26. Will You Come With Me?
26
WILL YOU COME WITH ME?
PRENTICE
The scandal spotlight that shone on my world wasn’t usually as glaring as the one that Hollywood celebrities had to endure, but there had been a photographer at the spring bash and a reporter for a local paper, and they spread the word. A headline like blue bloods reveal wild secrets wouldn’t usually go much beyond the people who loved stories of the rich and shameless.
But when the “organ donor” that Jack Furneau had bred from his own employee turned out to be the drummer in the nation’s hottest rock band . . .
Interest was strong and growing.
I was in a lot of the photos of the event that were circulating, and my phone blew up with invitations to tell my side of the story.
Or demands that I tell my side of the story.
Or screams that I was a harlot who was going to roast in a fiery hell.
I wanted to put anything related to Mal Becker as far from me as I could, but eventually, I had to contact Archer’s girlfriend, O’Connor, herself a social media influencer. She’d been kind to me when we’d met, so I sent up a plea for advice on the “contact me” link on her website.
And she was as kind as I remembered. She called me within half an hour. Kimmy didn’t object when I stepped out to take the call.
“Prentice,” O’Connor said, “if I didn’t have such loyalty to Aftermath, I would be trying to pry a statement out of you right now.”
“Oh god,” I said stupidly. “Was calling you a mistake?”
I heard her chuckle through the phone. “You’re safe. I like Mal. He’s a puppy.”
“Um, yeah.”
“Ah. I heard that hesitation. Archer told me there’s trouble in paradise. You guys going through a rough patch, huh? I’ve been there. Stay strong.”
I shook my head uselessly, wishing I could change the channel on our topic. “O’Connor, I’m getting a lot of interest from various scandal reporters. I wanted your advice on what I should do. Should I talk to someone? If so, who?”
“Well, me, obviously. But the answer is no. Just remain silent. I know it feels like this has been going on for decades, but it hasn’t even been a week. By this weekend, there will be another scandal. I promise. They’ll all move on to chase the next big story. Especially if you don’t feed the fire. Okay?”
“Yes. Thank you. There are just so many people asking.”
“I know. And some of them are probably saying some pretty mean things.”
I blinked, thinking of the venom in some of the messages I’d gotten. “Truly. I’m a harlot. I’m Satan’s favorite handmaiden. I’m not sure why. I don’t even know how they got my contact info.”
“Never underestimate the detective skills of the average troll. But don’t engage with them either. Ever. If the comments last for more than two weeks, or if a comment scares you, take it to the police. Otherwise, stay silent.”
“I will. Thank you, O’Connor.”
“Seriously, Prentice, Archer says Mal is like a zombie. Any chance you could put him out of his misery?”
My throat closed up, and my grip on the phone was far too tight. “I—I appreciate your help, O’Connor, but I don’t think I want to talk about this now.”
“Well, there you go, maintaining a dignified silence. Good for you. Do that with the reporters too.”
I rushed to clarify, “It’s not that I think you’d post about it! I just—I don’t want to?—”
“I know. Believe me, I know. And when you’re ready to talk, you’ve got my number. I’m a sympathetic listener, and I swear anything you say will go into the vault. Your privacy is guaranteed. I’d just like to help you if I can.”
“Thank you, O’Connor. I—I need to go.” I didn’t want her to hear the humiliating tears in my voice.
“One day I’ll tell you my saga with Archer, and you won’t feel so down after that. But you want time to heal, and I can understand that. Talk to you soon, girl. Bye now.”
Our offices were on the second floor of an extremely boring building in town, and I had occasion to study the fire-exit door and the landing of the staircase when I took ten more minutes away from work to get control of my tears. Again.
O’Connor’s call was the best of the day. Things deteriorated when I got a text from a number I actually knew—Liz, of the perpetual quartet of Elizabeth, Liz, Wizzy, and Melissa. I assumed Liz had been sent by Elizabeth, which was proven true when I turned down Liz’s invitation to lunch.
Mere moments later, Elizabeth came out of hiding with a text of her own.
Girl come into the city tomorrow night! Art opening at my gallery, would love to see you xo
Elizabeth more or less worked at a chichi gallery in Soho, and she’d never once wanted to see me before.
I’ve had enough society to last me, but thanks. Maybe another time
Noooo come join me. Glass of wine, some friendly chat, you’ll be good as new
Elizabeth, you can have Johnston, I keep telling you. With my blessings
That’s not what this is about
It’s not?
Well maybe you could just sign this paper for him
What paper would that be
Just a quick NDA
Could I block her number? Would that be too rude?
Take care of yourself with him, Elizabeth
You don’t understand
That may be true but be careful
He’s scared to ask you himself
He’s right to be
So will you sign?
I shook my head, astonished at the depths of my reaction.
Tell Johnston that nothing has made me want to talk to the press more than this conversation. He needs to leave me alone
It took a moment for her to reply.
I’ll tell him
I turned my phone off and hid it in my desk drawer. No more communication at all. The world could go to hell unless they wanted to donate to The Arts Council. Charlie had given his promised ten thousand and said he’d talk to the others. Him, I’d talk to. Everyone else could go rot.
Or my financial planner, who was arranging a schedule for my charitable gift to The Arts Council. I’d answer his calls too. No one else’s, though.
It wasn’t until that night, alone in the silence of my little over-the-garage apartment, that I went through my voicemail and found a message that made me heave a watery sigh.
“Prentice.” It was the slight German accent of Mal’s mother, Gerta. My finger hovered over the trash-can icon to delete her unheard, but I wasn’t fast enough. She went on and trapped me in her request. “I know you and Mal aren’t together anymore, but I’m afraid I need to ask you a favor. Will you call me when you get this? I’ll be up until at least eleven tonight. Thank you, Liebling .”
The endearment wrenched my heart. Gerta’s loving kindness had charmed me. I’d thought she and Mal were going to be a part of my life, and losing her was just a fraction of what I’d lost when he broke my heart.
It took me almost an hour and a glass and a half of wine before I worked up the courage. She answered on the first ring. “Prentice, is it you?”
“Yes, Gerta. How are you?”
“ Ach , darling, you’re so sweet to ask. I know these last few days have been awful for you. For me too. It’s funny how long we can go on believing what we want to believe when the truth was always there in front of us.”
I nodded, forgetting she couldn’t see me. A paper towel from the kitchen would do to mop up tears and wipe my nose so she couldn’t hear.
“That’s true,” I said.
“ Liebling , it’s too cruel of me to ask, but I need a favor from you, and I hope you can take pity on me.”
My brain scrambled like Charlotte’s claws on a marble floor. What could I possibly do to help Gerta? “What is it?” I asked suspiciously.
She sighed. “Malcom wants me to come to the studio for the Saturday Night Live performance, and I’m afraid. Will you go with me?”
Paralysis seized me at the idea. “Gerta,” I said, unsure of what I would say next.
She cut in. “I know. I know you and Mal are finished. I understand that. I hope you understand that the rage inside him—that is my fault.”
“It’s not.”
“It is. I was the one who chose to leave that little boy in plain sight of a father who would not love him, would not acknowledge him. I chose to see what I wanted to see, and the anger and sorrow grew in Mal where I couldn’t see it. Even though I should have.”
She was crying now too. At least I wasn’t leaking alone.
“That’s not right, Gerta,” I said, thinking of my conversation with my mother. “I know you did the best you could at every turn. You love your son. You did what you could. It’s up to the child to—to decide if good will come of their lives or bad. Whether she will be a victim of bullying or learn to stand up for herself. Mothers have great power, but it’s not absolute, Gerta. He made his choices too.”
Her inhale was trembling. She was still crying. “I wish I could believe that.”
“You can. You should. Tell me why you’re afraid to go to the SNL performance alone.”
“Well, you’ll think it’s silly. But their manager will be there, that Phil MacGregor. He’s very intense.”
“Does he scare you, Gerta?” I straightened at the thought. “He better not dare.”
“Well, not scare so much as—as make me uncomfortable. Do you understand?”
“Oh, I understand. Is there no one else you want to take?”
“My friends all work for—for the estate. I’m trying to make a break. Is that silly?”
“It’s not silly. I’ll go with you if you promise me two things.”
“ Ach , Schatz ! Tell me.”
“First, that I won’t have to talk to Mal—or even see him, except when he’s onstage.”
“Yes, yes, that’s fine. There’s a party afterward, but you and I will go home instead.”
“Thank you. And second, you have to promise me you’re not trying to get us back together.”
She was silent. “My heart is heavy for my boy,” she said finally, “but I know he has much work to do before he can be strong in a relationship. Until he can begin to forgive and let his anger go, he isn’t good for anyone. So I cannot hope for you to get back with him until he’s ready.”
Her assessment of her son was so honest and so painful that fragments of pain shattered across my nervous system. “Thank you.” The world was so dark and grim. “I will go with you. Shall I pick you up?”
“They’re sending a car for me. I will pick you up. We must leave quite early. Can you be ready by six on Saturday?”
“I can. I’ll see you then, Gerta.”
“Thank you, sweet girl. Thank you.”
I spent the rest of that restless evening hoping I hadn’t just made a terrible decision.