Chapter 2
Naomi holds her breath as she awaits Joel’s response, buzzing with curiosity. Who the hell did one of the world’s biggest pop stars murder?
She knows the “why” will have to wait, but you can’t arrest someone for murder without a dead body. Normally, the identity of the victim is revealed before the suspect.
But this is not a normal case.
“Don’t know, it’s all very hush-hush, according to my sources. No one is spilling.” Joel’s frustrated tone is deep but calm. “All I know is she’s in Nash now, waiting to get transported to Rikers.”
“Rikers?” Naomi blurts, unable to fathom someone as glamorous as Harlow locked up there.
“Well, that is where the murderers of New York go.”
“I know, but… damn.”
Another spectacular fall from grace, she thinks.
Although, unlike Jason Mikaelson and all the other B-, C-, or D-listers Naomi usually covers, this is shocking.
More shocking than Martha Stewart’s arrest, with potential to be as much of a media circus as the O.J.
Simpson and Michael Jackson trials. Like them, Harlow Hayes seemed untouchable.
Too famous and well-loved to find herself embroiled in something so horrifying.
But maybe she’s hiding a dark secret too, like those before her. Allegedly.
“Anyway,” Joel continues, “we probably won’t know any more until she’s in front of a judge in New York—earliest tomorrow. They’ll have to make her arrest warrant public then. But it’s fucking bizarre we don’t know the victim yet.”
Naomi frowns, wondering who it could be. “Maybe it’s some big music industry exec. Gotta be someone powerful for them to keep it so private.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Or some other hotshot. I have one of my freelancers who used to work in politics asking around, seeing if there are any connections, especially to Washington. But I was hoping you could start looking into everything else.”
Naomi’s heart pounds. “Me?”
Joel laughs. “Yes, you. How ya feel about heading back to your old stomping ground, finding out what the fuck happened?”
Naomi hesitates, caught off-guard by the request. She moved to LA to get away from the pressure cooker she once called home.
“What about the guys in New York, though?”
Joel groans. “They’re all too green. We just lost Eddie to the Post and Macie is on maternity leave.
This is obviously going to be a major story over the next couple of weeks, maybe even months if it goes to trial.
I want someone I can trust on it, someone with investigative experience and sources, like you.
Plus, you’re my best writer, on both coasts.
In fact, I’m surprised every day you haven’t handed in your notice to go work for Vanity Fair or one of those other flashy places that steal all my best writers, so I gotta take advantage of having you while I still can.
I know you might not want to go back, though, considering… ”
Naomi’s stomach twists in knots. Considering the city is filled with memories of your dead sister, she imagines him saying.
Naomi’s younger sister and best friend Faye died two and a half years ago, after which Naomi moved to LA, choosing to escape rather than cope.
Faye died of a drug overdose and smoke inhalation—the coroner apparently couldn’t pinpoint which one caused it, the drugs or the house fire—but she idolized Harlow Hayes.
The memory of her stirs up an excitement Naomi hasn’t felt in years. Genuine intrigue in a story.
Plus, her sister would probably come back to haunt her if she turned it down. This isn’t some D-list celebrity, Naomi. This is Harlow-fucking-Hayes!
Naomi clears her throat before replying to Joel. “I’d like to cover it, actually. I’ll come.”
She’ll be going to Manhattan, not her depressing hometown upstate, so it’ll be fine.
In the city, she can reconnect with former colleagues and friends, some of whom still double as sources.
She’ll be so busy she won’t have time to wallow in the past. She starts making a mental list of people to reach out to, people who might have information, like her old college roommate Amelia, who works for a celebrity PR firm, and her friend Jessie, who works for a popular music publication and has connections in the industry.
“Really!?” Joel’s voice is tinged with relief and elation. “No one’s staying at my rental in Greenwich Village. So you can stay there if you want. As long as you need.”
If you want. Naomi tilts her head back, wanting to laugh at Joel’s nonchalance over his multi-million-dollar brownstone in Greenwich Village.
Close to the shopping in SoHo, the clubs in Meatpacking, and a quick walk from the downtown office, it’s where Naomi always wanted to live but couldn’t afford.
“That would be incredible. Thanks.”
“Okay, I’ll get Angie to send you the apartment details and book you a flight,” Joel says. “Guessing it’ll probably be a red-eye tonight, so why don’t you finish up whatever you’re doing and head home to start packing?”
“What about the Dean Scuttle/Nicole Hare hearing? I’m supposed to be at the courthouse in, like…” she checks her watch, “a half hour to cover it.”
“Oh, that?” Naomi imagines Joel scrunching his face and waving his hand on the other end of the phone. “Give that to Jake or someone else.”
She cringes, not trusting Jake to cover it fairly since Dean Scuttle is one of his favorite actors. “Can I give it to Melanie? I know she’s only an editorial assistant, but I think she’s ready to take something like this on.”
“Sure, give it to whoever you want so long as I can get you on a plane today.”
“Okay.” Naomi exhales as she hangs up.
Everyone is silent, staring at her.
She sighs. “Guess I’m going to New York to find out who pissed off Harlow Hayes.”
*
Naomi doesn’t make it to her Toluca Lake apartment until 10:30 a.m., even though she left the Culver City office over an hour ago. She laughs at how she used to think New York traffic was bad. Sure, it was a pain, but LA traffic is a fresh sort of hell.
A yellow glow spotlights Naomi as she steps inside her second-floor dwelling.
Twice the size of her former Brooklyn abode, the apartment seems bare, like she’s only just moved in.
In New York, her pull-out futon, coffee table, and bean-bag chair would have been more than enough to fill up the space.
But here, the apartment swallows the furniture—and her—whole.
Like she’s a doll playing house rather than a human living in a home.
She squints as she yanks the curtains shut, blinded by the California sun beaming through the window.
While most people love southern California’s year-round rays, Naomi misses New York’s changing seasons.
The pillow-white snow in winter and multicolored leaves of fall, which would be starting to turn by now.
She knows not to be fooled by the promise of early autumn leaves, though.
New York weather is unpredictable, and she could be sweltering in Indian-summer heat or shivering in icy rain when she arrives, regardless of the forecast. She huffs as she throws her suitcase on the bed, knowing she’ll have to pack strategically.
Naomi decides to wear her leather jacket to the airport, but stuffs her waterproof mac and winter coat into her large backpack.
The coat makes a hissing noise as she rolls it into a ball and lays on top of it to squeeze the air out.
It will come in handy as a makeshift pillow on the flight even if she doesn’t end up wearing it.
Then she organizes all of her toiletries—a.m. skincare, makeup, shower stuff, p.m. skincare, dental, haircare—into separate travel bags and then carefully places them on top of her shoes, ranging from sandals to boots.
She hopes she won’t be there for longer than a few days, but she likes to be prepared for every scenario.
Naomi makes a list, crossing off everything she’s already packed before analyzing what’s left. She walks over to her dresser and opens her jewelry box to select a few pieces, pausing when she sees the silver bracelet inside.
The Christmas after their mom died, when Naomi was twenty-two and her sister Faye twenty, they gifted each other bracelets.
They were mostly identical, made of sterling-silver beads with one dangling heart charm.
The only difference was the engraving on the charm.
Naomi’s had an “F,” while Faye wore the one with an “N.” The gifts had been an exciting upgrade from the frayed friendship bracelets they traded as kids, acting as a symbol of their bond and marking not only a new chapter of just the two of them, but also a shared achievement: Making it out of their hometown.
Only two years apart, Naomi and Faye had always been close.
Their dad left when they were toddlers, and their mom wasn’t around much, either busy working one of her part-time administrative jobs in the daytime or gigging and partying on the evenings and weekends with one of the bands she sang in.
Unable to afford extracurricular activities like their friends, the girls had to entertain each other.
They played hide-and-seek, wrote and performed their own plays, and even mapped out treasure hunts for each other in the woods behind their house.
When they were older, they smoked weed and drank with friends, before a combination of scholarships and student loans allowed them both to eventually escape to university in New York City, like they’d always planned. A new adventure, together.