Chapter Two
Two
Melanie Joan asked Spike if there was a computer in his office. He said yes. She said, “Take me there. Now.”
Spike did as he was told.
One of the dog-averse women at the next table said, “Excuse me, are you Melanie Joan Hall?”
“You’re my favorite author,” said the other.
Melanie Joan ignored them. This was shocking to me.
I’d known her for more than a decade, and no matter how distracted or busy or in danger she was, Melanie Joan Hall always made time for her fans.
Not now, though, apparently. Without so much as a glance at the women, she followed Spike, her shoulders squared, Louboutins clacking. “Come along, Sunny.”
I barely had time to attach Rosie’s leash.
—
Once we were in Spike’s office with the door closed and locked, Melanie Joan took off her hat, but not her sunglasses. She collapsed onto his leather desk chair. “I’m doomed,” she said.
“How so?” I said.
She emitted a sound—a bloodcurdling mash-up of sigh, groan, and scream.
Rosie growled. I picked her up and shushed her.
“Doomed is a serious word,” Spike said.
She made the sound again. I held Rosie close. Spike and I stood there, on the other side of his desk, waiting for her to elaborate.
Yes, Melanie Joan Hall was a drama queen—a condition that had become a good deal worse as she’d grown older and more catered to.
But when the woman said she was doomed, I knew enough to take her seriously.
Our paths had first crossed when she hired me to protect her from her ex-husband, John Melvin, a psychiatrist who made Hannibal Lecter look like Dr. Ruth.
More recently, she’d retained my services to track down yet another stalker, whose threats to derail her career and her life made both of us yearn for Melvin.
“What’s wrong, MJ?” Spike said.
Just as I was about to call 911, Melanie Joan snapped out of her paralysis. “This,” she said.
She turned on Spike’s computer and clicked away at the keyboard. When she found what she was searching for, she made that awful sound yet again.
Rosie squirmed in my arms. Spike kept a dog bed in the corner of his office, just for her. I put Rosie down on the floor and she scurried over to it, hopped inside, and curled up like a giant pill bug. I couldn’t say that I blamed her.
“Look at this,” Melanie Joan said. “Just look at it.”
Spike and I moved around his desk and focused our attention on the screen.
“Hmmph,” Spike said.
It was a one-star reader review of Melanie Joan’s upcoming book, Stronger Alone.
I skimmed it. I’d seen a lot of press about the book, which was set to come out in late fall—her very first memoir.
In an interview with The Globe, Melanie Joan had described it as the most difficult and important project I’ve ever undertaken.
But the reviewer had used language that was, shall we say, not as flattering.
I looked at Melanie Joan. This was what she’d interrupted my lunch over? A one-star review by some rando on a site called…I looked at the name again. “What is ReadAnon?”
Melanie Joan let out a massive sigh. “ReadAnon is the most important website in the publishing business.”
I glanced at Spike.
“It’s a book review site, like Goodreads, only it’s all anonymous,” Spike said. “Think 4chan, but for people who are able to read.”
“How do you know about this?” I asked. “You hate the Internet almost as much as I do.”
“Flynn loves ReadAnon,” Spike said. “He can post cookbook reviews and be as honest as he wants without anyone coming for him on his Instagram.”
“What’s his screen name?”
“If I told you, he’d have to kill me,” Spike said.
I chuckled.
“Excuse me,” Melanie Joan said.
I turned to her. “Okay, look,” I said. “I’m sorry you got a bad review, Melanie Joan. But come on. You’re a successful author. Doesn’t that kind of thing come with the territory?”
“This is different,” she said.
“How?” Spike said.
Melanie Joan took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, dark circles visible beneath layers of concealer. I’d never seen her look this unphotogenic. “Book Babe has more followers than anyone on ReadAnon,” Melanie Joan said. “That’s power. Real power.”
“You’re tougher than this, MJ,” Spike said. “It’s just a review.”
“A horrible review,” she said. “Did you read it?”
“People are assholes,” I said. “Especially when they can be anonymous about it.”
“Did you read the review, though? It doesn’t just trash my writing.
God knows I’m used to that. It trashes me, Sunny.
It brutalizes Melanie Joan Hall, the human being.
It took a lot of courage for me to write a memoir.
You put something personal out there, you expect a little common decency from someone who calls themselves a critic, but no…
” She went on for a while. A long while. I waited for her to take a breath.
“Pardon my ignorance, Melanie Joan,” I said. “But what does all of this have to do with Spike and me?”
She stood up and took one of my hands in both of hers. Her grip was viselike. “I need you to track down the person behind the Book Babe account,” she said.
I blinked at her.
“I have to talk to her. Him. Whatever. I must get Book Babe to listen to reason. Say something nice about me. Or my life as an author will be over. I won’t be able to show my face anywhere.”
At long last, she let my hand go. She grasped her knees, deep-breathing as though she’d just finished a marathon.
I stared at her. A million thoughts ran through my mind, the top one being My God, she’s finally lost it.
“Melanie Joan,” I said, as gently as I could.
“Don’t you think you might be overreacting? ”
“You don’t understand,” she said.
“Sure I do,” I said.
“You don’t,” she said. “You’re a Luddite. Your dog has a more active social media presence than you.”
I was starting to get annoyed. “Look, your book isn’t coming out for months. People have short attention spans. One bad ReadAnon review can’t tank your entire career, no matter how important you think this Book Babe person is.”
“You don’t get it at all,” Melanie Joan said.
“Maybe not,” I said. “But there are things I do get, and they’re called the right to privacy and freedom of speech. I’m not going to dox a private citizen for you, just because they’ve typed some mean things about your book.”
Melanie Joan looked at Spike imploringly.
“Sorry, MJ, but I agree with Sunny,” Spike said.
She started to make the sound again. I asked her to stop. She did. It was a small victory.
“If you don’t dox Book Babe,” Melanie Joan said, “my career is over.”
“Oh, come on.”
“I’m telling you the truth. Bookstores are already canceling their orders.”
“Seriously?” Spike said.
“Why?” I said. “It makes no sense.”
Melanie Joan put her sunglasses back on and collapsed onto Spike’s chair again. Spike and I sat down on the couch against the wall and waited for her to answer. For several seconds, the room was silent, save the gentle sound of Rosie’s snoring.
“I did something stupid, you guys,” Melanie Joan said finally. “Really, really stupid.”