by Lynn Ames
“Don’t equivocate.”
“Oh. Big word.”
“Did you have trouble understanding me? Would you rather I used a simpler term? Need a dictionary?”
Dara scoffed, and Carolyn pointed a finger at her. “See that look? That’s what I’m talking about. You bristle when anyone assumes you’re just a pretty face.”
“Of course. It’s insulting.”
“Do you remember what you told me the night Sheilah revealed her true colors?”
Dara wrapped her arms around herself. She didn’t want to do this. It was too painful. “I’m sure you’ll remind me.”
“I’m sure I don’t have to, but if you want me to be the one to say it, I will.”
Dara shook her head as a tear leaked out of the corner of her right eye. “I said I could never trust anyone but you again. No one but you ever loved me for who I was. Everyone else saw the shell and never the person inside. I said that I felt so alone, like a blind spot inside a lighthouse beacon.”
“Exactly. And then you cried and sat down and wrote that poem. Do you remember it?”
Dara nodded. How could she forget? It was written from the depths of her despair. “‘Knowledge and Illusion,’ I called it.”*
Dara closed her eyes and began to recite from memory.
Who will know me
When I am old and gray
Wizened by age
And wiser for the experiences?
Who knows me now
When the glare of the spotlight fades
And I am simply me?
Who understands that I am
At once so much more
and so much less?
Who sees me?
All of me
Not the fragments projected
On a screen
Or written on a page
Or frozen in images
That capture glimpses
Of things real or imagined…
“Blah, blah, blah.” Dara waved a hand to cover another swell of emotion she didn’t want to feel. When she looked up, it was Carolyn who was crying. “What?”
“That poem was achingly sad and poignant. And all these years later, you’re still asking the same question, searching for the same thing.”
Dara shrugged. “What’s your point?”
“What if—”
Carolyn twisted her wedding ring, a sure tip off that she was nervous about her next words. Dara tensed in anticipation. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know where this was going.
“What if Rebecca is the answer to the question?”
A rush of heat turned Dara’s face beet red.
“Before you say anything,” Carolyn rushed on, “consider what we know so far. Rebecca had no idea who Constance was and what she looked like when she wrote that first letter. It was obvious that she admired you for your writing.” Carolyn held up her fingers and ticked off that item.
“Two. Rebecca never once in a half dozen letters asked you anything too personal or out-of-bounds. She didn’t pry, she didn’t flirt, she didn’t push to meet you. She was at all times respectful and focused on your work.”
Dara had to admit that everything Carolyn said was true.
“Three. You enjoyed the conversation. In fact, you enjoyed it so much that you let some of your real personality shine through. You showed glimpses of humor.”
Again, Dara couldn’t dispute what Carolyn said.
“Four. I know you realize this is, by far, the longest correspondence you’ve had with any reader. I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that if today had never happened, you wouldn’t have continued the correspondence. I want you to sit there with a straight face and say that you were done with the conversation.”
Dara slumped her shoulders in defeat. “I can’t.”
“So what’s changed?”
“Everything!”
“How so?”
“How can you ask me that? You were there. She knows. She said as much. I’m no longer Constance Darrow to her now. I’m Dara Thomas, and she’ll never be able to un-know that.”
“Who says she needs to?”
Dara rolled her eyes. How could Carolyn be so obtuse?
“I do. Look, we know how this scenario goes. Now she treats me differently and, even if she says all the right things, I can’t trust that she’s not exactly like Sheilah and everybody else like her.”
“Now who’s rushing to judgment? You have no idea who Rebecca is or what kind of person she is or what her experiences have been.”
Dara flashed back to the gentle kindness in Rebecca’s open, honest face. She wished she could wipe that from her memory.
“At any rate, she’ll probably take those letters to the nearest tabloid or entertainment show and sell me out.”
“That’s completely unfair. Again, I’ll point out that, even though she had the chance, Rebecca didn’t ‘out’ you as Constance. She didn’t.”
“Yet.”
Carolyn growled. “What if she never does? What then?”
“Then she’ll be different from all the rest. But I just can’t take that chance. I won’t risk it.”
“What you mean to say is, you won’t allow yourself to open your heart to the possibilities.”
Dara stood up and strode to where Carolyn was sitting. She was vibrating with anger, and she couldn’t explain why.
“What does my heart have to do with anything? She’s just a fan who provided me with some momentary entertainment.” Even as she said it, Dara knew it was a lie.
Carolyn stood up. “Wow. Really, Dara? You’re full of shit. I saw the look on your face when I handed you that last letter. You couldn’t wait to open it and see what Rebecca had to say. Don’t deny it. There’s no point. If you want to play it safe and live in your lonely, isolated world for the rest of your life, I can’t stop you.” Carolyn headed for the door. “But for the record, I think Rebecca is just the kind of person you were yearning for in that poem. I guess we’ll never know now, will we?” She slammed the door closed behind her.
Rebecca sat at a table in Virgil’s on West 44th Street eating barbeque ribs and mashed potatoes. Comfort food. The music from Avenue Q still reverberated in her head. Normally, a good musical would’ve had her spirits soaring, and it had helped somewhat, but Rebecca couldn’t shake the sadness. She’d hardly slept at all last night after watching Letterman. The conversation with Dara played over and over in her mind. Rebecca tried to recall the expression on Dara’s face when she mentioned Celeste. Had there been any wariness in her eyes? Any fear? Was there any chance at all that Dara walked away only because she was caught off-guard? As if.
“Can I get you anything else?” The waiter asked.
“No, thank you. I’ll take the check whenever you’re ready.”
When she’d paid, Rebecca walked back to the hotel. Along the way, she continued to run through her options. By the time she used the keycard and entered her room, she’d made up her mind.
She flipped open the laptop and logged onto the Internet. In the Google search box she typed, “Dara Thomas representation.” Nearly nine million hits popped up. Wikipedia showed up on top, but Rebecca ignored that. Instead, she clicked on a link for WhoRepresents.com. She grumbled at having to register in order to get any information, but her outlook brightened considerably when she realized the gold mine she’d found. Every major actor, actress, and director was listed alongside his or her respective talent agents, lawyers, business managers, and public relations representatives.
In short order, Rebecca was able to determine that Dara had three key team members—a talent agent named Richard Church, a public relations representative named Colin Lafferty, and a business manager named Carolyn Detweiler. A few more keystrokes and she had copied contact information for all of them and saved it on her hard drive.
Logic would dictate that the public relations rep was the most likely contact point, but Rebecca didn’t like the idea of using a man as a go-between for such a delicate ma
tter. So she googled the business manager.
Carolyn Detweiler, CEO of Detweiler Enterprises, represents an elite group of clients, including best-selling thriller king Randall Nabors, the reclusive Pulitzer-Prize winning author Constance Darrow, Oscar-winning director Peter Davidson, and mega box-office star Dara Thomas, who is described as her best childhood friend.
Rebecca sat back. “Bingo. You’re exactly who I’m looking for.” Now if she could just figure out what she wanted to say.
Carolyn read the e-mail for the third time. Still, she couldn’t decide what to do. She knew she should make Dara aware of it. You know what she’ll say. She’ll tell you to turn it down out of hand. Carolyn rubbed her temples where the beginning of a monster headache was forming.
She already was going to be on thin ice when Dara realized who the featured artist was at the gallery exhibit opening they were slated to attend tonight.
Again, she scanned the contents of the e-mail. It wasn’t as though Rebecca was asking to meet with Dara. She wanted to sit down with Carolyn. Carolyn was an adult, fully capable of taking a meeting with anyone she so chose. Technically speaking, this had nothing to do with Dara. You keep telling yourself that, Car.
Before she could reconsider what she was doing, Carolyn typed out a quick response, then closed out of her e-mail, grabbed her suit jacket off the hangar on the back of her office door, and headed down the hall toward the elevator.
Rebecca checked the address again for the Carnegie Deli, then glanced at her watch. Carolyn said she’d be there at 11:45 a.m. and would give Rebecca a half-hour window to make it. It wasn’t much notice, but Rebecca didn’t care. She picked up the pace and arrived a few minutes later.
The deli was packed to overflowing. Rebecca wondered how in the world she would find someone she’d never seen before in such a crowd.
“Lookin’ for someone, hon?”
Rebecca eyed the young hostess. “I am.”
“Lemme guess. Carolyn Detweiler, right?”
“Yes.”
“She’s waitin’ for ya. Follow me.” The hostess led Rebecca through the tightly packed seating area to a corner table in the back.
“Thank you,” Rebecca said to the hostess’s retreating form. When she turned around, she was face-to-face with a woman who might have been indistinguishable from any businesswoman in the restaurant, save for the expensive and well-tailored clothes.
“You must be Rebecca.” Carolyn put out her hand for Rebecca to shake. Her grip was soft, but firm, and her smile was warm.
“And you must be Ms. Detweiler.”
“Call me, Carolyn, please. Have a seat.” Carolyn indicated the seat opposite her and Rebecca took it.
“Thank you for seeing me. I’m sure your schedule must be ridiculously busy.”
“You made it sound important.” Carolyn handed Rebecca a menu. “Best to get our orders in. This place is insane at this hour.”
“Right.” Rebecca opened the extensive menu and glanced up at Carolyn as she perused her own menu. “What do you recommend?”
“Everything is huge and to-die-for. If you like that sort of thing, the Reuben is phenomenal, as is the roast beef.” After a second, Carolyn added, “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
“Me? No. Nope. I’m a meat-lover from way back.” Rebecca’s leg bounced up and down underneath the table and she struggled to be still. Could she sound any more nervous? Now that she was sitting here, she wasn’t sure contacting Carolyn had been the right thing to do. What was it she really wanted to say? What did she want to ask for? And how could she do it without sounding asinine?
“You know, I think I’ll just have a cup of coffee.” As nervous as she was, Rebecca couldn’t imagine keeping a sandwich down now.
Carolyn arched an eyebrow. “Okay, coffee it is.” She motioned for the waitress.
As Carolyn ordered two cups of coffee, Rebecca used the opportunity to study her more closely. Something about her seemed familiar… Then it clicked. Carolyn had been there during the exchange with Dara. She had shouldered her way into the crowd, nudging Rebecca’s arm in the process. Had she heard the whole thing?
When the waitress left, Carolyn folded her hands under her chin. “So, what can I do for you, Rebecca?”
Rebecca picked up her napkin and put it in her lap as she struggled to collect herself. “As I indicated in my e-mail, I’m a professor of American literature. I’ve been studying and teaching Constance Darrow’s work to my students.” Don’t waste time rehashing things she knows. Get to the point.
“Several months ago, I wrote to Ms. Darrow and we began a correspondence.” Rebecca forced herself to make eye contact. “Perhaps you already know that?”
“I do.”
“Of course you do. It’s naïve of me to think that someone as famous as Constance Darrow would open her own mail. I’m sure it probably goes through several filters. I apologize for my ignorance.”
“It’s okay. And it’s not ignorance. We in this business rarely advertise the way things work behind the scenes.” Carolyn’s tone was sympathetic—not the least bit condescending—and her smile was kind.
The waitress came with their coffee and a huge slice of cheesecake that Rebecca hadn’t heard Carolyn order. There were two plates and two forks.
Rebecca’s eyes widened and Carolyn laughed.
“This could feed half the population of a third-world country.”
“Welcome to New York, where everything is larger-than-life. Shall I?” Carolyn indicated the cheesecake and a knife.
“Sure.” Rebecca held the second plate still as Carolyn slid half of the cheesecake onto it.
“I’m a firm believer that life is short, we should eat dessert first.”
“That works for me.”
“Best cheesecake in town,” Carolyn said. “Go ahead, try it. If you don’t love it, I’ll… Well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but it will be dramatic.” She chuckled.
With a start, Rebecca realized she really liked Carolyn. She was accessible and easy to be around. “May I,” Rebecca started, then stopped to gather her courage. “May I be completely honest and frank with you?”
“I would love that. It would make you such a refreshing change from most of the people I have to deal with every day.”
“I bet.” Rebecca put her fork down and took a deep breath. “Now that I know what you look like, I recognize you. I mean, I recognize your face. I saw you after the taping of The Letterman Show. I know you were standing close enough to hear what I said to Ms. Thomas.” Rebecca swallowed hard. “You did hear, didn’t you?”
Carolyn nodded, but said nothing.
“Right. Well, I didn’t get a chance to say so, because it all happened so quickly, but I want Ms. Thomas to know that I would never, ever, violate her privacy. I would never say anything to jeopardize her in any way.” Rebecca faltered, as tears welled in her eyes. She looked around to make sure no one nearby was paying attention to them, composed herself, and continued.
“She’s brilliant. I have so much respect for her and all of her work. I’m not the kind of person who goes around shooting off my mouth. She has absolutely nothing to worry about from me. I’ll never say a word. I promise.”
Rebecca fumbled in her purse for a Kleenex and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. She was surprised when Carolyn reached across the table and put a hand over hers.
“I believe you.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Rebecca was overcome by a rush of gratitude. “Why?”
That startled a laugh out of Carolyn. “You’re unique, you know that?”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Call it intuition. Call it an educated guess. I believe you’re telling the truth.” Carolyn leaned forward. “So, in that spirit, I’m going to explain something to you.”
Rebecca leaned forward, as well. “Okay.”
“Dara’s life hasn’t been easy. She’s been badly hurt before. It’s dif
ficult for her to trust that someone wants to know her. Really know her.” Carolyn held Rebecca’s gaze.
“I can’t even begin to imagine,” Rebecca said. She checked again to make sure their conversation was private. It was, but she still wanted to be as circumspect as possible. “I can see why she would keep the two ‘things’ so separate. The ‘other’ gives her something of her own—something not connected to the face the public sees, a place where her soul can shine honestly and on its own merits.”
Carolyn sat back. A slight smile played on her lips. “Exactly. And, might I add, quite eloquently stated.”
“I meant it.”
“I believe you did.”
“When I researched the author for my course, I was frustrated that I could find next to nothing about her. After all, most literature illuminates the experiences of the author or vice versa. With no context to work with, it made discussing the origin and genesis of the material rather…challenging.”
“That makes sense.”
“But knowing what I know now, I understand so much more. The author is such a gifted writer, a real student of human nature. A great observer. Her characters reflect a bone-deep knowledge of what motivates people.” Rebecca was warming to her favorite subject. “And yet, her protagonists almost always yearn for something more. It’s as if the life they lead is not real and what is real, what they truly yearn for, is always just out of reach. There’s such depth, such passion in the prose.” Rebecca stopped talking when she realized she’d slipped into professor mode. “I’m sorry. I tend to get carried away.”
Carolyn chuckled. “I can see that. Nothing to apologize for. I’m certain the author would love to know her work inspired such strong enthusiasm.”
Rebecca’s stomach dropped and her heart stuttered. “No, she wouldn’t. Not now.” She felt the lump rise up in her chest and into her throat. “If I had it to do over again, I never would have said anything. I can’t explain what I was thinking, except to say that I wasn’t thinking. If I’d only kept it to myself. I should’ve realized…” Rebecca stopped and blew out an explosive breath.
