Operation Cinderella

by Hope Tarr

  Looking around, Stef said, “Wow, this is some place. I always wondered what the Watergate apartments were like. Until now, I’d only been to the restaurant.” Backtracking to the kitchen, she unzipped the last of the insulated food-carrying bags she’d brought for that night’s dinner. “So, how’d your first night go?”

  Caught in a web of conflicting feelings, Macie took a moment to answer. “It went fine, thanks.”

  Stef stopped in mid-zip. “Just fine?” She sounded a little deflated.

  “I mean, it went really well. He was bat shit for the food. Your biscuits were a big hit. He had three, called them slices of heaven because they were light and fluffy as clouds.”

  Stef beamed. “I don’t care what his politics are, the man has taste.”

  Stefanie’s mom, Rosaria, had taught her to cook at a very young age, so young she’d started out standing on a stool to reach the countertop. These days she had a growing roster of clients who appreciated her culinary efforts and were willing to pay top dollar. Still, if Macie could make one wish come true for her friend it was that Stefanie might meet a man who appreciated all she had to offer, including but not limited to mouthwatering meals. So far, no luck. It didn’t help that Stef was self-conscious about her weight. Listening to her so-called jokes about her cottage cheese thighs and bubba butt made Macie’s heart hurt. If only she’d ditch the baggy sweaters, oversized T-shirts, and elastic waist jeans for clothes that complemented her curves rather than camouflaged them, she’d shine as a knock-out, Macie was sure of it.

  Then again, it wasn’t like being a fashion diva had done Macie much good. All the La Perla lingerie and Jimmy Choo shoes in her closet hadn’t kept Zach from cutting out on her repeatedly. Sure, she dated a bunch, but it was Manhattan. Everybody did. Other than Zach, most of her dates never got beyond the third meet-up. Barring a haphazard handful of hot moments, she spent almost as much time solo as Stef did. Macie imagined the stacked take-out and microwaveable meal-for-one boxes she’d amassed over the last five years might reach to the moon.

  “So what’s he like?” Stef’s question startled her back to the present.

  Walking her fingers along the granite countertop, Macie shrugged. “He’s okay, I guess.”

  Ross was, she admitted—albeit to herself—better than okay, unfailingly courteous and kind and even funny, altogether at odds with his starchy public persona. Even after just one night, she was starting to wonder if his clean living act might not be an act at all. After dinner, he’d given her his calendar for the month and from what she saw, other than one banquet, a political thing, he didn’t plan to socialize—no happy hours, let alone any adult “sleepovers,” none that she could tell, anyway. Aside from taking early morning runs along the Potomac, he seemed determined to devote whatever free time he could find to Sam.

  Stefanie spoke up. “You know, Mace, traditional values aren’t all bad. Back when my mom was still alive, it was nice being part of a family where you knew you could count on everybody to have your back, and they knew they could count on you.”

  Assuming they really have your back, Macie mentally added, thinking of her own parents and how they’d fundamentally failed her. For whatever reason, she found herself admitting, “One-on-one, he’s actually kind of…sweet and easy to talk to.”

  She’d exchanged more substantive words in one dinner with Mannon than she had with Zach in three years. But then she was starting to see that she and her ex hadn’t had a relationship, not really. All that time they’d been, as Zach put it, just “hanging out.”

  Shaking off the sadness that epiphany brought, she added, “After dinner, he insisted on helping me clean up. Thank God I’d taken the kitchen trash out to the compactor before he got home, otherwise he would have spotted the catering boxes and then my goose would have been cooked. Speaking of which, what’s cooking for tonight?”

  “I made spaghetti and meatballs. Don’t worry, I made Samantha’s with texturized soy protein and put it in a separate container. See, I marked them as mock balls so you can keep them separate.” Stef lifted the plastic container with the pink Post-it.

  Macie blew out a breath. “Thanks, you’ve probably saved me from having her pitch the saucepot over my head.”

  “The real meatballs are made with ricotta and…well, you may be my best friend, but I don’t know that I can bring myself to give up my secret ingredient even to you.”

  “Suit yourself. But either way your secret’s safe with me. Stealing your ingredients would only lead to cooking and you know when it comes to the kitchen my mantra’s always been ‘Just Say No.’”

  Stephanie finished re-sealing the bags. “Cooking can be a lot of fun when you have someone like my pop who appreciates good food and the time and care that goes into preparing it. From what you’ve said, it sounds like Ross Mannon might be that kind of guy.”

  Macie wasn’t sure what to say to that, so for once she said nothing. Stef studied her. “You know Mace, other than my biscuits and baklava, there’s not much in life that’s one hundred percent perfect, including people.”

  Sensing she might be on the receiving end of a lecture, Macie bristled. “Your point is?”

  Stef shrugged. “Just consider it…food for thought.”

  .

  Stef had been gone all of five minutes when stomping footsteps announced that Samantha Mannon was home early from her school trip to The White House. Talk about a close call.

  Coming into the kitchen, she announced, “Something smells good.”

  Considering this wasn’t only an olive branch but a whole olive tree, Macie resolved to make an effort. “Thanks, I made my famous spaghetti sauce and meatballs.”

  “Famous, huh? You mean like you made all the stuff from scratch?”

  Obviously the kid was impressed—as well she should be. Macie nodded. “I’ve been peeling tomatoes all morning.”

  “You sure are industrious, Miss Gray.” She pressed her foot down on the trash can pedal. The lid popped up, and she leaned over to look inside.

  Macie’s heart slammed to a stop. She hadn’t had the chance to carry the trash to the compactor. The liner brimmed with boxes and discarded packaging emblazoned with the Good Enuf to Eat name and logo, hallmarks of professional catering in plain…evidence.

  “Samantha, don’t touch that!”

  Startled, Sam jumped back and the stainless steel lid slammed closed. Had she seen inside?

  Macie searched the girl’s face, but it was as blank as a professional poker player’s. “Jes—jiminy, you should wash your hands. Garbage containers carry all kinds of germs.”

  Gaze riveted on the can, Samantha made no move toward the sink. “We’re learning about composting in Biology class. Did you know some people keep worms to feed their leftovers to and then the worms—well, you’re going to love this part—crap it all out and then they use the poop for—”

  “Fertilizer, yes I know.” Was the kid out to torture or bore her to death?

  “I was thinking of doing that for my science fair project. Maybe you could start saving the scraps from all the great meals you’re making us.”

  Macie scraped a hand through her hair. Christ, I could seriously use a cocktail. “I don’t know, I’ll think about it.”

  Stuffing her hands in her jeans’ pockets, Sam took a long look around. “Where are all the dirty pots?”

  Perspiration beading her brow, Macie snapped, “I already washed them, why?”

  Sam shot a look to the wall rack from which the cluster of copperware hung, shiny as mirrors. “My grandma in Texas makes her spaghetti sauce in a big stew pot, and she lets it simmer for the whole day. It gives her hours and hours to work on the pasta—with the pasta maker.” She looked pointedly at the counter. Other than the microwave, toaster, and Mannon’s much-used coffeepot, there were no other appliances out.

  Macie propped her fisted hands on her hips. “I guess I use a shorter recipe.”

  “Maybe you could let me have it so I can e-ma
il it to Grandma, save her some time, seeing as how she’s in her golden years and all.”

  The kid was Satan’s spawn, no doubt about it. “Don’t you have some homework to do?”

  “Some reading for English Lit,” Sam admitted. “That Jane Eyre sure steps into some serious shit.” Smirking, she turned and sauntered out.

  Watching her go, Macie let out the breath she’d been holding. Was Sam onto her? If so, then the kid’s game, Macie surmised, would be to hold the threat over her head for as long as she could and then produce her trump card when it really counted. At least that’s how Macie would play it were their positions reversed. Hopefully by then she’d have enough on Mannon to make her exit, and nothing else would matter. All the more reason to get on the J.O.B.

  She left the kitchen and tiptoed past Sam’s closed bedroom door. A conversation in progress confirmed the kid was within, either talking on her cell or video chatting—so much for Jane Eyre. Mannon’s study lay at the far end of the hallway. She stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. He’d left his laptop lying open on his desk—talk about trusting. It was apparently password unprotected and still running. He must have dashed out that morning without logging off. Keeping one eye on the study door, she leaned over the desk and began scrolling through his history of recently visited sites.

  Holy shit! Macie blinked, at first disbelieving her eyes. Talk about hitting pay dirt. Links to “erotica” chat rooms, sketchy “costuming” sites, and yes, seriously raunchy porn greeted her. She spotted what was obviously a kiddie porn site among the list and anger bubbled up inside her. Playing with adults was one thing, but getting your kicks from kids was beyond sick. Hands shaking, she took a screen shot, logged off and back on again as a guest, and e-mailed it to herself, then deleted the copy from the Sent folder.

  Queasy, she stepped away from the desk. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d just been handed the equivalent of Mannon’s severed head on a platter and the best she could do was pray she didn’t puke. She should feel relieved, vindicated, triumphant, but instead what she felt was absurdly, irrationally let down. More than let down, she felt crushed, as though she’d just found out Santa Claus was a myth and the tooth fairy just another fake. She’d been halfway to believing that, politics aside, Ross Mannon might be an actually decent guy, but now she saw she’d been right about him from the beginning. On the surface he might look like a prince but beneath that patina of man pretty was a warty frog waiting to leap free. Worse, he was the scum on the bottom of the pond where the other frogs lived—so much for friggin’ fairy tales.

  She straightened her shoulders and willed her stomach to calm. It was time to stop acting like a rookie and start being the professional she’d worked so hard to become. The full story remained to be flushed out, but in the interim, this update on Ross’s Internet trolling should satisfy Starr that she really was on to something big.

  Back in her room, she forwarded the screenshot to Starr with a cc: to Terri. She’d just dropped her phone in the bottom of a dresser drawer when she heard stirring in the foyer—Ross, of course. The sick son-of-a-bitch was home early and likely eager to log in some more perverted private playtime with his laptop. Macie stood, sucked down a deep breath, and reached for her game face. She drew the door closed behind her and stepped out, the plush hallway carpet seeming to suck at her soles, and her body trembling. Why did this suddenly feel so…hard?

  “Did you have a nice day?” she asked, coming out into the main room.

  “I did.” He turned away from the coat rack to face her and she spotted it at once—a smear of classically dark red lipstick on his jaw.

  More confirmation of his scumbag status! When it rained dirt, it apparently poured it as well.

  Feeling as though an entire bacco bed were being dumped onto her head, she forced herself to take a step closer. “You have lipstick on your cheek.”

  He turned to the wall mirror, tilted his face, and blushed. “Sheesh, Frannie could have said something.” He dug inside his pocket, came up empty, and settled for scrubbing at the spot with the back of his hand.

  Frannie? Given his packed schedule, “Frannie” was either the most understanding girlfriend on the planet or one who got paid by the hour. Macie would put her money on the latter.

  Apparently catching her questioning look, he supplied, “Sam’s mother showed up in town at the last minute, and we took the opportunity to have a parental powwow over lunch.”

  “Your lunch was with Sam’s…mother?” Focusing on the lipstick leavings, she added, “It’s nice that you’ve stayed so…friendly.”

  Turning away from the mirror, he grimaced. “Having a kid in common is a powerful motivator to play nice.”

  A laudable sentiment—or at least Macie would have thought so if she hadn’t just seen his Internet history. Even if he had just come from a platonic lunch with his ex, he was still a serious sicko. She couldn’t afford to lose sight of who and what he was—and what she’d come to DC to do. At this rate, she’d be back in New York long before her allotted six weeks.

  Operation Cinderella was moving ahead at full throttle.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning, all hell broke loose. Carrying his open laptop into the kitchen, Ross wore a face reddened with fury and his tie loose about his neck. Macie tensed. Had he found out about her snooping? Had Sam revealed her suspicions so soon? She glanced over to the kid, expecting to see a smirk, but for once Sam seemed to have nothing sarcastic or otherwise to say. Picking poppy seeds off a bagel, she hunkered on one of the counter stools, head down and mouth shut.

  “Dr. Mannon, whatever is the matter?” Macie asked, not entirely successful at smoothing the tremor from her tone.

  He slammed the laptop atop the breakfast bar, rattling the glasses of orange juice she’d just poured. “See for yourself.”

  The screen showed the On Top blog with the header for that day’s post, “Perverse Pleasures? Conservative Media Pundit, Ross Mannon, Addicted to…‘Love’?”

  “The station’s PR people run a daily Google Alert to track media hits,” he explained, raking a hand through his shower-damp hair. “The search engine brought up this…crap. Apparently late yesterday, an ‘anonymous reader’ broke the story on my supposed Internet pornography addiction.” He shook his head, color still high. “The sites they list turn my stomach.”

  Staring at the screen, Macie felt almost as stunned as he did. Apparently Starr had taken her “interim report” and published it as fact.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, surprised that she actually was.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Sam, face paling. Then again what kid, no matter how tough talking, wouldn’t be devastated to discover that her dad was a porn addict? Thanks to Macie, she just had.

  Turning her gaze back on Mannon, she asked, “What are you going to do?”

  “The station’s legal department’s already on it. We’ll demand a retraction—and an apology.”

  Feeling weak in the knees, she braced a hand against the counter. “And if you don’t, um…get it?”

  “We’ll sue.” He closed the laptop without turning it off. “Hopefully the station will get behind me on this, it’s in my contract, but if I have to I’ll take on the sons-of-bitches myself.” He looked over to Sam. “I don’t want you to worry about any of this, honey. It’s all a load of—a big mistake, but I’m working on fixing it. Okay?”

  Sam swallowed, looking like she might be sick. “O…okay,” she echoed, her voice unlike Macie had ever heard it, weak and trembling like…like a child’s.

  He dropped a kiss atop Sam’s head. “I’m going into the office. I’ll see you ladies later.” He picked up the laptop and left.

  The front door opening then closing confirmed he’d gone. Sinking onto the stool beside Sam, Macie looked down at the platter of bagels that no one, including her, seemed to want to eat. “Sam, are you going to finish that bagel or do you want to take it with you in the car? If we don
’t leave in the next five, you’ll be late for school.”

  Sam dropped the bagel she’d still held. “I don’t feel so good.”

  Macie stood. “Nice try, but I’m not buying. Get your backpack and let’s go. Your dad has enough on his mind without getting a call from your school.” Thanks to me, she silently added.

  Sam stayed put. “I’m not faking, I swear.”

  The kid’s stricken face told her she was telling the truth. “Sam, I know you’re upset, and I don’t blame you, but your dad said he would fix this and…and I’m sure he will.”

  “It’s my fault.” Sam planted her elbows on the counter and buried her head in her open hands. “Dad’s going to kill me or at least hate me forever.”

  Staring down on the kid’s bowed head, Macie reached for her patience. Fifteen was a tough age under the best of circumstances. Whatever was wrong in Sam’s world might not be any big deal, but right now it obviously seemed pretty big to Sam.

  “Your father could never hate you, not forever, not even for five minutes. He loves you too much, but you’d better tell me what you did.”

  Sam lifted her head from her hands. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes ran with fat tears. “Dad didn’t visit those websites. I did.”

  The shock hit, not so much a full on strike as a face slap, a wakeup call. Stronger still was the relief, so strong it skirted the edges of what felt, suspiciously, like Macie remembered joy had once felt. Mannon didn’t surf for porn, not kiddie porn, not adult porn, either. He wasn’t a pervert. He wasn’t a fiend. Whatever his deep, dark secret might or might not be, it wasn’t that.

  Thoughts racing, she listened to the rest of Sam’s tearful confession, simultaneously stringing together the details and strategizing what might be done to limit the damage. Pissed off that her dad had implemented the parental control function on her computer and inspired by the Declaration of Independence, which she was studying in her American History class, Sam had decided to stage her own mini revolt. She’d snuck into Ross’s study, found his login and password written on a Post-it note stuck to the inside of his unlocked desk drawer, and used his laptop to log onto the skankiest sites she could find. Not to get him into any trouble—she’d never seen that coming—but to prove that he couldn’t restrict her access and deny her “liberty.” The kid was considerably fuzzier on the nature of the exact object lesson she’d meant to impart, but Macie surmised it had to do with wanting to show that she was an adult as well as equal in the smarts department. That didn’t make logical sense, of course, but being a rebel herself, as well as her own worst enemy, Macie got it.