Fuck! EJ thought as her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “What? Oh wow. I wasn’t planning on talking about that. It’s, um, not the issue here.”
“Are you saying you didn’t hook up?” Dia put her fork down and folded her arms. Their chat had turned into a cross-examination.
“Yes, Dia, we did, and a good time was had by all, but that’s not—”
The freshman pressed her point. “And did he call, or get in touch?”
EJ sighed. “He didn’t call, but I wasn’t waiting by the phone. I wasn’t looking for anything more.”
Dia looked at her piteously. “Eej, I know you try to be this modern woman, but you don’t have to be strong with me. Jordan would be hard for anyone to get over. You should know that he does feel terrible about the whole thing.”
EJ weighed the damage to her credibility against the stakes and decided to try again. “Dia, let me be clear: separate and apart from my hooking up with Jordan, I learned some things about him that give me concern. I met someone who went to high school with him. This person said Jordan had a reputation for taking advantage of younger girls”—she paused meaningfully—“and getting them into serious trouble with drugs. I don’t know if I can emphasize this enough: it is not about me. I would not be having this super-awkward conversation if I wasn’t actively worried about you.”
Dia leaned back in her seat and considered, absently drumming her fingers on the cafeteria tray. EJ thought she might have gotten through to the young woman, a little. However, when Dia spoke, she was clearly back in cross-examination mode. “Did your friend, with this dirt on Jordan, did they go to Hanover?”
“Yes, actually. That’s where everything I heard about happened,” EJ said.
Dia nodded. “Jordan said a bunch of rich kids conspired to ruin his reputation at the school. It worked so well they got him expelled.”
EJ groaned internally. She moved her tray out of the way and shifted her arms onto the table. “They showed me evidence, Dia, a lot of it, actually. I can’t show it to you but—”
“I wouldn’t want to see it, anyway,” Dia interrupted. “Jordan told me about how far those Hanover kids went to get him kicked out.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “You know that ‘film professional’ who’s been on campus, Will Pak? He’s one of Carrie Dean’s crappy exes. Jordan says he was the ringleader, that the guy’s got some crazy grudge. And I’ve seen what a judgmental snob he can be; we had a run-in at the Fall Formal.”
EJ’s shoulders fell. She’d forgotten that it was Dia who came to her defense that night. The freshman was a ride-or-die friend: to EJ then, and to Jordan now.
Dia continued. “I know Jordan, Eej. He’s been nothing but kind to me, especially since my parents cut me off. Plus, he’s always treated me like his baby sister. He likes how ‘good’ I am,” she added with a touch of bitterness.
The RA sighed in defeat and took a long sip from her bottled water. “Okay, Dia, let’s just drop it. I’ve shared my concerns; you’ve heard me as much as you can.” EJ checked the time on her phone. “Didn’t you say you wanted to get to the bio lab early? You probably should head out now since the Langston Building is pretty far from here.”
Dia gave a small smile across the table. “It’s sweet, Eej, it really is, how you reflexively try and look out for me. And I appreciate it.” The younger woman stood and put on her pastel-blue raincoat and matching backpack. She looked like a marshmallow PEEP. “It’s just . . . you’re wrong here.” With that, Dia picked up her tray and left.
EJ watched her walk away, almost resigned to let the freshman learn about Jordan the hard way. But as she tugged on her scarf, EJ noticed it happened to be the one Dia gave her for Christmas. Despite its odd shape, the scarf was very warm. EJ also had learned that it was made from particularly nice wool that probably cost way too much. It was sort of Dia in a nutshell: her enthusiasm, her kindness, her unconscious generosity. She ran a hand down it and said, “I can’t let Jordan change her.” She would have to find another way to get her to listen.
She whipped out her phone and sent a text to Will.
I don’t know how ethical this is.
But I need your help to stop Jordan from wrecking another life.
Will responded in a flash.
I’ll do whatever you need me to do.
The Chat
The following Friday, Will’s charity build was the subject of discussion on The Chat, a talk show in the model of The View, which traditionally featured women sitting around a coffee table bantering for a studio audience. The Chat shook up the usual formula with a gay man, a feisty Australian woman, and three ladies of color. (The show was shooting for a younger demographic.)
On-screen, they showed Will’s picture, cropped from the Greater Boston Habitat for Humanity group photo at the Seneca Falls build. After the panelists openly lusted over his visibly impressive arms, they contrasted Will with his more famous ex.
“You know what I think?” the Asian American beauty blogger said with practiced folksiness. “I think Will’s moved on. There are a bunch of cute girls in that photo who are future doctors, teachers, CEOs, et cetera. Pretty, smart, accomplished young women. I bet it didn’t take him long to forget Carrie there.”
“You bet he did!” interjected the gay comedian. “Look at their breakup. She hooks up with a racist and embarrasses herself at the Super Bowl, while he goes to one of the best schools in the country.”
“She’s too shallow for him now,” agreed the black former child star.
The Australian interrupted. “Don’t be polite, luv—you mean too dumb!” The audience cackled appreciatively.
“Hey, you said it,” the Latina pop/fitness star agreed. “And don’t forget all the low-key racist stuff she said about him when she was with Johnny Storm. Carrie is canceled for Will. She couldn’t get him back now if she tried.”
Another wave of laughter came from the audience. It was the kind of laughter that, if one had a cavernous theater room in a Los Angeles mansion, would echo off the tastefully decorated walls. The kind of laughter that could penetrate through the substance-addled mind of a disgraced celebrity and shake that person into flickering awareness. In that laughter Carrie Dean, who was halfway through her afternoon bottle of wine, heard a challenge. Blearily she reached for the phone.
Katerina
Katerina eyed her phone with irritation. Every day this week it had buzzed with messages from Carrie Dean and her people. At first, she relished Carrie’s obvious desperation, but now the constant contact had become obnoxious. When all her devices buzzed at the same time, Katerina decided to respond.
“Andre!” she shouted to her assistant, her lilting accent lethally sharp. He bolted into her office. “Send these absurd people this ridiculous number.” She scribbled something on a sticky note.
“That is the price for me to even speak Carrie’s name to my client. Take that number, double it, and add a zero: that is the price for her to meet with Will. I want both amounts in cashier’s checks before I even talk to him. Even then, I cannot promise that he won’t spit in her face. If these numbers and conditions do not discourage her, then nothing will. She wants to hound me to my grave, then she can pay for the privilege.” Katerina and her assistant shared a wry smile before he went to send the message.
Half an hour before the end of the workday, a shaking Andre brought in a plain white envelope. It had been hand delivered by a confused teller from the bank on the ground floor of their building. He placed the envelope on Katerina’s desk. Two cashier’s checks for the requested ridiculous amounts, and then some, slipped out of the envelope. “This bitch,” Katerina muttered before picking up the phone to call Will at Longbourn.
To put it mildly, Will was not pleased. Katerina let him vent his outrage. But as he started moving to accusations of betrayal, she interrupted.
“Will, you and I have a long history together. Your mother brought you to me so you could act professionally without getting damaged by t
he industry. She chose me because she knew I would not let you be degraded or abused, that I would not force you into anything that you didn’t want.
“And it has been true, yes? You have a career, yes? But no nerds, no stereotypes, no terrible accents. And when I have insisted, it has been for the best, yes? Take a breath and remember.”
Will inhaled long and exhaled deeply. “Okay, I’m sorry. I know you must have a very good reason to propose bringing that person back into my life now that I’m finally happy again. I am prepared to hear it, though I can’t imagine what it could be.”
“Carrie Dean is now fixated on you, darling. You are a positive memento of her past, and she is desperate to recover what you represent: a time when everyone believed her hype. She will give you no peace. You must tell her yourself that this pursuit will only end in pain and humiliation. If you don’t make this clear, set your terms, her public tantrum will suck everyone in: you and your new lady friend. You have met someone, yes?”
Will choked a bit before answering. “Yes, it’s pretty new, but I like her very much.”
Katerina smiled. “I thought so. You’ve been calm and pleasant, genuinely happy. Not like the all-consuming mania with Carrie. This one makes you better.” The older woman paused.
“Now imagine how Carrie would try to torpedo your new relationship: staging scenes in restaurants or siccing the paparazzi on your lady friend outside her home—even leaking her photos for public ridicule—”
“But she’s a private citizen! How could that even be legal?”
“Legal, bah! The point is, you know Carrie, and you know what she is capable of. If you meet with her, you can convince her that the best thing for all is to move on—especially if you can help her save face from all this. All she really wants is her career back.”
Will heaved a sigh of frustration. “Is this the only way?”
“This or retirement, darling. At present Carrie is an obstacle that we must work around, not one that we can knock over.”
“Can this wait until after graduation? I have stuff I need to work on until then.”
“I can try. I will definitely put her off until May.”
“All right,” Will relented. “Let’s talk tomorrow to strategize.”
“Good.” Katerina disconnected the call and frowned. That had gone too well; there was no way that was Will’s final word on the subject.
Her phone rang again, and she knew it was him. “Carrie Dean gets no more control of my life,” Will decided. “Set up a meeting for Monday at noon. Your office. It’s Patriot’s Day weekend. That’s a holiday here, so I’ll fly down. We give Carrie Dean my terms. If she accepts them, great. If not, I quit the business.”
She audibly gasped. It was her most severe loss of cool in a decade. “What? Will, be calm. Let me come talk with you this weekend.”
Katerina was not prepared to lose one of her most successful and loyal clients this way, but Will sounded more certain than she had ever heard him.
“Okay, Katerina. We can meet on Saturday morning; I owe you that.”
She dropped her shoulders in relief, but only for a moment.
“But I won’t live another day of my life in fear of her. Nothing is worth that, not even my career.” He disconnected the call, and Katerina stared at the phone. She was rattled, and she rarely got rattled.
“Andre!” she shouted to her assistant. “Get me on the next plane to Boston! We have a crisis.”
THE GIRLY SHOW
EJ
Looking on as the final row of chairs was arranged in the common room, EJ strongly considered putting the Girly Show on her résumé. Organizing the talent show had required attention to detail, team management, and project evaluation: all skills employers looked for, according to the career center workshop she’d recently attended. And just a few hours before the event, everything was going to plan.
Tickets had sold out ahead of time, likely because Jamie got Lee and the BournTones to close the show. Dress rehearsal had flowed smoothly: everybody showed up, and no one had ridiculous lighting demands this year. EJ tasted everything going into the bake sale and made sure the less tasty items went out last. The Longbourn events staff had set up the risers and mics for the performance the day before, and EJ had created a backstage / green room for the performers behind the double doors of the Bennet west hallway. She really wanted the show to go well; it was going to be the last big thing she did for Bennet House. After avoiding it for as long as she could, EJ was coming to terms with the fact that life as she knew it would be over in exactly one month. She’d expected to feel more ready by now.
It didn’t help that she didn’t know if she was going to be working next or headed to grad school. EJ had been busily trying to prepare for all scenarios. At Stella’s suggestion, she reached out to the companies she would have been checking out at the NSBE conference. She also made her fellow engineers Franz and Vanessa sit through a dry run of her Fields Fellowship presentation. Still, after all the prep, EJ just had to make peace with an uncertain future. She shuddered. Living in uncertainty was not her forte.
Then there was Will. Never in a million years had she expected to feel so much for him so quickly. Sometimes after a long kiss, or when she was feeling the supreme joy of being the little spoon, a certain four-letter word had floated to the surface of her mind. EJ swatted it down, of course—it was way too soon—but she could admit that she was very attached to Will.
“Breaking up is going to suuuuuuck,” she groaned to herself. It was the only sensible way, though. Will was rapidly rebuilding his career, and EJ had to get hers started. She only hoped she’d be strong enough to end things when the time came.
The Star
“Hey, watch it!” Carrie Dean snapped at a pair of twirlers in silver lamé as they rushed past. The singer was close to unrecognizable tonight with her auburn bob and minimal makeup. She planned to pass herself off as someone’s best friend from Harvard, if asked. If she was recognized, she planned to tell folks she was doing research for a new show. No one could know that the Carrie Dean had come to this pathetic backwater of a college town to get her boyfriend back. But she wanted Will again, and she was someone who got what she wanted.
Her plotting skills were a little rusty. It had been a while since she’d needed to do anything more to accomplish her aims than scream at an assistant or make a phone call. Still, she thought there was a beautiful simplicity to her three-step plan, and she had no doubt it would work: 1) Find Will’s new girl, if she existed; 2) Get this new girl out of the way; and 3) Get Will back.
Now Carrie wasn’t stupid. She knew she and Will hadn’t ended things on the best terms, but Will was smart. He knew how generous her team could be when someone was on their side.
But for now, she had to complete step one. Carrie had a hunch that her rival was one of the Longbourn girls from the Habitat for Humanity photo. When she got to campus, Carrie had furtively stalked those she viewed as the most likely candidates. She’d come to this Girly Show because, according to the campus gossip she picked up, Will visited this house fairly often. Now, hopefully, all she had to do was match the likeliest girl to one of the faces in the crowd.
EJ
It was near the end of the show, and EJ was happy. In the green room, she had successfully kept the trains running all night. She zipped people in and out of costumes and squashed any last-minute spats between performers. Now, after a quick hug from Lee, EJ was lining up the BournTones when Tessa came barreling through the double doors. “Eej, we need you right now!”
“Let me—” she began.
“No, now!” The shorter lady grabbed EJ’s arm and pulled her out to the common room, where Will was sitting down at the keyboard. Her jaw dropped.
“Good evening, everyone! The organizers of the Girly Show mentioned that they needed a little interstitial entertainment in preparation for their surprise finale.” He covered his mouth in mock distress. “Um, I mean . . . for reasons. In any case, I’m here to
play a little piano for you. Any requests?”
A flurry of responses came from the audience before Will spoke again. “‘Freebird’ sounds like kind of a fun dare.”
There were more shouts. “Billy Joel sounds very tempting. I’m a huge fan.”
“Why?” cried someone else in the crowd.
“My mom loved Billy Joel and passed that on to me. So if you make fun of me for liking him, you’re really making fun of my mother, and she’s dead now.” There was some uncomfortable laughter. Will sighed. “And that’s why I never tried comedy.” This got a genuine laugh. “Okay, no Billy Joel—he’s gotten too controversial.”
“Celine Dion, ‘Taking Chances’!” a voice very much like Jamie’s shouted.
“What a delightful suggestion, person I definitely did not pay to say that.” Will placed his hands on the keys. “I must admit I was not a big fan until a couple of months ago, when a certain person helped me see that underneath a whole lot of overblown production is a quite beautiful song. Then I listened to the lyrics and realized that they just about summed up our relationship.
“Anyway, this song goes out to that someone who’s become very dear to me.”
“Oooh,” the crowd responded, doing their best impression of a sitcom’s live studio audience.
“She tells me that Bennet Women—emphasis hers—look out for each other, so I’m going to rely on that. Really hope you guys can keep a secret.” Will placed his hands on the keyboard.
“Okay, here goes. Ella, this is for you.” Then he launched into a pretty acoustic version of the song. Thankfully only a few people who knew her home name whipped around to look at her with a smirk or an impressed nod. EJ wasn’t paying attention to them. She was holding too tightly to her clipboard and listening to Will’s song.
The Star
At the final note, the room erupted in applause. Someone in the audience shouted, “Kiss him, EJ!”
The Bennet Women Page 23
