by Lorin Grace
“You’ll figure it out. Why don’t we close up for now?”
Nick glared at his silent phone one last time before putting it in his pocket and following his father to the elevator.
The shower helped. Zoe fluffed her hair and went to thank Tessa for her tough love.
She found Tessa in the kitchen cooking a pan of eggs. “Here, eat.”
Zoe held out a plate while Tessa scooped the food onto it. “Thanks.” The eggs smelled good and tasted even better. Either Zoe was hungrier than she realized, or Tessa’s cooking skills had improved.
“While you are eating, you can fill me in on a few things. Like why you trusted a person at a general information desk to deliver a necklace worth twice as much as my old car to Nick. And then you can tell me why you had it in the first place.”
“Because I said it was for him? And he gave it to me.” Zoe stuffed a forkful of eggs into her mouth so she wouldn’t have to answer for a while. She hadn’t even told her mother or Candace the significance of the necklace, just that she was officially dating.
Tessa crossed her arms. “I am going to give you a pass on not thinking when you returned it. Yesterday was traumatic. Although you should have tried to see him. According to Sean, Nick has been worried about you all morning since you disappeared from work without even your phone. He would have gone searching for you himself if he hadn’t had a couple of New York’s finest watching him until they finally confirmed the mixed-up identities, by which time he couldn’t sneeze without the nightly news reporting it. He deployed every off-duty security guard and bodyguard at his disposal to look for you. You at least owe him a phone call.”
“You saw the news yesterday—what they said about him and me. What happens when someone realizes the 911 call was him? He is a Gooding. I feel like me knowing him has put mud all over his name. If I step back now, maybe the damage won’t be so bad.” She couldn’t call or see him. Her resolve was not that strong.
“The damage to him or his reputation?” Tessa swirled a water bottle.
“Both.”
The silence grew as Zoe choked down the last of her eggs.
“Over the past two years, I have learned some interesting things from being a member of the Art House. When it comes to men, we are all idiots. I nearly walked away from Sean because of my fear of long-distance relationships. Mandy didn’t trust Daniel to be the person she knew him to be. Araceli didn’t think she measured up and didn’t stand up for herself. Abbie, well, she couldn’t admit the truth. Then there is you and Candace. I want to shake you both.”
“I want to shake Candace too.” Zoe washed her plate off.
“You are as bad as she is!”
“No, I’m not. Colin proposed.”
“And Nick didn’t?”
“No.”
Tessa’s chair scraped back from the table. She stood at the end of the galley kitchen blocking Zoe in. “So giving you expensive jewelry and asking if you would be his girlfriend publicly was what?”
Zoe crossed her arms. “I believe it is called going steady.”
“Aka an assumed engagement. He came here three times last night and again this morning. Stop being stupid and go after him.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because if you love someone, you should let them go.”
Tessa stood and left without a word. Zoe stared at the door. Tessa didn’t come back. Zoe tried calling Candace and got voicemail. She studied Nick’s contact information page for a while before pushing the green Call button. If he didn’t answer, she would know he understood her note and agreed. The phone went to voicemail on the fourth ring. She left a message anyway.
The half-full suitcase waited in her room. She owed Scott & Ricks a formal resignation. She hung the clothes back in the closet. It would be cheaper to buy a ticket to Indianapolis with a two-week advance. She set the phone next to the rag doll and pretended she didn’t care that Nick hadn’t answered.
Nick listened to the voicemail that had been left while he was in the shower, again. “Hi, Nick, I know I didn’t handle yesterday very well. I am not sure what to say. Goodbye.” Zoe hadn’t called since. He wasn’t sure if he should return the call. At least she was safe. And was the goodbye a farewell for good or just how she ended a call? Tessa had been of little help ranting about stupid Wilson women before locking herself in her home studio with a computer. Sean had only shrugged his shoulders.
Most of the major news outlets had apologized for the story and recanted. A temporary secretary at the city police office wanting to earn a buck had been blamed. After seeing Nick’s photo with Zoe on a social media post, she’d sold a partially redacted copy of the police report to a sleazy blog. No one could explain how the story got picked up nationally without due diligence. Alan Hastings called to let him know ZoElle, who preferred to be called Elle, had been relocated to a safe house since some people blamed her for the story and for ruining the Gooding name. Nick instructed Alan to cover whatever expenses he felt necessary, including engaging a lawyer and counselor. Elle wouldn’t look back two years later and wonder why justice hadn’t been served.
Zoe’s tale, unfortunately, remained a story of interest, and the pundits argued over the “he said/she said” of the original story. Some analysts declared the school had handled the situation poorly, calling the man’s side a case of “He doth protest too much.” Stories of false accusations at other universities found their way back out of obscurity as Hollywood A-listers shot hashtags across cyberspace like well-aimed darts.
The latest report from the bodyguard watching the apartment was that Zoe hadn’t ventured out all weekend. Although she had ordered a small batch of groceries. Better than a cab to JFK.
Late Sunday afternoon, Colin texted.
—Sorry I couldn’t bury Zoe’s life deeper.
Not your fault.
—Is she talking to you?
Nick debated about how real to make his answer. She left me a goodbye note.
—I’m not sure if the carousel will be finished anytime soon. The artist may or may not have quit.
Candace? Why?
—I proposed. I thought she was willing after she came back from Blue Pines. I guess I don’t understand women.
You and me both, my friend.
— I was serious when I said it is easier to hack the Pentagon than it is to understand a woman.
My guess is that it’s easier to hack North Korea’s military servers. Nick tried to think of the most outlandish thing he could.
— Nah. Only took me two hours.
Nick didn’t dare ask any more questions. His phone pinged again.
— Just kidding. Haven’t tried that one.
I’m relieved to know that. Don’t.
— Not that desperate. I still have Mandy, the secret weapon. She’s calling. Bye.
Nick checked the clock in his office. The Monday Tokyo stock market would open soon. It would be the first indicator of whether people believed in his innocence deep enough to feel it in their pocketbooks. He opted to watch rather than wake up to an unpleasant surprise. Besides, trying to sleep became an exercise in not thinking about Zoe. After three hours of watching Gooding Enterprises remain steady, Nick fell asleep on the couch and dreamed about Zoe.
twenty-two
Gina had refused the email resignation Zoe sent from the public library Friday afternoon, sending a reply that she expected Zoe in her office by eight thirty Monday morning. Waiting for the subway, Zoe was glad Gina hadn’t accepted the resignation. Sometime Sunday afternoon, she’d started to feel like her old self again. Nick still hadn’t returned her message. That didn’t matter. No one was going to continue to steal her life from her. For too long she’d allowed that stupid TA to control what people thought of her. Some second-rate
secretary in Wisconsin wasn’t going to do the same. It may have helped that she’d received posts from three of her favorite movie stars supporting her.
She scrolled back through Nick’s old messages until she found the one she wanted.
I’m a text away if you need me today. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.
She changed the font size until it filled the window, then took a screenshot. Movement at the end of the platform caught her attention. She nodded at the bodyguard, and he nodded back. Nick might not be answering her message, but he cared enough to have her followed.
Passengers crowded into the car, all paying more attention to their phones than to her. Thankfully, the secretary of state had said something controversial, and his comments now topped the news, along with the hurricane brewing in the tropics. The bodyguard stood near the door. Zoe changed her home screen to Nick’s text. She thought about texting him; however, “Thanks for sending the bald guy to look out for me” didn’t explain it well, and “Thanks for still caring” was just lame. Zoe exited at her stop and didn’t look back to see if her shadow had followed her.
The office space was finished. The painters and plasterers must have worked double time. The smells of new carpet and paint filled the air. A cup of steaming cider sat at her desk. Zoe looked for James but didn’t see him. She read the sticky note on top of her whiteboard.
My office, ASAP. Gina (bring your cider)
Gina waved her in through the glass. “Close the door and sit down.”
Zoe tried to relax.
“Next time you need a personal day, ask.” Gina held up a finger and added a second. “I am assuming your resignation was from the stress of the moment, so it stays between us and has already been deleted from my system.” A third finger joined the others. “I believe you told the truth about two years ago and about Mr. Dodd. That being said, I know not everyone does.” Gina slid a business card across the desk. “This is my therapist. Go see her. She is covered 100 percent, and, in my opinion, is the best in the city.”
Zoe took the card. “Thanks. I need a couple visits. Friday was brutal.”
“I understand. Now, are you ready to get to work?”
Zoe nodded.
“Don’t tell Adrian this, but if you only give your job 70 percent this week, I’ll count your work as 110 percent.” Gina stood. “I need to go check on something in the break room, so if you want to use my phone to make a private call, you are welcome to.”
The not-so-subtle push and the necessary privacy convinced Zoe to make an appointment for that evening. The therapist tried to work around her clients’ hours. She had thought of setting up a video call with her old therapist, but a recommendation from Gina would be better.
Thanks to James being the lead designer of her pod, Zoe made it through the morning. He kept her supplied with meaningful work and another caramel cider.
After lunch, she received a meeting request from Maurene in PR. Zoe bit her lip and accepted the invitation.
A half hour later, she was ushered into a large office. A bank of muted TVs tuned to different stations covered one wall.
“Have a seat, Zoe. Don’t worry. I won’t bite. But I don’t promise this won’t be painless.”
The couch was more comfortable than the uber-modern design looked. Maurene sat next to her in an armchair. “As you know, Scott & Ricks handles the Goodings’ PR. I am sure you are aware of the current public-relations problem that exploded Friday and over the weekend.”
Zoe started to open her mouth, but Maurene shook her head and continued. “There are three innocent victims we want to focus on. Nick Gooding, of course, Miss ZoElle Watson, and you. In fifteen minutes, Miss Watson has agreed to do a conference video call with you. From what I gather, you have been in a similar place to where she is right now. Both of you have a credibility problem that is largely the media’s fault. We want to use them to correct their error but in a controlled way. Particularly, the women of America need to meet you and hear your story. I have booked you and Elle on a Wednesday morning show filmed here in New York. I trust the host and hostess. They will be giving you prescreened questions. Anything you don’t like, you change. Elle has yet to agree. I think that is going to depend on if you can manage to click with her during your call. The worst thing we can do is put you on stage together and have tension between you.”
Maurene never asked Zoe if she agreed to sit in front of an audience of millions and bare her soul. Instead, the PR director continued as if Zoe’s participation was a given. Zoe listened as Maurene outlined her plan, from what colors Zoe should wear to the interview, to instructions to wear her hair down to give her a softer look. Zoe thought about declining, but if this could help Elle and Nick, she would risk humiliation because Maurene believed it would work.
Finally, the video call started. Elle looked like Zoe felt. Haunted. They introduced themselves, and Zoe found she didn’t know what to say next. Maurene slipped a paper in front of her. Tell her about your weekend.
“I’d say it doesn’t get more awkward than this conversation, but we both lived through this weekend, so that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? It was one of the most difficult of my life. One of my friends spent most of Saturday talking me out of making stupid choices.”
Elle nodded. “The only good thing about this weekend is my bodyguard. I think I would not be here if not for him. I wanted to die so badly.”
“I wanted to stay in bed and never leave.”
“How did you handle it?”
“I watched a couple of inspirational videos from women who had a worse time than me. Went through some old exercises from my counselor, cried, prayed. That type of thing. In some ways, it is easier than two years ago. I had forgotten I needed to choose, not just be acted upon.”
They fell into easy conversation. Near the end, Maurene told Elle about the interview. The pros and cons.
Elle bit her lip. “Can I meet Nick Gooding? I want to apologize.”
“No apology necessary. He knows it wasn’t your fault, but I am sure I can arrange a meeting,” said Maurene.
“Then I’ll come.”
“Good, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon. We’ll do some show prep.”
The video link ended.
Maurene typed on her computer. I have scheduled you from three to six tomorrow and Wednesday until noon. Bring me a photo of a couple different outfits you have. Remember, it will be Halloween Wednesday, so absolutely no orange or black.
Zoe returned to her desk, not entirely able to concentrate on her day. Fear and determination fought for dominance. She unlocked her drawer and turned on the phone, reading Nick’s text again. Determination won another round.
When Sebastian stopped in front of the Rockefeller center, Nick climbed out and headed for the familiar studio. He still wasn’t sure why he had let himself be talked into a TV interview. Maurene assured him it would do wonders to rebuild the damage the false accusations had caused his reputation as well as that of Elle and Zoe. Of course, Maurene had him at Zoe. A witch on a scooter sped by, nearly mowing him down. Halloween morning in the city.
He checked in and proceeded directly to the green room. The show in progress was streamed to the large monitor on the wall. Someone dabbed powder on his face and concealer on the light bruising around his eye. Someone else connected the mic. Nick closed his eyes and took a moment to find a quiet place in his thoughts. He became aware of the interview playing on the television monitor. Why hadn’t Maurene told him they were being interviewed? Elle answered a question, and the camera panned out.
The host asked his next question. “Zoe, how did you feel when you first saw your name in the news Friday morning?”
“Instantly, I was back in the campus library study room, a hand covering my mouth to stifle my screams, helpless
to prevent what was happening to me. Only this time, I didn’t have my innocence to lose. I only had love. The media’s lies are just as violating as what I experienced on campus. The hardest part is this time I can’t stand and face my nameless, faceless perpetrators and ask them to pay for their crimes. Or demand they repair the damage they did to me, to Elle, and to Nick Gooding. The news cycle will move on to the next story while we attempt to rebuild our lives and our reputations. And the story will never really go away, will it?”
There was a space of silence when she finished talking. I only had love. Did she mean him? He shouldn’t have listened to the advice he had been given. He should have camped out on the front stoop if that was what it took. Nick ran across the room to the sound-stage door. A burly bodyguard blocked his path.
“I need to get in there.”
“Sorry, Mr. Gooding. I have my orders. No one enters while the red light is on.”
“But—”
The guard didn’t budge.
On TV, the host segued into a commercial break. The producer stepped through the door. “Mr. Gooding, if you will come with me.”
The couch where Zoe and Elle had sat was empty. The producer sat him in the corner nearest the host. There was a quick light check, a thumbs up, and the theme music played.
“Thank you for joining us this morning to talk about the biggest media blunder since Truman won the presidency over Dewey.” The famous photo of President Truman holding a newspaper declaring Dewey the winner filled the screen behind the host and the questions began.
“If you had one takeaway from this debacle, what would it be?” asked the hostess.
