“You’re full of shit!” I announce with my hands on my hips.
I hear voices behind us. I think they’re looking for us.
“Is it you?” I ask. “Just tell me the truth.”
“I never considered The Fabulist could be a woman. Was he an actor hired for you to hide behind?” he questions.
He’s good, I’ll give him that. I almost believe his act. “What the fuck, Tom. I’m not The Fabulist. You are. How else did you find this room?”
“It’s where they took me when I won the challenge. I counted steps.”
I eye him skeptically. Could he have done the same thing I did?
“What?” he asks, noticing my reaction.
“That’s what I did too.”
He grins at me. “Want to see inside?”
“Is the sky blue?”
We hear Bryce’s voice, then Lori’s. They sound panicked. We hear our names.
We slip into a dark room. On the back wall is a series of televisions. I’m guessing twenty at a quick glance. A leather chair faces them and a small box sits in front of the screen to the right.
“What’s in the box?” I ask Tom.
“What box?”
I point and he picks it up. At the moment he lifts the lid, Herman says, “Stop right there!”
Tom and I wait by elevator on the eleventh floor. I’m pacing and he’s sitting in a chair Bryce brought out for him. Bryce watches us like a babysitter, arms folded. His face screams disappointment. I feel like a teenager who was caught sneaking in after curfew. Herman, Lori, and the other guy are huddled together down the hall. We’re not allowed to speak. I’m mentally reviewing what just happened.
I’m desperate to know what was in the box, but I’m not allowed to talk. It’s killing me. Maybe Tom was acting. Maybe they’re trying to play it that way so he doesn’t look guilty. Janitor my ass, I think as he pulls out a handkerchief and dabs his forehead. What are the chances he counted steps too? What about the words he uses that I don’t understand? Are they English? Five told me at the start to be wary of him, and he was the only person not in the room when Maria knocked the bottle from my hands. She said she was with The Fabulist before running in to save my life.
I stare at him. How does he afford expensive suits on a janitor’s salary? Something’s off here and I’m going to figure out what it is.
Herman, Lori, and the producer Bryce refers to as Ronald come over to speak to us.
Herman begins. “To say we’re disenchanted is an understatement. But how you two managed to evade the entire crew and find a room you never saw only goes to show we’ve found the best two final contestants for the game. We’re impressed. We have very limited footage from the hall cameras, but we think we can make it work. Based on what you saw, we believe the integrity of The Fabulist has not been compromised.”
I frown in disbelief and do nothing to hide it as I stare at Tom. I don’t believe him for a second.
“Until the day of the final decision, you two are not allowed to speak to each other, text, email, or communicate in any manner about the show or anything you’ve seen or heard during your stay. Is that understood?”
I nod like a moody teenager.
“Hogan has cleared up the technical issue, and we’re ready to start the challenge. So if you will, back to your rooms.” Herman waves to us like he’s shooing us along. I’ve never felt like a child so much in my life.
Hogan’s name lingers on my mind. I shake it off as best I can as I find my seat at my table. I need to focus on what matters and what matters most is winning it all.
THE WORD EXHAUSTED doesn’t begin to touch what I’m feeling. Three hours of meetings, one for each person, was excruciating and I’d thought the sociopaths on Alcatraz were hard. These people were a whole different level of insanity. All my years dealing with Corporate at Bingham’s certainly helped me conduct myself in a professional manner. I slipped with the first one and I think she realized I didn’t know what I was doing. Still, the idea was to get the best price, and I think I made his needs clear.
The second guy continued to talk about stuff that wasn’t important to the deal. He overinflated the amount of square footage and budgeted for things that weren’t a priority. I dismissed him immediately.
When I presented my thoughts in the diary room, I was very specific about what I liked and disliked about each. The first negotiator, while polite and professional, didn’t budge on her quote. It was way over his final price and she said it was non-negotiable. The last guy was slick. I wasn’t sure how I felt about his wheeling and dealing with me. I ended up counting breaths again when all else failed. In the end, he offered the fairest price with the most amount of flexibility. Even though I didn’t care for him and his condescending attitude, I explained he’d made the best offer.
Rene filmed me all day. Hogan was with Tom. After last night, I suspect it was his choice.
As I walk into the boardroom for the last time, I feel sad. The Highlight Hotel has been my home for over a week, and I’m leaving here with memories I’ll always treasure.
Bryce instructs Tom and me to take the centermost two seats at the table. It’s odd to sit in a different place, but I assume it offers the best filming position.
Hogan carries a box of equipment into the room and I do my best not to let him see me even glance in his direction. When he turns to set up the camera, I fail horribly when my eyes wander toward him and we make direct eye contact.
Twisting a wire in his hands, his lips part as if he wants to say something. I swivel my chair away from him and face the back of the room instead. He said everything he needed to say to me last night. I don’t want to hear a “Hey, no hard feelings” speech or another stupid apology.
The makeup people touch up our faces for glare and I stand to straighten my pencil skirt before resuming my seat. I can feel Hogan’s eyes on me, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing I care. In a few minutes, we begin.
“Welcome back to the final day of The Fabulist. In just a moment, we’ll hear from the man in the shadows. Voting will begin”—he glances at his watch—“now. All lines are open. You can vote using the number on your screen. Vote one for Sam and two for Thomas. Text rates apply and online voting is available on our website where you can find clips from the shows and more information about our contestants. And now, without further delay, I give you The Fabulist.”
The screen flutters to life and I stare at the shadow of the man I hope to work for someday, although I truly believe I already know him well.
“Sam and Thomas, you’ve had quite the day, and quite the adventure. Very soon, I will be revealing who the winner is, as well as my identity to the world. I would be pleased to have either of you in my employ. The audience has a difficult decision to make and I don’t envy them. Choosing between you would be difficult even for me at this juncture. Viewers, I ask you choose wisely, making a well-informed decision. The winner will not only be working for me, but will be the first of a long line of future players; the first truth seeker in a world of deception. I leave you with this: in every lie there is a truth to be discovered. The key is whether it’s my truth or yours. Cheers! Until we meet again.”
Bryce mentions auditions for the next Fabulist. I cringe. Even though this was the experience of a lifetime, I feel bad for the next group. I think I’m ready to hear the truth for a while.
“Cut! That’s a wrap.” Herman’s voice booms over the intercom. I wonder if he’s in the room behind the wall.
Tom and I shake hands. “I’ll be seeing you.” he says.
If my suspicions are correct, he’ll be seeing a lot of me. Tom has grown on me and he was a worthy competitor, even if he’s not what he seems. “I imagine you will. Good luck, Tom.”
Bryce shakes our hands. Herman and Lori approach us and review the rules one last time. As Lori speaks, I glance over her shoulder at Hogan shaking hands with different crew members. They seem to not only like him but really respect him. T
hat twinge in my heart for him I thought I’d killed returns. It’s traveling at a rapid pace to my brain. I know I need to get away fast before I make more of a fool of myself than I already have.
“You cannot discuss the show with anyone until it airs. Your family and friends may know you participated but may not know the outcome. Violations will subject you to legal ramifications. We’ll be in contact when press begins. We’ll see you in two months for the results show. It was a pleasure working with you both.”
We shake hands and uncomfortable hugs. Hogan glances toward me and I feel the ache full force. His brows furrow as he stares at me. I force myself to pull my eyes from his. No matter how much I tell myself I don’t care, it’s all just another lie. And I’m done with it. I’m done with all of the lies.
Rene approaches Hogan and hugs him. While he’s distracted, I see my chance to flee and take it. My bags are waiting in the lobby. I grab my purse. My cell is returned to me and I clutch it to my chest. Holding my cellphone, although insignificant in the big scheme of things, reminds me there’s more to life than this. Taking one final glimpse over my shoulder, I walk out the doors of fantasy and back to my reality.
I’M SURPRISED HOW relieved I am to be home when I land in New York. The energy of the city welcomes me like a great big hug, except it’s the kind of hug I actually like. The one where you feel all warm and fuzzy but no one actually touches your skin.
Carmen’s positive energy hits me full force the minute I walk through her door. She has two big bags of puffy Cheetos and a gallon of chocolate milk ready on the table, my pink sweats washed and waiting for me at the door, and the next season of Real Housewives cued up on demand. I’d cry if it was possible, but it isn’t, so I laugh instead. I can’t tell her much and she understands. I think she knows I’m avoiding my feelings, but she doesn’t try to get me to talk. She just sits with me in silence and lets me be me like only a real friend would do.
I have five missed messages from my father. He’s thrilled when I agree to a family dinner this weekend. I need to tell them about the show and give them a chance to prepare for the news reports and interviews that are to come. That is, if the show actually gets viewers. I hate to admit it, but I secretly hope it’s a big flop. Maybe no one will recognize me and I can either keep working at the bookstore, or work with Tom. Yes, Tom. I have this feeling in my gut and I always trust my gut. I truly believe The Fabulist was under my nose the entire time.
After one day at home, I go back to the bookshop to beg for my job. I have two months until the show finale and bills to pay. Surprisingly, Mr. Druthers welcomes me back. I know I’m not his favorite employee and he certainly wasn’t pleased when I suddenly left for ten days, but the store is busier than usual. With one of his main employees out with a broken ankle, he needs me and more hours from me. I’m happy for the distraction. Working is the only thing that sort of keeps my mind off Hogan. I’m thrilled the first time I stop thinking about him for five minutes. It feels like I hit a milestone.
I hate myself for wondering about him. I’m not that girl. I’ve never given any other guy a second thought. But everywhere I look, I see him. At night I dream about him and my first night back at work, I swear I smelled his cologne. I keep telling myself he isn’t worth it, but I’m lying to myself. I’d never met anyone who made me feel the way he did and I’m pretty sure I never will again. I walked away without saying a word. He knew I was done just like I did the night he pushed me away for the last time. It was over before it even started because when it came down to it, it was nothing at all. It was all just a part of the game.
On my third day home, I stay in bed most of the morning, unable to sleep but too lazy to get up. At noon, I finally roll out of bed and get ready for work. I don’t have to be there until two, but I figure I’ll try to make myself presentable for once. I flip through my clothes in the closet space Carmen cleared for me and decide to go with a button-down dress shirt and jeans instead of my usual T-shirt and jeans. I laugh at myself and what presentable has come to mean to me. I straighten my hair and even paint my nails. I hope time really does heal, because time is all I have right now.
By the end of the night things finally slow down. The bookstore doesn’t belong to a chain. It’s one of those smaller places that carry the big names, along with some up-and-coming authors. A new shipment of books is like Christmas. I’m not embarrassed to say I love to smell them. There’s something about a new book that gives you hope.
Because it’s slow now, I find myself with nothing to do other than walk the rows of books and straighten them. Earlier, I’d asked Mr. Druthers what he thought about putting a display of new releases in the front window. He said he’d think about it. I’m supposed to work again tomorrow so I hope he’s thought about it enough by then and agrees. I need to keep busy. I hate being bored. It gives me time to think and it’s the last thing I want to do.
“Sam,” Mr. Druthers calls. “I think I missed a box of books that came in this morning. Can you go check?”
“You got it.” I almost skip to the back of the store. It’s close to nine and with a box of new books to sort, my last hour should fly by. Passing the bathrooms, and the employee breakroom, complete with a couch for reading, I make my way to the storeroom. I forcefully refrain myself from jumping up and down when I find the box of unopened books. There’s a great big table in the back for sorting, but I decide to bring it up front so Mr. Druthers won’t feel so alone.
I don’t know if the show somehow changed me but since I’ve been home, I’ve come to really like him. I found out his wife recently passed away and he misses having someone to talk to. I think it’s why he likes to have someone working with him. The front door chimes, announcing a customer. Mr. Druthers goes to deal with them. The box is a little heavier than I imagined but I manage to lift it and carry it out to the table in the middle of the store.
“Sam,” Mr. Druthers calls.
“Over here.”
He wobbles over to me. “Would you mind closing up the store tonight?”
“Not at all.” I smile a bit too excitedly. The idea of more things to do makes me happy. Man, my life is dull.
“Just close out the register and put the money in the safe. You know the code, right?”
“Yep.”
“There’s one customer still browsing, but it’s a slow night, and my back is killing me. I hope you don’t mind. Can you handle it?”
“Really, Mr. Druthers, it’s no trouble at all. I used to close up Bingham’s, remember? I’ve got this. You go home and put your feet up. You work too hard.”
I walk him to the register and hand him his hat. He gives me the spare set of keys. “See you tomorrow, Sam.”
“Goodnight.” I wave as he ambles out the door. He turns once more and waves to me. I wave back and really smile for the first time in days.
Having the store all to myself almost makes me feel like it’s mine. It’s a great feeling to be in charge of something again. It makes me realize how much I enjoyed my job at Bingham’s and having a bit of control. Control… I need to get some of it back in my life. I’m not sure when I lost it, but I’m pretty sure I left what I had in L.A.
I return to the box of books in the center of the store, making sure I can still see the register should the customer need to check out. I slice open the box with the store keys and place them in my back pocket. As I open the flaps, that feeling returns to my chest.
The ache is back and I don’t know why or where it came from. I take a deep breath and think I smell him. “Dammit, Sam, get a fucking grip!” I whisper, shaking my head.
Something moves behind me and I turn to see if the customer is looking for me. “Can I help you with some—”
I can no longer speak. My heart stops beating and my arms go slack. I blink a few times. Is he really standing in front of me? Am I losing my mind?
“You left without saying goodbye.”
I hear his deep, beautiful voice and I see his gorgeous face.
Shit, I do smell him. Hogan is here. I swallow hard as I take him in. He’s in dark faded jeans and his black boots, with a black T-shirt and a black leather jacket. His dark hair is coifed into a perfectly erratic mess on top of his head, and two days’ worth of glorious stubble frames his jaw and soft lips. I try to remind myself I shouldn’t be happy to see him, he hurt me. But my heart is leaping for joy and I’m drawn to him like he’s water and I’m desperate for a drink.
I want to tell him off. I want to say something smart-assed or nasty but I can’t, because as much as I want to hate him, I want to hope even more. I manage two whole words. “You’re here.”
He takes a step toward me with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Of course I’m here.”
“But why?” I whisper.
His brows wrinkle as if he’s in pain. “Because it’s where you are.”
His words, his voice—everything about him makes me feel whole. I don’t want him to make me feel. “But… why would you come? I don’t understand.”
His head tilts to the side. “Do you really think I’d let a couple thousand miles keep me from you?”
He moves toward me and I step back. His lips curl into a smile and it strikes a chord. Sam is back and she’s pissed as hell.
“You think you can fucking walk in here and I’m going to see you and magically forget how you treated me? You fucking pushed me away like I was a hungry dog and you were the last piece of meat on Earth.”
He sighs heavily.
“Why in the fuck would you come all this way? Did you need to hear me say goodbye? Is that it? Okay. Goodbye, Hogan. There. Happy? Better?” My blood is boiling. He has that effect on me.
His lips flatten into a line and he glares at me. He’s pissed. Good. Let him join the club.
“No, it’s not better. It’s awful. It’s horrible, because for the last three days, I’ve been doing nothing but thinking about you and trying to find you. I jumped on a plane as soon as I could get away and flew to New York.” His hands fly out of his pockets. “I searched online for an address and went to your old apartment, just to find out you’d been kicked out for not paying your rent. So I went to your old employer and asked if anyone would tell me where you were, but no one had heard from you in months.” His voice softens.
The Fabulist Page 23
