Chapter 35 SIOBHAN
Chapter 35
S IOBHAN
The end of September arrived, bringing with it the fiftieth anniversary of Baxter Books. The much-anticipated celebration would take place at 1 Oak, one of the most exclusive nightclubs in New York, whose regular celebrity clientele included Rihanna, Leonardo DiCaprio, Beyoncé, and Jay-Z. Rumor had it that Baxter Books had coughed up an outrageous sum to rent a room. Everyone was invited—directors and associate editors, assistants, designers, literary agents, influential Bookstagrammers, a few journalists, and, of course, the authors. They were allowed two guests each. There would be bottles of Dom Pérignon, luxury catering, and a DJ flown in all the way from Mykonos to get the party going. Paige was delirious with excitement, not just at the prospect of going to 1 Oak—it was easier to travel to the moon with Elon Musk than to get into that club—but also of meeting Alex Shapiro again, now that she was sure he wasn’t gay. And Lena was thrilled at the possibility of meeting Margaret Atwood and sharing some opinions with her. As for Siobhan ... let’s say she was making an effort to appear enthusiastic about the party.
Give our story the ending it deserves.
The last few weeks had been difficult. Writing the final chapters of Two Ways to Solve a Murder in Manhattan had been harder than she anticipated. For one thing, she had to be sure that there were no loose ends and that the finale was up to the standards of a respected crime writer. For another, Marcel lingered in her thoughts so obstinately that she could hardly focus on Jeremiah Silloway and Felicity Bloom. How was it possible to miss someone so much? There were days when she couldn’t stop checking her phone, and when there was nothing but an enduring silence from him, she had to summon all her strength not to call him. She was worried. She couldn’t rid herself of the image of him sobbing, clinging to her as though for dear life. Sometimes that image mixed with other more pleasurable ones before she could stop herself. So, she decided to move back in with her parents in Mount Vernon and close herself away in what had been her teenage bedroom to finish the novel in peace. She was more aware than ever before of how lucky she was to have grown up in a home she could always return to whenever she needed it. She cried as she typed The End . Not only was it emotional to finish her second novel, but it was liberating and sad as well. Jeremiah and Felicity ended up together, but she had had to renounce the man she loved.
As she reluctantly got ready for the party, she thought about the last time she and Marcel had had anything resembling a conversation. It had been a few days earlier, after Siobhan had sent him the ending of the book.
Marcel
I’ve read it.
Siobhan
And??
Marcel
It’s very good. Just as it should be. And it’s not corny at all.
Siobhan
Really?
Marcel
Yes. Congratulations, princess. You’re going to be a big success.
Siobhan
Don’t forget we wrote this novel together, Mr. Black. We both deserve recognition. I know you don’t want to be associated with romance, but don’t do yourself a disservice. Will you make any changes before the proofs?
Marcel
I doubt it. But give me a couple of days to reread the whole manuscript. If I don’t find any glaring errors, you can send it to Gunton yourself.
Siobhan
Great!
Hey.
Marcel
What?
Siobhan
I really liked working with you. I’ll miss our chats.
Marcel
And I’ll miss everything about you, Siobhan Harris.
Siobhan
Do you think we’ll ever see each other again?
Marcel never replied.
A week later, Bob Gunton emailed them both, copying in Alex and Bella, to congratulate them. Nice work, this is going to be a hit, you might want to think about a sequel, yada yada yada. As a reward, he invited them to spend a weekend in the Hamptons, all expenses paid, but neither Marcel nor Siobhan showed the slightest interest. Gunton set the Baxter Books machinery in motion to make sure Two Ways would be ready on the scheduled launch date. As it was the big release of the fall, the marketing plan included a tour. Siobhan would be the face of the book, the only face. Thinking of what was to come made her feel dizzy. But the thing she found hardest to bear was that she couldn’t share any of it with him, the other half of the project, her other half. Marcel would have no part in any of it.
She sighed, disheartened.
“You can do it, princess,” she told herself, trying to summon some enthusiasm as she checked her appearance in the mirror.
She had picked out a long black strapless dress with a slit that allowed a glimpse of one slender leg. Actually, Paige had chosen it for her. She had copied the idea of pulling her hair into a tight bun from an It girl, although it hadn’t been the easiest do to achieve. As soon as her Uber arrived, she slipped on her uncomfortable but glamorous stilettos, grabbed her stylish but not remotely practical clutch, and left the apartment. When the car pulled up to the club about a half hour later, her friends were waiting impatiently at the door.
“I don’t know about you, but I still can’t believe we’re about to go into this place,” said Paige. “Can someone take a blood sample and check for hallucinogenic substances, please? Are you aware that people go without eating to be able to afford a table here? Literally. What if we meet someone famous? That would be out of this world!”
“Shiv’s famous,” pointed out a slightly calmer Lena.
“I’m not famous.”
“Yes, you are. You’ve even got your own hashtag! Anyway, I wasn’t meaning that kind of famous. Someone more like ... Leo DiCaprio.”
Lena narrowed her eyes.
“Keep dreaming, Paige. Even if you do meet Leo, you’re over twenty-five, so you won’t be on his radar. Anyway, I can’t believe I might meet the author of The Handmaid’s Tale .”
Siobhan gave her a sympathetic squeeze on the arm.
“Oh, Lena, I’m afraid there’s only a very slim chance of Margaret Atwood appearing tonight.”
Her friend sighed, resigned, and shrugged.
“Well, I hope at least the canapes are kosher.”
“But Alex Shapiro’s coming, right?” Paige said, studying her cuticles.
“I suppose so.”
“And . . . ?”
There was no need for anyone to say his name. Siobhan shook her head dejectedly and touched her chest. Apparently, her heart had forgotten to beat.
“You know what I say, girls?” said Paige, after Lena shot her a warning look. “This isn’t the moment to be sad, it’s time for ... a selfie! Look at the camera and say ... Leo DiCaprio!”
Inside, the atmosphere oozed exclusivity. The golden lights seemed to make the beautiful people even more beautiful. The wooden ceilings, the velvet curtains, the baroque candelabra, and the polished bar that reflected the floor’s zigzag pattern gave the place a cinematic glamour. The waitstaff moved about with aplomb, carrying trays of sparkling glasses that were quickly emptied. Paige devoted herself to photographing everything, while Lena speculated on other people’s conversations. Siobhan, however, felt out of place, as though she didn’t fit in with all those people who greeted her, whose smiles she had to mirror, even though she didn’t know them.
She had just had a dull conversation with her agent about the importance of book clubs—“Do you know what made Lucinda Edmonds a success before she became Lucinda Riley? Book clubs”—when she heard someone call her name. Turning around, she saw Alex waving at her from across the room. He said something to the man he was talking to, drained his glass, and moved toward her. Siobhan excused herself from Bella Watson and went to meet him.
“I’m so happy to see you!” he said as they exchanged a warm embrace.
A sensation of well-being flooded through her right away. She loved Alex Shapiro.
“You too, Alex. It’s nice to see a friendly face among all these strangers. Tell me. How are things? Busy?”
“Well, you know, same as usual. Is Paige here?” he asked, craning his neck to look over her head across the crowd.
Siobhan laughed. Yup, straight to the point.
“Of course she’s here. She wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” She glanced around and lifted her chin toward the dance floor. “There she is, with Lena, my other best friend. And she can’t wait to see you,” she added, with a mischievous tone.
Alex seemed delighted to receive this information.
“Really? Wow, that’s ... great. I’ll go over and say hi. But first, I want to tell you something: I loved the novel,” he said, as though he had been keeping it a secret for a long time. “I liked it so much that I read it in one day. A hundred and four thousand words in one day! You know how much stuff I have to read for work? Well, I put it all aside. I just couldn’t stop, and that’s a good sign. I can see Marcel’s hand in it, but your passion and your freshness are there too, in every line. The balance between the murder investigation and the love story is perfect, and the character development is very interesting, particularly Jeremiah’s. It’s going to be a huge hit, Siobhan, I’m certain of it.”
“Thank you. Your opinion means a lot to me.”
“Oh, you don’t have to thank me for being honest,” he said, flapping his hand to play it down. Then he leaned toward her with a confidential air and murmured: “Gunton is going around boasting about you like you were a trophy. You’re the writer of the moment; I’m afraid you have a busy night ahead of you. The big fish at Baxter Books will be vying for your attention. But you leave them to me, okay? I’ll get them off your back. Unless you object, of course.”
Suddenly, a warm and brilliant glow lit up in the depths of her brain. Alex was trying to protect her, there was no doubt about it. And that could only mean ...
“Did Marcel ask you? Did he ask you to look after me tonight?” she asked hopefully.
Compassion flickered across Alex’s face.
“I’m sorry, Siobhan. He didn’t ask me anything. It was my idea.”
Her hopes sank in the mire of disappointment.
How could she have been so naive?
Marcel had erased her from the map.
“I understand,” she muttered. Of course, deep down she didn’t understand, nor did she want to.
Alex kept talking, but Siobhan had stopped listening. She could see his lips moving, but his voice was lost in the echoes of the party. She began to feel dizzy. The lights, the music, the people ... It felt like her head might explode at any moment.
“... and I know him well, so I can assure you he’s a different man now from the one he was before writing this novel. Not to mention the business with the royalties.”
This was when she zoned back in to the conversation. She furrowed her brow.
“What business with the royalties?”
“Well ...” Alex’s gaze roved around the room for a few seconds before returning to Siobhan. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but Marcel wants to modify the contract for Two Ways so that you get 10 percent.”
A sudden wave of anger, confusion, and sadness crashed over her as she absorbed his words. Because, despite everything it had meant for them to write this novel together, it seemed like Marcel wanted to cut all ties to it as quickly as possible. Then it struck her with the clarity of day: distancing himself from the novel meant distancing himself from Siobhan. With every day that passed, he moved further away. The conclusion reached her along with a mighty tide of tears that flooded her eyes before she could stop it.
“What’s up, Siobhan? Why are you crying? Have I said something inappropriate?”
“No, I ... Please, tell my friends I’ve left,” she asked.
“What? But . . . where are you going? Do you want . . . ?”
The question was left hanging in the air. Siobhan turned on her heel and ran out.