34. Hildy
Hildy
TEN YEARS AGO
TAMPA, Fla.—As soon as she ditched Uncle Richard, who was more than happy to watch golf tournament reruns in his room once she showed him how to work the TV, Hildy headed straight for the dorm.
The RA on duty told her Walter was on the patio, a fancy name for the slab of concrete behind the building where a pair of decrepit wooden picnic tables awaited those willing to risk a backside full of splinters.
She decided to surprise him. That would get things back to fun and flirty mode, as if the interruption had never happened. After creeping out the door, Hildy ducked behind the low cement-block wall that separated the building’s mechanical systems from the rest of the courtyard.
The “boo!” was already forming in her throat when she realized Walter wasn’t alone. The smell of cigarettes should have been her first clue. It might as well have been a cloud of brimstone.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” Corinne taunted, with the slight sneer that was her conversational baseline.
Hildy risked a quick glance through one of the square gaps in the wall. Their faces were angled away from her, making it unlikely one of them would look this way.
“She had some family stuff.” Walter didn’t seem bothered by the “girlfriend” part, even though Hildy was pretty sure it had been meant as a dig.
Suck it, Corinne! I am his girlfriend!
It was a funny way to find out, but Hildy wasn’t complaining.
Her mind was zooming into the future, thinking about long-distance relationships and the logistics of making it work beyond this summer.
A daunting prospect, but college was only a year off and she knew how she felt about Walter.
Besides, when had Hildy ever backed away from a challenge?
“I guess there are a lot of VIPs in town for the awards banquet,” Walter was saying when she tuned back in.
Corinne grunted, like she was too cool to care about that kind of thing, even though Hildy knew her roommate was as ambitious as anyone in the program. She’d probably have copies of her résumé safety-pinned to her shirt.
“You know who I saw tonight?”
Don’t say it, Hildy silently urged him. She couldn’t be that unlucky. The whole point of hustling Walter out of the hotel had been to avoid this very situation.
Her roommate exhaled a plume of smoke. “Who?”
“Richard Johnson. Of Johnson Media.” Walter shook his head, like he was trying to make the information fit. “I would have assumed they’d send an HR person or maybe a junior editor, not the head of the whole company. Do you think he might actually consider hiring people from this? If they win.”
Even over the chorus of oh shit ringing in her head, Hildy could hear the vulnerability in Walter’s voice, hope barely masked by his attempt to sound chill.
Corinne snorted. “I wouldn’t think you had to worry about that.”
“Thank you?” There was a question mark at the end, because it didn’t exactly sound like a compliment.
“Come on. There’s no way you aren’t going to win. Johnson Media probably bankrolled the program. Of course they’re going to give Hildy Johnson the prize. That’s how the world works. It’s all about who you know.”
No! Hildy wanted to howl into the echoing silence.
The whole reason she’d been so careful to scrub any mention of her family from the application was that she wanted to earn this on her own merits.
She hadn’t even told her uncle about it until she’d been accepted, so he couldn’t “accidentally” influence the selection committee.
“I assumed that was your angle, cozying up to her from the jump.” Corinne stubbed out her cigarette on the table. “I’m curious, did she come right out and say, ‘my uncle is a media tycoon, you should work with me’ or did you figure it out and approach her first?”
It was like watching a stack of plates slip out of someone’s hands in slow motion. Hildy couldn’t do anything but wait for the whole thing to come crashing down, shattering into shards.
“Good for you or whatever.” There was a hint of respect behind her roommate’s cynicism. “I should have clocked it sooner, just from how she acts.”
How the fuck did Hildy act?
“All queenly and shit,” Corinne continued, as if she’d heard the silent question.
Since when did using actual luggage qualify as uppity? It wasn’t as if Corinne knew about Hildy’s allowance … or her hotel room.
Unlike Walter. Why hadn’t he asked any questions about how she’d pulled that off?
She thought about standing up and confronting him, but wasn’t sure her knees could support her weight. Besides, if she stood up now it would only make her look shadier for sneaking around and spying on them—even though she hadn’t intended any of this.
When Walter finally spoke, his voice was as flattened and dry as a callus. Hildy barely recognized it.
“I’m a reporter. It would have been pretty stupid of me to overlook something like that.”
He knew? All this time? Only the fear of giving herself away kept Hildy from toppling to the ground.
“Too bad I missed my chance to get on the gravy train with you,” Corinne said, with what almost sounded like admiration. “That was a smart play.”
Walter shrugged, like he was too modest to toot his own horn.
“I thought maybe it was a sex thing.”
“No,” he said, after a slight hesitation.
But they’d come really close. Hildy closed her eyes, imagining how she’d feel right now if they’d gone all the way. Except this moment wouldn’t be happening if they were still in her hotel room, so Hildy would still be in the dark about Walter’s true motives.
“I can’t believe you had to do a wedding story, though.” Corinne made a gagging sound. “Rich people, man. What’s next, a society ladies’ tea party?”
Walter made a noise that was somewhere between a ha and ugh. All the effort they’d put into their project, Hildy’s pride in their work, dismissed like it was nothing—a sham on his part, bringing himself down to her level.
So sorry you had to go slumming with a human-interest feature, she thought bitterly.
“Did she introduce you yet?” Corinne asked. “To her uncle.”
“No.”
“Huh.”
It was a loaded huh. Walter swallowed the bait. “What?”
“People like that see someone like you or me as a pawn. We’re useful until we’re not. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess she had you doing the heavy lifting on your quote-unquote group project. Who actually wrote the story?”
“I did most of the writing,” Walter admitted.
Which was true, but not the whole picture! Hildy had been an equal partner, planning and researching, editing every line, not to mention taking point on the art and design. It was her freaking idea in the first place, though apparently that was nothing to brag about.
“And who gets the credit?” Corinne pressed.
“It was going to be a joint byline.”
“Damn.” Her roommate tutted as if Walter had revealed something scandalous. “She really made you her bitch. I guess that’s one way to launch a career you’re going to spend taking credit for other people’s work.”
Hildy waited for Walter to defend her. He knew she wasn’t a slacker. Making fun of her taste, and her talent, was bad enough. Talking shit about her work ethic was an outrage.
“She didn’t even need this program. Much less the fellowship.” It sounded like Walter was talking to himself, adding another black mark to the list of Hildy’s crimes.
Corinne huffed as if she felt his pain. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing, and maybe she promised you some super sweet deal for being her ghostwriter, but I’d watch my back if I were you.”
“Why?”
“Better make sure she doesn’t cut you out. I don’t know about you, but I’m not here to let some trust funder use me. We may not have money, but we have brains and talent. And integrity.”
Hildy didn’t miss the unspoken implication: unlike Hildy.
What had Walter said earlier, about waiting to wake up from a dream? Somehow everything had turned upside down, and now Hildy was living a nightmare. When your favorite person gave voice to your worst fear, it was like having a full orchestra echo your inner soundtrack of self-doubt.
You don’t have what it takes. No one will ever like you for yourself. Everything about you is mediocre and forgettable.
“I won’t let that happen,” Walter said.
“You’re tougher than I thought.”
“You have to be, in this business.”
“Unless you have everything handed to you. Cigarette?” Corinne asked, like the two of them were best buds now.
Walter shook his head, already standing. “I need to take care of something.”
“Her stuff isn’t in our room. I wouldn’t be surprised if she already bailed. Probably had a cotillion to get to.”
“I don’t care where she is … or what she’s doing.” Walter’s voice was hard. “I’m going to make sure she can’t do any more damage.”
For the rest of her life, Hildy would associate the feeling of having her heart carved out with this exact moment: the roughness of brick under her hands, muggy air, aching quads from crouching for so long, cigarette stink—and the sound of being betrayed by someone she considered her friend, her colleague, her creative partner …
and maybe more. Hildy had been brushed aside and underestimated before, but this was her first taste of scorn.
If she hadn’t heard it with her own ears, Hildy wouldn’t have believed Walter was capable of speaking with that kind of contempt—least of all about her.
She waited until the door closed behind them to pick herself up off the ground. So much for her fairy tale.
The only Cinderella moment Hildy was going to get was running the hell away.