A Girl Like You

by Maria Geraci

  “Yeah,” Trip says, frowning.

  “You haven’t seen it?” I ask.

  “I remember signing the picture, but I didn’t know Frank had it displayed in his shop.”

  “Oh, there’s lots of pictures of you at the shop. There’s even one of you from high school playing basketball.” I pump my fist high in the air. “Go Crusaders!”

  Trip smiles weakly.

  “I think that’s enough questions for today,” Chuck says. “Trip, you were going to show these fine folks your fishing gear before they left?” Chuck begins to usher us out the back door.

  Sigh. I guess that’s that. I start to scoop up my stuff.

  “Let me get that for you,” Richard says. He picks up the tape recorder and places it inside my tote. “You go ahead with Trip. I’ll meet you in the boathouse after I hit the little boys’ room.”

  “Sure, okay.” I mean, what else can I say? Richard is obviously trying to give me some alone time with Trip and for that I’m grateful, but alone time with Trip also includes Chuck, so it’s essentially worthless.

  We’re in the process of checking out Trip’s fishing lures when Richard joins us in the boathouse. He hands me my tote bag and proceeds to act immensely interested in a bunch of fake worms tied together. Or maybe he truly is fascinated by the lures. Who knows? With Richard, it’s hard to tell. One thing I’ve discovered about him in the past week is that he’s more complex than I thought.

  After the fishing show is over, Trip and Chuck escort us to the front door, where Paul the limo driver is waiting. Chuck hands me his card. “I look forward to reading your article,” he says to me.

  “Can I have your card as well?” I ask Trip.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Chuck says. “All Trip’s business dealings go through me first.”

  “Okay, well, here’s my card, just in case.” I hand it to Trip personally. What’s Chuck going to do? Rip it out of Trip’s hands?

  Trip takes my card but he doesn’t say anything. I’d really hoped that our past relationship (as limited as it was) would have made a difference today, but apparently it hasn’t. We get in the limo and drive off.

  Richard waits a full five minutes before he starts to chuckle. “What’s your favorite color?”

  “Hey, I was desperate.”

  “I can see that.” He shakes his head. “No worries. Just embellish it the way you did the manatee article and all will be well.”

  This is almost exactly what Ben said to me. “I didn’t embellish the manatee article. Ninety-nine percent of it was based on fact. I simply added an extra twist to it.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re going to need a lot of that extra twist to make any of that crap back there sell.”

  Richard isn’t telling me anything I don’t already know. I pull out my legal pad and start to look at Trip’s answers, trying to think of how to work some of the “fat” into my article. The problem is there is no genuine fat here. It’s all strictly lean, no flavor whatsoever. After about an hour of jotting down my impressions, I go to pull out my laptop, and that’s when I notice my yearbook is missing.

  Richard appears to be napping. I nudge him awake. “Richard, where’s my yearbook?”

  He keeps his eyes closed as he answers, “Whoops, I must have forgot it.”

  “Forgot it? Richard, that’s my high school yearbook! I can’t get another one of those.” I pull out Chuck’s card and start to dial his number. Richard comes fully awake. He yanks the phone from my hand and hits the end button. “What did you do that for?” I ask. “I was going to let Chuck know where to send my yearbook.”

  “You know what you need to learn? Patience. You’d suck at fishing.”

  “I happen to be an excellent fisher person,” I say.

  “In that case, let the yearbook sit on the table. Who knows? Maybe Trip will take the nibble.”

  “You forgot it on purpose?” I start to get excited. “You think if Trip looks at my yearbook it might help trigger some memories of us? Make him more open? Make him want to call me back?”

  “It’s a long shot, but it can’t hurt, can it? You gave him your card, at least give him time to call you back personally before you ring up Chuck.”

  “That was really smart of you.” I have to give Richard credit, in his own way he’s actually been a plus on this trip. “So what was the secret signal at the table for?”

  “What secret signal?”

  “You know, when you squeezed my knee to get me to be quiet. What were you trying to get Trip to say then?”

  “Nothing. I’ve just always wanted to squeeze your leg and it seemed like a good time to try.” Richard closes his eyes and goes back to his nap with a grin on his face.

  Once again, I have no rebuttal.

  Richard, two.

  Emma, zero.

  chapter twenty-five

  “I’ve Been a Bad, Bad Boy.”

  This is the title of one of the Trip Monroe articles I’ve written. It begins with our “encounter” at the Don Cesar and pretty much relates verbatim all the events that follow. It costars Chuck as some sort of NASCAR Svengali who controls Trip’s every word and thought. As a reward for being Chuck’s meal ticket and puppet, Chuck supplies Trip with booze and women.

  Of course, this is not the article I’m turning in. For one thing, it violates almost every clause of the contract Chuck forced me to sign before I could interview Trip. And second, it’s not something Florida! would ever print. At least I don’t think so. Still, writing it was almost cathartic.

  The other article, the “real” article, is titled “I Just Want to Go Fishing,” which is my lame attempt at a clever spin-off of Greta Garbo’s famous “I just want to be alone” quote. It is almost two thousand words of pure vanilla using Chuck’s “guidelines.” I have tried to embellish and twist it into something worthy of Florida! standards, but it’s no use. The thought that my name is going to be attached to this makes me want to stay in bed with a pillow over my head.

  The good news (this is the optimist in me fighting to stay alive) is that this is Friday and I still have till Monday morning to give Ben my rough draft. Ben is in Miami today, meeting with advertisers. Or rather, schmoozing the advertisers. I really think Ben is going to take T.K.’s job. Which leads me to wonder who will take Ben’s job. I would be lying if I said I haven’t considered the possibility of T.K. offering it to me. But Richard has been with the magazine longer than I have and I’m not sure how much seniority will play into it.

  Jackie is in Fort Myers on a fam trip at a resort spa, undergoing an “exciting” new exfoliation treatment that uses natural seashells. Basically, she’s going to be wined, dined, sloughed, and moisturized, all in the hope that she will write a favorable review of the place. I’d give anything to trade places with her right now.

  Lisa is out running errands, so Richard and I are the only ones in the office. I place both articles on his desk.

  “Read these and tell me what you think? Pretty please?”

  He looks up from his cell phone. “Have you read my manuscript yet?”

  “I told you, I can’t start reading until I get this Trip Monroe thing done. It’s due to Ben by Monday and—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Richard picks up the first article. “‘I’ve Been a Bad, Bad Boy’?” He grins. “I like this already.”

  I wait patiently in my cubicle while he reads. After a while he leans over and places his hand on the back of my chair. I lean in closer. “So what do you think?”

  “Trip likes to party. Big deal. He’s not married, so only a few born-again Christians are gonna get their panties in a wad over this. Still, it makes good reading. I have a friend over at the National Enquirer who’d probably pay high five figures for this. Maybe even six, seeing as how you’re the first to write anything negative on the guy.”

  “Do you know someone at every publication in the country?”

  “Just about.”

  “So you think this is worthy of the National Enquir
er, huh?”

  “Oh yeah. I especially like the part where Trip mistakes you for a hooker.”

  Sigh. “Obviously, I can’t submit that. Or the other one.”

  “Yeah, I figured it was best not to mention that other one.”

  “Richard, what am I going to do?”

  Maybe it’s lack of sleep that has my guard down, but I’m virtually at the point of tears. I don’t think I’ve ever let Richard see me so vulnerable. I brace myself for a smorgasbord of sarcasm.

  “You’re going stop acting like a victim and start acting like a journalist. Grow a pair and go after the real story here.”

  “Grow a pair? God, you sound like my mother.”

  “Which one? The doctor or the bookseller?”

  Although I’ve worked with Richard forever, I don’t remember ever discussing my family in detail with him. “How do you know what my moms do for a living?”

  “I pay attention.”

  “Oh. So how exactly do you propose I grow a pair?”

  “Try it from a different angle.”

  “I’ve thought about that, but—”

  “Think hard, Emma. If you don’t get what you want the first time, do you just give up? Figure out another way to reach this guy. To get a real interview. Without Chuck the bulldog at his side. I guarantee you, if you don’t go after the real story, someone else will. This guy’s a time bomb. It’s only a matter of the right leak to the right person before it all comes out.”

  I know what Richard says is true. But if I’m going to make this story work, then I’m going to need help from the one person I’d really hoped I wouldn’t have to call again.

  I glance at my watch. It’s almost noon and tomorrow is Saturday, which is the night of Jackie’s big party and I certainly can’t miss that. First off, she would kill me, and second, I’ve waited almost two years to glimpse the Death Star and I’m not about to miss the big unveiling. All this means I have about twenty-eight hours to drive to Catfish Cove, convince Frank Monroe to help me, then drive back to Tampa and have enough time to look stunningly gorgeous in my bathing suit. Richard is right. I’m going to have to man up.

  “Hey, Richard?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.”

  For the second time this summer I find myself sneaking into Catfish Cove. It’s not that I don’t want to see my moms or Nick. But I’m on a tight schedule here. If I let them know I’m in town, they’re going to want me to visit and that will distract me from my mission.

  I drive directly to Frank Monroe’s house and knock on the door. I’m so nervous the sweat is running down the back of my legs.

  Frank opens the door and smiles at me. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Monroe, please hear me out,” I say quickly, in case he plans to slam the door in my face. “My name is Emma Frazier. I left you a message back in June. Do you remember?”

  I see the recognition cross his face. He opens the door all the way and steps to the side. “Now that you’re here, you might as well c’mon in,” he says.

  I meekly enter his house. He takes a long look at me and shakes his head. “Damn, but you look just like your mama.”

  “So everyone tells me. She says the two of you went to prom together.”

  “Did she? Well, that was mighty nice of her to remember.” His voice is thick with sarcasm.

  “Um, yeah. She said you were a very nice man, and frankly, sir, I’m at the end of my rope. I really hope you can help me out here.”

  He looks like he doesn’t know what to make of this but he invites me to take a chair in his living room and offers me an iced tea, which I gratefully accept. My attention is drawn to the kitchen, where I hear someone puttering around.

  “That’s my friend Julie,” Frank says. “I believe the two of you have met.”

  “Yes, we have. Thanks.” What I’m thanking him for I have no idea. I guess I’m just hoping that the right words will come to me. He goes into the kitchen and comes out alone with two glasses of tea, one for me and one for himself. I thank him again, this time for the tea. Julie does not make an appearance, for which I’m grateful because I think what I’m about to say is better said in private. I take a long, grateful sip of my drink. “This is delicious. Did Julie make it?”

  “No, I did. It’s my mama’s special recipe.”

  I would ask him for it but something tells me he won’t give it to me, so I don’t bother. It’s not that he’s acting hostile, but he’s not overly friendly either. More resigned than anything. I might as well get this over with.

  “I know you’re very protective of Trip, and I get that. We went to high school together and I remember how rough he had it after his daddy died.”

  “What do you want with Trip?” he asks suspiciously.

  “Mr. Monroe, I’m a journalist for Florida! magazine. You’ve heard of it, haven’t you?”

  “’Course I have. I subscribe to it. Have for years.”

  I can’t help it. I smile the same way I do whenever I hear someone praise the magazine. “So the thing is, I’ve been trying to get an interview with Trip—”

  “Trip has a PR firm to deal with that kind of stuff.”

  “Yeah, I know. The one in Dallas.”

  I decide to gamble and reach inside my tote bag to produce the “I’ve Been a Bad, Bad Boy” article. I hand it to him. “You might want to see this.”

  Frank pulls a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket and starts reading. He doesn’t even make it to page two before he slams the article across his knee. “Young lady, you have a lot of nerve showing up here at my house with this…this crap.”

  “Everything I wrote is true.”

  His face turns a weird shade of purple.

  Uh-oh. The last thing I want to do is give Frank Monroe a heart attack. “But I’m not submitting it to my editor.” Of course, technically, according to the contract I was tricked into signing (yes, that’s how I’m choosing to remember it), I can’t submit it, but Uncle Frank doesn’t have to know this.

  “Mr. Monroe, I want to write a real piece on Trip but I can’t do that if he doesn’t open up to me. I remember Trip from high school. He was a real nice boy. Shy, and kind of sweet. Maybe even a little sensitive. I want to write about that Trip and how he really feels about being People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive and why he’s quitting the racing circuit this year. I know he’s having problems.

  “That story and everything else is going to leak out eventually. Probably a lot sooner than you think. I want to write the story from Trip’s point of view. I want to write it fairly, and sympathetically, because I like Trip. I don’t think he’s going to get that sort of break from any other journalist.”

  “What do you want from me?” Frank asks. The pain in his voice tells me everything I need to know about this man. It’s obvious he loves his nephew. If I convince him to help me, I have to do what’s right by him, as well as Trip.

  “I want to interview Trip for real. Without Chuck Miller in the room.”

  Frank’s jaw tightens. “That bastard ruined Trip.”

  “Do you think you can help me?”

  “Trip doesn’t listen to me anymore. I’ve tried getting him professional help. Getting him away from Miller, but it’s no use.”

  “I know. I saw you visit him at the Don Cesar.”

  He looks surprised, so I tell him the whole story. How I spotted him at the hotel and how I got Trip’s hotel room number by having Kimberly discreetly follow him.

  “She a good-looking blonde?”

  I nod.

  “I remember her from the elevator. I thought—well, never mind what I thought.”

  “You thought she was a hooker.” I put the pieces together and figure out that this is why Trip was expecting a blonde. Frank must have assumed she was on her way to meet Trip, and from the look on Frank’s face when he got out of the elevator, my guess is that they argued about it.

  He nods, maybe a little embarrassed. “If I help you, if I call Trip and ask him
to speak to you, you promise me you’ll write up a fair article. One that isn’t going to shame his mama?”

  “I promise, I won’t write anything that will hurt any of Trip’s family.”

  He takes a long minute to think this over.

  “All right. I’ll call him. But like I said, he doesn’t listen to me so much anymore. I can’t guarantee he’ll call you back.”

  I hand Frank my business card. “He can call my cell phone twenty-four/seven.” I have an urge to hug him but I don’t think it would be appropriate. “I hate to bring this up, but a rough draft of the article is due on Monday, so if you could put a rush on this, that would be great.”

  Frank shakes his head and chuckles. “Pushy. Just like your mama.”

  “So the two of you were like, friends in high school, huh?”

  “Friends? I’d say we were more than friends.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  Frank looks at me strangely. The funny worm sensation in my stomach hits me again. I really hate worms. “That message you left me? The reason I told you never to call me back was…well, never mind.”

  “I have to admit, I thought your refusal to talk to me was a little over-the-top.”

  “I didn’t know your message had anything at all to do with Trip.”

  “Then what did you think I was calling about?”

  “You said it was urgent and I thought—aw, hell, I thought you were trying to figure out if I was your daddy.”

  I laugh. “Why on earth would I think that?”

  “Because it’s a fairly logical conclusion based on the fact your mama and I used to be married.”

  chapter twenty-six

  Five days of good old-fashioned American dieting has done the trick. I am now seven pounds lighter than I was last Monday and my bathing-suit bottom feels…well, it feels okay. I’ll be honest, the reason I’ve been able to stick to my diet is that between the stress of Trip’s interview, learning about Mom’s secret marriage to Frank Monroe, and checking my cell phone every few seconds to see if Trip has called, I haven’t had much of an appetite. I know if Mom knew about my reaction to finding out she was married, she would say I was being “dramatic.” I know I should have immediately hashed it out with her, but instead I slipped out of town like I’d just written a bad check.