Chapter 7
Charlotte called Henry the day after New Year’s, and he was excited to hear from her.
She had only sent him a text to tell him that she had arrived back in New York and that the interview had gone well, after he had intervened to urge Ben to be truthful with her, and he had been.
Ben had bared his soul to her, some of which she hadn’t included in the article, because it was too personal and she wanted to protect him.
And he had told her some of those things after the interview, speaking to her as a friend, not an interviewer, which she had respected scrupulously.
“How was it? How is it? Did you finish the piece?” Henry asked her eagerly.
“I did. I finished it five minutes before midnight on New Year’s Eve.”
“Are you happy with it?”
“Very.”
“Email it to me. I can’t wait to read it.” Henry sounded excited and enthusiastic.
“I want to bring it to you personally, by hand.”
“Is there a problem? Will he sue us?”
“He has no reason to. He won’t sue us,” she reassured him.
“Is he as crazy as they say?”
“Not a bit. He’s entirely sane. He’s brilliant, probably a genius.
I just want to tell you about the interview, in person.
I said more good things than bad about him.
There aren’t many bad things to say. I was entirely honest. I’m sure he’s not easy to work for.
He admits that he’s tough. He works hard and expects everyone to do the same.
He’s probably not very patient. And he admits that he’s addicted to gold diggers.
They’re greedy and they sue, but he seems like a generous man.
He had a hideous childhood, and in spite of that, he’s a decent, kind human being. ”
“It sounds like you like him.”
“I do. A lot.”
“Well, I didn’t expect that. Guys who’ve made a billion dollars, several billion, aren’t usually nice men.”
“This one is. When can I bring the article to you?”
“Anytime you want.”
“I stayed home to proof it again this morning. It’s too noisy in the office, with too many interruptions. It’s clean. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
Henry was on the phone when Charlotte walked into his office. The door was open and he looked relaxed after the holiday. She closed the door behind her, and sat down to wait for him. He hung up two minutes later and smiled at her.
“You got a nice tan.”
She held on to the piece for a minute and looked serious.
“There’s something I have to tell you about the interview.
And I’ll respect whatever you decide. I slept with Ben Sharpe,” she said simply, and Henry stared at her, taken aback.
She had never done that before, or at least had never confessed it to him.
She looked deadly serious while he studied her face.
“Did he force you? Is this a me-too issue? Did he drug or rape you?” He looked shocked, and then relieved when she shook her head.
“Not at all. It was entirely consensual, but ethically, we could be accused of it coloring the piece and polluting it. It puts my ethics and my objectivity in question. If you want to pull the piece, take my name off, or start over and assign it to someone else, it’s entirely up to you.”
“His condition was that you do it.” Henry suddenly wondered if Ben had slept with her to soften her up so she’d write a favorable article. But he didn’t think so. Ben wasn’t the type for that.
“So I did. I shouldn’t have slept with him before I wrote it, but I did. It was poor judgment on my part. It happened on the two days I was off, not the days I interviewed him.” Henry’s face relaxed as he watched her.
“For God’s sake, Charlie, don’t be such a purist. How many times do you think that happens?
We assign a piece, the subject and the writer get drunk together and wind up in bed, or they do it for the hell of it cold sober, or a writer gets dazzled by some movie star, male or female.
Or they fall madly in love and out of love by the next morning.
It happens all the time, and I’m sure most of them never tell me, unless they brag about it.
I know your ethics are squeaky clean, but you’re the first writer who’s ever walked in here and confessed as though they’d committed murder.
No one has the ethics you do. This wasn’t a crime, and I’m happy you relaxed, let your hair down, and had a good time for a change.
You deserve it. And if he’s a nice guy, better yet.
This isn’t the Vatican, or the CIA on a federal case.
You interviewed a guy and slept with him.
So what? It’s not a big deal. Were there paparazzi? Did someone see you?”
“No. He’s very discreet. We both were. I stayed with him for the last two nights on my days off. I checked out of the hotel, so they wouldn’t charge you for the room since I wasn’t there.”
“Terrific. So you even saved me some money. Thank you.” He smiled at her. She had more integrity than anyone else he knew.
“What if he doesn’t like the article? It’s fairly personal,” she said, looking worried.
“Did you say in the article that you slept with him, or that he forced you in some way?”
“Of course not.”
“If he hates the piece, we’ll send him a nice apology letter.
And he’s not going to sue us for being too nice.
Relax. Thank you for telling me. I’m not worried about it.
Now give me the piece, have a drink, and relax.
Are you seeing him again or was it just a fling?
” he asked. “That’s off the record, I’m not supposed to ask that. ”
“It wasn’t a fling, but I don’t think I’ll see him.
It could still be an issue about the article’s objectivity and credibility.
I could be accused of withholding negative information, although I didn’t.
I addressed some of his less appealing traits, although there aren’t many.
But he said clearly in the interview that he doesn’t get attached to anyone, that his relationships and marriages never last more than two years, or considerably less.
And he never loved any of the women he dated and married.
He had a horrific childhood, and I think he’s a heartbreak waiting to happen.
I’d rather it not be mine. I’ve been there before.
If he hasn’t gotten attached to anyone by the time he’s fifty-two, he’s not going to be any different with me.
I’d rather quit while I’m ahead. I spent four incredible days with him.
It was like a dream. But I don’t want to get hurt again.
A guy who knows he has attachment issues isn’t a good bet for a relationship. I’ve learned that the hard way before.”
“Maybe you’ll heal him. It happens.”
“And he likes twenty-five-year-olds.”
“So do I. So does everybody. My wife is fifty-seven and I think she’s beautiful.
I wouldn’t trade her for a twenty-five-year-old on a bet.
It sounds like this guy has been floundering for his whole life.
He had a shit childhood, and you say he’s a genius.
That’s not easy. But maybe it’s worth a shot, and seeing him a few times to check it out.
Life is a heartbreak waiting to happen, Charlotte.
It happens to us all, to some degree. And you will get hurt again.
We all will. You can’t live without getting hurt.
What do you have if you don’t give him a chance?
Nothing. Your bad memories of the last bad relationship.
You have to get out there again, and take a chance on him.
There was obviously something between you or you wouldn’t have slept with him. I know you.”
“I’m scared,” Charlotte said as her eyes filled with tears, and Henry leaned forward and patted her hand.
“He’s used to women taking advantage of him, because of what he has.
You’re not like them. You’re different. You’re a real person.
He’s probably never met one of those. You might be just what he needs or has been looking for, and he doesn’t know it.
And he may be what you need. For what it’s worth, I’d say be brave and give it a chance, and if he’s a jerk, you thank him for the fling and move on.
It’s better than hiding or letting life pass you by because you’re afraid to get hurt.
You only get one go-around here. Don’t waste it.
You’ll regret it one day, if you don’t give him a chance,” he said wisely.
She handed him the article and wiped her eyes, and he looked at her over his glasses.
“I’ll let you know what I think of him after I read the piece.
I’m sure it’s very good, and not corrupted.
I have faith in your objectivity. You’re a hell of a great writer.
Don’t sell yourself short. And you’re probably the most honest woman I’ve ever known.
Thank you for the confession. I absolve you.
” He waved a vague sign over her. “Now go have some fun, and give the poor bastard a chance.” She wasn’t convinced but she was relieved, which made her feel better.
“I’m going to read the piece now. I’ll let you know what I think, of him and your article.
” Charlotte stood up then and thanked him.
Henry always made her feel better when she was worried.
He waved her out, and she left his office as he started reading.
She went to her office and waited to hear from him. Henry called her twenty minutes later.
“The article is brilliant. And he sounds interesting. I think he’ll like it.
You really got under his skin and into his head.
Your description of his childhood and youth made me feel sick.
I nearly cried. It’s a beautiful, compassionate, sensitive, intelligent, first-rate article, so stop beating yourself up. ”
“I hope he likes it.”
“Trust me. He will.” Her admiration and respect for Ben Sharpe shone like bright sunlight and lit up the piece.