instead, we’re going on a charm offensive.”

  He smirked. “What a delightfully empty term. It sounds so business-y.”

  “We’re going to find interviewers who will stick to the right topics. People who will talk about your next book. Talk about your characters, your process, anything but the scandal. A solid wall of positivity. Tomorrow the world will have moved on to the next celebrity embarrassment, and all they’re going to remember is what a great guy Cameron Carlyle is.”

  His smirk had smoothed out to an actual smile. His first true smile since we’d been sitting here. “Really? You think it’ll be that easy? Is it even possible?”

  “This is what I do, Cam. You have to trust me.”

  The look of hope on his face…I almost couldn’t bear to see it.

  * * *

  “What do you mean, don’t bring up Secret Reader? Mister, this is all anybody is talking about right now.”

  I was on the phone with Jess Hedley, host of Murder Minute, a podcast about mystery novels.

  “I realize that,” I said. “But this is a PR tour. The subject is off-limits.”

  “Look, I want Cam on the show,” he said. “Love it. People are going to want to hear from him. But if all I can get from him is some bullshit about how excited he is about his next book, man, I’m going to lose viewers instantly. So let me counter-offer. What if we can get Secret Reader to call in? Real Jerry Springer moment, you know? Cam confronts his accuser—”

  “Sorry, no,” I said. “That doesn’t work for us. You either get Cam, or you get to talk about these unsubstantiated rumors. You don’t get both.”

  “Dude, they’re not unsubstantiated. The proof was right there.”

  I got up from my desk and began to pace. Outside, my garden beckoned. I should be out there now, pulling up weeds, not in here on the phone.

  “That was proof of nothing. You know that. It wasn’t plagiarism. It was trying to mimic the style—”

  “Oh come on, is that the story you’re going with?” asked Jess.

  “Yes, it’s the truth. That’s what we’re going with.”

  “Bullshit, man. Listen to me, nobody wants to hear that this is a fucking homage. Nobody even knows what that means. What my subscribers want is a f
ight.”

  I touched the window. A goldfinch was on the zinnias. I could see him from here, a flash of yellow and black.

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” I said. “We’ll find someone else to interview Cam.”

  “Yeah, good luck with that,” he said. I could hear the sneer, even though I couldn’t see it.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Look dude, this is a small community. Everybody knows everybody else. You get me? People don’t like Cam. Hell, some of them fucking hate him.”

  That stopped me short. I glanced over at my computer. “Why would anyone hate him?”

  A harsh laugh. “Shit, how can you be a PR flack, and not know the kind of reputation your guy has? Cam is a bitch, my friend. He’s a bossy, superior old bitch, and nobody likes him. He thinks he’s better than anyone else in the industry, with his stupid little pastry mysteries. Did you see him at the last conference?”

  “Well, no, I—”

  “Sitting there on the stage, acting like the fucking king of the room. Saying he didn’t see himself always writing cozy mysteries, he wanted something better, something more real. Wanted to write himself some Literature. You know what that means? You know what an insult that is to people?”

  I sat back down. I scratched my chin. “He’s allowed to want to write more than one thing,” I said, wary of the defensive tone in my voice. “That doesn’t mean he needs his name dragged through the mud.”

  “Yeah, right. He acts like he’s better than everybody else, and then this happens. This is justice, man. It figures, doesn’t it? He’s too good to write our kind of books…so he just copies them.”

  What worried me was that this was a compelling story. In some ways, much more compelling than the story we were going with, which was that everything was fine, there was no scandal, that internet fights weren’t worth talking about.

  What worried me more was my response.

  “You don’t know the first thing about Cameron Carlyle,” I said, thinking of the pain in his eyes. “He loves what he does. He’s an honest man, and he deserves better than this petty scandal. Nobody’s going to remember this tomorrow. He’s going to overcome this, and I want you to remember, when it’s all over, that you missed your shot. You could have been part of his rise, but you decided to hold on to some petty little grudge. Listen to me, you’re nothing. You host a fucking podcast, all right? Who listens to you? Three or four of your friends? I worked in fucking Hollywood, with movers and shakers. You think we care about your show? You’re nothing but—”