by Rachel Kane
Another new notification.
I just wanted to cry.
I didn’t cry. Instead, I did what comes naturally to me. What I should have done at the beginning of all this. I sat down to write.
Dear readers, you may—or may not!—have heard a lot of big drama about me in recent days, and I’d like to take a minute to explain what’s up.
I couldn’t do this with Alex lurking over my shoulder. We’d missed dinner, so I sent him off to the Indian take-out a few blocks away. That would give me time to finish my defense and get it out there in front of the world.
Alex would be mad when he saw it, but come on. What good had lying low done for me? I couldn’t just sit here passively while the most delicate parts of my life were bandied around the internet.
I loved my readers. My real ones, the ones I met at conferences, the ones who posted little notes to me when they’d finished a book. They deserved better than seeing all these lies about me.
All these truths.
All these…statements that hung somewhere between truth and lie.
In the writing business, emotions can run high. Call it the natural outcome of a job that requires you to sit alone in front of a computer all day with no one to talk to but the voices inside your head.
I stared at that a minute. Did that sound too bitter? Too paranoid? I hit the backspace a few times.
Call it the natural outcome of a job where you spend all day in a room alone with no one to talk to except your characters.
That was better.
This felt good. It felt right. Telling my own story, in my own words. That’s what a writer should do, right? Communicate. Not hide behind agents and lawyers and image consultants (even sexily grumpy image consultants), but take control of the conversation.
Lately, I’ve come under fire from a disgruntled ex-reader. A reader who seems to have a lot of time, and a lot of grudges to fill that time. I don’t know her, and I’m not sure why she’s after me, but she has been spreading a lot of misinformation about me and my work, and I’d like to take a moment to correct that misinformation.
Hm. I wasn’t sure about the style here. It was starting to sound too much like a business letter. Take a moment was as bad as take this opportunity.
But I told myself to hurry up. Alex would be back before long, and I had to have this finished before he got here.
Hey, maybe this would be our first fight as a couple, when he found out.
He’d understand, though. Eventually. I needed some control here. I needed my life to be in my own hands. It was one thing to appreciate the help that had been given, but another to feel like I was powerless.
First, there’s nothing I can say about that plagiarism charge, except that it was never my intention to copy another writer’s work. Did it happen? Quite possibly. My book was inspired by that story, that case, and I read the story at least ten times to digest all the facts. Sometimes, when you’re deep in the zone, you’re not thinking about the words anymore, you’re just writing, like some part of your unconscious mind has taken over. Your characters start talking, start acting, all without your help. You’re just the willing passenger on their train. I think the passages in question must have been written in that state, with that story fresh in my memory. I would never consciously copy another writer’s work, whether living or dead. That goes against my ethics, my morality…and hell, my sense of taste.
I could have patted myself on the back for that. A nice bit of explanation there! They were going to love this. Everyone was going to be on my side now.
Second, having moved on from that tactic, this ex-reader has decided to post clips of interviews I’ve done in the past. Clips that make it seem like I’m lying about my past.
You would think I’d have to be careful here. That I would be picking my phrases very deliberately. But no. I was typing faster than ever, because I knew exactly what I needed to say.
The thing is, when you’ve been through a great trauma, it can be hard to talk about. So much depends on your emotional state at any given time. Sometimes you want to go into detail—you feel safe, you feel you’re with someone who will understand. Other times, you don’t want to say a word. But of course, if you’re in an interview, you aren’t allowed to shut down. You can’t stop the interview just because you’re not sure how you feel. So you blurt something out, something to make the question go away. That’s all that happened here.
I nodded. That was good. That made perfect sense. It wasn’t true, exactly, but it made sense.
Time to wrap it up. I could almost picture Alex coming back, walking down the sidewalk, bags in hand, passing the iron fence in front of the park. It gave me a delightful feeling of suspense, knowing he was on his way, knowing I had to finish this right now.
I don’t hold any hard feelings against Secret Reader. For all the talk of thugs and goons, all I have done is sought legal representation to make sure I’m on the right side of things. I have no intention of attacking her, or of taking this any further.
The only thing I would ask is that you keep an open mind, and remember that when you read these posts and watch these interviews, that there’s an actual human being back here, one who has real feelings, real pain. Not just a target for an ex-reader’s frustrations, not a liar, not a criminal. Just me, the guy who wrote some books you’ve liked.
Love, Cameron Carlyle.
PS: I’m hard at work on the next Katie Clemmons book, so get ready for that!
The intercom buzzed. Alex was back! I had timed it perfectly. As I got up to let him in, I clicked Post on the computer, and my comment went out into the internet. I closed the laptop, though. No reason to have my comment be the first thing he saw when he came in.
22
Alex
I was going to the shed for my gardening tools, when my phone rang. It figures. For once, I’d forgotten to leave the phone inside when I came out to garden.
But my heart quickened, thinking it might be Cam.
It wouldn’t be him, of course. I’d just said goodbye to him an hour ago, kissing him, promising to check in on him this afternoon.
Last night had been strange. All I could think was that the stress was getting to Cam, because he seemed…happy? Far more bright and happy than he’d been before I left to get dinner, certainly happier than he had been at the theater, after we had been accosted. Maybe too bright and happy; there was an electrical edge to it.
Stress did odd things to people. But I’d accepted his energetic (perhaps even manic) happiness, and enjoyed his company. We ended up telling stories from the more innocent moments of our careers. I told him about a well-known child star whose quest for a puppy had been blown up into a major media event, and how I’d managed to arrange some time for her to play with foster puppies away from all the cameras, away from fans, and how happy she’d been, just being a normal kid with some normal dogs. And he’d told me about the time a librarian reported him for checking out too many books about poisoning, while doing research. He’d done the voices of the librarian and the security guard who came to check him out, and by the end of it, we’d both been howling with laughter.
It was that, thinking of the laughter, that gave me hope that everything was going to be okay. In some ways, it was time to get back to normal. Time for Cam to work on his new book, and time for me to tend the garden.
And maybe come up with an apology to Micah. I really did need to figure out something there. It wasn’t good to have bad blood between friends.
But first, the damned phone.
I was surprised to see who was calling me.
“Hi, Micah.” Time to think of that apology after all. Maybe I’d start by telling him—
“Alex, I don’t know what is happening between you and Cam, but if you’re the one who advised him to do this, you’ve made a huge mistake.”
I stopped walking. This wasn’t just Micah rehashing our earlier argument. This was something new.
“I haven’t advised him to
do anything,” I said. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t tell him to issue a statement? A badly-worded statement where he admits to goddamn plagiarism and admits to lying to interviewers?”
It was like the calendar had flipped back from summer to winter. I felt a chill growing deep inside me, like icicles forming on my spine.
He wouldn’t. He’s smarter than that. We talked about this. He wasn’t supposed to do anything, nothing at all. He was supposed to let us take care of it.
Us. That was incorrect. You’re out of the picture, Alex. He was supposed to let Micah take care of it.
I swallowed. “I haven’t seen a statement. But no. I would never tell him to do that.”
Micah sighed audibly into the phone. “Jesus. So he’s acting on his own. Great. Perfect. And I can’t get him to pick up. Maybe you could call him, find out why he did it, ask him why—”
“No,” I said. “I’m off the case. Remember?”
“Yes, I realize that,” said Micah, his voice strained. “But if the two of you are seeing each other, and he’s not picking up the phone—”
I knew exactly what had happened, and even better, I knew when it had happened, too.
Cam had played me for a sucker. Maybe it wasn’t a masterpiece of manipulation, but it was manipulation nonetheless, sending me out to get dinner while he wrote up something. I had been standing there at the counter nibbling a roti and waiting for our order, while he was back at his apartment, jeopardizing his entire career.
The worst part was, I knew why he had done it, too.
That woman at the theater had rattled him badly. Watching yourself be a target online is one thing, but when it spills over into the real world, that feeling that you have to do something is mighty strong.
Which was the whole reason he needed a team of people to handle this for him, so he wouldn’t give in to that temptation.
“You put me in a damn awkward position, Micah.”
“I’d say you put yourself in that position. If you can’t explain to him what he did wrong, then make sure he shows up at my office, so I can explain it to him in grisly detail. Jane won’t even speak to him. She has been on the phone all morning with the publisher, trying to convince them not to tear up his contract. He could lose everything over this.”
I knew it. It was stupid, too, one of the worst things about these scandals. The move that looked like common sense, the move that looked open and honest, was often the one that got you destroyed. Cam had forgotten that it wasn’t just his readers he was responsible to, but a publishing company full of businessmen who had to look at the bottom line. If a scandal sold books, well and good. But if it turned readers off…
…well, Cam would have to go.
“I’ll talk to him,” I said.
“Promise me you didn’t tell him to do that,” said Micah. “The old Alex, the one I was sure I knew really well, he’d never tell Cam to do something so stupid…but I’m not sure I understand this new Alex, the one who runs off with clients, the one who gets so personally involved.”
“I’m still the same guy,” I said. “There’s no new, improved version of me.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“I’m sorry, okay? You know me. You know I didn’t plan to… To have feelings for Cam. Not in a million years. I know better. But Micah, I do have feelings for him. He’s deep. He’s honest. He’s—”
“I’m not going to start an argument by disagreeing with you. But be careful, Alex. He seems like a nice kid, but trouble is following him like a dark cloud.”
“You’re saying he did something to deserve this.”
“No. I’m saying you’re my friend, and I don’t want you to get hurt. Not by him, not by anyone.”
I looked over at my garden. The weeds were starting to push up around the flowers, and the zinnias were developing gray spots on their leaves. It was still riotous, full of life, buzzing with bees. But it definitely needed tending.
“I have to take that chance,” I told Micah. “I know he could hurt me. Or maybe I could hurt him. That’s just what happens in relationships. But I’m tired of being alone, and I’ve never met anyone like him. I have to trust that he’s just as good as he says he is.”
A long pause. “All right. I can accept that. Can we just be damn friends again, Alex?”
“Yeah. Of course we can.”
“Good. Now go talk to your damn boyfriend and tell him what a fucking mistake he just made.”
When I got to his house, though, I found he was not alone. His friend Eli was there, staring at the computer, while Cam let me in. The atmosphere was funereal.
“I guess you heard,” Cam said to me.
“This is awful,” said Eli, scrolling through comments. “My god, it was bad before… But now?”
It would have been better if we were alone. I had things to say to Cam that were strictly personal, strictly between us.
Eli didn’t seem surprised to see me—to the extent that he noticed me at all—which meant Cam had told him about us.
It just added another layer to my need to talk to Cam alone. But clearly that wasn’t going to happen.
“I called him for moral support,” whispered Cam.
“Moral support is my job,” I whispered back. “You just didn’t want to tell me what you’d done.”
He looked away, clearly ashamed.
“Micah’s going to need to talk to you about this,” I said, in a normal voice this time.
“Can’t you—”
I shook my head. “Not my case, remember?”
“Ugh,” said Cam, turning away. “Damn it. Just, damn it! I thought I was doing the right thing! I thought people would understand!”
“Check this one out,” said Eli, looking at another comment. “Cameron says he has real feelings and real pain, but what about all the people he lied to, don’t their feelings count for anything?”
“That’s far from the worst,” Cam told me. He walked over to the computer. “Read Alex that earlier one.”
“The crazy one?”
“No, the rational one. The one that made me sad.”
I didn’t really want to hear it. I wanted to talk to Cam about what a mistake this was, about how he’d disobeyed my direct order, the very first rule of dealing with a crisis.
The results of his apology were predictable. I could have guessed at most of them. It was the apology itself we needed to deal with, needed to talk about. Did he really understand the magnitude of what he’d done?
“It upsets me to see that Carlyle has taken a typical misogynist stance in his so-called defense,” read Eli. “His statement that Secret Reader has a lot of free time is straight from the anti-feminist playbook. He’s suggesting that there is nothing in her life that is important or meaningful, certainly not as important as his easily bruised feelings. By putting himself first, he shows—”
“You don’t have to go on,” I said.
“It’s awful,” Cam said. “But I’m not defeated. I’m not! That comment was long, but you can tell she’s thoughtful about it. I’m going to answer her—”
“The hell you are!” I said.
My voice was loud enough to echo around the room. Eli turned away from the computer and stared at me.
“Alex, look,” said Cam. “Let’s forget about Secret Reader, okay? You said she was running out of steam. Which is fine. But there’s a whole world of readers out there who have only heard her side of the story. If I can explain, then I think they’ll understand.”
Eli nodded. “I think that’s a good idea.”
“No, it is a terrible idea, and will only add fuel to the fire,” I said. I looked at the two of them. “You really don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about logic, it’s not about rationality, it’s about public image. Do you realize what you look like now, Cam? You look pompous. You look like you’re trying to control the situation.”
I’d touched a nerve, apparently.
“Me?” he
said. “I’ve been out of control of the damn situation from day one! You were supposed to be controlling it, but—”
“Maybe I should go,” said Eli.
“No, you stay,” said Cam. “This is important to me. Alex, I know that in your world of directors and producers and movie stars, things might have worked differently. But these are my readers. They’re my people. And I know that if I just explain things in the right way, I can get through to them.”
It was like he had not heard a single word I’d said the entire time we’d known each other. Like I’d just been talking into the void.
Which bothered me on a professional level, of course. Nobody likes to give an expert opinion that is then ignored.
But it bothered me on a deeper level, too.
Cam wasn’t listening to me.
He didn’t trust me.
My thoughts were not important to him.
I shook my head. I shouldn’t take this further. You can’t indulge doubt and suspicion. It would drive you crazy.
Except that I found myself flashing back. My mind traveling to the past, to a distant time…a time when David Black had been the center of my world.
I could picture it now. His house was by the ocean, and the morning sun was on the opposite side, so all the light coming into the room was indirect, giving his pale Danish furniture a strange glow. He was eating breakfast, reading over a script, while I was talking.
I don’t remember what I said. Something about the scandals. Something about how we were managing them. Except I couldn’t get his attention. The script had absorbed him. If you looked at his face, you could see his expressions change microscopically as he read, little lifts of eyebrow or downturn of lips, as he followed the emotion of the scene he was reading. Totally attentive and interested…in anything but me.
Even though I don’t remember what I said, I remember how it felt. Standing there, realizing my words were falling away unheard, that nothing I could say would ever be as interesting to him as a script.
Back in the present, I felt a sense of vertigo. I had to get his attention. I had to make him listen.
