Chapter 13
Things are less funny the next morning.
“I hate my job,” I say, still in my pajamas, folded over the kitchen counter, cheek pressed to the granite. I’m late for work and I don’t even care. Which is a first for me.
In truth, things got a lot less funny when Luke and I had to go check on our respective clients, both freaking out in their dressing rooms. I only know River was freaking out because Luke texted me: River is freaking out.
Bailey was beside herself, worried about the fans’ reaction and what is now being referred to as the “stranger danger hug.”
As I predicted, videos of that stupid hug are everywhere. It’s the most watched video FableCon has ever had, so the organizers are probably thrilled. At least someone is.
There are posts all over social media, and it’s even made it to entertainment sites. Different angles of River holding on for dear life while Bailey is frozen like a statue.
It would be one thing if the hug had overpowered the fans’ concerns, but all it did was exacerbate them. The stranger danger hug was just more proof that River and Bailey won’t be able to give them the season four they deserve.
And now I’ve got Luke texting me again this morning asking if we should get together to figure this out.
But I left him on read because I have no plan yet, and I’m not about to meet with Luke Wilder without a plan.
I was awake half the night thinking about what I could do and spent the other half having stress dreams about it.
“You don’t hate your job,” Sam says, leaning against the counter across from me, a coffee cup in her hands.
“Well, I hate it right now.”
She blows on her coffee. “To be honest, I kind of hate your job right now too. I mean, are Bailey and River going to ruin Kingdom of Flame and Moonlight?” She takes a quick breath. “Not that it’s your fault that any of this happened.”
“But it kind of is my fault,” I say, still cheek to counter.
“How? You can’t control the fans.”
I sit up. “Simone could have. She would have known You Oughta Know would be there and would have had her removed before she even made it to the microphone.”
Sam scrunches her face. “How could Simone have known that?”
“She has eyes in the back of her head. Or superpowers. The only supernatural thing I’ve got is a stupid dating curse.”
Sam shakes her head in response.
I know I’m being ridiculous. I doubt Simone would have predicted that the obnoxious influencer would have been there. But in my heart of hearts, I just know that things would have gone differently if she were in charge.
Sam reaches over and pats me on the head. Like a dog. “So, what are you going to do? What’s your next plan of attack?”
“Quit and become a mattress tester,” I say.
“Is that a real job?”
“Yes. I looked it up—sleep product tester or mattress evaluator. Why didn’t I think to get into that industry instead of this one?”
“Because you would have been bored in any other job.”
“You don’t know that. I might have been very happy lying on mattresses all day.”
I stand up now because the counter is actually very uncomfortable.
“So what’s the plan?” she asks, mistaking my standing up for motivation when really I was considering getting back in my bed. Might as well start the mattress testing with the one I already own.
“I don’t have one,” I say. “If we make a statement, the fans will just point to the stranger danger hug to discount whatever we say.”
Sam makes a snort laugh at the name of the hug. “Why is that so perfect? Sometimes the internet makes me proud to be human.”
I scowl at her, even though I agree. I, too, laughed when I first saw the nickname.
“Okay, so then do something out of the box,” she says. “Give them the old Claire special.”
I squint. “Claire special?”
“Yeah,” she says, with a nod. “Do that thing where you come up with something amazing that saves the day at the last minute.”
“That’s never been me. That’s all been luck,” I say.
“That wasn’t luck,” she says. “That was all you.”
I give her my very best side-eye.
“You know,” she says. “Sometimes the hardest part of the problem is accepting that you’re the one who has to solve it.”
“Let me guess? Therapy?”
She gives me a shrug. “That one was from my mom, actually.”
I smile, despite how I’m feeling. “She’s a smart woman.”
“She is. But please never tell her that. It’ll go to her head.”
I get ready and head into the office because Sam is right. I need to do something.
But “something” didn't take me to work. It took me down the 170 to the 101, off at Highland, south into Hancock Park. To a craftsman bungalow with a wide front porch and mature trees blocking most of the street view.
Where Simone lives.
I’ve been here before, for a work party she held last year. The house fits the woman: nothing flashy, but deliberate.
I’m just about to knock on the large black-painted front door when I realize that I’ve lost my mind. I can’t ask Simone for help right now. Not with her health issues. This might be the dumbest, most selfish thing I’ve ever done.
What is wrong with you, Claire?
I can only attribute this to feeling completely in over my head with this job, or temporary insanity, or both. Because clearly I’ve lost it.
I turn around and head toward my car to leave, but then I hear the squeaking of the heavy door opening behind me.
Crap.
“Miss Claire,” a deep voice says.
I spin back around. ”Hi, Mr. Caldwell,” I say, holding my hand up to shield my eyes from the midmorning sun to see his tall, broad-shouldered frame filling the doorway.
“I . . . just came to check on Simone. How is she doing?” I ask.
It’s not a total lie; I want to know how she’s doing, but that’s not why I showed up at her door. And I think Marcus is onto me. He gives me a slow smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
But then he chuckles. “She’s doing just fine. Much better, actually. Do you want to see for yourself?” He stands to the side, holding out a hand toward the open door, inviting me in.
“Oh, I don’t want to bother her,” I say, even though I was here to do just that before I came to my senses.
He waves me in. “Come on. She’d love the company. I think she’s sick of only having me to look at every day.”
I tentatively follow him inside the house, the smell of brewed coffee in the air and classical music playing in the background.
“She’s out back on the porch,” he says, leading the way.
We walk through her minimally decorated house and out the open French doors to a covered patio. It’s welcoming, with terra-cotta tile, string lights hanging along the eaves, and a ceiling fan turning slowly overhead.
Lounging on a sectional outdoor couch, her hair down, her feet bare, a book in one hand and a half-full glass of lemonade in the other, is Simone.
“You have a visitor,” says Marcus.
She seems fully engrossed in her book. It takes a second before she turns her head in our direction, and then she does the most un-Simone thing. She smiles. It’s bright and warm and full of something I’ve never seen on Simone’s face: pure contentment.
What’s happening right now?
“Claire,” she says. “It’s good to see you.”
It’s weird to see you is what I want to say. I’d imagined her sitting just like this—sprawled out on a couch with a drink in hand—but I never thought that was what she was actually doing. I don’t think I knew Simone was capable of relaxing until this very second.
“How are you?” I ask. This sounds like a formality, but I honestly mean it. What has happened to Simone? The woman before me looks settled and at ease. All her boss-woman edges softened.
Has she been body snatched by an alien? Joined a cult? Should I ask her to blink twice if she’s okay?
“I’m doing fantastic,” she says. She holds out her lemonade to Marcus, and he takes it. “Can you refill this and get our guest some as well?”
My shoulders relax a bit. This feels more like the Simone I know, ordering people around and offering things without asking first. So maybe not replaced by an alien after all. The cult is still a possibility, though.
“Have a seat.” She gestures to the other end of the couch after Marcus goes back inside.
“So . . . everything’s okay?” I ask, settling in.
“I’m doing much better. Blood pressure is under control,” she says.
“That’s great news.”
“And how are things at the office?” she asks.
“They’re fine,” I say.
She raises an eyebrow. “Are they?”
“What have you heard?” I knew she must have been keeping tabs on me. I’m surprised she didn’t call me and tell me everything I was doing wrong.
“Nothing,” she says. “I’ve been in a complete media blackout. Doing what the doctor said. But I figured since you’re here, things aren’t going well.”
“No . . . well, yes. But it’s fine. I can figure it out. I don’t want to bother you,” I say, feeling slightly relieved that she hasn’t been making a list of grievances to hold over my head.
Marcus comes outside, carrying two full glasses of lemonade. He hands one to Simone before handing one to me and then takes a seat next to his wife.
“Not a bother. We’re all good here,” she says, looking at Marcus, who gives her a loving smile.
Yep. It’s definitely a cult.
“Does that mean you’re coming back?” I ask, hopeful.
I see Marcus shake his head first before Simone joins in.
“Oh no,” she says. “I’ve got eight more weeks until this little guy gets here.”
She rubs her belly.
I sit up, my eyes wide. I look to Marcus and then Simone, who are both smiling now.
“You’re pregnant?” I ask, needing to clarify even though she basically just told me.
Simone was told she could never have children. I never asked, but I’d guessed she’d given up on it. She’s been mostly private about her personal life, though she’d make the occasional joke that her job was her child and that managing clients often felt like dealing with a toddler.
“I am,” she says.
“I thought—”
“It was the shock of our lives,” Marcus interjects.
“I was nearly four months when I found out,” Simone says. “I’ve never had a regular period, so I just figured it was that. And the little bugger is in my back, so I couldn’t feel him move until recently.”