Chapter Twenty-Six
Twenty-six
Spike and Melanie Joan were at my apartment, drinking coffee in silence, when Tony showed up. “I’ve got some news for Melanie Joan,” he said to my intercom. “It isn’t good.”
That wasn’t surprising. I buzzed him up.
“I obviously don’t know how to make good decisions anymore,” Melanie Joan said.
“No argument here,” said Spike. He wouldn’t even look at her.
Hadn’t said a word to Melanie Joan since they’d arrived.
I couldn’t blame him. At six a.m., she’d called Spike, telling him that she needed to be at the studio for a planned public apology to Book Babe.
I know it’s a big ask, she’d said, according to Spike.
But can you take me there? Tony has an early meeting, so he can’t make it, and I could use the moral support.
If there was one thing Spike hated, it was being played for a fool.
And even though Melanie Joan insisted that this had never been her intention, Spike didn’t know until they arrived that 1) the appearance had not been planned, and 2) Melanie Joan had no intention of publicly apologizing to anyone.
He’d stood backstage, avoiding eye contact with Sam and sinking deeper and deeper into the realization that he’d aided and abetted a staggering act of stupidity.
Who could fault him for feeling betrayed?
“It was even worse in person, Sunny,” Spike said.
“I’d been up all night,” Melanie Joan said. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Yet another detail you didn’t tell me about,” Spike said.
“I have a copy of her latest,” Melanie Joan said. “I highlighted all the misogynistic parts in yellow, the terrible clichés in green, and the parts where she’s ripped off other writers—including me—in pink. I should have brought it with me as a visual.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Spike said.
“It would have proved something.”
“It would have proved you have too much time on your hands.”
“Spike—”
“Please don’t talk to me anymore, Melanie Joan.”
Melanie Joan put her head down. She looked hurt.
I heard the doorbell ring, Tony outside saying, “It’s me.”
I opened the door. Tony was wearing his Zegna suit, with a neon-green A Girl and Not a God T-shirt that he’d no doubt taken from Melanie Joan’s suitcase. He looked rumpled. Exhausted. There were purplish circles under his eyes.
“Melanie Joan, I don’t know how to tell you this,” Tony said.
“I don’t want to hear it,” Melanie Joan said.
Tony pressed on. “You’re out. Scepter is dropping you. Greg Scepter wants no more books from you. No memoir. No fiction. Nothing.”
Melanie Joan’s eyes widened. “But I have two books left on my contract,” she said.
“Greg claims you breached it with your, uh, recent behavior,” Tony said.
Melanie Joan’s eyes widened even more. “What part of the contract did I breach?”
“Morality clause,” Tony said.
“You can’t be serious,” Melanie Joan said.
“Unfortunately, I am,” Tony said. “Scepter claims your public statements have been indecent, not to mention riddled with swear words. He says it’s had a direct and obvious impact not only on your sales, but on Scepter Books as a whole.”
Melanie Joan gaped at him. “What does that mean?”
“It means you have to pay back your advances on the memoir and the next two novels. It means he wants nothing more to do with you.” Tony said it gently, soothingly.
I could tell how much it hurt him to tell her this.
I knew it was a blow to Tony, professionally and personally.
But he’d survive. I wasn’t so sure about Melanie Joan.
The hardest part of this whole ordeal was watching her learn that the one thing in life she could rely on—her writing career—had been yanked out from under her and burned to a crisp.
Who knew that one crappy review could cause so much destruction—and that it could happen in less than forty-eight hours? I supposed that was just the way things worked these days. Quickly and brutally. No wonder I hated the Internet so much.
“I’m sorry,” Tony told Melanie Joan. “I spent a long time on the phone with Greg. I offered to take a pay cut, all kinds of concessions. I even told him you’d go to rehab. But he’s not changing his mind.”
“You told Greg I’d go to rehab?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think I need to go to rehab?”
“If it means they’ll publish you again? Yes. Yes, I do.”
Melanie Joan folded her arms on the table. She rested her head on them, like a child forced into naptime. “I’m done,” she said quietly. “Everything I’ve worked for. My dreams. It’s all over with.”
Spike watched her. His features softened. “Screw it,” he said. “You’re a famous author. There are plenty of other publishers out there.”
“Not many, actually,” Tony said. “There are maybe three that could pay Melanie Joan in the manner she’s accustomed to. And in light of what’s happened, I don’t expect my phone to be ringing off the hook.”
Melanie Joan lifted her head. “I guess I’ll just lay low for a while.” She sounded strange, defeated. Not like herself at all. It could have been tiredness, but it seemed more permanent than that. “Maybe I should go to rehab.”
“People have short attention spans, Melanie Joan,” I said. “A few weeks from now, nobody will remember any of this.”
Tony shook his head. “They won’t remember specifics,” he said. “But they will remember that Melanie Joan was canceled. And they’ll probably think it was for something worse than what actually transpired.”
“Jeez, Tony. Stop trying to sugarcoat things.”
“I’m just telling it like it is,” he said. “We all need to be realistic.”
The four of us were quiet for a long time. I took a sip of my coffee. Spike cleared his throat. “What if we livestreamed an apology,” I said. “A real one.”
“That’s a good idea,” Spike said.
“My dad suggested it.”
“Smart guy,” Spike said.
Tony shook his head. “Too soon,” he said.
“I agree with Tony,” Melanie Joan said.
“So what are we going to do?” I said. “Just…give up?”
“I don’t think I have much choice,” Melanie Joan said.
My buzzer rang again. I pressed the button and asked who was there.
A deep voice replied, “Ralph.”
Ralph. The vending machine.
I buzzed him in and waited for him outside my door. Moments later, my elevator opened. He filled the doorway. He had to bend and turn sideways to extricate himself.
“Hi, Ralph,” I said.
He nodded. He was wearing a similar shiny suit to the one I’d seen him in last night, only this one was slightly lighter in color. He slipped a legal-size envelope out of the jacket pocket and handed it to me. “Your IP’s inside,” he said.
“That was fast,” I said.
“That’s my boss,” he said. “Speedy as shit.”
“I’m impressed,” I said.
Ralph shrugged. “He claims he used to date the site’s admin, but I’m skeptical,” he said. “You scared the hell out of him, you know.”
“Yeah, well.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that before. He was spooked all night. Kept checking his phone to see if word got out about his, uh, bladder event.”
I shrugged. “Sorry.”
He gave me a smile. “I was thanking you,” he said. “If anybody needed to get taken down a few pegs…”
“Oh. No problem.”
“Something wrong?”
I sighed. “Did you see Good Morning Boston?”
He shook his head. “I do NPR. Morning Edition.”
“Smart of you.”
“I hate TV.” He headed back to the elevator and pressed the button. The doors opened immediately. He squeezed inside. He waved goodbye.
I waved back.
“Hope you can do something with what’s in that envelope,” he said. The doors closed.
“Maybe I can,” I said.
I opened the envelope. There was a map of Union, Connecticut, inside.
Someone—presumably Swinging Dick—had circled an area on the outskirts of town in red ink and had written out an address beside the circle.
Very old school. Swinging Dick didn’t want to leave a digital trail, which was smart.
Especially since the destination was only about an hour away.
Just an hour away, I told myself. And you’ve got nothing to lose.
I slipped back into my loft and closed the door behind me. I walked into the kitchen, the envelope cool between my fingers. Spike, Melanie Joan, and Tony hadn’t moved since I left. God, they were depressing. I’d seen happier faces at wakes.
“Who was that?” Melanie Joan said.
“Just…a business delivery.” My gaze flitted from her face, to Tony’s, to Spike’s. Rosie trotted across the room and started lapping at her water bowl. At least someone in this house seemed rested and content.
“Do you guys think it’s still worth it?” I said. “Finding Book Babe?”
Melanie Joan turned to Tony. “Do we?”
Tony shook his head.
I disagreed. But I decided to keep that to myself for now. Tony stood up. “We should head back, Melanie Joan,” he said.
She started to stand, but I stopped her. “Why don’t you stay here with Spike and me?” I said.
“Really?”
“You can shower, take a nap. I’ll make you breakfast.”
She gave Tony a beseeching look.
“I don’t know…” Tony said.
“If you’re worried about angry Leila Donnelly fans, she’s probably safer here than at the hotel,” I said.
“You might be right,” he said.
“I think she is,” Spike said. “They were all over us when we left the studio, but we managed to lose them.”
“You sure you don’t mind?” Tony asked me.
“Of course not. I suggested it,” I said. “Anyway, you should get back to your hotel room.” I looked him up and down. “Change your clothes.”
Tony nodded. He wasn’t going to fight me on that. “I’ll give you a call later,” he said.
Once he was gone, I went back into the kitchen. I refilled Spike’s and Melanie Joan’s coffee cups and set the envelope on the table.
“What in God’s name are you smiling about?” Spike said.
I hadn’t even realized I’d been smiling. “How would you two like to take a little road trip?” I said.