Trashy Chic
Page 19
“Oh, dear,” she said, bracing herself.
“There’s no way to say this in a nice way, Bertie.”
“Well, then just say it for gawd’s sakes.”
“I’m going into rehab for six weeks. I’m a sex addict.”
The words didn’t penetrate through the fog. Sex addict? “But we only had sex two or three times a month,” she said.
Bertie stopped. Even a medically induced coma couldn’t keep her from understanding for long.
“Ohhhh... I get it,” she said. “So who was it? Or, who were they?”
“They were just women I met while I was working on stories. No one I was actually writing about, just people on the periphery. And sometimes, they had information that I could use.”
“You screwed your sources for information? Is that how you got so much inside stuff? You were a prostitute for the newspaper?”
“Bertie, please, you have every right to be angry, but don’t take it so hard. We never promised each other anything.”
“Damn right, buster. OK, tell me who you screwed. I want to know. I have a right to know, you have to ‘make amends’ to me.”
“Well, I can’t name everyone … I mean, I am an addict, so there were quite a few, but there was the barmaid at Duffy’s, a receptionist at work and a woman in the coroner’s office, for starters.”
“How were you getting so much information about Bellingham?”
“There’s a maid there …” Bertie remembered the pretty little maid who dressed like an idiot.
She closed her eyes. “And you used condoms with everyone, right?’
“Oh, yes, of course.”
“This is a clear conflict of interest, Shawn. I bet Woodward and Bernstein didn’t screw for information. Does the paper know? Have you been fired?”
Shawn looked embarrassed. “Uh, no, the company is footing the bill for my rehab.”
Bertie’s eyes flew open. “I get laid off but you screw anyone who can’t get out of your path in time and they pay for your treatment?”
“It’s a disease, Bertie, I can’t help myself.”
Silence fell on the room, then Bertie said, “Get out. GET OUT, GET OUT.”
The same intern stuck his head into the room, looking frightened now. He insisted on giving her a shot to put her to sleep and Bertie nodded off before she could think too much about Shawn being a sex addict and screwing for information. She’d honestly never thought he was that good.
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
Kate woke the next morning, tended to her chores at the kennels, giving all the dogs an extrapat in celebration of Bertie’s recovery, and went then to Bertie’s apartment to get her mail and check her phone for messages before going to the hospital. Gene was covering the desk at the kennel and sent his best wishes along with Kate to give to Bertie.
There were a few bills that Kate left behind (who needs bills when you’re in the hospital?), some get-well cards, and a phone message that widened Kate’s eyes in surprise.
At the hospital, she said hello to the nurses and doctors and whoever else she passed on this beautiful day and made her way to Bertie’s room, where there was a strange noise coming through the door.
Kate looked in and saw Bertie, her head bandage askew, laughing – no howling—like a fool.
“What on earth? What happened, Bertie? What’s so funny?”
Bertie was gasping for air in between whoops of laughter, but calmed down enough to sputter,
“It’s all so awful, it’s just terrible. I gotta laugh, what else can I do?” Car accidents, murders, crime scenes, reporters were known for making bad jokes and laughing – it kept the ghosts away. This was one of those times.
Bertie told Kate about her twin catastrophes of the day before, and started laughing again when she got to the part about Shawn. Kate was appalled at his behavior.
“But it explains so much, Kate. My ass isn’t fat, or no fatter than it has been for a long time, Shawn wouldn’t leave Duffy’s to be with me because he was going to screw the barmaid. And he’d tense up every time I’d ask him where he got his information. I thought I was a bad reporter because I couldn’t ‘develop’ sources like he did. I feel a lot better knowing, really, I do.”
“This explains why Madison hates him so much, too,” Kate said. “He thinks you’re serious about Shawn, and he’s so afraid you’re going to get hurt. I think he likes you, Bertie. And he saved your life. He made me promise to call him every 15 minutes the night you were brought in while he was still at the crime scene. You have to let him know that you’re not pining for Shawn and his roving penis.”
“And I have some good news about your job situation. There was a message on your phone at home. Nancy Grace heard about what happened and she wants to hire you. Nancy Grace!”
“Nancy Grace?” Bertie started howling with laughter again. “NANCY GRACE?”
The young intern stuck his head around the door and mimed giving her another shot and Bertie calmed down again.
“I’m not going to work for Nancy Grace,” she said, “but I am going to call Madison and ask him to dinner.
“Then, I’m going to apply for unemployment and I’m going to write a book about what happened. I even know what I’m going to call it.”
“What?” Katie asked.
“I’m going to call it ‘Trashy Chic’”
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