Bob adjusted his cufflinks and gave his shirt a little tug, revealing his hairy belly. I looked away, but not without catching Ben's eye. He pulled a face and I stifled a giggle. The morning meeting was exactly as expected: a discussion of the next day’s issue, and reporters pitching their stories. When Bob asked me, I planned to tell him I already had enough gossip for the next entertainment column, but I kept some things to myself. I omitted telling him that Richard Adamson provided the opportunity for me to witness the celebrities I intended to write about.
"Ben? Where are we with that lead story?" Bob asked.
"We have some environmental activists protesting down by the beach later," said Ben. "I'm going to check it out. I think there's probably something there."
"You've been on vacation for how long?" I asked, holding back a laugh. "And the best you can do after lounging on the beach, tanning, and sleeping in every morning is your hope there's a protest story on the beach?"
A shocked silence engulfed the room as I paled. One of the junior reporters shot me a death stare over her thickly rimmed glasses. I thought I was making a joke. It felt like a joke. What did I say that was so bad?
"I was taking a sabbatical," Ben said, looking me directly in the eyes, "and yeah, I think there's something more to the beach story. The kids from that new reality family are supposed to be there too; and our readers will love knowing what they're up to before the new season airs. Plus, there's a great environmental angle that gives plenty of meat to the story."
Bob nodded. "Sounds good, Ben. Okay, people. Let's make this next issue amazing. It's no secret our circulation has suffered in recent months. We've been getting scooped on all of our stories; and we need to make sure we have the best headlines that will grab our readers. Can we do that?"
"Yes, Bob," chorused the team.
"Go get 'em," he yelled, fist pumping the air. His shirt lifted a fraction higher and I had to resist a grimace.
Chairs dragged backwards, and people shuffled around the table, all headed for the exit after Bob, who hightailed it out of there already, his pep talk finished.
"What's the current circulation?" I asked the woman next to me, the one whom I thought covered features. Or was it local politics? Instead of answering, she shot me a head-to-toe withering look and turned away.
"We're down ten thousand since Ben left," said the man next to me, whom I met briefly before. He took my headshot for my byline, but I struggled to recall his name.
"Wow, and they all didn't rise when he came back?" I said, raising my eyebrows in mock surprise.
"We had our highest figures when Ben got the cover story every week. The man's a story ninja."
"He's had a long time to make a list of stories."
"I don't think he's had much down time."
"Yeah, all that sun bathing can be tough."
"I have to... oh..." he spun around, ducking behind another person and darting from the room.
"Weirdo," I muttered.
"Shayne!" Martha caught me by the arm, motioning for me to stop as the rest of the team filed out, dispersing to their desks. "I think, maybe, you owe Ben an apology. That wasn't a very nice thing to say."
"What wasn't?"
"About his sabbatical and his stories. We all really love Ben here and it was just so sad what happened. He's too polite to say, but I think you hurt his feelings."
"I only made a joke about going to the beach. He's a reporter. Reporters are thick-skinned, or they should be."
"About their stories, sure. But their personal lives? Not really."
"I don't follow."
"Oh, my. You really don't know, do you?"
"Know what?"
"Ben wasn't on holiday all those months. He had to leave."
"What did he do? Screw someone for a story?"
Martha wrinkled her forehead, looking even more appalled than before. "Shayne! No! He just spent the last six months nursing his mom. He only came back early because her cancer was more advanced than the doctors thought. She died five weeks ago."
Chapter Twenty
"Gran, I feel so stupid!" I slumped into the driver's seat, pressing the phone to my ear. "I opened my big mouth before I even realized Ben might have been doing something so sad as looking after his dying mom. I've been whining all this time about him taking a long vacation, and returning only to steal my job, but that isn't what happened at all. What should I do? What should I say?"
"Shayne? Is that you?" The voice that came on the line was not my Gran’s, but it still sounded warm and familiar.
"Who is this?" I asked, momentarily puzzled.
"It's Gretchen. Your gran's care-giver. Were you leaving another message, dear?"
I sighed. "Yes."
"You know you can't do that anymore. I'm sorry, sweetie. This phone line is going to be disconnected soon. I only left it live in the hope I'd get your call."
"You've been waiting for me to call?"
"Yes. I didn't want to disconnect the line without talking to you first. I didn't want to upset you. I know how hard things have been."
"Thank you," I sniffed as my lower lip wobbled.
"No problem at all, honey. I've been listening to all your messages and we're really proud of you for going out there and living your dream, even if it does sound like a nightmare right now," Gretchen added.
"It's not so bad."
"It'll get better. Your gran was so sure you'd make a success of it, she talked about you all the time, saying how glad she was that you planned to take the job. We were all so thrilled when you told us at the wake that you were moving."
"That means a lot to me, Gretchen. Thanks. What would Gran do? I don't know what to do. I've made a fool of myself and now everyone hates me." I shook my head, disappointment filling me
"She would tell you to apologize to Ben. You weren't being malicious, you just didn't know. And I'm guessing she would say the same about him. He didn't know he was taking your job, he just wanted to return to something he knew."
"You're right."
"You know it, honey. Now, this line is going to be disconnected very soon, but you take care and make sure and send us postcards to let us know how you're doing. Okay?"
"Okay."
"I'm so sorry your gran passed. We miss her everyday, and we miss you too."
We said our goodbyes and I sat quietly in the car, staring at the concrete wall of the parking structure. Gretchen was right; I couldn't keep calling. Gran would never answer the phone again. She would never dispense her excellent advice, and never know that after all our long discussions about me moving away after she passed, I'd actually done it.
I scrolled across the phone screen, finally stopping at the recording app. I opened it, and played the file that contained Gran's answer machine message. Her sweet voice rolled out of the speakers, inviting me to leave a message.
"I wish I could talk to you one last time, Gran," I whispered as the screen went dark.
~
Ben hovered on my mind all day. He didn't reappear in the office, and by the time I left for home, the draft of my column almost complete, I rehearsed a hundred different ways to tell him how sorry I was for my thoughtless comments. I parked outside my building and briefly contemplated giving him flowers.
"You look like crap," was the first thing I heard as I stepped inside the door.
"Hi to you too," I said, taking in Mike's long legs. He was stretched out on a deck chair, a cold beer in one hand. "Is that all you've done since I left for work this morning?"
"No. I didn't get here until two."
"Where were you before then? Sleeping on an inflatable bed in your latest squat?"
"That hurts. I have a regular mattress now. You are sleeping on my inflatable."
"Seriously, Mike, I go to work all day and come back and find you here with beer. Don't you have a real job?"
Mike pulled off his sunglasses, turning a hard gaze on me. "Yes, I do have a job. What's got into you today, buzzkill? Is this w
hat marriage is like?"
"Don't worry, I don't think you'll ever know about that."
"You sound bitter. Last guy leave you?"
"No."
Mike's eyes widened. "He divorced you?"
"No!"
"Wait... was there ever a guy?"
"Yes, there was a guy. Now, there is no guy."
"Ahh, I get it. You're pissed because of that Richard guy. Do you want me to take you upstairs for a few hours and make you forget all about him?"
I gasped, mostly in revulsion. But also... hours?! "No!"
"Too bad. I have a free time before my next date."
"You are disgusting. I don't know how you get so many dates."
"Their sisters and friends recommend me."
"Ugh! I didn't ask!" I barreled past Mike, making for my apartment to the sound of his laughter. At the end of the tiled path, I stopped, turning back. "Mike, you would get ahead faster in life if you stopped torturing me and poured all your energy into your job. Maybe then, you would have a place to live and a life that didn't revolve around drinking beer on weekday afternoons."
Mike stood slowly, the bottle still in his hand and walked over to me, his face souring. "Like I told you before: I'm helping my grandpa, and the rest is none of your business. Perhaps you should check your attitude and maybe then, you could keep a man." Before I could reply, he stepped around me and ascended the opposite staircase, leaving me fuming and confused. How did it suddenly come to us trading insults? Yesterday, Mike and I were fine. I was even beginning to enjoy the banter in our budding friendship and now? Now, the only person I could nearly call my friend was mad at me too. Mike wasn't even the problem. I was. I was angry at myself and unfairly taking it out on him.
I stomped all the way up the stairs and into my apartment, slamming the door behind me. Part of me wanted to jettison my clothes, take a hot shower, put on my pajamas and spend the night crying into my ice cream. The other part of me, however, the part Gran was proud of, wanted to work out a plan and apologize. Ben first. Mike? I wasn't so sure about. Ben never really did anything to hurt me besides resuming his former job, which I wanted. Mike, on the other hand, actually insulted me. I must concede that I insulted him first, but really? What did I even know about Mike's life? Except that he helped out his ancient grandpa to prevent him from losing his home. That, and apparently his ever-revolving door when it came to girlfriends. I couldn't really fault him since he discovered his last girlfriend in his bed with another man, and very recently. Plus he was single and it wasn't my business.
No, I needed to stop worrying so much and go out. Back in Montgomery, I had a long list of people upon whom I could call for anything from fun drinks to tell-me-how-it-really-is drinks; but here? I didn't even have someone to buy drinks for, or entice them into meeting me. That wasn't strictly true, I mentally argued as I scrolled through the list of names in my contact list. There were a few people I could call. I tapped the screen, waiting for the phone to dial.
"Hi, I was thinking about you," Jenna said, sounding pleased.
"Really?"
"Yeah! I was wondering if you had any news. Detective Smith is clearly suspicious of me."
"Actually, I do, but I'm not sure what it means yet. I called to ask if you wanted to go out for a drink? We could talk about it later."
"With you?" She sounded surprised.
My confidence faltered. "Yes."
"Tonight?"
"If you're free?"
"Okay," she said, sounding pleased now. "Okay. That would be nice. I need to go out. I need to do something normal. It's so nice of you to ask."
My spirits lifted. "Great."
"Give me an hour. I know a nice bar close to you where we can talk and it’s not too loud." She reeled off the address, which I quickly recognized. It was within walking distance of my apartment, giving me extra time to freshen up before we met. "That’s great, Shayne. Thank you for calling me."
I hung up, glad I did. Not only was Jenna someone I hadn't insulted today, but I also liked her. In another life, I could see us being friends. "Why not in this life?" I asked my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I hastily checked my makeup for signs it needed a refresh. "Jenna could be my first LA friend."
With that in mind, my mood began to lift. I changed quickly, swapping my skirt and top for jeans and a thin, lilac sweater after giving my makeup the lightest of refreshes. Thirty minutes later, I was out the door, hurrying, lest I run into Mike again. I needn't have worried. I didn't see a single resident as I exited the building and began my stroll to the bar, enjoying the cool walk in the fresh air.
When I reached the bar, there was only one table left outside so I slipped into the tub chair, and looked around for service.
"Hi there. Can I get you a drink?" the waitress beamed as she slid a pamphlet and a smoothie menu in front of me. They had smoothies of every variety known to humankind and then some. "I'll take the strawberry and banana smoothie," I told her, "and the fruit bowl. I'm waiting for someone; and I don't know what she wants yet."
"That's cool. I'll check in on you again."
"Do you have a cocktail list?"
"Sure do. I'll bring it with me when I return." She practically skipped away from the table, her tanned, toned thighs barely attracting any attention in her cute shorts. I wondered how strange it was to be in a place where everyone was so hot, they didn't even notice each other’s hotness. Probably because they were all too busy checking out their reflections in their friends' mirrored sunglasses.
With a lack of anything to do but wait, I browsed the smoothie menu longer before picking up the pamphlet underneath. The face moodily staring up at me from the advertisement for an acoustic night made me blanch. Mike sang? Who knew? Not I! I was still staring in disbelief at it when the waitress placed a paper coaster on the table beneath my smoothie. "Isn't he cute? He plays every Wednesday," she told me. "Have you heard him sing yet?"
"No."
"You should. He plays all kinds of requests too. Last week, we got him to sing a Taylor Swift song and I could have died. He was so good. You should come see him before some producer offers him a contract and he starts charging for gigs. Did I mention the show is free? And he's so cute?"
"Very cute," said Jenna, slipping into the seat before I registered her arrival. I was too riveted on the pamphlet picture. "Who is he?"
"Mike," I said as the waitress was called to the next table.
"Mike who?"
"My neighbor, Mike. Apparently he moonlights as a singer." Why hadn't I remembered he was a musician? That explained the late hours and long lie-ins. And who was I to berate him for it? Who else could I possibly offend today without cause or justification?
"Yum. My neighbor is seventy-nine and croons Elvis. Swap?"
"I'll let you know," I replied, dropping the pamphlet into my purse. "I have so much to tell you." I started by filling her in on my visit to the morgue — minus the run-in with Ben — and my conversations with Richard and Detective Smith. Somehow, I even found myself describing our dates, ending with the publicity saga I was so unwittingly drawn into.
"I can't believe he would point a finger at me," said Jenna when I finished. "He knows I would never hurt Chucky. And I never crashed my car!"
"I believe you."
"And that PR stunt? I mean... I guess I should be used to it in this town, but what a snake! I can't believe he used you like that. I saw the video." Jenna grimaced.
"You're kidding? It's already out?"
"Yeah, but don't worry about it. Your face isn't visible. No one will know it's you. I didn't."
"What if Richard tells everyone?"
"Why would he? He wants the publicity. He doesn't want to give it to you."
"Are you sure I can't be identified?"
"Hundred percent. If I weren’t, I would have said so earlier. Listen, don't worry about it. Tomorrow, there will be a whole new story and no one will even remember this one. It's not even an exciting story. Richard is j
ust trying to get whatever he can out of it before no one remembers him again. As awful as that sounds, it's the way things work in Tinseltown."
"I hope so."
"I'm sure it sounds terrible to someone who’s not in the business, but a lot of agents and managers do the same thing. Truly, Shayne, it's not personal."
"It feels like it. I thought we were getting to know each other. Everyone I've dated here has been a total ass."
"It feels personal because he didn't give you a choice, which was thoughtless and selfish of him. Not everyone here is an ass though. There are some really nice guys out there. Chucky was one of them. Richard and I have been friends a long time, or at least, I thought we were. I'm too pissed at him to say he's nice right now. Why the hell would he think I had anything to do with Chucky's death?"
"I've been thinking about the case and all I keep coming back to is that cufflink. There's something familiar about it, but I just can't put my finger on why. Detective Smith said she’d get a list of all the people who bought them, but I don't think she'll show it to me."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not a cop. And because I'm a reporter."
"Does she think you'll blow her case by printing something prematurely?"
"No. She knows I wouldn't report something without being able to back it up. That would be putting my ass on the line with The Chronicle. She's just being professional."
"If she weren't accusing me of killing my brother, I would probably like her more. She has such good fashion sense."
"Tell me about it! She wears great shoes. If she weren't always telling me to back off, I'd probably like her more too."
Jenna leaned in. "You're not going to back off, are you?"
"No way! I'm so close."
"So what's next?"
"I need to find out who owns that cufflink, but I don't know how to do it without seeing the jeweler's client list. Oh, and I need to track down Marguerite Casta."
"The model?"
"Yes. I think she was close to Chucky too. I'm going to stake out her spin studio," I added, recalling Ben's tip.
"I know they went on a couple of dates recently, but Chucky didn't say much about Daisy. They used to date, but that was a while back. I could call her?"
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