Chapter 52
Kirsten
So what do we think the argument was about? I heard that Bodi was having an affair, and Selena found out. Thoughts, guys? #findElla
This spa bed is ridiculously soft, so why can’t I settle? I force myself to snuggle deeper, listen to the soothing music, breathe in the jasmine fragrance, let the gentle fan waft cool air over my skin. This is costing a hundred and fifty bucks after all.
The beautician – Louisa, I think she’s called, she’s new – goes through the motions.
Cleanser, toner, peel, moisturizer. My skin tightens, tingles, burns with cold, and heats up with expensive antioxidants.
Forty-five minutes later, Louisa informs me that she’s done.
My face feels raw and naked but hopefully the wrinkles have faded.
‘Thank you,’ I sigh as she steps away.
‘You’re so welcome. Now, you take as long as you need; I’ll see you out front when you’re ready.’ She backs out of the room, the door barely making a sound as it dinks shut.
I take Louisa at her word for a while, stretching and pulling my face, but I can’t hide away in here forever, so eventually I curl up and climb off the bed.
I glug a glass of cucumber water, then turn my phone off silent and scan my notifications – there are lots of them, but nothing from Maddie.
The only person I actually want to hear from.
She called first thing Monday morning but didn’t drop the guillotine then.
She’d seen the content about Ella, she said, and needed clarification because Maple’s profile would have to be updated.
I spun it as well as I could – the popularity of true crime online, the explosion in Maple’s follower numbers – and Maddie seemed satisfied, if not ecstatic.
But then she called again yesterday, after Maple’s second show with Dylan.
The team had decided the content was too hot, too adult, for how they were positioning Maple in the marketplace right now.
That if Maple wanted to continue her new channel, they sadly couldn’t work with her.
But we should for sure get back in touch when Maple turned eighteen.
I didn’t handle it well. I mean, how was I supposed to stay calm when Maddie was taking a sledgehammer to our income? But I followed it up with an apologetic, slightly begging, email, so there’s still a chance she might change her mind. A sliver of a slim chance.
Of course the way to get back into Maddie’s good books is glaringly obvious – Maple needs to stop her ridiculous show.
Garrett promised he’d sort it last Sunday, and after being in church, surrounded by powerful, dominating men, I’d allowed myself to hope.
But all I got was a daughter charging upstairs and refusing to leave her bedroom, and a husband who spent the rest of the day – and pretty much all days since – holed up in the office, searching for jobs that might pay him slightly higher than minimum wage. Pathetic.
I pay for my facial with a credit card and leave the salon.
My phone buzzes, but when I check the number, I let it ring out – there are too many outstanding bills this month for me to accept 0800 calls.
I head toward my car, but slow as I see someone leaning against the hood.
A woman. Copper-red bob and scuffed trainers.
‘Can I help you?’ I ask while giving her my best ‘get off my car’ stare.
‘Kirsten Clark?’ she says, peeling off the hood and twisting to face me. ‘I’m Meg Jackson with the New York Times.’
‘Right.’ I pause, conflicted. The New York Times has a reputation around here, and not a good one. But still, they don’t visit often. I stand a little straighter. ‘What do you want? Because if it’s to talk about this Ella Hart stuff, then the answer’s no.’
‘I wanted to ask about Maple, actually.’
‘Well, that’s a bigger no.’
‘How she’s coping with being in the spotlight.’
‘Maple loves the spotlight, so she’s doing just fine. Now, would you mind stepping back from my car?’
‘Would you mind if I quoted from her channel?’ Meg parrots back. ‘Because I thought it was interesting that she said, “To me, it makes sense that Ella wanted to get away; having millions of subscribers follow your whole life is intense.” That sounded like a cry for help to me.’
‘That’s complete bullshit!’ I ram my lips together. I mustn’t lose control, especially with my face this bare, no makeup, no camouflage. I find a smile. ‘Maple is just a normal teenager who loves to share her life with her friends online,’ I go on. ‘It’s as simple as that.’
‘So you’re not worried about the stats then,’ Meg says, not missing a beat.
‘That a third of teenage girls say Instagram makes them feel worse about their body, and half have received unsolicited sexual content. Or the risk that Maple’s online fame might spill into the real world, like it did with Ava Majury.
Kirsten, do you worry that Maple will blame you for monetizing her childhood later in life? ’
‘No!’ A bright light flickers in my eyes, sunrays bouncing off the windshield maybe, and I blink. ‘Maple and I are the closest mother and daughter you’ll ever meet.’
‘So you support her takedown of Selena Hart then? Are you worried how Selena might react?’
I shake my head at the subject swerve. ‘What? No! Please, leave me alone.’
She steps back, and I whip open my car door and tumble inside. But her smug smile remains in front of my eyes. Alongside an image of the guy across the street with a big camera and a matching grin.