The Agency

by Ally O'Brien

  I crushed out the cigarette when there was an inch left. I already wanted another one. Just like that, I was a smoker again. Dad wasn’t going to be happy.

  “What can I do?” Emma asked.

  “You can make nice with Cosima and Marty, darling. Save yourself. I’m history.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Emma, sweetheart, I have no job, no clients, no deals, and soon enough no money. This wasn’t exactly my plan.”

  “You could go to your father. He’ll help you.”

  And, yes, he would, but Dad is the last person I would turn to for a handout. It’s one thing to admit to yourself that you’re a failure, a screwup, a suicide bomber sans dynamite. It’s another to admit it to your father.

  “I haven’t quite exhausted all my pride,” I told her.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  That was the big question. What the hell was I going to do? This afternoon, this evening, tomorrow, this week, this month, this year.

  “I have no idea,” I said.

  Maybe I’ll go to Italy and visit my mother. Her life revolves around sex and Chianti, which isn’t such a bad way to pass your days. Unfortunately, my mother ekes out her modest living as a bar singer when she’s not sleeping with swarthy artists, and my singing voice would clear out the patrons at a karaoke bar. So even that option isn’t open to me.

  I heard impatient tapping on my office window. The young security guard pointed at his watch. I held up five fingers, asking for an extension from the warden. He didn’t look happy.

  “I should call Jane,” Emma said.

  I nodded. “Go, go.”

  Emma opened the door but stopped without leaving. “Who do you think Dorothy is going to use as her new agent?”

  “I’m sure she’s going to be the first client of the New York office of the Bardwright Agency,” I said.

  “But she told you she hadn’t talked to Cosima,” Emma pointed out.

  “That’s true.”

  I was confused, but only for a moment. Then the answer was obvious.

  Saleema was in London.

  Saleema, who has wanted to ditch her New York agency for years and run her own shop.

  Saleema, who was probably in the building right now, ready to be trotted out in front of the press as the lead agent for the US wing of the Bardwright Agency. The lead agent with a big new client.

  She had told me flat out that she was waiting in the wings for that moment when I made my mistake with Dorothy. I hadn’t made her wait long. Give me a rope, and, sure enough, I’ll find a way to hang myself.

  The strange thing is, I didn’t even blame her. The blame game stopped at my door.

  “See if Saleema is in the office,” I told Emma. “I bet someone around here knows where she is. Tell her I want to congratulate her.”

  I heard a new voice.

  “You don’t have to do that,” a woman said from my doorway, squeezing in front of Emma.

  When I looked up, I realized I was wrong. So very wrong.

  It wasn’t Saleema standing there. It was Sally Harlingford.

  “The congratulations go to me, Tess,” Sally said. “I’m the one heading up the Bardwright office in New York.”

  I haven’t been speechless many times in my life, but that was one of them. It occurred to me that every time I thought I had fallen to the bottom, the ground gave way underneath me again. I remembered thinking not so long ago that Sally would sell her soul for a one-way ticket to New York. Apparently she had. I just never believed she would sell my soul to get there, too.

  Sally slipped inside and closed my office door, then leaned back against it. She sniffed the air. “You’re smoking again. You shouldn’t do that.”

  I still had nothing to say.

  “I see the look on your face, Tess,” Sally went on. “I am sorry, believe me, but business is business. I told you that. You had your chance to stay here. You didn’t heed my warnings.”

  I felt as if I were seeing her for the first time. A woman in her late forties, alone, who loved the finer things in life and couldn’t afford many of them. A woman who, like Guy, must have grown bitter watching others taste the things that she couldn’t. For her, this opportunity must have felt like grabbing the brass ring on the carousel. I knew the lifestyle she wanted, but I didn’t realize how far she would go to get it.

  “We were friends,” I said when I could speak.

  Sally’s aristocratic chin nudged upward in defiance. “Oh, don’t trot out that tired guilt trip on me, Tess. We’re big girls. Saleema was your friend, too, wasn’t she? That didn’t stop you from sleeping with her fiancé. So don’t pretend that you’ve ever let friendship get in the way of what you want. This is my chance. This is what I’ve wanted all my life, and now I have it. I won’t apologize for that.”

  “You better watch your back, Sally. You’re in bed with the devil.”

  “Cosima’s not the devil.”

  “No? Did you know what she was doing? Stealing all my clients? Were you part of that, too?”

  “Cosima was looking after the best interests of the agency,” Sally replied. “That’s her job. If you expect anyone to treat you with kid gloves in this business, then you’re more naive than I thought. Cosima didn’t steal your clients. They made a choice. If they didn’t trust you enough to stay with you, then whose fault is that?”

  “She threatened them,” I said.

  “She wooed them. Persuaded them. Enticed them. That’s how we do it. You’re no different.”

  “What about Dorothy?” I asked.

  “What about her? If you want to blame someone for losing Dorothy, look in the mirror. I didn’t wear the coat, Tess. You did. So don’t get on your high horse about loyalty when you’re the one who handed her to me.”

  I saw a flush in her face that looked like pride. I had never appreciated how jealous she must have felt of me over the years. How much she wanted the things I had. Now she had beaten me, and she was relishing her victory.

  “I’ll sue the agency,” I told her, because I didn’t know what else to say. “I was the one who negotiated Dorothy’s next deal. We both know it. I deserve a share of the commission.”

  Sally shook her head. “Deal? What deal? You’ve been clear with everyone that there was no deal. And now you want to say that there was? Please. You can’t have it both ways, Tess. Walk away with a shred of dignity, all right? Sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose. This time you lost big.”

  I walked up to Sally until we were nose to nose.

  “What about Lowell?” I said softly.

  Her face twitched. Just a little. “What about him?”

  “My God, Sally, did you kill him? Was it you? Tell me you wouldn’t do something so vile.”

  I saw cruelty in her eyes, and it was probably the most horrible thing I had ever seen in another person’s face. It was there and gone in a flicker, but I knew I was right.

  “Vile? If someone really killed Lowell, then they did the world a favor. He was a pig.”

  “Did you hate him that much?” I asked.

  “I did, in fact, but that doesn’t mean I killed him.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  I wanted to believe her. But I didn’t.

  “I can talk to the police, you know. They have DNA. If you were with him, they can prove it.”

  Sally shrugged. “Tell them to test away, darling. I would sooner die before I got on my knees in front of that man again. I’ve been there, and believe me, I had no desire to repeat the experience. Besides, like I told you before, Lowell preferred girls who are a lot younger than you or I.”

  “I’m not bluffing.”

  “Neither am I. Don’t make a fool of yourself, Tess. I was at a party the night Lowell played his last sex game. Cosima was with me. Fifty people saw us there.”

  “That’s convenient.”

  “Yes, it is. You’re following a dead end, so let it go.” Sally glanced at her watch. “I
have a press conference to attend.”

  “I hope you can live with yourself.”

  “It’s easy to live with yourself in Manhattan. Believe me, I’ll sleep like a baby.”

  I thought about slapping her. I didn’t. There was nothing to do but let her leave.

  Emma reappeared, chewing on her fingernail and sending eye darts after Sally. I wanted to tell her to stay away, that I was radioactive.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. Then she said, “I’m sorry—that’s a pretty stupid thing to say. You know what I mean.”

  “I’m all right, Emma.”

  “How could Sally do that to you?”

  “If I were in her shoes, I probably would have done the same thing,” I said.

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  No, I wouldn’t. God knows I’ve made my share of mistakes. I’ve been stupid and selfish. But I like to think that I know what I will and will not do.

  “You’ll bounce back,” Emma told me. “You will. No one can hold you down for long.”

  “That’s sweet of you, darling.”

  I wasn’t in the mood to be cheered up. Oliver told me that if the worst thing I ever experience in life is to lose everything and start over, then I’m pretty lucky. But you know what? I don’t feel so lucky.

  Emma looked sheepish. “I know it’s a bad time and all, but can I ask you something?”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, did Jane say anything about me when you saw her last night?”

  I wasn’t about to tell Emma what I really thought of Jane, or that Jane had dismissed Emma the way a spoiled child casts off an old toy. She didn’t need to hear that right now. “I’m sorry, no, we didn’t talk long.”

  She dropped her dress, I grabbed her breast. End of story.

  “Oh,” Emma said.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “It’s just that I can’t reach her. I’ve been trying and trying. I just called again, and her number is out of service.”

  “Blame it on T-Mobile,” I said. “I’m sure it’s a glitch.”

  “I guess, but it’s weird. I mean, I called Godfrey Kahn’s office to see if they had another contact number for Jane, and they said they had never heard of her.”

  I wish I could say I was surprised.

  “I’m sorry, darling, but look, Jane’s not the first wannabe actress who lied to impress a girlfriend. So she’s not really up for a big part. Does that make a difference to you?”

  “Of course not. I just can’t understand why she would lie. I mean, she’s way hotter than me. She didn’t need to impress me. I couldn’t believe she’d even give me a second look, you know?”

  “Don’t sell yourself short,” I said, but I was being kind. Emma has the body, but in the BP world, it’s true that she doesn’t really fit in. You have to have the perfect bitch-in-a-bag attitude that says you’re better than everyone else. Emma is too sweet. Too innocent. Not a player like Jane. Girls like Jane don’t generally come after girls like Emma unless they think there’s something in it for them.

  I stopped.

  Little cold feet tiptoed up my spine.

  “Emma,” I murmured, “who was it that told you about that nightclub where you met Jane?”

  “What? Oh, it was Sally.” Emma froze. “Oh, no. Oh, Tess, no, you must be wrong.”

  I stared at her, and she stared back, and we both knew. I wasn’t wrong.

  I thought about Jane Parmenter and that flimsy, floppy dress, and her bending over and spilling her breast out next to me. And the cameras clicking like crazy. What a horrible, hideous coincidence that it would happen then, with me in that damn fur coat, and photographers everywhere to broadcast my picture all over the world. I mean, okay, it was my stupid mistake to wear the coat at all, but without Jane and her nipple slip, Dorothy would never have known about it.

  Sure, I might be paranoid, and it was all just a coincidence. Bad luck. Bad timing.

  Or maybe it was all a setup. Maybe I had strutted into the lobby of the Hilton with a target hung on my back and Jane Parmenter poised to intercept me like a laser-guided, silicone-stuffed missile.

  I thought about something else, too. Something worse. If Jane was part of the conspiracy, maybe Emma and I weren’t the only ones fooled by her performance.

  Lowell preferred girls who are a lot younger than you or I.

  That was true. Lowell liked flowers that were freshly picked, not three-day-old roses. He thought girls came with a label that read, “Best if used by age 25.” If Sally and Cosima had wanted to dangle an irresistible morsel in front of Lowell, they couldn’t have done better than Jane. Lowell would have done absolutely anything if he had a girl like Jane naked in his apartment. Like climbing onto a chair as part of a naughty sex game, only to have the chair kicked out from under him.

  “Tell me this isn’t my fault,” Emma said.

  I watched her crumble like the naive kid she was, finding out for the first time that there are heartless people in the world. She trembled and began to cry for herself and for me. I put my arms around her.

  “It’s not your fault. Don’t think that.”

  “Tess, I’m so sorry,” she whimpered.

  I murmured that everything was okay.

  But nothing was okay. My heart seized. I felt sick.

  Not about Jane. Not about Cosima. Not even about Sally or Dorothy.

  It wasn’t the knowledge that my plans lay in ruins or that my clients and friends had betrayed me. It wasn’t the uncertainty of having nowhere to go and nothing on which to build a future. In the end, none of that mattered. I realized that in the days since Lowell had died, only one thing had been real to me. Only one thing had wormed its way inside my heart. Only one thing had really changed my life.

  I had fallen in love. I had said it to myself and said it aloud. I had let someone into my soul. That was the one thing I had never believed anyone could take away from me.

  And it was all a lie. I knew that now.

  Because when I thought about that damn coat draped around my shoulders, I realized that the trap they had laid for me didn’t begin or end with Jane Parmenter. Or Sally. Or Cosima. There was one other person who had to know about it, who had to be in on the setup, who had lured me to the spiderweb with a gift and a note that told me exactly what I wanted to hear.

  Darcy.

  Darcy had been part of it, too.

  39

  I COULDN’T STAND to be there anymore. Not for another minute. Not for another second. I flew past the security guard in the hallway, who shouted after me. I ignored the stares of the agents and assistants at their desks and bolted for the rear stairwell that led out of the building. This was the end. I had no intention of setting foot inside the Bardwright Agency again.

  On the ground floor, I crashed through the alley door and wandered into the London streets, blind with rage and humiliation. Black cabs blared their horns at me. The day was dark and threatening, and a smoggy, stinky haze filled the air. In a fog of depression, I followed Charing Cross into Trafalgar Square, where I collapsed on the steps of the National Gallery and buried my face in my hands. There were hardly any tourists wandering in the square that afternoon. Just me and the hundreds of pigeons and the awful clouds.

  Darcy.

  I knew I hadn’t made a mistake. There was no other way to piece together the puzzle of what had happened. Darcy had sent me the coat as bait. He had lured me to the Hilton, and Jane Parmenter had waited for me there in front of ten thousand cameras. I had played right into all their hands.

  Worst of all, the son of a bitch had let me make love to him one last time. It would have been better to leave me with an empty hotel room and a note that read, “The joke’s on you.”

  Part of me never wanted to talk to him again, but I had to hear him admit it to me. I had to hear the words from his own mouth. If he stabbed my love in the heart, maybe it would finally die. I took out my cell phone and punched in his number. I wondered if he would duck the cal
l, knowing it was me, knowing that I knew the truth. But he answered.

  “Hello, Tess,” Jack said.

  God, that voice. I hated myself that it still twisted my insides.

  He didn’t pretend. He wanted me to hear his regret, how sorry he was. As if that changed anything. As if it mattered to me that he felt bad.

  “You bastard,” I spat into the phone. “You goddamned bastard. How could you let them do that to me? How could you be part of it?”

  “Tess,” he began, but I wasn’t finished with him. Not by a long shot.

  “Did you think I was kidding? Do you think I say that to every man I fall into bed with? I loved you, Jack. I never let myself be vulnerable with anyone, and I did it with you. I laid it all on the line. And what did you do? You played me. You lied to me. You let me think you gave a damn about me.”

  “I did. I do. I wasn’t lying, Tess.”

  “Oh, go fuck yourself, Jack. Don’t tell me you didn’t know. Don’t pretend you weren’t a pawn. Cosima told you exactly what to do, and you did it.”

  “Please let me explain.”

  “Explain what? How you let me make a fool of myself? Did you and Cosima have a good laugh about that?”

  “God, Tessie, it wasn’t like that at all. You make it sound like I had a choice. Cosima knew. I don’t know how she found out, but she knew all about us. She confronted me last week and gave me an ultimatum. If I didn’t help her, I would have lost everything.”

  “You had a choice, Jack. You always did. You could have left her.”

  I heard him breathing. He struggled for something to say, some way to protect himself. I realized for the first time that he was a coward. I had been in love with a fantasy, something out of Pride and Prejudice. There was no Darcy. There was just Jack, a slave with golden handcuffs, whose tailored suits and expensive cologne were more important to him than me.

  Admit it, Jack, I wanted to say. Admit I was nothing to you.

  “I wish I was as strong as you are, Tess,” he said in a quiet voice. “But I’m not. I don’t have it in me to start over. I made a devil’s choice with my life a long time ago. You knew that. I told you from the beginning.”