Chapter 35
Hallie
Wednesday morning came and went without my newest “Love on Wall Street” article hitting the Sophisticate website.
Anthea emailed me, letting me know it would be up this evening.
The celebrity wedding the magazine covered earlier in the week had caused a backlog in her editing schedule.
The wedding, I realized, had occurred between two C-List actors and had been given barely a two-page spread in the magazine.
But I didn’t really think Anthea delaying my article for a two-page mid-level spread was strange until Wednesday evening, when the next installment was published.
“Do you want a glass of wine?” Roxie asked from the kitchen. “It’ll cover the burnt taste of the chicken.”
“Sure,” I replied as I refreshed Sophisticate ’s website for the tenth time in the last minute.
Roxie set a glass of wine and a dinner plate down in front of me. “I still don’t understand why we couldn’t order out.”
“We’ve ordered out every day this week. I can’t even remember the last time we used our oven. I’m pretty sure your purses are still in there for storage.”
“We have limited closet space,” Roxie reminded me. “Of course, I’m going to use what little storage we have.”
“That’s not the purpose of an oven, Rox.”
Roxie cut a piece of chicken and brought it up to her nose for a sniff before she gingerly took a bite out of it. “Well, it’s definitely not being used to cook good food. Because what is this?”
“I forgot to set a timer,” I told her, explaining the charred poultry on our plates. “I was a little distracted.”
“Anthea said the article would be up this evening, right?” Roxie asked as she switched to the salad that she’d prepared.
Most nights, we either ate out or ordered in.
I couldn’t remember the last time that we actually cooked a meal in our tiny kitchen that only one person fit in.
But as the day bled into the night, my anxiety skyrocketed, digging itself deep enough in my mind to fester there.
In order to distract myself from the article I was looking forward to being published the most out of this entire series, I’d decided I would try to use the skills I’d learned during my second date with James and cook.
That was clearly a mistake.
The pressure of showcasing Rossi Pizzeria had never felt greater until Anthea had pushed back the article.
The anticipation only made it worse. I had made the choice to highlight the pizzeria’s menu, the atmosphere that James’s grandparents had carefully cultivated, and the picturesque location with the Brooklyn Bridge arching high over the top of the building.
I put my heart and soul into the article.
It was the first time that I meant every single word I wrote.
I’d also included just how James made me feel.
How he introduced me to his family, and just how welcoming they were.
I even went as far to mention James’s invitation back to his home after dinner, alluding to our evening together, only to placate Anthea’s desires to make these articles into something that women across the world could live vicariously through.
“Yeah, but she didn’t say when.”
I hit refresh one more time.
But this time, the website didn’t return with the same article about the C-List celebrity couple and the taco truck they bravely decided to have at their wedding instead of a seated dinner.
“I think it’s loading.” Roxie spat out the chunk of chicken she was giving a second try and hurried to squeeze in next to me, so we both had a view of my laptop screen.
“Wait …” Roxie trailed off. “Is that what you wrote?”
Ice-cold dread gripped me as I stared at the headline, each rereading solidifying my worst nightmare. Rather than the article I’d written entitled “Mr. Old Fashioned is More Than he Seemed”, I was looking at a headline that read “What Should You Do When They Run Out of Money? RUN!”.
My body was in complete shock, my heart pounding in my chest like a relentless drumroll. Each thump echoed in my ears, drowning out any other sound. My hands trembled so violently I had to stuff them between my thighs just to stop the shaking.
I tried to focus on the words before me. Thoughts sluggishly formed and dissolved, like fragments of a puzzle struggling to fit together. I was so confused that I could barely grasp the seriousness of the situation.
Gone was the article that I had poured my heart and soul into.
Fear gripped me as I read the first paragraph, noticing changes to my writing that I hadn’t made.
Stripping away my appreciation for the evening and replacing them with thoughts of cynicism over the change in grandeur from our past dates.
My eyes scanned the screen faster and faster, hoping that whoever had made these changes had the forethought to remove the name of the Rossi’s restaurant.
Frantically, I scrolled through the rest of the article, searching for any remnants of my original work.
To my dismay, someone had altered every line, erasing my carefully crafted prose.
The once sentimental story had been transformed into a near hit piece on Mr. Old Fashioned.
The only saving grace was whoever had done this was kind enough to remove any details that would give away the exact pizzeria that James had taken me to.
My heart sank as I realized the magnitude of what had happened. Someone had tampered with my article, deliberately sabotaging my story. Anger and frustration surged through me.
“Hallie?” Roxie had both of her hands on my shoulders now, jostling me gently to pull my attention from the article. “Hallie, what’s going on? What’s happening?”
“Someone rewrote my article,” I finally got out.
A silent gasp escaped Roxie as her jaw dropped open.
“I can’t believe someone would do that,” she finally said, her voice filled with disbelief. To my best friend’s credit, she sprang into action when she realized I was still frozen in shock. “But we’ll figure it out, okay? We’ll find out who did this.”
“I just don’t understand.” My voice broke as I pushed the last word out. Ever since I’d agreed to this ridiculous column, it had been nothing but whiplash with surprises around every corner.
Then I realized James would read this article right now, just like me. The article’s content would completely blindside him. “Oh, my God. James.”
Roxie’s eyes widened as she realized what I was thinking. “Where’s your work phone?”
She frantically searched the couch and coffee table, which were both covered in various magazines, books, and binders for Roxie’s work that she was preparing to send out for freelance work.
“My room, I think.”
In a flash, Roxie had dashed to my room. She came back, holding my phone firmly. “You should call him. Tell him what’s happened.”
With trembling hands, I reached for my phone and dialed James’s number.
Then I dialed it again. And again. As the ringing echoed in my ears, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had deduced anything about the changes made to my article.
Then, as the ringing stretched past when he normally answered, I worried he wouldn’t pick up at all.
Perhaps I was too hopeful in assuming James wouldn’t find the published version of my article offensive.
“He didn’t answer.” I slowly took the phone away from my ear.
Then I dialed his number again. And again.
Hallie:
This isn’t what it looks like. They changed my article. They changed nearly everything I wrote. Please call me back so I can explain.
All the pressure building behind the dam in my heart finally broke, pouring despair and sadness out of the hole that was left in its place.
My finger hovered over the send button, the text feeling like a futile attempt to reach him.
But I still pressed down on my screen and watched the message appear in a blue bubble in our chat.
The seconds felt like hours as I anxiously waited for a response from James. Each passing moment only intensified my fear that he would never understand the truth. My mind raced with countless scenarios, all ending in disappointment and rejection.
I waited for the status under the text message to change from “Delivered” to “Read”, but my hopes washed away on a river of grief as the seconds turned to minutes with no reply from James. I felt completely useless, a sense of helplessness washing over me as everything good in my life disappeared.
“He hasn’t even opened it.” I held my phone up hopelessly to Roxie before I tossed it to the side. “I think that says everything about what he thinks of the article.”
“But you didn’t write it!” Roxie exclaimed. “You said it yourself; almost everything was altered.”
“It’s still a betrayal. His family was relying on this article as the first of many for their restaurant. They had been so excited about the attention it could bring to the pizzeria. James cares more than anything about his family. This probably felt like an attack on that.”
“But the article took out the pizzeria’s name, right?”
I nodded. “Thankfully, or I don’t even know what I’d do. If they’d left it in, not only would it have sent my relationship with James up in flames but it could have taken down a generations-old restaurant that had nothing to do with this, as well.”
“Maybe he just needs a bit to cool down?” Roxie suggested. “That man is head over heels for you. And the two of you are dating, right? He’ll call you back. I’m sure at the very least he’d want an explanation of what happened.”
“He’s not the only one who wants to know what happened,” I told her.
If it weren’t nearly nine at night, I would have been on the first train headed toward Midtown, hoping Anthea would still be there.
But I knew that, despite Anthea’s workaholic personality, she would be long gone from the office.
“But if we’re being honest here, I’m not sure what exactly me and James are. ”
“Didn’t he say that he wanted to date you?” Roxie asked me.
“Yes, kind of, but we never had the exclusivity conversation.” It was a topic that had weighed heavily on my mind since I left James’s brownstone Saturday evening. Things felt like they were heating up between the two of us. Yet I was in the dark on where any of it was heading.
“Well, we know one thing for certain,” Roxie said as she reached over to take my hands in hers.
She was a master at switching the conversation when she realized I was uncomfortable.
“We need to figure out what happened with this article. We need a game plan for you when you go into the office and talk to Anthea.”
“I’m going to need more than just a plan when I talk to Anthea,” I mumbled.
“What do you mean?” Roxie asked.
“Well, when we consider who my editor is and who gets the last say on the article, all roads lead to her.” There was no other way around the situation I was in. My boss had gone behind my back and changed an article with no discussion or input.
Realization dawned once more on Roxie’s face. “Oh, no,” she whispered.
“My thoughts exactly,” I agreed.
“What are you going to do?” Roxie asked, her eyes widening with concern.
I took a deep breath, considering the options before me.
Confronting Anthea directly seemed like the obvious choice, but I knew it wouldn’t be that simple.
Anthea was known for her stubbornness and superiority complex.
If I approached her with accusations, it could only lead to more conflict.
“This is the final straw,” I said, my voice filled with finality.
“I’ve been putting up with everything Anthea has thrown at me to get this food critic position, but she went too far with this.
She’s never changed anything I’ve done before.
I do not know why she has now. I’m not sure any of this is worth it anymore. ”
Roxie wrapped me in a hug. “Just say the word and we’ll start the blog and we’ll do this together. I’m ready whenever you are.”
I was ready, this was it for me. But first, I had business to take care of. If there was any chance of saving whatever was left of my relationship with James, I had to confront Anthea.