Nobody's Hero

by Melanie Harvey

  She met Dwayne, light-skinned and looking like he was maybe 19 years old, but Ashley had said he graduated from Bowling Green two years ago. He shook her hand and smiled, lights glinting off wire-rimmed glasses that framed calm brown eyes. His methodical instructions contrasted with Ashley’s staccato machine-gun. He’d been busy, rearranging comfortable chairs into the corner, a square mahogany table between them.

  When Bella arrived, Ashley gave Carolyn’s hand a quick squeeze. It took a few moments to get Carolyn situated, run the lapel microphone under her blouse, wait for the photographer to give her the okay on her sound. She’d done this many times before, but this time it would be different. Bella was after a scandalous story, with Carolyn the sacrifice on the ratings altar.

  Ashley acted as if the woman was doing them a favor.

  The first planted reader approached with a copy of her book while Carolyn was checking her lipstick. The photographer started rolling, and Bella reached for a microphone.

  The woman accepted the autographed book with a smile. “I can’t believe you’re here! I’m sorry for interrupting, but — ”

  “You’re not interrupting,” Bella assured her. “Would you mind telling us why you’ve decided to buy this particular book today?”

  “Not at all,” the woman said. “I saw Carolyn on Oprah, but when my sister called today and said she’d gotten herself mixed up in the same situation she wrote about, well … ” She shrugged. “I felt like she must really understand what I’ve been going through.”

  Bella nodded, her eyes cutting to Ashley, just beyond the camera, totally absorbed in animated conversation with Dwayne and, Carolyn was certain, not missing a thing.

  Carolyn thanked her “fan,” who gave her a loose hug and an air kiss so as not to disturb carefully applied makeup or knock a hair out of place.

  Bella lobbed a few easy questions first, before she hit her stride. The first zinger was over Rick’s police record, an arrest for assault, pled down to a misdemeanor and time served.

  Imagine that, Carolyn had said dryly when Ashley informed her earlier. Ashley was adamant: No! You knew nothing about him, so if you don’t look shocked, she’ll know you’re hiding something and start digging.

  Between interruptions from a few more ‘readers,’ Carolyn kept to the script. The hardest part wasn’t maintaining her eye contact with Bella, keeping her posture open and friendly, or even remembering Ashley’s commands.

  “In your book, you strongly advocate taking enough time to know someone before becoming involved. Did you feel that you knew this man?”

  The hardest part was that Rick had talked so much.

  “No,” Carolyn said. “I didn’t know him. I met him, I had an extra ticket to the Yankee game — they won — and then I saw him battle. That was all.”

  Bella smiled. “There was a fight at The Shack, between Ricky Rain and a local rapper from Bed-Sty called XO.”

  Carolyn shook her head. “There was no fight. It was a misunderstanding.”

  Bella arched an eyebrow. “Over you?”

  “Much as I hate to admit it,” Carolyn said, with Ashley’s suggested self-depreciating tone. “I don’t believe it was over me. I believe it was an extension of the battle inside, and I was nothing more than the new microphone.”

  “You were an object of a competition?”

  The reporter had put just the right amount of tilt on the word ‘object.’ Carolyn kept her tone even. “It’s possible.”

  “Yet you continued the relationship, even afterwards.” Bella checked the steno pad in her hand. “Peter Shepard said that while you and he were having dinner in your hotel suite, Ricky showed up. Peter left and Ricky stayed.”

  Ashley had worked her over on this one extensively. She was showing too much anger, and no one would realize it was toward Peter. Who, Dwayne had confirmed in person, was very sorry, and would keep his damn mouth shut now. Carolyn was sure he would, once he’d seen how much Rick had benefited.

  “Did he spend the night?” Bella prompted.

  Carolyn nodded. “He missed his flight and yes, he stayed — on the sofa in the living room. I finally realized what was happening to me, late in the game, I confess. I’m not proud of that, but I am humbled by it. I’ve spoken to so many women who are truly suffering in relationships, and I’m afraid I was lacking in sympathy before this. I’m not proud of that.”

  The entire quote would be too long, but it broke easily into two pieces. Ashley hoped Bella would take the latter half, dealing with Carolyn’s new understanding of her readers. That Ashley’s choice was shorter than the first half wasn’t an accident.

  “So you’re glad you met him?”

  God, no. I wish I’d never heard his voice, never seen his face, never touched his hand.

  “In a way, I suppose I am. For the sake of the book, for the sake of all the women who’ve fallen into the same situation.”

  I wish I’d never felt his heart beat.

  “So, Carolyn. Tell me this. Now that you’ve heard his music, what do you think?”

  Ashley hadn’t taken long to come up with it. It was even funny, if she nailed her delivery.

  Carolyn turned a wry smile on Bella. “I’m certain I would infuriate a multitude of music critics if I horned in on their territory. I’m going to stick to books, if that’s all right.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Have you ever met a music critic, Bella? They’re intense.”

  Bella finally smiled, and finally — finally — thanked her. Carolyn unclipped the microphone and exhaled as silently as she could. She caught the stern warning in Ashley’s eyes. The camera was still on.

  Seconds after Bella and her crew left, Ashley was at Carolyn’s elbow. “Let’s go.”

  Carolyn started. “Where?”

  “Barnes and Noble, Astor Place. An impromptu signing, which we released to the press, and we need to prep. Could be a little more Jerry Springer than this.”

  When Carolyn didn’t rise fast enough, Ashley jerked her head toward the door.

  “Okay, I’m coming.”

  Outside, Dwayne and Ashley launched into a discussion like an old married couple who finished each other’s sentences. A car waited at the curb, and Carolyn glanced around Dwayne’s shoulder as he checked the trunk.

  “We need our own video,” he said, when she looked from the equipment to him. “Don’t worry, I’ll make you look good.”

  Ashley snorted and beckoned Carolyn to follow her into the backseat. She launched into a thorough explanation of what was coming next, stopping when Carolyn touched her arm.

  “Tell me the truth. How’d I do?”

  “You were perfect. Depends on how Bella packages it, but you were perfect.”

  If she didn’t nail it, Walter wouldn’t make that phone call. “You’re sure?”

  “Relax, Carolyn.”

  It sounded like an order rather than a comfort, so she tried.

  46: Best Case Scenarios

  Carolyn was too exhausted to ask where in New York she might be when the car pulled up to a brick townhouse late that night. She’d stopped bothering with irrelevant details long ago.

  “We’re home,” Ashley announced. She shoved materials into her bag and flashed Carolyn a quick grin. Over the past however many hours, she’d come to depend on it. For all of Ashley’s sharp edges, her wide smile made Carolyn feel like she’d survive.

  “My office.” Ashley collected the last of her papers and shoved open the car door with her shoulder. “Hang in there, babe. We’re almost done.”

  Carolyn stepped onto the sidewalk as Dwayne added, “For tonight.”

  Dwayne unloaded his equipment and the black sedan drove down the quiet street.

  “Doesn’t look like an office,” Carolyn said. Twin carriage lamps lit either side of the forest-green front door. “There’s not even a sign.”

  Ashley turned from the front door, keys in hand. Two steps ahead, physically and mentally. Half of Carolyn’s fatigue came
from keeping up with her. “Are you kidding? You think I want those vultures coming around my place?”

  She pushed the door open, and Carolyn followed her through the foyer into a large front room, buzzing with activity. Three employees answered Ashley’s rapid questions as she crossed the wood floor and dropped her load onto an oblong table. Carolyn heard snatches of the words. Once she reached the inside of the room, she stopped and stared.

  She glanced at the employees, but they studied grease pencil markings on a large Plexiglas board behind the table. Computers and fax machines hummed, three flat screen televisions hung on the right wall. The video didn’t register as her gaze returned to the left wall.

  Behind her, Dwayne said, “Excuse me,” and she moved out of his way as he hauled his video camera into the room, without even a glance to his left as he passed by. Carolyn shifted a Bergdorf-Goodman bag to her other arm, the results of a quick stop so she could do costume changes between interviews.

  This office’s artwork came with a theme. They stared down at her from posed photographs of promotional posters; thick chains around their necks, baseball caps turned sideways, hoods up on sweatshirts. Carolyn stared back as the hard faces watched her move closer to them.

  She recognized as many as she didn’t. Inked messages were splashed over the posters.

  — Ashley, I love you — What would I do without you, Ashley? — Marry me, Ashley — You ever need anything — You the best, Ashley — Owe you everything —

  Most of the pens had scrawled just one word: Thanks.

  Her ears registered sudden silence, and she turned to see Ashley’s eyebrows lift. Carolyn measured her words. “You said it was a coincidence.”

  Ashley shrugged. “It was. But Walter would have called me anyway.”

  No doubt. Carolyn turned back to the faces she recognized, stories and scandals she remembered. The gratitude in the inscriptions. “These are your clients.”

  “Mostly,” Ashley said. “About ten or twelve years ago, Walter picked up a few new ones himself. I don’t think he knew what he was getting into, where these guys had come from. I don’t know if he ever appreciated them for what they were doing. I think he only saw … ”

  Carolyn’s gaze roamed over the wall. “Black.”

  “His intentions were good,” Ashley said. “But he’s from a different world.”

  “And you weren’t?”

  She heard laughter and saw amusement on the employees’ faces.

  Dwayne relieved Carolyn of her clothing bag. “Ashley was enrolled in the most exclusive private schools on the day she was conceived.”

  “Hey,” Ashley said. “Can’t help where you’re born.”

  “Or if your butler brings the silver spoon to the hospital.”

  Carolyn frowned. “Then how … ”

  “The media can be pretty hard on individuals.” Ashley glanced up to the posters. “Some more than others.”

  Carolyn watched Dwayne hang her bag on a rack along the back wall. Above the wide maple frame of the doorway leading further into the house, hand-lettered in dark green against the neutral eggshell of the wall, Carolyn read the quote she hadn’t noticed before.

  I do not agree with what you have to say, but I’ll defend to the death your right to say it. — Voltaire.

  She took a deep breath. “You’d rather be helping Rick.”

  Ashley looked at her for a long moment. “Aren’t we?”

  Whether Walter wanted to do it or not, Ashley would make sure it happened. Her cool gaze from across the room confirmed it. Carolyn swallowed hard, and when she looked away, one image drew her eye.

  “I saw this poster in Times Square.” Now, she recognized the rapper. “I don’t pay attention to this stuff, but I don’t remember him being in any trouble.”

  Ashley’s right index finger tapped her chin as she studied the newest addition to the Billboard charts. “Huh.” She looked back to Carolyn and shrugged. “Me either.”

  Dwayne grinned, and the activity resumed as Ashley beckoned Carolyn over.

  She followed the order, shaking her head.

  “All right,” Ashley said, pointing to a chair. “We need to iron out some details, then you get some sleep. Critical play, tired people make mistakes and they look bad on TV. Walter’s booked a quick tour, eight cities for the five days after we finish the weekend in New York. We leave Monday at seven a.m. I’m coming with you, so I hope you’ve decided to like me.”

  She tacked on the last comment in the normal sarcastic tone she used outside the presence of the media or personal shoppers at Bergdorf’s.

  Ashley’s size-zero assistant made a notation on the Plexiglass. “Settle for ‘tolerate me’.”

  “Best case scenario,” another woman added.

  “Hey,” Ashley shot back, but Dwayne interrupted from behind a computer monitor.

  “Bella’s tone got us off and running. They’re following her lead, picking up the last half of the quote.”

  Ashley’s eyes lit up. They weren’t out of the woods yet, but it was a good start. The clippings and materials Ashley had been poring over from the early hours of this morning had led her into this plan. Now Carolyn could connect to her readers on the level of personal experience.

  Ashley said, “That was always your weak point.”

  Carolyn nodded. If it worked, her career would be better off in the end.

  * * *

  She closed the door of the suite behind her and couldn’t force herself to take a step further. Ashley decided the Sherry was safe after she moved the interview away, and Carolyn had been grateful at the time. But after all the intense activity, the emptiness assaulted her and her self-imposed control dissolved. She slid to the marble floor, hot tears finally spilling free.

  Then her phone rang. Hope shot through her, but she berated herself when she checked the display. Ashley had been clear on that before Rick left. No calls. They’ll find out.

  “Eve?” Her voice cracked, and she fought to regain control.

  “Oh, baby … I’m so sorry.”

  The soft words broke her, and she sobbed so hard that she thought she might vomit. She drew her knees to her stomach. “I feel like I’m going to die.”

  “You won’t, Carrie. I swear you won’t.”

  She sounded so certain. Carolyn pressed her cheek to the cool marble and clung to the promise her sister repeated in her ear.

  47: Top Ten

  “Want to hear last night’s Top Ten List?”

  “Top ten wha — ” Letterman. “Fuck, no!”

  Jesse shrank against the passenger door, but Rick wasn’t sorry. Jesse had started the information dump Saturday afternoon, and Rick set down the rules. He couldn’t stop him from looking, but he could sure as hell stop him from talking.

  Monday, Jesse kept quiet, maybe afraid Rick would take him home. Tuesday must be different; they hadn’t even made it out of Shaker Heights yet. “I mean it.”

  Jesse nodded. Maybe he knew Rick could still let him walk home from here.

  Or Jesse had new material. “Damn it, Jesse.”

  Jesse grinned. “Top Ten reasons The Late Show won’t be starting a dating service.”

  Rick snorted. “Were they funny at least?”

  “One was ‘No satisfied customers.’ Another was about the compatibility system being on the fritz.”

  The brake lights in front of Rick lit up before the idiot put on the left-turn signal that would have warned him to get into the right lane. Rick glanced over his shoulder, but he was stuck.

  “How come you can’t see her?”

  “Jesse — ”

  “I’m asking you a question. You said if I want to know something, ask you. So I’m asking.”

  “I never said that.”

  “You said it last Monday.”

  Rick glared at him.

  “‘You got my damn phone number.’” Jesse’s voice had a sharp edge to it.

  “I don’t sound like that.”

  “So wh
y’d you quit seeing her?”

  Rick concentrated on the traffic for a minute. “Can’t you read?”

  “Because of some song you wrote five years ago?”

  Rick shrugged.

  Jesse was quiet, but not for long. “I don’t get it — ”

  “What’s not to get? It ain’t that fucking complicated.” Discombobulated. Rick gritted his teeth.

  “No, it’s just stupid.”

  Rick shrugged as he merged onto 480 West.

  “It just doesn’t sound like you, going to a baseball game? I mean, Jesus, did you take the subway there, too?” Jesse’s eyes widened when Rick glanced at him. “You took the subway?”

  Rick reached for the volume on the stereo. “Q and A’s over.”

  The second his hand was back on the steering wheel, Jesse popped the faceplate off. Rick glared at him in the silence, but it didn’t seem to have any effect.

  “Do you love her?”

  “Christ, Jesse — it’s a fucking subway!” He reached for the stereo front, but Jesse held it away and somebody laid on a horn right next to his ear. Rick swerved back into his own lane. “You gonna get us killed.”

  “Tell me the truth.”

  “Put my faceplate back on.”

  “Not until you tell me.”

  “Would you grow up? This ain’t a goddamn movie. It don’t matter that I love her!”

  Almost a quarter mile passed before he realized he shouldn’t have said that.

  “Did you tell her?”

  Rick gripped the steering wheel and wished like hell he was in Miami. Alone.

  “You have to tell her, Ricky, if she knew — ”

  “She knows!” Shit. He could feel Jesse’s stare. “Can I have my music back now?”

  Jesse slowly clicked the faceplate back. “I don’t understand.”

  “Because you let them girls talk you into all those chick flicks.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I. Go see a horror movie next time. More realistic.”

  “You know what? You’re an asshole sometimes.”