SEVENTEEN News Report
JEROME
Call it na?ve or plain ole stupidity, but I don’t like Googling people to get to know them. Not only is what’s online likely to be surface level, but due to my personal background being what it is, I know it invites an unfair amount of judgment.
I value my privacy, as ironic as that might sound. But no one who’s only watched my videos has any idea of who I am or how I tick.
Just because you’ve seen me act out a scene doesn’t mean you know me.
And while I understand Elegance’s need for security checks, building a friendship or other kind of relationship with someone requires a lot more. That’s why I haven’t looked up Dom or Zach, and that goes double for Sadie. I can admit that it’s a risk, but I wanted my bond with her to be more genuine.
More authentic.
Unfortunately, however, that desire of mine is no longer feasible. My client has stuff going on with her that I—we—need to know, so as we sit there together surveying her as she sleeps, I type her name into my phone’s search engine.
And damn, there are more than a few hits.
I click on the first one, a clip on YouTube. As I’m waiting for the thumbnail to populate, I register that the caption rings a bell. I vaguely remember this incident from five years ago, mostly because two of the people involved were locally famous. I have a sinking feeling as I hold my screen where the other two can watch it with me.
Music blasts through my phone the second I hit play, and cursing under my breath, I swiftly press the side button to lower the volume, freezing as Sadie turns over on her mattress. None of us move an inch as she makes some high-pitched incomprehensible noise, then finally settles back into repose.
This time when I hit play, I keep the sound low. It’s a report from one of Boston’s main TV stations WCXD Channel 8.
“Boston is mourning the deaths of two of our most prominent journalists after their Gulfstream G200 twin-engine jet crashed in a rural area of Pennsylvania this afternoon. Bridget Keaton-Vincent, chief meteorologist for our regional affiliate of the Weather Channel and her husband, Craig Vincent, lead anchor for the Channel 8 Evening News perished along with all the members of their flight crew.”
The perfectly coifed and made-up anchorwoman appears stricken in more than an I’m-wearing-an-appropriately-serious-expression-because-I-broadcast-the-news manner. Since it’s the same channel where Craig worked, the anchorwoman must’ve known him. She might’ve known both him and Bridget.
“Their daughter Sadie survived the crash and is currently receiving medical treatment. As of the time of this recording, her current health status is unknown. Our hearts here at Channel 8 go out to the Vincent family as well as their friends, colleagues, and fans. And we wish Sadie a speedy recovery.”
I was correct. I did hear about this at the time it happened. I just didn’t connect the dots aligning my Sadie with that one. Now that I have, the unpredictability of her behavior makes a hell of a lot more sense.
“That’s how she got burned?” Zach murmurs, eyes wide. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah, it’s no wonder she’s showing all this evidence of emotional distress.”
Dom says nothing. He merely leans against the back of his chair looking shellshocked. I get it. I’m not too far from that reaction myself. Particularly considering that I’ve heard about this tragedy and didn’t stitch any of the pieces together until after the fact.
I glance around thinking of this chalet. Every inch of it must be inundated with memories for her. Memories of her deceased family.
So why choose it for a rendezvous location? Why challenge us to compete in a residence so fraught with grief and mourning?
“I wish she would’ve told us. If we’d known...” Zach trails off, and I wonder what vector his thoughts went off on. If we’d known, would we have constructed our dates differently? If we’d known, would we have been better prepared to handle her tonight? If we’d known, would any of us have taken this gig at all?
“She didn’t, though, and that’s okay,” Dom breaks his long silence. “There’s no rule saying a client has to give us all their nitty gritty any more than we have to give them all of ours. What we need to decide is what to do now.”
“I like her,” Zach says as if that’s all that matters. In a way, he’s right. “And I think after everything she’s endured that she needs us.”
Even as I’m mulling this over, I have to agree. “Me, too.”
“Yeah,” Dom responds in kind.
“She needs our support,” I articulate as I think out loud. “The question is what that’ll look like.”
“I think it should look like a new game plan,” Dom suggests. “One that has her at the center.”
“Isn’t she already at the center? I mean, she is the point of us being here,” Zach pipes up.
“True,” Dom scratches at his beard, his tone contemplative. “But what if we’ve been thinking about this all wrong? I know I have. I’ve been picturing her as this prize to be won when I should’ve been treating her as something more valuable. Someone more valuable.”
To a degree, I’m just as guilty of that. But I like where this is going. “So we alter our focus from a competition to a team effort. All three of us working toward the goal of being there for her and helping her to heal. I know we’re not counselors or anything but—”
“We can be her friends,” Zach interrupts me in his enthusiasm, but it doesn’t bother me. “And her lovers.”
So, from that, I can surmise that she’s now had sex with each of us.
Dom raises his chin again, his dark eyes seeming thoughtful.
I remember something from Sadie’s profile, something that made me take this gig from the jump. I yank out my phone and click on those initial emails from Elegance. Out loud, I read the sentence that stuck out to me.
“‘As a contractor, you are encouraged to apply personal touches and a unique approach.’ What if that’s code for a legitimate connection? I think you’re right, Zach. I think she’s looking for the intimacy of a true friendship.” Likely one with benefits, though I don’t verbalize that thought. “We can provide that for her. It’ll be easy. Especially if we work together to make it happen.”
“Who knows?” Zach says. “If we approach this as a group, maybe she’ll hire all of us rather than just one, too.”
There’s an intriguing notion. Based on the hopefulness wreathing the other two contractor’s expressions, it’s one we can agree on.
“You think she’d really pay to keep the three of us?” Dom inquires. “That’s triple her offer.”
“Man, look at this place.” I wave around with a hand. “It’s a chalet, for fuck’s sake. A vacation home. And her apartment in the city? That place must be worth millions. I think this is less about money for her and more about being on the same wavelength with somebody. And if she can find that with all three of us, there’ll be no cause to send anyone away when we get back to Boston.”
Doing this will be taking a risk, there’s no getting around it. The trust required will involve not just a couple but four separate people. But it’s a risk worth taking.
“I’ll be honest...” I might as well extend that trust now. “I haven’t always guessed correctly where she’s concerned.”
I wait to see how much the other two will admit to and see Dom’s mouth flattening out as he gives us another bob of his head.
“Me, neither,” Zach adds, which I’m taking as confirmation.
“With three of us on the job, hopefully we’ll have smoother sailing,” I say. “But we’ll need to discuss this with her. Ultimately, the power of approval lies with her.” Just like her ability to reject us all does.
“Do you think she’s aware that she sleepwalks?” Dom asks. “Should we mention it?”
It’s impossible to know how she might react to that.
“Chances are that she knows,” Zach says.
“Unless it hasn’t happened until now,” I provide, and we each glance over to where she’s breathing deeply in her bed, out like a light. “It could upset her. And maybe it won’t occur again.”
Maybe.
“I vote we say nothing about tonight unless it goes down a second time,” Dom says, and I envision how eerie her eyes appeared as she walked and talked without even being cognizant of it. “When it comes to being all buddy-buddy as a group, we should come to it like it’s just this one-off idea. See how she takes to it.”
It’s a gradual approach, which I think is reasonable.
“You know what we should do?” Zach looks all excited and gets too loud, making Sadie stir again. If we’re not careful, we’ll have to have a sit-down with her before we’re ready. Going stationary, we wait her out. When he speaks up this time, Zach’s much quieter. “We should do something festive. It’s almost Christmas. Bet Maxine would know if there are decorations we could use. We can have a holiday movie marathon, too.”
We could. Not that my dad and I tend to do much for this time of year. But it might bring Sadie some cheer.
We remain with Sadie until dawn, clearing out once the light peeks over the snowy mountainous horizon so we won’t frighten her. Then, with a clear plan of action at the ready, we face the next day.