by Star Jones
Lizette had purposely been avoiding Channing the entire weekend. She thought that was safer for him and for her, because she’d probably try to smother him with a pillow in his sleep if they were in the same apartment. He had started blowing up her cell phone with calls she wouldn’t answer and then text messages inquiring about Maxine’s party. That sealed it for her. The old Channing wouldn’t have given a second thought to a dinner party given by Lizette’s boss, even if she had been deeply involved in the planning. He just wasn’t that kind of guy—the one who paid close attention to his lady’s affairs and constantly asked how they were going. No, he had always been too self-centered and distracted for that. At first it had bothered her, but her mother told her that in the long run that kind of husband was preferable to the one who smothered you and made you feel like you couldn’t breathe. So Lizette had come to accept that this was just Channing’s way and she should get used to it. But now she had this curious Channing on her hands, asking about a dinner party thrown by a woman he had never met? It all made perfect sense now.
Lizette was cooking up a plan that would be a great way of getting some revenge. It wasn’t good enough to make them even, by any means, but it might give her some measure of satisfaction. With a wicked smile on her face, Lizette picked up her phone and called Channing back. He answered on the first ring, sounding somewhat breathless.
“I’ve been on the phone all morning with folks from The Lunch Club,” Lizette told him. “Oh, Channing, it sounds like the dinner party was a disaster!”
“Really?” She could hear the eagerness in his voice; it almost made her want to throw up.
“Yes, really! Channing, they told me that Rene Mitchell, the fashion designer, got into a brawl with Sammy Rosenberg of Ultralux Pictures! You believe that?”
“A brawl? Wow, really?” Channing said. He knew that Rene Mitchell was not only a famous designer with his own top-selling clothing line, but he was also a well-known homosexual. “That’s unbelievable! Did you get any more details?”
Lizette smiled. She knew she had him now. “Yeah. I heard that everyone was shocked that big, tough Sammy Rosenberg got his ass kicked and cried like a baby. And, you know, Rene probably weighs like sixty pounds less than Sammy, at least. Maybe even more. And, he’s gay. Like real gay. I think he broke Sammy’s nose. Well, everyone said it looked like it might have been broken. But Sammy was too embarrassed to go to the hospital. He just let it bleed. You believe that?”
“Wow,” Channing said. But his response was a bit distracted—as if he was trying to write it all down.
“Listen,” Lizette said. “I gotta go now. I’m getting another call. I’ll call you again if I get more info, okay?”
“Okay,” Channing said, not even realizing how busted he was.
As she pressed the button to hang up the phone, Lizette had one more word for Channing: “Bastard!” she whispered into the receiver, though she knew he was already gone. Then she broke into a fit of giggles.
Lizette didn’t find out about Eric Harlington until early Sunday evening, when a reporter from the New York Courier called her to ask for a comment on the arrest of Whitney’s husband in Prague. Lizette was so shocked and disturbed that she forgot all about her Channing prank. Apparently she had some work to do.
THE HAIR/MAKEUP ROOM WAS abuzz on Monday morning. There was a heightened air of excitement in the building, as if everyone had been given some sort of group injection of amphetamines. There were two stories on everybody’s lips—Eric’s arrest on Primeline, which had been recounted in a short story in the New York Courier, and Maxine’s party. The women on The Lunch Club staff and crew had seen Eric on many occasions, stopping by the studio to pick up Whitney, take her out to lunch, or bring their kids by. They were incredulous that the nice, handsome guy they had grown to know over the years was also the disgusting creature they saw on the Primeline ads. And what about poor Whitney and her family? They all felt terribly sorry for her—but they couldn’t stop talking about it. It was like catnip for any fan of gossip.
Lizette had been dead-on about Channing—about a half million people went on chattercrazy.com on Monday morning to read a story about Sammy Rosenberg getting beat up by Rene Mitchell at Maxine’s place. Channing had run with the whole thing without seeking any attribution. When Lizette saw the story, which she read on her laptop before she left her apartment, she burst into tears, crying for the loss of the life that she had thought she was going to live. Crying for the ideal future she thought she was going to have with Channing. All gone. When had all of his journalistic standards flown out the window? she wanted to know. What had happened to Channing?
Molly sat in a corner of the makeup room, listening to all the speculation about Eric Harlington and all the whispered giggles about Sammy Rosenberg, but what she really wanted to do was go find Karen. She was terrified that Karen had already told Maxine about Saturday night, or was perhaps going to do it after the show. But she was afraid to go find Karen—after all, she had already begged for Karen’s mercy. What more could she say?
When Maxine swept into the room, the chattering stopped all at once. Everyone resumed their busywork in silence, which every lady on The Lunch Club staff knew was the telltale sign that you had been the subject of the gossip before you came into the room.
“Why is everyone so quiet?” Maxine asked as she sat down in a chair for makeup. She looked over at Lilly, the queen of the makeup room gossipmongers. “Were you all talking about that silly story on that website?” Maxine glanced around the room. No one answered, which was the answer she needed.
“I laughed when I read that,” Maxine said. “I have no idea where that ridiculousness came from. It just goes to show that you can’t believe anything you read on that site.” She threw a purposeful glance in Molly’s direction. Maxine looked around the room again, to make sure everyone was listening to her.
“First of all, Sammy Rosenberg is in St. Barth right now on a yacht with his family,” she said. “He wasn’t even invited to the dinner party at my house. And Rene Mitchell is about as likely to break somebody’s nose as I am. Actually, let me amend that—probably less likely than I am! Somebody just made the whole thing up. I might even consider a lawsuit, but we’re talking about the Internet, for heaven’s sakes. If you believe everything you read on the Internet, you should be ashamed of yourself anyway.”
With her speech finished, Maxine sat back in her chair and dared anyone to contradict her. What happened next put everyone in a temporary state of shock and awe. Whitney breezed into the room with a big smile, looking fresh and as gorgeous as ever, like she didn’t even need to sit in the makeup chair. She sat down, put down her pocketbook, and glanced quickly around the room. She exhaled deeply.
“Okay, ladies,” she said. “Let me have it. What do you want to know?”
But no one in the room responded. Until Maxine spoke up. She cleared her throat, betraying her nervousness. “Well, Whitney,” Maxine said. “Since you asked. Um, do you want to talk about it on the show?”
It was the question Whitney knew Maxine was going to ask eventually. Whenever one of the ladies made the news in some way, at some point Maxine always asked her if she wanted to talk about it on the show. Of course, Maxine always hoped that the answer was yes, but if a cohost said no she respected her wishes. Whitney had spent most of the day on Sunday preparing for this very moment. Judy Smith and Nancy Chemtob had prepared her well. They both said the first words out of her mouth would set the tone for everything that followed. Nancy had represented some of the richest, most powerful women in the country during divorce proceedings that usually were initiated because the husband had done something ridiculously embarrassing. And Judy had represented men and women who were in the middle of crises that ranged from illicit affairs and corporate malfeasance to murder.
They’d both told Whitney that she might be tempted to run and hide, but in a situation like this, the woman always came out better in the end if she didn’t chang
e her public image in any way, if she went about her daily work like a soldier. This didn’t mean that she pretended that she hadn’t been hurt by the husband’s wrongs, but she needed to make it clear that they were his wrongs. And she had to act like the husband’s wrongs weren’t going to destroy her. In Whitney’s case, this meant going back on The Lunch Club on Monday morning and talking frankly about what had happened to her so that she could get some of her dignity back. If she didn’t appear to be overly embarrassed, then people wouldn’t treat her as if she should be. At their suggestion, she had even practiced her little speech in front of a mirror. When Maxine’s question came, Whitney was as ready as she was ever going to be.
THE SHOW BEGAN WITH light discussion on a couple of news stories of the day, mainly a big speech the president had given on Friday on financial reform. Whitney participated as much as she usually did, though she hadn’t watched the speech or read any stories about it. But it was always easy to take the position of the little guy against the evil fat cats of Wall Street, even if you had no idea what the president had said.
When they came back from the first commercial break, Maxine turned to Whitney. “Whitney, most of us know by now that this weekend has been particularly tough for you and I know this isn’t the easiest thing in the world to talk about, so I have a lot of respect for your decision to talk about it on the show,” she said, which was the truth. Maxine looked into the camera, reading the teleprompter. “As some of you may know, Whitney’s husband, Eric Harlington, was arrested in Prague on Friday. There were several charges filed against him in connection with allegations that he had paid money to have sex with two underage girls. I believe, it is alleged, he paid for girls who were aged thirteen and fourteen. In addition, there were more charges filed against him in the United States for possession of child pornography, based on files that were found in his house in Nantucket.”
Maxine turned back to Whitney. “This is just a horrible story, Whitney, and I can’t even imagine what you must be going through right now. So I’m going to give you the opportunity to say what you wish about it.”
Whitney had considered looking into the camera when she spoke, but Nancy and Judy had said that would look too much like a confessional speech, as if Whitney had done something wrong. They said she should keep it conversational, like she was talking to one of her girlfriends. Whitney smiled at Maxine. It wasn’t genuine, but it was effective nonetheless, giving viewers the picture of a woman who was going through a lot but would be okay.
“Thank you, Maxine, for the chance to talk about this. It’s just crazy how much my life has changed in the last three days. How much the lives of my children have changed too. We are all unbelievably devastated by everything that has come out. Of course, no one in the family had any inkling that any of this stuff was going on. I thought we were a normal, happy family. I have been spending as much time as I can with my kids, focusing on them, helping them get through this. That is what I am most concerned about. I’ll be okay. I’m a strong woman and I will be able to move on. I know that everyone is presumed to be innocent until they are proven guilty, but this involves the welfare of children . . . specifically my children, so I’ve already taken the first step toward healing my family. I’ve initiated divorce proceedings, so in a short time I won’t even be married to him anymore.
“Yes, he will always be the father of two of my children. That’s something they’ll never be able to change. That’s what bothers me the most, the impact this will have on their lives. I know that the story is salacious and scandalous in most people’s minds . . . but this is my family and my children and I will do anything and everything to protect them from further hurt. So, I’m asking anyone out there who may be watching to respect the privacy of my kids, and not do anything that will make this harder for them than it already is. As for Eric, I have no intention of ever purposely laying eyes on him again. Whatever happens to him, he will have to deal with it alone because he has lost his family.”
The camera pulled back to catch Maxine blinking in surprise. She hadn’t expected Whitney to be so honest. It was a startling declaration for a celebrity to make on national television. The entire panel was stunned by everything she said; the group was silent until Molly chimed in.
“I feel so bad for your kids, Whitney,” Molly said. “They don’t deserve this. Particularly your daughters. They are such lovely young girls.”
Maxine’s face twisted into a grimace. Molly realized how horrible that must have sounded, to make reference to the loveliness of Whitney’s daughters during a discussion about Eric soliciting underage girls. Molly’s face reddened in shame. She was about to apologize, but Whitney rescued her because she was ready for this line of inquiry also.
“That’s so kind of you to say, Molly.” This time she purposefully turned straight to the camera and said, “My girls are lovely and innocent and I thank God that nothing that has happened or will happen will change that.”
When the ladies walked off the set at the end of the show, they all wore somber masks, as if they had just emerged from watching an execution. Although the friendship of The Lunch Club ladies was for the most part manufactured, there was no denying that when one of them was hurt, all of them hurt. And today . . . everyone hurt for Whitney. There was very little of the usual chatter as they all dispersed and made their way to their offices in quiet reflection. Whitney walked quickly, knowing that eyes were still focused on her. One by one, as if they were of one mind, her castmates all changed their direction—instead of walking toward their own offices, they all headed for Whitney’s. When they opened the door to Whitney’s office, they found her sitting in a chair and sobbing quietly, releasing the turbulent emotions that had been pent up all morning. Yes, she was strong enough to face the public within forty-eight hours; but privately, her spirit would need many more days to heal. When she saw them, she finally let go of the carefully crafted TV mask and the tears flowed freely. She stood up and gave each of her colleagues—her friends, her sisters—a genuine, grateful hug. Together, all five of them sobbed for Whitney and her family.
LIZETTE HAD BEEN IGNORING Channing’s phone calls and text messages for two days, but on Wednesday afternoon she agreed to meet him for drinks after work. As she sat at the bar of El Chocolate, a hot new bar that specialized in delightful chocolate martinis, Lizette wasn’t even sure what she would do when she saw Channing’s face. The only reason she agreed to meet him was to officially end it all so that he would stop bothering her.
She saw him enter the bar and head in her direction. As he got closer, though the bar was fashionably darkened, she could see the bruises on Channing’s face. Lizette wanted to laugh when he slid onto the stool beside her.
He had a smirk on his face. He pointed up at the bruises.
“Courtesy of a certain movie executive’s bodyguard,” Channing said flatly. “Apparently his boss doesn’t like people making up gossip items about him. He paid me a visit on Monday. Came to my fuckin’ apartment. It wasn’t pretty. And there is a real chance that my company is going to be sued and I’m going to lose my job because I printed a completely false story from a source that I can’t name.”
Lizette scowled. Was he trying to blame her?
“And I should give a fuck? Surely you’re not trying to imply that it’s my fault?” she asked him, her voice rising.
Channing shrugged. “Well, certainly you’re not totally free of blame here.” But then she could see him reconsidering his stance. He shrugged his shoulders. “You know, I’m not even sure what I’m implying.”
Lizette was expecting an immediate apology, for him to beg for forgiveness. But she hadn’t gotten that at all, which enraged her even more.
“Channing, you know, I don’t care if that dude knocked all your damn teeth down your throat! What you did to me was so slimy, so nasty, so unbelievably selfish, that I don’t even have any more words left for you. I loved you. I thought we were perfect together. But all I can think of now is how am
azing it is that I could be such a poor judge of character. All I can hope now is that I will one day be able to trust a man again.”
“Lizette, don’t you think maybe you’re overreacting a little?” Channing said. “I mean, I did it all for us, for you. With the money they’re paying me, I thought we could build a great life together.”
Lizette glared at him. This man was crazy! He was actually trying to justify his actions by claiming he did it for them? “Oh, you did this all for me, huh? I can’t even begin to try to follow that logic. You hurt my reputation so much that when Maxine finally gets around to firing me, probably any day now, no other TV show will ever want to come near me. You did that for me, huh? Made me look foolish in front of some trusted colleagues on my show. For me, huh? All so you could get some more page views for your stupid little website? You betrayed your lover, the so-called love of your life, and you say it was for me?”
Lizette was so mad that her eyes began to fill with tears. But she didn’t want Channing to think the tears had anything to do with losing him. She needed to end this scene now. She could see the eyes of others around the bar focused on them. But she almost welcomed the audience.
Lizette reached down and picked up a plastic bag that had been sitting at her feet. “In this bag is everything that you ever gave me,” she said, dropping it in his lap. “I would have burned it, but actually I think this is more satisfying. I don’t ever want to see you again or hear your voice. Ever. Good-bye.”
Lizette got up from the bar stool and headed to the door, leaving Channing literally holding the bag. She never looked back.
