Dirty Laundry

by Lauren Landish

  I consider asking for a shot, but I know I need to keep my head straight to figure a way out of this. “Just a beer. Gotta keep my head straight. Anything good on tap?”

  Maggie nods, adjusting her glasses. “Sure thing, let me grab one of the local brews and I’ll see if I can take my break in a few.”

  “That’s fine. I know I’m intruding on your work, so whenever you have a minute is fine. At least there’s a show,” I reply, indicating the girl on stage, who’s currently hanging upside down with her legs so splayed she sort of looks like the letter T. I’m jealous. I don’t think I could get my legs that wide apart even if Keith were . . . nope, don’t need to go there right now.

  Maggie grins and bounces off, and I’m struck by how even in this club with her tits popped up and her ass hanging out, Maggie comes across as cute and sweet. Sexiest Girl Scout candy striper in the whole world, and she’s working undercover in a strip club.

  Maggie has an innocence about her even when I see her banging on her tray as she claps for a particularly difficult trick the woman on stage is performing. I follow her sightline and see the buxom brunette flashing her panty-covered pussy to the audience as she stands on one foot and raises the other leg high, splitting vertically in the air like a gymnast as she leans way far back. It’s almost a ballet-like position, minus the leotard and tutu. And then when she grabs the pole, flipping herself up onto it again, the audience goes wild, clapping and whistling.

  Holy crap! I definitely need a pole fitness class if it can teach me how to do that.

  Maggie brings me a beer, and I lean back, sipping it as another girl makes her way on stage.

  “Hey, baby, you enjoying the show?” a guy asks, coming up. He’s a little tipsy but not drunk, and while he’s not hideous, he wouldn’t be my type even if I wasn’t seeing Keith.

  “Sorry, just waiting for my girlfriend to take a break,” I reply, letting him draw his own conclusions. Thankfully, girlfriend has so many different meanings. The guy looks intrigued for a moment, and I wonder if he’s going to press his luck, and I cut my eyes toward the door for the bouncer just in case. The guy immediately chills out and shrugs in defeat when he sees the bouncer look this direction, and he takes a step back, tossing back the rest of his drink.

  “Have a nice night,” he says simply before disappearing back toward the stage.

  For the next hour, the scenery turns into a blur of sweat, stale smoke, glitter, and thumping music between two slowly-sipped beers. Maggie never does get a chance to take a break, but when the sound guy gets on and says that Tina Tempest is the last act and they need to clear out, the patrons comply quickly.

  “I need to change and I’ll sit down with you,” Maggie says, looking tired but still concerned about me. “More privacy out here than in a back room.”

  When Maggie comes out a few minutes later, clad in a tank top, baggy sweats, and Ugg boots, I can’t help but crack a big smile. She’s wiped all the makeup off her face and pulled her hair up into a cute off-center ponytail, looking more like an eighteen-year-old girl on any college campus in the US than a strip club waitress. Or more importantly, a reporter. All traces of her night in the strip club are wiped clean.

  Well, except for the glitter sparkling in her cleavage. “You look great. How do you do that . . . sexy sweetheart to girl next door in two minutes flat?”

  She looks pleased at my compliment and sits down, pulling her knees up to her chest and curling up like a tiny spitfire ball of cuteness. “Just how I was made, I guess. I’m totally not a femme fatale type for sure.”

  “Speaking of femme fatales, you won’t believe what Francesca has been doing,” I growl, glad I’ve got the two beers in me or else I’d be throwing shit, I’m still so fucking angry.

  “What?” Maggie asks, sensing my displeasure. “She didn’t . . . stab you in the back, did she?”

  I laugh bitterly, nodding. “Like it’s nobody’s fucking business. She’s been following me, on Donnie’s orders! Me! Like I’m a target.”

  “And?” Maggie asks, not getting upset yet, “What did she find?”

  I stop, immediately defensive. “How do you know she found something?”

  “Because you’ve been sitting in a strip club for over an hour waiting to talk to me, ergo, she found something,” Maggie explains matter-of-factly. “If she hadn’t, you’d have just told me the story and called her a stupid bitch on Monday. Am I right? So what did she find?”

  “Well, I can’t exactly say everything she found,” I reply before taking a deep breath. Fuck it, right now I need to trust someone with some secrets, or else I’m going to be spinning my wheels and going nowhere. “But she figured out pretty quickly that Keith and I are dating.”

  Maggie reaches out, putting a hand on my arm. “You two are . . . dating?”

  I nod, pushing on. “There’s more, but that’s not my secret to tell and I promised I wouldn’t. Suffice it to say, Donnie made it sound like Keith is just fucking me to keep me quiet. But that’s not it. I love him, and he loves me.”

  Maggie smiles, leaning back in her chair and giving a little fist pump to the stale sky. “That’s awesome, Elise! I mean, I hate you too—you got the hunkiest guy in country music and you held out on me . . . but I understand why you didn’t spill that around the coffee pot at the office. So, what’s the problem?”

  “Donnie gave Keith an ultimatum,” I reply, loving Maggie totally in that instant as she cheers for me. “He said Keith either has to pay him three and a half million dollars to keep quiet or Donnie will publish a story with the secret Keith doesn’t want to get out and get his money that way. Donnie set it up pretty well. Apparently, he’s blackmailed other celebrities too so he’s got experience. Keith has until Monday night to decide.”

  Maggie looks pissed, slamming her tiny little fist on the table and making my two beer glasses rattle. “Donnie is such a creep. I’m honestly not surprised he’s pulling something like this, nor that he’s good at it, considering how long he’s been in this business. He’s manipulative and a great strategist. But there’s always a weak point to every plan. We just have to find it and exploit it,” she declares, holding up first one finger and then another like she’s making a to-do list.

  I sigh, hope lighting bright for a second before I crash back down. I look at the last dregs of beer in the nearest glass and realize it looks a lot like my life right now, a room temperature puddle of piss. “There’s no weak point. I’ve been thinking for hours now. The only way to keep Donnie quiet is to pay him off, and I don’t trust that he wouldn’t get the money and then publish the story anyway. We both know he’s fine with double-dipping considering that he slept around on his ex-wife with Francesca.”

  Instead of joining me in my misery, I can see Maggie’s brain turning. I quiet down, watching the wheels spin as she talks silently to herself, until suddenly, her face breaks wide in a huge ear-to-ear smile. “I know what the weak point is, but you’re not gonna like it.”

  “What? Anything, God. Help me!”

  “The weak point is Donnie. He literally gives zero fucks about keeping his life private, flaunting things most people would hide—like sleeping with Francesca—so that he’s untouchable. And in doing so, he assumes most folks do actually give a shit and want to keep their secrets just that . . . secret. He targets people he thinks will do anything, pay anything, and he’s set his sights on Keith.”

  I see where she’s going, and I nod, feeling a light at the end of the tunnel as she continues.

  “Donnie’s entire plan hinges on that initial supposition that Keith will want to keep this quiet, and that he’ll do anything, and that will be enough to get the millions. I think he’ll likely take the money and publish too. That’s just the sort of snake he is. Probably not even give Francesca a decent cut of it either. He’ll just keep stringing her along until she’s too deep in to ever go anywhere else, then cut her free when he finds his next fresh-faced girl willing to sleep her way to the top.”

/>   Maggie nods sadly, sparing a bit of sympathy for Francesca. I guess I can understand why. That, and Maggie’s the reincarnated spirit of Marsha Brady. “That’s right up his alley. So, based on that, the secret is coming out . . . whatever it is. Keith just needs to get in front of it. It’s the only way. Go on the morning talk show racket and apologize for the drug use and check into rehab . . .”

  I give her a severe look, my inner feelings flaring up. “He’s not on drugs.”

  Maggie smirks, knowing she’s been caught. “Had to try. Maybe apologize for the . . . red room of pain and explain that you’re into it too?”

  I laugh, wondering if Maggie’s brain is really as innocent as she seems. “Nope, not it either. Really, I can’t say. But I know Keith isn’t going to want to publicize it. He’s worked his whole life to keep this secret.”

  “Well, I have to say, I don’t think he’s going to have a choice about whether it gets out,” Maggie says, shrugging reluctantly. “But he can decide how it gets out.”

  My jaw drops as something comes back to me. Donnie said the record company’s initial push to have Keith do the interviews with me was so that they could . . . control the narrative.

  Quietly, I murmur the phrase to myself, like a magic incantation that can change the very fabric of the universe. “Control the narrative.”

  “What?”

  Maybe . . . maybe it can. Getting excited, I reach across the table and grab Maggie’s hand. “We have to control the narrative. Donnie’s power is in that he’s the only one with the information, but what if he wasn’t? Keith could do the morning show racket and tell it himself. Then Donnie won’t get the blackmail money and he won’t be able to publish it and get the exclusive breaking news. It takes away his power and lets Keith control the narrative! Control the narrative! You’re a fucking genius!”

  Maggie laughs, cute and self-conscious now. “Well, sometimes yes and sometimes no. Just glad this seems to be a yes-time for your sake. So, you’re really not going to tell me the secret?”

  “Nope, but I’m gonna need your help getting Keith on TV the day after tomorrow without telling the shows why and keeping the whole appearance Top Secret so Donnie doesn’t find out and try and jump out in front of the whole thing. Can you do that?”

  “Yeah, I can make a call or two and make that happen for a top name like Keith,” Maggie says. “I know a few people down at the local station, and if it’s Keith, they can probably get him on the national circuit if we promise them a big enough prize. But shouldn’t his manager do that though?”

  “Well, that’s my next problem. I have to get Keith on board with this plan because he’s not going to like it,” I reply, sighing a little. “He’s not going to like it at all. We kinda had a fight about the whole thing. He didn’t really blame me, exactly, but he was mad at himself for dating me because it’s led to this whole drama. He’s got some definite anger toward the media and paparazzi, and I’ve got this huge glaring neon sign on my forehead, blinking ‘REPORTER’ in big capital letters right now, and it’s got his shields up.”

  “Well, this isn’t really your fault, exactly, but maybe it is time for you to do something a little different if you’re pursuing something a bit longer term with Keith,” Maggie counsels me. “Not saying you’re not good, Elise. I mean, you’ve taught me a few things in the time we’ve worked together, but a gossip reporter and a country music star don’t exactly sound like a match made in heaven. And we both know you’re too good for this job anyway. Maybe you really could parlay this series into something with one of the legit music industry magazines? Or do some investigative journalism that’s not so, I don’t know . . . gossipy? Not like you can go to an award ceremony after-party on Keith’s arm and be trusted if you’re publishing all the drunk hookups on Monday morning,” she says jokingly, but she’s on target.

  I sigh, knowing Maggie’s right, but there are so many variables up in the air. “I know, and I’ll have to figure that out. But right now, I just want to figure out this thing with Keith. Thanks so much . . . Megan.”

  I give her a little smile as I use her cover name, glad that our conversation has been private even in this club and trusting that she will help me. Giving the bouncer a nod of thanks as he ushers out a few overindulged guests, I leave, stepping into one of the waiting Ubers.

  I’ve got a lot of shit to do, and not a lot of time to do it in. So the only question I have is . . . do I wait until sunrise to talk to Keith about this . . . or wake him up at three in the morning to deal with it?

  Chapter 24

  Keith

  I stare at the walls of my kitchen bleakly, my mind constantly replaying that smug asshole telling me that I’m going to pay him or he’ll expose Carsen to public scrutiny. Like any teenage girl needs that! I’m furious at Donnie, but maybe even more at myself.

  I couldn’t sleep at all last night, racked by anger and punishing myself for being a total dumbass. I was so worked up by what Donnie said, and my anger at the situation, that I took it out on Elise. I know that was a really shitty thing to do. She didn’t deserve to have me give her shit, especially since she never intended for this to happen.

  But I have to push that to the back burner and figure out what the fuck I’m going to do about Donnie’s threat. The problem is, I’ve drawn a blank as to any course of action.

  I can’t sue him. He’s right that it wouldn’t do any good because it would be too slow-moving to stop him, and he is telling the truth.

  I can’t go beat his ass into a pulp. That’d get the cops involved and only get Donnie what he wants, a fat payout in the form of a civil suit.

  I even had a dark few minutes late last night, well, early this morning, where I thought about hiring a hitman and taking Donnie out. Problem solved. But that’s not who I am, nor is it the legacy I want to leave to my daughter. And as much as it sounds like a solution, I know it’s just one for a TV show ending where the good guy gets away scot-free every time. Reality is a lot different, and as the hours go on, I’m still trying to figure out my way past the harshness of that reality.

  I’m still stumped, slamming my fourth coffee at eleven in the morning when Sarah and Carsen come blowing in, all girly giggles and excitement. “Daddy, oh, God, I had the best time! You wanna hear about it?”

  My head is pounding and I’m worried as shit, but I can see the swoony hearts in her eyes like some old-school cartoon.

  Still, it’s hard to find the will to be happy for her. All I can think about is that my baby’s first dance was probably going to be her last because by the next one, she’ll need security guards and won’t know whether to trust people’s friendship because of who she is or because of who I am.

  It makes my blood boil, and I realize it’s carrying over as Carsen and Sarah have stopped giggling, looking at me worriedly.

  “Daddy?” Carsen asks, her smile disappearing and breaking my heart. “What’s wrong?”

  I thought about telling Sarah during one of my more desperate moments of trying to sort this all out, but I held off, hoping I’d be able to find a solution before scaring her with all of this. But she can see things aren’t right. “What happened?”

  I try to school my face into a calm mask and shake my head. “Nothing, everything’s fine. Hey, Carsen, can you go hang out upstairs for a few minutes? I need to talk to Aunt Sarah about something, and then you can tell me all about the dance, okay?”

  She nods, but I can see that she’s not fooled by my forced calmness. “Sure, Dad. Holler when you’re done and I’ll tell you about it.”

  “I can’t wait, baby,” I reply, giving her a hug as she passes me to head upstairs. It hurts, because I know even as she hugs me that her world’s about to shatter, and that like Humpty Dumpty, it can’t be put back together again.

  “So tell me what’s going on,” Sarah says, going over to the cabinet next to the plates where she gets out the Tylenol she keeps there. “And take these. I can see you wincing every time the sunlight spar
kles in the window, and you kept wincing every time Carsen laughed. Guess you didn’t sleep?”

  I shake my head slowly, taking three Tylenol along with a glass of water, which somehow tastes a lot better than it should. “That fucking bastard is trying to blackmail me.”

  “What?” Sarah asks, shocked but trying to keep her voice down. “Back up, start slow, and omit nothing.”

  I actually don’t tell her everything, just giving her the basics because I just don’t have it in me right now. “And in the end, that jellybean loving motherfucker said if I don’t pay up by five tomorrow, he’s going to publish.”

  Sarah nods, biting her lip as she thinks. “And Elise? What does she say about this?”

  Fuck. I thought my headache was doing better after telling the story, but Sarah’s reminder brings back the pain around my temples. “Well, I was so fucking furious that I might’ve said some things . . .”

  “Keith, you stupid son of a bitch,” Sarah says softly, reprovingly. She sighs, waving her hand. “What did you do?”

  “I might’ve blamed her for starting this whole mess with her first article and told her that if I’d just done the damn articles and kept her at arm’s length, I wouldn’t be in this mess now . . . and that I knew better than to date her,” I reply. “It hurt her, and I dropped her off at her place. I haven’t heard from her since then.”

  “This isn’t her fault and you know it!” Sarah says, still trying to keep her voice down but managing to yell at me all the same. “From what you just said, she’s been putting her own career at risk to keep this secret. She’s done everything she can. It’s not her fault a coworker got suspicious when she saw us at the mall.”

  I rage. “I didn’t even know about that! Until I saw the pictures of the three of you out shopping. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Sarah grimaces. “We thought it was just bad luck. It’s a mall, Keith. We thought the woman was shopping.”