Chapter 5 #2
“That’s not what all the other neighbors said.
Stacey tagged a bunch of them, and they all jumped into the thread.
One of them said your accountant was wanted for grand theft auto but the cops in Virginia didn’t have enough evidence so they had to let her go.
Another said she heard Vero was living with you under an assumed identity and was using your home to hide from the police in another state.
But Stacey said that can’t be right because she knows for a fact that your hot cop boyfriend has been living with you and he would have known. Is it true?”
“No!” I said, flustered. “Except that last part.”
“What about the rumor that you two are getting engaged?”
“What? Who said that?” I shook my head. “Why am I even discussing this with you? My relationship with Nick is no one’s business either!”
“You might want to reconsider that, actually. Your fans really love him. You picked up five thousand new followers in the last two days. Stacey started a boxers or briefs poll about him. It’s getting really strong engagement.
Your neighbors even started a hashtag … hotcopcrotchwatch.
If we keep this up, you could go viral.”
“I don’t want to go viral! None of the stuff they’re saying is even true!”
“You’re a celebrity now, Finlay. No one cares what’s true.
Your readers only care about how you look, and right now, you look like a suspense writer in cahoots with a criminal while you’re sleeping with a cop.
It’s a good thing he’s sexy or you’d really be in trouble.
Look,” she said at my irritated sigh, “I know I say all publicity is good publicity, but we have to be careful with this felony business. Your fans can turn on you in a minute. Everyone loves a good Robin Hood story, but Vero is no Luigi Mangione. It would be one thing if she’d ripped off Jeff Bezos or Elon Musk, but she can’t go around stealing money from college kids.
Sorority girls are like Girl Scouts to perverts and the general public.
Stealing their Thin Mints isn’t a good look on anyone.
Promise me you’ll get this under control before I have to go all Justin Baldoni and hire a fancy PR firm to fix it.
I’m not above smearing a few of your competitors to take the focus off you, but I’d rather not spend that kind of money if we can avoid it. Capisce?”
I felt a headache coming on. “I’m handling it, Syl.”
“Good. Tell your hot cop I voted for the briefs. We both have a lot riding on this. Don’t let me down.”
I dropped the call without saying goodbye. Since she hadn’t said hello, I figured she couldn’t hold it against me.
Great. This was just one more thing for the neighbors to be gossiping about.
Why couldn’t they find something better to do than spread rumors about my family?
And now that Nick was living at my house, taking my kids with him to work, my neighbors were probably hashtagging his every move while trying to get a glimpse of his underwear.
I texted Javi. My bladder was full and my patience was thin. I needed to get home to Nick and the kids before Stacey and her friends started posting polls about something worse.
Finlay: Tell Vero to hurry. We have to go.
Javi: She says u have 2 stay in that room.
Finlay: I can’t stay in this room. I have to pee.
Javi: She suggests doing some Kegels.
Finlay: Tell her that’s not funny.
Javi: She says u can hold it and she believes in the strength of ur pelvic floor.
Finlay: It’s an emergency, Javi!
Javi: If it’s any consolation, I believe in u 2.
Finlay: I’ll relay that to my bladder. Can you at least tell me how long you’ll be?
No answer.
I sat down at her desk, crossed my legs at the hip, and thought extremely dry thoughts: the Sahara Desert, my mouth in the morning after a hangover, my last attempt at roasting any kind of poultry.
This line of thought managed only to make me hungry. I looked around for anything to eat or drink, but there wasn’t so much as a crumb in Vero’s room. And even if there were, it would only make my more pressing issue worse.
I crept to Vero’s bedroom door, listening for a moment before tiptoeing across the hall.
I locked myself inside the bathroom, thanking the pelvic floor gods I’d managed to hold it that long as I frantically relieved my aching bladder.
When I was finished, I turned on the faucet and leaned over the tap, taking a good long drink.
I bolted upright when someone knocked on the door. I turned off the water, my heart hammering in my chest.
“Vero? You want something to eat? I’m cooking your favorite for dinner.” My mind spun as the woman paused. “You’re in your room too much, Vero. Your mother and I have been very worried about you.”
Oh, god. It was Vero’s aunt! It was too late to turn on the shower faucet and pretend I hadn’t heard her. I affected my best imitation of Vero’s voice. “I’m fine!” I called through the door.
“Vero, honey, let me in.”
“Be out in a few minutes!”
“Veronica, open the door.”
“I said everything is—”
Vero’s Aunt Gloria let loose with an urgent, fiery soliloquy in Spanish. I managed to translate exactly one word of it: ahora—now!