How Far She's Come

by Holly Brown

  “No. The goal is for you to get viewers, and for me to get advertisers, and in the process, we change the direction of this country. You’re how I get millennial males to eat their brussels sprouts.”

  I wish I could smile, but I’m suddenly paralyzed. “I’m scared, Edwin.”

  “Last time, you didn’t get the upside. This time, trust me, there’s going to be a lot of upside. This time around, they’re all going to wish they were you.”

  “The past is going to come back up. All the awful things people said about me will get recycled. Not to mention the pictures.”

  “Your first report will be on cyberbullying, and you won’t be the whole story, don’t worry, but we’ll incorporate what happened to you. It humanizes you right from the start, and it lets us get out in front. Then when people attack you, they’ll have proven your point. They’ll be cliché.”

  “You think that’ll deter them?”

  He laughs. “Of course not. But it’s all part of the plan. This isn’t checkers; it’s chess. Trust me, Cheyenne. I’m focused on the long game.”

  I do trust him, and I want this mission. I want to prove myself worthy of it, and to prove all my classmates wrong, the ones who’ve underestimated me, and all the trolls who insist on the binary, you’re left or you’re right, you’re entirely pure or you’re a slut and an opportunist. I want to try to make the world better—more informed and inclusive and kinder. That desire is greater than my fear.

  “There’s something you need to know,” I say. “A clause of my own.”

  He puts his phone down beside him, but not his drink. He looks intrigued.

  “My father has terminal cancer, and he has for a long time. I delayed Stanford for a year because the doctors said he didn’t have much time left, but then I found this clinical trial, this experimental drug, and it worked. So I went to school for two years, and then the drug stopped working. I took a year off to be with him. I found another clinical trial, and that’s been working ever since.” I get that feeling in my chest and throat, the superstitious one that makes me want to find some wood in this steel-and-glass office and knock as hard as I can. “But if it stops working, then I have to be let out of my contract.”

  “To be his nurse?”

  “No, to be his daughter,” I say sharply.

  Part of that sharpness is the realization that I’m not actually choosing to spend as much time as possible with him. If that was my main aim, I’d be back there right now. Instead, I’m about to take a demanding job in NYC for the next three years. I’ve been visiting him once a month, and I was planning to keep that up for the rest of my—well, his—life. Will I be able to do that if I take this job?

  Maybe I can get him to move to New York to live with me. On almost $200K a year, I might be able to afford a two-bedroom.

  There’s no way. He belongs in Tulip in a way that I don’t, despite all the affection I have for the place. Tulip should be a model for the rest of the country. But I don’t fit there, and I didn’t really fit in Palo Alto either. Will I belong in New York?

  Edwin is watching me carefully, calibrating. It’s the first wrench I’ve thrown into his plan.

  “I’ll call my lawyer,” he says finally.

  That was easier than I expected, so I might as well push it. “I have to fly back and see him regularly. So I need to be guaranteed one weekend off every month.”

  “After that, we’re good to go? No more changes?”

  “Nothing.”

  “And you’ll sign tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  His smile is huge. How many teeth does that man have? “You’ve got yourself a deal.” I burst into astonished laughter. “You’re going to have that drink now, right? I’m thinking . . . Bee’s Knees. You like gin? You like froth?”

  I laugh again, a girlish tinkling sound of such delight that I wouldn’t have recognized it as mine. I haven’t laughed like that since childhood, maybe, or at least since before my father’s diagnosis.

  As soon as we’ve had our drink, I need to call Dad. And Chase. I have to break the news that we’re about to become a long-distance couple. No, bicoastal. That’s a much better way to put it.

  He’ll have to understand. No woman—no person—could turn this down, especially now that I’m getting my Montana clause. Maybe I could have pushed for two weekends a month to have time in both Tulip and Palo Alto, but at some point, Edwin was going to push back. Anyway, it’s too late now. The lawyers are hard at work, and Edwin is already mixing drinks.

  Chase gets ambition. I’ll just call him and explain. No, I’ll tell him in person later. It’s three hours earlier in Palo Alto, and Edwin’s private jet is going to take me back tonight.

  But first things first. I really need that drink.

  Chapter 5

  I let myself in as quietly as possible. Chase is on the couch, his chest rising and falling at regular intervals, the TV showing an episode of Game of Thrones that I know he’s already seen. I don’t dare turn it off, for fear of waking him. After the longest, most exhilarating, and most exhausting day of my life, I should probably be eager to share the events with Chase, but, really, all I want is to rest and deal with any fallout tomorrow.

  Lovely as our apartment is, it’s still a studio, which means any noise can become clatter. We’re walking distance to downtown Palo Alto, with a large living room, separate kitchen, and a very cool Murphy bed that pulls out of the wall, though I won’t pull the bed down for the same reason I can’t turn off the television. If I just curl up on the floor, I know I’ll be asleep in 2.7 seconds flat.

  Only Chase sits up.

  “Chey?” he says, turning on the lamp beside the couch. His blond hair is adorably mussed, and he’s blinking profusely. He is adorable, that’s the thing. Everyone at school agreed with the (also adorable) statement: Chase is a catch.

  It’s my moment. I get to share my big news with the man I love. I clear my throat. Nothing comes out.

  The thing is, I’ve always felt like Chase is too good for me. He was exceptional in a school full of the exceptional. He’s cute and confident, yet still self-effacing. He makes an impression without rubbing his ample intelligence in anyone’s face. He’s principled, too, turning down Google, Apple, and Yahoo! in favor of Until, because of its mission: to stop crime before it happens, when it’s just a thought in someone’s mind.

  Until has figured out how to detect subacute changes in brain-wave patterns when someone is thinking in a manner most likely to lead to certain forms of deviance. They don’t yet have a working prototype, but they’ve got tons of funding. Until is cutting edge, civically minded, and likely to be worth billions, and Chase is on the ground floor, the inner circle, with abundant stock options to cash in.

  Chase is amazing. He’s always been the amazing one in our particular couple. Now I have my own billionaire believer and the chance to be the next big thing in service of something huge and important, a foot soldier for democracy itself. Edwin and I signed, toasted, and tethered.

  I do have one nagging question, and I hope Chase doesn’t give voice to it. Perhaps I didn’t call him all day because I wanted it to remain unspoken. Because I wanted to sign on the dotted line. Because this is America, with its lenient bankruptcy laws and its love of risk-takers. Because in this country, we can fail spectacularly and start again. Because sometimes we succeed spectacularly too.

  But if Edwin’s offer is as good as it seems, why the rush? I should have been given adequate time to evaluate. Instead, he wanted to lock it—and me—down ASAP. Yes, that’s flattering, but it’s also a little concerning. What does he have to hide?

  The thing is, I wanted to be locked in. When I woke up this morning, I had no prospects and no true direction. I had nothing but Chase. I was a black hole to his star.

  Edwin sold me, and now I have to sell Chase.

  I launch into the story with gusto, but as I get closer to the part about the signed contract, I start to falter. There’s nothing stand
ard or boilerplate in how it’s all come together, that’s for sure.

  Chase and I are supposed to be partners in life. We’ve talked about getting married someday, sometimes while sober. We’ve been together for the past three years. Well, for much of those years. There was that long period of hooking up and denying we’d caught feelings, but while I was missing my junior year, living in Tulip and taking care of Dad, Chase told me that there was no one else he wanted to be with, not really. He was in love with me, and how could I not be in love back? This was Chase, and I’d caught him.

  He lets me finish the story. Then he doesn’t speak. It feels withholding, like he’s saying, You didn’t want my opinion earlier, so you’re not going to get it now.

  “What are you thinking?” I say, when I can’t take it anymore.

  “So Edwin Gordon thinks you’re a natural.” His tone is flat, devoid of any inflection at all.

  “Yes.”

  “He doesn’t care that you have no training, or experience.”

  “Right.” I feel a little like he’s cross-examining me, and I’m fast becoming a hostile witness. “He believes in me.” As in, don’t you, Chase?

  “I just didn’t see this coming.”

  I force a laugh. “Who could have? It’s crazy.”

  “Yeah, it is.” He’s not laughing. “Do you really think you’re ready for this?”

  “I want it, so I’ve got to get ready.”

  “You’ve wanted it since when? Since breakfast?”

  I fight back the defensiveness. He needs time to process, that’s all. “I’ve always wanted to be part of something big, ever since I was a kid.”

  “How do you know INN is big?”

  “It’s the fastest-growing—the only growing—cable news network. Edwin’s got a mission, and I—”

  “So you know it because Edwin told you? You didn’t think you should do any independent research?”

  The way he emphasizes “independent” stings, like he’s questioning my one bona fide.

  “I’m just worried about you,” he says. “The trolls practically destroyed you once. You think they’re not going to try to do it again?”

  “Edwin’s got a plan.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “A plan to stop them?”

  “A plan to use them. You don’t go viral without controversy. This time, the trolls can be part of what gives me power, not what takes it away.”

  Chase bites his lip, visibly grappling with self-censorship. “This affects me, too, you know. When you hurt, I hurt.”

  “I get that, but I can’t just cloister at home for the rest of my life.”

  “You don’t have to make yourself a public figure either. When those pictures got out . . .” He trails off, and I’m pretty sure he’s not only thinking of me. Even though he wasn’t in the pictures, he was still embarrassed that all his colleagues had seen every part of his girlfriend.

  “There are no more pictures,” I say. “They’re all out there.”

  “Then maybe pictures won’t be their weapon of choice. I’m just saying, you went underground for a reason.”

  “And you want me to stay there.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “I can become a target whether I join INN or not. You don’t control who’s coming after you. You only control whether you hide or fight back. This time, INN’s going to help me fight back.”

  “You know that because Edwin told you?”

  “Because it’s in their self-interest. And, yes, because Edwin told me.”

  He nods slowly. I can’t tell if I’ve convinced him or he’s just too tired to keep on with the conversation. Besides, the contract’s been signed, and Chase doesn’t pick losing battles.

  “Well,” he says, “it’s done. We have to make the best of it. We’ve been long distance before.”

  He hasn’t expressed his confidence in me, but at least he’s not angry. Another guy could easily have been. All day, I’ve been focused entirely on what the opportunity could mean for me, without really thinking about what it means for us.

  My instincts were right though. I couldn’t have let him weigh in sooner. If I’d slowed down, I might have started to doubt myself. I could have decided to go back into the shadows again. In Chase’s shadow.

  “Do we have any champagne?” he asks, smiling. “We should celebrate!”

  “Are you sure you’re feeling festive? Like you said, this is a big change in your life, too, with no notice. I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t feel like I could say no.”

  “You, of all people, should be aware that you can always say no.”

  “I mean, I didn’t want to say no. But I never want to hurt you. So I can understand if you’re in no mood to toast. It’s late. We can just go to bed.”

  “No, we should celebrate. You made this happen, Cheyenne.”

  I’d like to think it was said with pride, but somehow, it hangs there in the room, a touch ominously. Then he’s popping the cork.

  Chapter 6

  A sterile corporate apartment in Midtown isn’t what I would have chosen, but it’s close to the studio and has top-notch security, and since INN is picking up the tab, I can hardly complain. Edwin told me to consider it a signing bonus.

  Due to start work tomorrow, I have a day to explore. I traverse SoHo and TriBeCa, and there are some appreciative stares, but mostly, everyone is on their way somewhere, preoccupied with their own lives. I’m just another pretty girl, which is how I like it. That Tag thread is played out. New Yorkers have too much going on to bother with me, not like in Palo Alto.

  I stop in a few boutiques and pick out some accessories with way more style than any I’ve owned previously. Sharp edges, industrial chic, I don’t even know what to call it. I’m normally a jeans-and-T-shirt girl. J.Crew. The Gap. I even have some Abercrombie left in my closet. The saleswomen try to talk me into whole outfits to go with the jewelry, but I haven’t even seen a paycheck yet. I promise I’ll be back.

  Late that night while I’m lying in my antiseptic bed (white sheets under a white duvet cover), Edwin texts to ask about my first day living in the city. That’s what he calls it, the city, as if there’s only one. I tell him about the shopping, and the freedom, and how the city is much easier to navigate than I expected, and sure, it’s pulsing, but it’s not overwhelming. It’s on a grid, with a design to each neighborhood that makes intuitive sense, so that the whole island of Manhattan has a geometry that Palo Alto lacks. Maybe this is it, where I belong.

  We text back and forth for a while, like old friends, and then he writes, Relish your anonymity. It’ll soon be a thing of the past.

  A shiver goes through me. Then he adds, almost like he can see my reaction: You’ll be recognized, but the locals will be cool about it. They won’t mob you. You’ll just feel their eyes on you, like they’re trying to place you, even if they’ve already placed you.

  They must be used to celebrities in their midst. I mean, not that I’m a celebrity.

  Not yet. Sleep tight.

  But what about the out-of-towners? I want to ask. What will they do?

  I don’t really want to go there, though, not this late at night, so close to dreaming. Instead I say good night, and then I try to reach Chase. He’s the one I should be texting from my bed anyway.

  Even though it’s three hours earlier in California, he doesn’t respond. I wonder how he feels being stuck so far away, doing his same old, while I embark on an adventure. He probably never expected me to be the one to strike out for parts unknown and leave him behind. I didn’t either.

  I finally drift off to sleep and dream of nothing at all.

  IN THE MORNING, I walk the three blocks to INN’s building, where I’m met in the lobby by my supervising producer, Albie. He gives off the air of having been in the trenches forever. In his fifties, with thinning sandy hair and abundant sun damage, in ill-fitting carpenter jeans and a stretched-out pocket T-shirt over his paunch, he started with the major networks t
hirty years ago and then worked for Fox, CNN, and MSNBC. He says he’s politically agnostic, which might be the same as being an independent. There’s something about his gruffness that inspires trust, and that’s enough to make me like him, even though he hasn’t smiled once yet. He’s interested in one thing, and it’s not that thing.

  He takes me through the unromantic tasks first, like getting my badge and meeting INN’s security staff. Reassuringly, the checkpoints and safeguards are extensive. While there’s a whole private security team, I see police too. Albie explains that the NYPD are a fixture in the building and will always be in the studio for shows with a live audience.

  That’s where shit gets real. It’s not hypothetical anymore; I’m actually going to be on TV. But Albie doesn’t seem to notice I’ve gone rigid. Maybe the news business is about knowing what to react to, and what can be ignored.

  Albie escorts me to his office. If the space is any indication of how thirty-year veterans are treated, it’s a pretty brutal industry. There’s nothing on the walls, which is something it has in common with Edwin’s office, but that’s where the similarity ends. Albie’s is windowless and barely big enough to hold a desk and two chairs. The lighting is painfully fluorescent. Albie isn’t even on the same floor as anyone else from INN. Has he done something really, really bad and been sent into exile? Am I his punishment?

  “You’ll be visiting all the pitch meetings later,” Albie is saying. “Basically, you’re going to camp out in the conference room and see what goes on behind the scenes for each show, one after the other. Just listen with a smart look on your face. Don’t try to impress anyone. That can only end badly.”

  I’ve already realized Albie doesn’t mince words, and there’s no time for offense taking. “Will the anchors be there?” I ask.

  I met them all briefly, after the contract had already been signed. They were nice to me (especially Beth, and even Ty), but because they were in hair and makeup or just generally rushing around, I hadn’t been able to progress beyond small talk. I’ve spent plenty of time with them, though, over the past week, watching all their shows to make up for lost time. Now I’m much more prone to being starstruck.