Love Sold Separately

by Ellen Meister

  Chelsea folded her arms. “Please.”

  “He was under a lot of financial pressure, and Kitty promised him a raise. He didn’t know what else to do.”

  “He could have said no.”

  “He was desperate.”

  Chelsea stuck out her chin. “And how do you know he didn’t murder Kitty?”

  “Adam?” She laughed. “I just know. He’s a really decent guy. A lamb. He has two kids and a wife he loves. His family is everything to him.”

  Chelsea licked her lips. “You’re not seeing the whole picture, Sherlock.”

  “Of course I am.”

  Chelsea tucked her golden hair behind her ears. “What if Kitty threatened to go to Adam’s wife?”

  “Why would she?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she wanted something from him.”

  “Doesn’t add up,” Dana said. “Kitty was about to get Adam a promotion. If he wanted to murder her, he would have waited.”

  “I’m just saying, Dana, you have no idea if you can trust anyone here, including Lorenzo.”

  “Lorenzo’s the one person I know I can trust.”

  “Why? Because you have the hots for him?”

  “Because I was with him when Kitty was shot,” Dana said. “And because he’s honest.”

  “How do you know he’s honest?”

  “He’s got the most earnest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re like dark chocolate. The kind that’s eighty-six percent cacao. Eyes like that can’t hide anything.”

  Even as she said it, though, Dana knew it wasn’t true. He had hidden Sophia. And Kitty. How could she really be sure he wasn’t hiding anything else?

  22

  “Can I get you something, Dana?” Ollie asked after Chelsea left.

  “A cup of coffee would be great,” she said. “Thanks, Ollie.”

  Dana needed all the energy she could muster. She was still dragging her feet after being up half the night with Lorenzo. At the time she thought it was worth it, but now that she was faced with a single show her whole career could turn on, she wasn’t so sure.

  With the right energy level, she knew she could knock this one out of the studio and clear across the Hudson River, maybe clear across the country, propelled by the thumbs of eager shoppers and their remote controls. After all, she really did love the handbags. They were ruggedly constructed in pebble leather, styled in sumptuous summer colors with coordinating trims. And the hardware was... What was the word? It was something simple but evocative. Damn. She could not afford to lose vocabulary today.

  Dana thought about the extra Dexedrine pill she had slipped into her purse the day of her audition, just in case. As it turned out, that one dose was more than enough. But the tiny white tablet was still there, tucked inside the secret compartment of her key chain.

  It would be so easy to take it. And God knows it would give her the boost she needed. She would be awake, alert, focused.

  Then again, she didn’t want to make a habit of this. It was dangerous. Doing it once was bad enough. But doing it a second time? That was a step toward addiction.

  I should just flush the damned pill down the toilet, she thought. That way I won’t be tempted. She took it from her purse and went into the bathroom.

  As Dana held her palm over the toilet—the tiny pill in the center of it—she thought about how tired she was. So very tired. Coffee might help a little, but would it be enough?

  Dana tried to refocus on the handbag hardware. She could picture the heavy chrome rings and the fasteners, but couldn’t remember the adjective she’d had in mind. What was it?

  She imagined herself struggling for words on the air. She could envision the monitor as the numbers slipped more and more while she struggled to find the perfect language. And then what? She would be beyond saving. There would be nothing Megan could do for her.

  She heard Ollie knock on the outer door and enter the dressing room.

  “Dana?” he called. “I have your coffee.”

  “In the bathroom!” she yelled, still staring at the pill. “Be right out.”

  She heard Ollie move toward the bathroom door, his voice closer. “I just saw Miss Sherry again,” he said. “She asks me to please remind you about meeting her after your show today.”

  “Did she really say ‘please’?” Dana asked.

  There was no response.

  “Ollie?” she prodded.

  “Perhaps I am the one who said ‘please.’ I asked her please not to worry.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “Miss Sherry says it is her job to worry, and... I think she says some American idiom I’m not understanding. Something like, you should not be across her.”

  “I shouldn’t cross her?” Dana suggested.

  “Oh, yes, Dana. This is what she said. You should not cross her.”

  Okay, then, she thought, bringing her hand toward her mouth, maybe just this once. And in twenty minutes or so, she’d be good as gold. Better. As good as shiny chrome handbag hardware that complemented any style. And from now on, she would be sure to get enough sleep. Always. Never mind sex. Well, okay, maybe not entirely. But sleep was nonnegotiable from this point on.

  She tossed the pill toward the back of her throat, turned on the tap and put her face under it to slurp in a single gulp.

  She relaxed in her dressing room with Ollie, and by the time Jessalyn knocked on her door to say they were ready for her on set, the medication had worked its magic.

  “Great!” Dana chirped. “Let’s make this our best show yet!”

  Ollie smiled, clearly thrilled to see Dana so positive. The three of them walked together to the set, Dana leading like a majorette. If she’d had a baton she would have thrown it in the air. And caught it.

  The first display was ready for her when she got there, and it was magnificent. The table was draped with a gold cloth, and the colorful tote handbags were arranged upon it, a rainbow in hand-dyed leather. It was like a Fisher-Price playground of joy for grown women. Dana was thrilled.

  She hit her mark and managed to hold still while Lorenzo clipped on her mike. When Jessalyn rushed over to straighten her cardigan and pull a lock of hair to the side, Dana had to restrain herself from slapping the woman’s hand away. She could no longer keep still. She was a racehorse who needed to run. And win.

  Then the red light flashed and she took off. “Thank you for joining me for this hour!” she gushed to the best friend sitting at home in front of the television. “I’m so excited about this new line of Barlow and Ricci handbags. We’re starting with the shopper’s tote, which is just a must-have for summer. And the prices! I never expected to see them so low. Never!” She laughed to show her delight and stepped to the side of the display table. “I want to go through the colors first, because they are just absolutely gorgeous.” Dana glanced at the names on the color chart as she went through the selections one by one.

  She cooed over the product, explaining the wonder of owning something so incredibly practical yet so beautiful, stylish and luxurious. She marveled at the price and reminded viewers how to order as she ran her hand lovingly over the leather. She talked about the construction and design.

  “I have to show you the inside, because you won’t believe what it holds. But first, I just want to point out how on-trend this tote is, with bold, chunky, statement hardware.” Chunky. That was the word she’d been groping for. Dana smiled and stole a quick glance at the monitor. Orders were pouring in.

  After just a few minutes she heard Adam’s voice in her earpiece, telling her which bags to remove from the table because the colors were sold out. It was sooner than expected, which was a great sign. Now the sales would move even faster, because once colors started to deplete, viewers panicked and rushed to the phones.

  Her next step was to run through the colors that were remaining,
giving shoppers the chance to pick whichever one they coveted most before it was too late. Dana glanced up at the color chart, but it was missing. What the hell? That was supposed to stay in place for her reference.

  She took a steadying breath. She had studied the colors carefully, but they were confusing, because she would be selling four different styles that day, and there was a slight variation in color names for each one.

  “Well, I don’t have my color chart,” she said cheerily, “but that’s okay. Here’s what we’ve got for you. And please, we’re running out and I don’t want you to miss this. So lock in your order as soon as you can.”

  It was a little bit of a stall, a cry for help to her producer and the crew. But the lights prevented her from seeing if they were even on set, as they usually watched from the control booth. Either way, she hoped they were scrambling to get her information back.

  Well, to hell with it. She could do this. She had just gone through the colors and they were fresh in her mind. She started with the key lime. Nailed it. Moved on to the pink, and caught herself. No, it was blush. The gray was silver. The yellow was dandelion. But the beige. Was it sand? No, desert! The white was gone, but the warm cream was still there. No, that was yesterday. Same color, but a different name. French vanilla!

  Dana glanced up at the monitor. She was doing it! They were selling at a million miles an hour. It supercharged her. She went through the colors again, made love to the handbag’s leather with her fingertips, showed the roomy compartments, gushed over the coordinated linings, slung it over her shoulder to demonstrate size and comfort.

  The dandelion sold out, then the blush. Then the French vanilla. Adam told her to wrap it up and move on to the next style. God, she had done it.

  The viewers saw a price screen followed by website instructions as Dana gave an energetic voice-over, and the shopper’s tote display was rolled away and replaced by a table with the pebble leather hobo. When the camera came back to her, she was ready with her ebullient chatter about the styling, and was relieved to see that the color chart had been replaced. Thank God.

  But then. Oh, no. The gray was listed as silver, and she distinctly remembered that in this style it was called dove. Her eyes made a sweep of the chart. It was the wrong one! Dana swallowed hard. Someone was sabotaging her! Or maybe it was just a simple mistake, and the medication was making her paranoid. For the life of her, she couldn’t tell.

  Either way, she had to do this. She had to get through this. No, not get through it, sail through it. Soar through it. She was not going to let this derail her.

  She made a decision. Every color had a name, and if she got it wrong, that was okay. The sales associates would deal with it. They’d know that a caller asking for the hobo in cream was actually requesting the French vanilla. Or vice versa. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t going to hurt sales. Not as long as she sounded confident, and kept gushing and chatting and cooing and delighting.

  That zone, she told herself. That zone. You love these handbags! They are everything. They are the sun and the moon and the stars. They are joy. They are holy. They are the culmination of everything humankind is capable of. Go!

  And she did. Even with the wrong color charts for the pebble leather hobo as well as the satchel and crossbody foldover styles that followed, Dana was a sales goddess. She was unstoppable.

  And then, at last, the final signal. It was over. She had done it. And her sales were so high Adam actually applauded.

  Dana was tempted to go all Kitty Todd on the crew and scream for heads to roll over the screwup, but she caught herself. She didn’t need to bring out the guillotine. That was what she had Megan for. Besides, she wasn’t entirely sure she trusted her own judgment. A simple mistake was one thing, treachery was another. But which was it?

  Ollie trailed after Dana as she stormed back to her dressing room.

  “You are not happy, Dana,” he said. “Please, what can I do? I will help. Okay, Dana? Tell me what is making you troubled.”

  “Nothing!” she blurted. “I just need to talk to my manager.”

  “She is in your dressing room.”

  “Fine. You can go home now.”

  “Are you sure, Dana? Maybe there is something I can help you with?”

  “I’m sure!” she spit out. “Just go home.”

  Ollie practically bowed, his eyes scared, and it occurred to Dana he had never seen her angry before. Still, she couldn’t worry about it. There was simply too much to deal with. If there was anything to smooth over tomorrow, she would take care of it then. For now, he would simply have to cope.

  Dana threw open her dressing room door. “Did you see what happened?” she said to Megan.

  “You killed it.”

  “Megan,” she said, containing her fury, “I think they tried to sabotage me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Someone took away the color chart during the first segment, and then screwed up the charts in the rest of the segments.”

  “And you think this was intentional?”

  Dana could barely catch her breath. “Of course it was intentional! And even if it wasn’t, someone should get fired. This is not acceptable! I was hanging on by a thread out there.”

  “Okay, calm down.”

  “Do you know how lucky it is that I was able to remember all that? It could have been a disaster! I’d be out on my ass.”

  “Dana, listen to me. You need to settle down. I don’t want Sherry to see you like this.”

  “Why not? My rage is justified!” She opened one of the drawers and slammed it, just for emphasis, but it bounced open again, as if in defiance. She gave it an angry hip-check to let it know she meant business.

  “Okay,” Megan said. “It is. Absolutely. But—”

  “Are you handling me?”

  “It’s part of my job description, sweetie—act as sycophant, nursemaid and patronizing sounding board, as needed.”

  Dana didn’t laugh. She paced her dressing room, thinking. She was so furious she wanted to turn over the table or put her fist through a wall. And her indignation was righteous! She knew this. It was not a drug-fueled rage. She was left dangling out there for four straight hours and no one came to her aid.

  Okay, so maybe it wasn’t sabotage. Maybe someone had just royally screwed up. She still couldn’t tell if the medication was making her paranoid. But damn it, the whole thing was a clusterfuck and there was no excuse. She explained the particulars to Megan, leaving out the part about the Dexedrine.

  “The good news,” Megan said, “is that you handled it like a pro. You didn’t get flustered. You didn’t doubt yourself. You just plowed on. And you nailed it. And now, instead of being on the defensive with Sherry, we can turn the tables.”

  Dana let out a breath, trying to release her anger. Megan was right. “It better not happen again,” she said.

  “Of course not. We’ll make sure of that. In the meantime, trust me. I can make this work in your favor. Just let me do the talking.”

  Megan brought her a glass of water and made her drink the whole thing before they went up to see Sherry. Even though Dana understood that it was just Megan’s clever way of shifting her focus and calming her down, it worked. By the time they reached Sherry’s office, she had her game face back. Also, the medication was starting to wear off.

  “I wasn’t expecting the two of you,” Sherry said.

  “Buy one, get one,” Megan said. “Today’s special.”

  Sherry didn’t smile. “Look, I don’t have much to say.” She folded her arms. “Yesterday’s numbers were terrible, today’s were markedly better. Just remember that we don’t have the luxury of accommodating even occasional bad days.”

  “Oh, please,” Megan said. “Dana met her numbers yesterday.”

  “Barely,” Sherry said.

  “Point is, her num
bers weren’t ‘terrible.’ It’s just that she’s been such a superstar your expectations have gone haywire. You expect her to break a record every day, which isn’t fair or reasonable, and you damned well know it.”

  “If you expect me to coddle her—”

  “Oh, knock it off. Dana’s not a diva, so don’t even go there. Do you even know what happened today?”

  “Happened?”

  “Someone screwed up the color charts. The first one was pulled while she was still on the air. And the rest were wrong. But she didn’t panic. She didn’t mess up. She just plowed on and sold, sold, sold. You should be kissing her ass right now for saving the show when someone else wasn’t doing their job.”

  Sherry turned to Dana. “Is this true? Did you get the wrong charts?”

  “It’s true,” Dana said.

  Sherry pressed the button on her intercom and spoke. “Get Adam Weintraub up here immediately.”

  Dana’s heart sank. Not Adam. He was the last person she wanted to get in trouble. And besides, it wasn’t his fault. The color charts were handled by the interns, Topher and Becky, and sometimes Jessalyn, when she was on set. Dana assumed the problem was that the charts had been mislabeled. But she had no idea who was responsible for that...or if it had been done on purpose.

  Adam bounded into Sherry’s office, grinning. Clearly, he thought he was there to celebrate Dana’s success.

  “Almost twelve percent over projections!” he said, waving his tablet.

  Sherry’s brow tightened. “What the fuck happened with the color charts?”

  “You mean in the first segment?”

  “In the whole show,” Sherry said. “She got the wrong charts and had to wing it.”

  Adam looked at Dana. “Is this true?”

  She shrugged. “Unfortunately.”

  “I had no idea,” Adam said.

  “Well, that’s just great,” Sherry seethed. “My segment producer had no idea what the hell was going on with his own show.”

  He looked at Dana. “I’m sorry. Everything seemed to be going so smoothly.”

  “And where was Jessalyn?” Sherry asked, referring to the talent coordinator. “Did she spend the show with her thumb up her ass?”