“Do they care? Think about the demographics of health stories,” she’d interrupted, risking it, understanding it was actually advertising dollars the station craved. “We want women, correct? Ages eighteen to forty-nine? ‘They’ are me,” she said, leaning in and selling it. “I care about my health and the health of my children—when I eventually have them—and the well-being of my family. Why wouldn’t we want to offer that? Why wouldn’t we want to help our viewers understand that?”
She knew she’d scored when Warren described her as “wholesome and fresh-faced.” She’d even managed not to burst out laughing or roll her eyes. She was a commodity, after all, and he wasn’t being sexist, he was simply being honest. She did look wholesome. Of course she did. As if her new blond bob, new studious eyeglasses—which she didn’t need—and little sheath-and-pearls weren’t artfully and carefully selected.
A week later, she’d snapped up the station’s offer of a temporary furnished apartment and soon after moved to Boston with two suitcases, one shipped box and a cat carrier, leaving most of her stuff behind. She’d go back and retrieve it if need be.
Years ago, during her first job as a TV reporter, the requisite smaller-market stint, an even more inexperienced interviewer had inquired about her core values. Flapping open an obviously brand-new notebook, the young woman had asked Ellie, “As a journalist, what one concept do you believe in, without question?”
Easy one. “Justice,” she’d said.
Now, with a lurch of a plastic handle, she adjusted her desk chair higher—had someone lowered it overnight?—logged on to her computer and pulled up her files. The sounds of the newsroom below faded to a muffled hum: phones ringing and computer keys rattling, a random burst of applause. Nothing would deter Ellie from this. If she could bring down these bastards, make their lives as miserable as they’d made hers … She smiled. Considered a chocolate chip cookie.
Pharminex, she typed.
Her cell phone buzzed.
She looked down, her heart fluttering. But it was Warren.
“Hey, Warren.” She picked up before the first ring had ended.
“Got a surprise for you,” he said. “Can you come to my office?”
Ellie did not like surprises.
The walk to the newsroom was a quick-cut mental montage of possibilities, not one of them good. Warren had nothing she wanted or needed, nothing helpful or valuable. His phony affable tone made her even more apprehensive.
When Ellie arrived at his open door, she stopped, and was certain the bafflement showed on her face before she got it under control. Warren was not alone. A woman sat on his tweedy couch. Ellie saw a pink-sweatered back and shiny black pumps.
Warren pointed to the woman with the TV remote he held. “Ellie? Meet your new assistant.”
The woman stood and turned to face Ellie with a nervous-looking smile. “I know, right?” Meg said. “Crazy surprising.”
CHAPTER 5
NORA
“What are you wearing?”
Nora laughed out loud at the ridiculous question, hearing Guy’s voice teasing through the Bluetooth speakers. Even sitting alone in the front seat of the Mercury sedan P-X had issued her, with a thousand miles between them, that voice sent chills through her, as if she were some breathless heroine in a romance novel.
“Don’t laugh, Nora. Let me guess,” Guy pleaded. “I’m in bed now too, looking out at palm trees and red rocks and blue sky. But I’d rather picture you in black satin sheets … wearing that pale green thing, the one that matches your eyes. I’m watching you sleep, and you don’t know it. And that thin strap falls from your shoulder, and I see that perfect mole in the curve of your neck and—”
“You are so ridiculous.” Nora pretended to be annoyed and knew she’d failed. But she had to interrupt, had to make him stop. She had to go to work. They’d never been in her bed or anyone’s bed, not together. Not yet. She smiled, imagining it. He was silly. She didn’t have black satin sheets or a “green thing.” Or a mole.
“What time is it there, anyway, like six a.m.?” she asked, checking the clock on the dashboard. “You’re still dreaming.” It was all a juggle right now. Her life, and her responsibilities and now this relationship. But he seemed like a good guy; that’s what had drawn her to him in the first place.
“Guy?” she’d repeated, after he introduced himself at a neighborhood bar called Seaboard. “Just … generic Guy?” She’d been wary, of course, but she couldn’t work every minute of every day and night, and her staid redbrick apartment was surrounded by a selection of neighborhood restaurants. Nora had chosen a middle-of-the-spectrum place, and “Seaboard” sounded authentically Bostonian. She’d sat at a bar facing a picture window, nursed an Irish coffee and watched the snow fall onto Beacon Street.
He’d laughed at her lame joke. “Named after my father,” he’d told her. “A regular guy.”
She deserved it, and clinked her ceramic mug with his beer glass. “Nora.”
“Like neither a borrower nor a lender?” he’d replied.
Testing her, apparently. But messing with the wrong girl. “To thine own self be true,” she’d declaimed. She’d done Hamlet, even played Ophelia. And knew how she felt. She turned on a hint of a drawl. Nora would have a drawl, just a touch. “Do you follow Polonius’ suggestions, Guy? To thine own self be true?”
“Well, well,” he’d said. “Want to try Double Jeopardy, where the scores can really change?”
Silly bar talk, and she’d gone home alone. But he’d called. Apparently she’d passed the test. And he had too. He was all there on Google, Guy MacInnis, not too-too much detail, but enough, and all fine.
“Then tell me,” he persisted now. She realized she was watching the car’s metal speaker as he talked, as if he were in the car, or could see her. “I’m out here raising money for the cause of the week, and I need some … distraction. Or send a photo, Nora. Do. I want to see you.”
“Go back to sleep, you.” She checked the time on the dashboard again, happy he couldn’t see her do that. It might work out well that Guy was gone so much. Sad that she had to think of it that way. “I’ve got to—”
“I’m sending you a photo,” he insisted. “A special photo. But don’t show anyone. I’m trusting you.”
“Call me later.” She was so into her new accent that it came out like layta. She wished he would send a photo, wished she could look at him whenever she wanted, his cheekbones and almost too long hair, the way he held his shoulders and smelled like … She took a deep breath as if to name it and couldn’t. Something rich and warm and enticing. She wished the world were different, wished she could simply be herself for once. “I have to go.”
“Good luck,” he said. “Knock ’em dead.”
“I will,” she said. And that part was true. She heard the click from hundreds of miles away, and he was gone.
The car seemed emptier without him, and the world too. He filled a space in her life, somehow, an emptiness she wasn’t ready to admit she had.
And now, showtime. Nora smoothed an eyebrow in the rearview mirror, adjusted her dark green cashmere muffler, rearranged a lock of hair. It was pale auburn, maybe risky and noticeable, but she mentally patted herself on the back for having the courage to try a new color.
She clicked open the detail bag on the front seat beside her, the clunky Pharminex-issued block of leather and brass with a shiny oval for engraved initials. She’d left hers blank. Inside, paperwork, clipboard, a few medical journal articles printed out and stapled together. A stack of yellow stickies, imprinted with the navy-blue Pharminex logo.
If a doctor took the stickies, and maybe a pen or two, it meant he or she would take the next tiny gift. There was no big-time bribery going on, no phony conventions or lavish golf weekends or free-flowing booze. No assumption that a female pharma rep was also selling herself. No more quid pro quo. The feds and a raft of indictments had made sure of that, and all to the good. Because doctors wouldn’t expect those se
ductive inducements, it made her life easier.
Pharminex had only one goal. To make sure doctors prescribed the drugs researched, produced and offered by Pharminex. Prescribed as many and as often as they could.
Dr. McGinty was next.
She closed the car door behind her, clicked the lock. The Boston sky above her was painfully blue, perfect and cloudlessly unreal, and the wind from the harbor fluttered her coat and swirled through her hair.
CHAPTER 6
ELLIE
At least she didn’t have to work with Meg every day, Ellie thought, as she approached the front door of her apartment building. She’d spent today researching, on her own, and now imagined the slew of potential complications having a coworker as a neighbor would inevitably present.
As a roving assistant producer, Meg wouldn’t be underfoot at Channel 11 all the time. But here at the apartment? The woman had seemed almost clingy the night they’d met, prying and needy, but again—Ellie grimaced as she dug for her key, trying to separate which emotions were real and which were unfair. It had been late, and they were both tired.
The outer door clicked behind her, and Ellie skipped the elevator to trudge the three flights to her apartment, taking exercise where she could. Meg-next-door meant a real incursion into her privacy, she realized, as she clicked open her own front door.
Comings and goings and visitors could hardly be concealed. And Meg seemed like the type to snoop. Always trying to help, asking questions. And who would leave cookies? It was almost creepy. Stalkery. But again, maybe Ellie was being unfair. Maybe that’s what neighbors did.
Blinker padded into the room, holding something in her mouth. Ellie swore the cat spent her days moving her toys from one room to another: stuffed mice with shredded tails and missing ears, a plush hedgehog with chewed feet, a frondy felt carrot that she sometimes slept with, her paws wrapped around the thin orange cone.
“Whatchagot, cat?” Ellie opened the closet door to dump her coat.
The cat placed a crocheted white dove at her feet. Ellie picked it up between thumb and forefinger, examining it. Its nubby white form fit into Ellie’s palm, and it was pretty enough, with fluttery wings and a cat-enticing tail, but its cross-stitched eyes gave it a disturbingly flat expression. Like the bird was supposed to be dead.
Ellie had never seen it before. “Where’d you get the weird bird, honey cat?” she asked. But Blinker just curled through her legs and didn’t answer.
The knock on the door startled her so much she dropped the thing. Blinker grabbed it and scampered away.
“Get a grip, woman,” Ellie muttered. She looked through the peephole. Sighed with the recognition of a situation. Pushed her glasses higher on her nose.
“Hi, Meg,” she said as she opened the door, trying to hide her reluctance.
Meg raised her right hand. “I swear, I’m not coming in,” she said. She wore a Life is Good T-shirt, jeans and flip-flops. Her toes were painted pale blue, and the polish looked wet. “I’m sure you have plans. Only wanted to make sure—without Warren around—that you were okay with this. With me being the assistant producer. I know it kinda got sprung on you. But I know what I’m doing. I promise.”
“Sure.” Ellie kept her arm blocking the door. “Grateful for your help when you have time. The other reporters will keep you busy too. When they get here. So—”
She saw Meg try to peer over her shoulder and into her living room. The woman’s very existence made everything ridiculously complicated. Meg could easily know if anyone else were in Ellie’s apartment. Not to mention know when she was and wasn’t home. Just what Ellie needed, a human surveillance system.
“Cool,” Meg said.
They stood there, silent for a beat. The elevator rumbled behind them. Just three apartments on this floor. Three-C was empty, far as Ellie knew.
Which reminded her. “How come you didn’t tell me last night? About Channel Eleven? How’d you even get hired? You acted like you didn’t know I worked at the station, and you even said—I mean, I asked you. Didn’t I?” She tried to remember. Sometimes her memory went iffy.
Meg laced her fingers under her chin, made a wincing face. “A family friend wrangled me the job,” she said. “They know the station owner. And I’d promised not to tell, until all the t’s and i’s on the paperwork were crossed and dotted.” She shrugged. “Human resources red tape, I guess.”
So you lied, Ellie didn’t say. Although, to be fair, Meg hadn’t done anything last night but sit by her boxes. Ellie had invited her in, unbidden, when she could have simply said hello, gone inside and closed the door. If Ellie had already been home, they might not have met. It wasn’t like Meg had orchestrated their meeting. Ellie herself had encouraged it.
“I see. Huh. How’d you wind up living here, though?” Ellie took a step into the hallway, half closing her door behind her. “Here, particularly?”
“Warren,” Meg said. “He set you up here too, right?”
“Yeah, true.” Channel 11 was stashing some of its new hires in the building, short-term, even had a designated super to handle all the comings and goings.
“Warren also said you were in the midst of an investigation. A good one?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘midst.’” How transparently nosy could anyone be? Ellie took a step back into her apartment, signaling the conversation’s end. “I’d say beginning. I’m at the library a lot. Too early to talk about. Anyway, so—”
In a flash of white, Blinker raced out the open door, became a blurry streak headed into the hall. Dumb cat. There was nowhere to go. But it was her life’s ambition to escape.
“Cat!” Ellie called.
“I’ll grab her!” Meg scooped her up with one swift motion. “Did you get the bird, by the way?” she asked, handing Blink back.
“That was from you?” Blinker squirmed out of Ellie’s arms, racing back into the apartment.
“I put it through your mail slot.” Meg pointed at the door. “My goal is to be an investigative reporter, just like you. But I make animal toys, little crafty ones, in my spare time. Weird, I know, but we all need a hobby. Crafts and cookies. Wild and crazy me. And I thought Blinker might be lonely.”
“Great,” Ellie said. Which she guessed it was. Ellie sure didn’t have any hobbies, not anymore. “Nice of you. And, oh, thanks for the chocolate chip cookies.”
“No problem,” Meg said. “See you around campus.”
As she turned away, finally finally, Ellie began to close the door.
But Meg pivoted, pointing a finger at Ellie. “Hey,” she said, “know what we should do?”
“What?” Ellie tried not to let her impatience show.
“Exchange keys. In case, like, you’re out on some big story, and you need me to feed Blinker? Or some work situation? Or an emergency?”
“Exchange—?”
“I don’t have any, you know, friends here.” Meg’s expression seemed lonely and longing, a solitary newcomer in an unfamiliar apartment hallway in an unfamiliar city.
Ellie felt a twinge of conscience for her own brusque and dismissive attitude. She could be self-centered, she knew that, though she preferred to think of it as determined or driven or focused. But she couldn’t always be alone in the world. No matter what, she still believed that.
“And I’m honored to be working with you,” Meg went on. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Sure,” Ellie said, half agreeing and half hustling Meg out of there. “I’ll get a copy made.” Maybe, she silently added. She needed to shower off the day, get organized and see how on earth she was going to make this work.
CHAPTER 7
NORA
Impossible to say yes. Impossible to say no.
Nora stood in the vestibule of her apartment building, still wearing her coat and shawl. Errands accomplished—drugstore and dry cleaning—she’d planned to forget about the rigors of Pharminex and collapse on her couch, another glamorous Saturday. Pizza for dinner, a good book, and a sleep-l
ate Sunday. But then Guy’s call had come. She clamped her cell phone between her ear and shoulder, frozen with indecision. Finally she lowered the two shopping bags to the floor and hooked the dry cleaning hangers over the mail table.
“Well,” she began, even as she spoke, not sure how she should handle this.
“Come on, Nora.” Guy’s voice sounded even more persuasive than usual, and she pictured him at the bar where they’d first met, thrusting and parrying with words. “I’ll be back from New York in an hour or two. I’ll hop into an Uber and come right to your apartment. Just tell me where it is. I’ve missed you, Red, and why wait any longer?”
Nora could think of about fifty reasons why. But she could also think of about fifty more reasons why it might be pretty darn fabulous to see him. Red, she thought.
She was also annoyed at the longing she felt, the longing she had to share her life. Her future. She couldn’t bear to imagine the next fifty or however many years with only emptiness and loveless solitude and pizza and cable TV. Sure, she could be successful, short-term, at what she did for now. Two doctors had just put in substantial orders, so yesterday’s atta-girl email to Nora from Detta Fiddler had informed her. Pharma sales was all about pretty, and she had pretty nailed. Score.
But her mother had warned her, long ago, that ‘pretty’ faded overnight. And now there was no one left, no family she cared about, no friends, no one connected or devoted to her. Not since high school. Then came Guy.
And what did he truly want? Guy and Nora hadn’t progressed to any conversation like that, never gotten past the tantalizing shallows. She needed to find out.
“My apartment is…” She stopped, midsentence, wondering what would be appropriate and believable. “… still a bit disorganized. You know I just moved in.” She took a chance. “How about your place in Back Bay?”
He paused. “How about meeting somewhere in the middle? Have a drink? Maybe dinner?”
The First to Lie Page 3