The Camera Never Lies

by David Rawlings

  “Wow, no wonder you’re worried.”

  Gascon wandered along the line like a judge inspecting pageant contestants. “I want to introduce you to the bright young go-getters who are our executives of tomorrow. If you see them around the building, welcome them to the Rubicon family. But keep an eye on your rearview mirror, because they’ll be coming up behind you.”

  Hollow laughter tinged with bitter nervousness rippled across the theater.

  Kelly fixed her stare on the blonde at the end of the row. So I’m being replaced by a younger model at work too.

  Gascon extracted more applause before dismissing his protégés from the spotlight, and then he clapped the crowd back into silence.

  “One last thing . . . You may have read some nasty rumors about our wonder drug Mendacium and the remote possibility it has some very minor side effects.”

  The hush in the lecture theater was absolute as the crowd leaned forward, including Kelly. She had read about the rumors—everyone had—and if the media’s accusations were even half right, the side effects were more than minor. Five-year-olds shouldn’t get blinding migraines that baffle doctors.

  Gascon stood center stage, waist-deep in smoke, hands open in front of him, staring into the air as if seeking divine guidance. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  The first smatterings of claps popped on the far side of the auditorium, and then the chattering grew as the applause built into a cacophony of cheering. A whistle from behind Kelly pierced her eardrums.

  Gascon shouted over the noise as he punched the air. “Let’s push on through adversity. These are just vicious attempts by our very jealous competition to bring us down!”

  The crowd combusted into delirium as they leaped to their feet, and the roar ratcheted higher. Kelly turned to Jasmine to seek assurance she hadn’t misheard. Gascon hadn’t addressed the rumors at all.

  From farther down the row, a small man with red, slicked-down hair and a permanent sneer leaned forward, his eyes drilling into her. Arnold Kolinsky, her supervisor. Kelly pumped a little more enthusiasm into her applause.

  Just another few months.

  * * *

  Kelly and Jasmine sipped coffee in the conversational space on Level Thirteen of the palatial Rubicon Pharma building. Twenty years ago this space would have been called an alcove, but the addition of funky furniture, exposed steel beams, and spotlights introduced the concept of conversation. A defense mechanism within Kelly reminded her to lower her voice, funky furniture or not. “Was that enough of a reassurance for you?”

  Jasmine looked through the steam rising from her recycled hemp cup. “If it comes from the CEO, it is. It must not be enough for you.”

  Colleagues wandered past as Kelly leaned forward in a conspiratorial whisper. “I think I’ve just had enough. It’s impossible to operate at one hundred percent all the time.”

  Jasmine’s eyes scanned the atrium as a low rumble of excitement drifted across to them. “You mean 110 percent. Do you think you’re just flat after losing Gramps?”

  “Maybe, but I can’t shake the feeling I’ve had enough of being here. I was doing this only until Daniel’s next book comes out. Then we’d have a bit of financial room for me to start my catering business. I can’t do all that with a massive mortgage and expect to sleep at night.”

  “But you’re so good at this job, and you’re such a people person.”

  “It’s not where my heart is. And now Milly needs me. I’m not providing what Daniel needs either. I’m sick of always feeling like I should be somewhere else.”

  Jasmine looked over Kelly’s shoulder and talked into the cup she raised to her lips. “Keep your voice down. Tarquin is on the floor.”

  Kelly turned to see the CEO, hands in jeans pockets, strolling between tables.

  “Jasmine, I can’t keep this up.”

  “Fine. Then quit.”

  “We’d lose the house. I think I’d die if I lost that kitchen. That would be the end of my catering dream.”

  “Lose the house? Isn’t your husband a rich and famous author?”

  Kelly let out a long breath. “Bestseller might mean famous, but it doesn’t automatically mean rich. We couldn’t afford to buy our dream home without the advance for his second book.”

  “So what’s the holdup?”

  Staff chattered under plastic palm trees twenty feet from them. “I don’t know. He should have written it by now, but every extra day is another day I have to be pushing drugs, however good they are. It’s great we help so many families, but what about these side effects?”

  Jasmine tapped her cup on the arm of her chair. “It’s just shades of gray, isn’t it? You put your product out there, and then people make their own decisions.”

  Kelly shrugged. “Their decisions are based on my information.”

  “Maybe you’re just frustrated at how things are between you and Daniel. Things still bad at home?”

  Kelly heaved a sigh. “Yes. And Milly’s been getting quieter for months. She won’t talk to me, and Daniel keeps trying to fix her, so she won’t talk to him either.”

  The pack of excited staff crept closer to them. “She sounds like a lot of other kids.”

  “But I’m Mom to only this one.” Kelly gave a heavy sigh. “Daniel’s just on all the time. I wish he’d stop trying to fix us and just be us.”

  “Seems weird that a marriage counselor would have a bad marriage . . . unless . . .”

  “Unless what?”

  “Well, if his receptionist looks like that new blonde . . .”

  Kelly’s eyes grazed across the atrium. She hoped no one had overheard the state of her marriage being broadcast at work.

  “And what do you call his business partner again? The ‘work-wife’?”

  Kelly didn’t know whether to rage or cry. She couldn’t do either here.

  “Have you suggested seeing a professional? Surely the hotshot marriage counselor believes in counseling?”

  “I suggested it, and he refused.” A reflex kicked in, a defense of her husband. “Daniel’s a fixer—most guys are, I get that—but he’s so good with the tools he uses to fix everyone else that he can’t put them down when it’s our problem.”

  Jasmine raised one eyebrow. “Really, Kel? Honestly, to me it looks like you’ve got two options: confront him about it or—”

  “I have tried confronting him, but he keeps telling me he’s done nothing wrong. I don’t know why I don’t believe him.”

  “It’s because your intuition isn’t buying it.”

  Maybe Jasmine was right. Daniel was too defensive about the women at work. She realized she’d cut short Jasmine’s answer. “What else were you going to say?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said or. Or what?”

  “Or you could give him a wake-up call by threatening to leave.”

  Kelly went cold. The thought that had toyed with her for months had just been spoken aloud. The thought that had flourished the moment she opened that bank account in a pique of frustration after Daniel had tried to fix her for what seemed like the hundredth time. And while she couldn’t bring herself to transfer any money to fund her defiance, she hadn’t closed the account either.

  Jasmine leaned forward with a cheeky grin. “That wasn’t a no.”

  “My marriage vows were promises I meant to keep. For better or worse. This is just the worse part. I might have packed and unpacked my suitcase in my mind a few times, but I won’t follow through on it.”

  “How much worse do you want it to get before you do something that makes you happy again? I’m not saying you leave—just threaten to leave. Maybe that will shock him into action.”

  The chatter in the atrium crept closer.

  “Well, that’s not being honest.” The other regular unwelcome thought jumped forward. If she removed herself from the picture, that would make it easier if there was someone else. She had to get off the topic so she could survive the rest of the day.

/>   “So what do you think about these rumors about Mendacium and—” Jasmine stared openmouthed over Kelly’s shoulder.

  Kelly swung around and stared into a wall of black. Her eyes scanned up the T-shirt with a rising dread until she looked into the charismatic face of Tarquin Gascon. His jaw rippled, the twinkle in his eyes glittering like minerals in a bed of stone. “An interesting question”—he flicked a glance to her name tag—“Kelly. I’d also like to know. What do you think about them?”

  Seven

  The tiny numbers on the spreadsheet blurred as Daniel’s eyelids drooped. He alt-tabbed back to the Microsoft Word window that had lurked in the background—blank—all day. The cursor blinked, a slow-ticking clock for Daniel’s frustration.

  He sucked in a deep breath and forced confidence into uncertain fingers as they hovered over the keys. “Chapter 1.” They stopped, uninspired.

  He forced his fingers into action. “Talking with Your Partner.”

  The cursor blinked on, and his mind remained as blank as the screen. He punched at the delete key, and it swallowed up more minutes of fruitless thinking.

  “Your Successful Marriage.” His impatient index finger quivered, awaiting instructions. Inspiration. Anything.

  “Since No Secrets hit the shelves, I have spoken with thousands of people about the benefits of being honest . . .” His fingers slowed. He was boring even himself.

  With a sweep of his mouse, he deleted yet another opening paragraph that didn’t deserve its place on the page. The cursor blinked on.

  Daniel yawned as he stretched, looking at the pile of books stacked on his office desk. The second book—the one his contract demanded—had started as an impossibility and had since become even harder. He stared out the window at his car in the darkened, almost-empty parking lot.

  Maybe Anna’s experience could provide inspiration. At least she would know where to start.

  A light tap sounded from his doorway. Daniel spun to see his receptionist leaning against the door, a half smile dangling from those ruby-red lips.

  “Monique, shouldn’t you have gone home by now?”

  “You said you were working late. Do you need anything from me?”

  A blaring alarm went off in Daniel’s head. The scenario he’d warned hundreds of couples about for years unfolded in front of him.

  “No, but thanks for offering.”

  “I’m more than happy to stay if you need me. You spend so much time helping other people, I thought you’d appreciate help for a change.”

  “No, that’s fine—”

  She rushed to sit on the edge of his sofa, crossing long legs just feet from him. “Could I ask a question? For a friend?”

  Daniel smirked. That old chestnut. He’d counseled more “friends” in his office than actual clients.

  “Sure! For a ‘friend.’”

  Monique seemed to measure her words as she stared at the carpet. “This friend of mine is struggling to keep her head above water in life and feels like she needs to hide who she is.” She looked up under slowly batting lashes.

  Maybe he could help. Daniel laced his fingers behind his head. “I’d suggest your friend talk to someone. There’s no point keeping secrets if they aren’t helpful in the long run.”

  “She just wants to be noticed by the right people. The right person.” Her eyes drifted to the flash of gold on his cuff, and the corners of her mouth tugged into a grin.

  The alarm in Daniel’s head blared again, cutting across his growing comfort in the conversation. He hit the metaphorical snooze button. This was manageable.

  “I suggest your friend is not aware of how people see her.”

  Monique’s cheeks flushed as she smoothed her skirt. The siren blared.

  “Do you think so? She’s at a crossroads in life, if you’ll pardon the pun.” A light laugh fluttered from her lips, and she recrossed her long legs.

  Daniel’s smile eased across his face before his conscience elbowed him to wake up. He had to stop. He was due home. He was due anywhere except here.

  “What do you suggest my friend do to get the attention of the right man?”

  The internal struggle in Daniel roared to life. The flirting was enticing—enchanting even—but he couldn’t act on it. He was married, and Monique was an employee. “Well, for your friend—and let’s be clear here that my advice is for ‘your friend’—I suggest she ensure other people don’t form the basis of her self-esteem.”

  Monique nodded, her lips parting. “But how can she find happiness?”

  This conversation had to become a formal counseling session, and with Anna, but the part of him that was enjoying the flirtation had one final thing to give. “I would say what I say to most people. You have to be true to yourself.”

  He cringed. Those words sounded worse out loud than in his head. “What I meant to say is that if it’s appropriate, then you should be true—”

  Monique beamed as her cheeks flushed. “You don’t have to tell me twice!”

  Daniel had lit a touch paper, and he needed to douse it. Quickly. “Is this about a friend, or should I do something to help you out as a boss? My hope here at Crossroads is that we can all be honest with each other, no secrets and all that. If you need to speak to someone, I would suggest Anna—”

  Monique smoothed her skirt again and gestured to the family photo on his desk. “You look happy there. How long ago was that?”

  The photo of a loving husband and father was more dated with each passing day.

  And Monique wasn’t leaving.

  With an extravagant stretch, Daniel stood. “I appreciate your offer of help, but I need to finish some important things. Enjoy your evening.”

  She rose in a mirror to his actions, and they stood face-to-face, inches apart. Monique’s smile smoldered on her lips as time slowed to a drip. The silence moved from discomfort to promise . . . and back again.

  Squeaky guitar and a few nasal lines of an early Beatles hit burst out of his pocket. “Listen . . . do you want to know a secret?”

  Daniel scrambled for his phone. Kelly. Relief morphed into dread. The escape route from this conversation would come with a price.

  “I have to take this. It’s Kelly. Enjoy your evening.”

  Monique sagged into a frown and turned on her heel. Thankfully.

  Daniel threw back his head and exhaled hard as he picked up the call. “Hi, Kel.”

  There was a moment in space, a silence and hesitation. And then a flat voice. “Are you on your way home yet? I need to talk to you about work today.”

  Daniel stared at the blinking cursor on his screen. “I’m about to leave. Just finishing up a few things.”

  Another moment of silence, pregnant with an unasked question. “Are there a few of you working late on something?” A pointed reference veiled under a direct question.

  “There’s no need to be like that.” He heard the front door to the practice close after Monique. “I’m the only one here, just getting through some financial stuff and writing the new book.”

  Another moment of silence.

  “Look, I’ll be home soon. Would you like me to pick up some noodles from around the corner?”

  He heard her sigh down the phone line. “We’ve already eaten.”

  “I’m just leaving now. I’ll be home in about thirty minutes.”

  “Dinner is in the microwave.” She cut the call.

  Daniel’s eyes returned to the flashing, accusing cursor that stood between him and the fulfillment of his book contract. He had no idea where the words would come from. He lowered the lid on his laptop as he checked off the battles he was fighting with a wife who didn’t believe he was doing nothing wrong and a receptionist who couldn’t believe he wouldn’t.

  Eight

  Kelly stomped out of the clinic into spitting rain and ran for the parking lot, powered by a cocktail of emotions: simmering anger and numbing fear. It wasn’t just the doctors complaining about the quality of their free lunch. It w
as more than the barbs about golf clubs needing an upgrade.

  She flung her bag of Mendacium samples into the backseat and slammed the door shut as a curtain of rain fluttered across her windshield.

  She was the second Rubicon Pharma rep who’d visited that day. And based on the drooling description of the young intern who asked Kelly if she could get hold of a phone number, she knew who’d been there.

  The blonde from the stage. The new staff weren’t in her rearview mirror; they were cutting her off in traffic and threatening to steal her car.

  Kelly stared through the rain as her heart reached for what it knew she needed—to talk to Daniel. But her head reminded her how difficult that would be after he’d leaned against the bathroom door that morning and asked in a not-so-subtle way about the need for so much makeup at work. And at the mention of competing with the supermodels Gascon had just hired, he’d just narrowed his eyes and studied her. She’d bailed out of the conversation before it became another one of those discussions.

  Kelly tapped her forehead on the steering wheel. She knew who she had to talk to and punched in the number.

  “Arnold Kolinsky.”

  Kelly’s breath threatened to derail her. Keep it professional.

  “It’s Kelly. Another sales rep went to see one of my clinics today.”

  A stream of obscenities flowed into her car, surfing on a rising tide of her supervisor’s trademark bitterness. “I bet it’s Taraxa or Adversarius. What you need to do is go back there—”

  “It was another rep from Rubicon.”

  “Right.” Then silence.

  Right?

  “Was that all, Kelly?”

  Is that all? She was being cut out of a job by her own company.

  “This is a competitive business, so you need to compete.” Arnold’s oily breath closed off his sentence.

  “But they’re my clients. What about in yesterday’s team meeting when Mr. Gascon said—”

  Kelly could feel the icicles forming on the other end of this conversation.