by Hannah Ford
He tried to smile. “I do have contact with her. Mostly because my brother is still so close to her.”
“When do you see your family?”
He sighed. “Holidays, mostly. But we definitely talk frequently—a little too frequently for my tastes. She calls me probably once a month.”
“Did you ever ask her why she did those things to you?”
“Are you kidding me?” he chuckled bitterly. “You definitely haven’t met my mother, if you’re even asking that question.”
“I don’t think I could stomach meeting her.”
His eyes locked onto hers and he simply let her see him. His eyes were sad, she realized. He was a sad person in many ways, underneath it all. And she loved him for his sadness and darkness and complexity—and for his humor too. Red Jameson, underneath all the layers of glitz and glamor, under the control issues and anger problems and the fear around trusting women—was a sweet soul.
Nicole thought to herself that everything he’d built up—all of the businesses and celebrity and riches, and his public persona—were merely protection for the sensitive man that still existed in the center of it all.
“You’re a good man,” she told him, and stroked his cheek.
He smiled and she could tell her was a little choked up. “Nobody’s ever told me that before,” he whispered.
“But it’s true. I’m not just saying that.”
He smiled at her. “Thank you, my angel. Thank you.”
***
The next day, they drove into work together and he actually walked Nicole to her desk, kissing her in front of the entire office. Normally, Nicole would have been too embarrassed, but after the pitying looks most of her co-workers had bestowed on her when they thought she’d been dumped, it was sweet revenge.
She worked happily through the morning.
Red had a meeting during lunch hour and Nicole was sick and tired of always spending the entire day in the Jameson International building. Instead, she decided to go to lunch at a Café Metro, nearby.
She was practically skipping on her way to the cafe. She had a huge smile on her face the entire time—her cheeks practically hurt from grinning so often. It felt as though everything in her life was finally coming together. She and Red were back and stronger than ever, work was rewarding and she was actually being paid for her effort, Danielle didn’t hate her anymore.
Of course, Danielle might hate her again when Nicole explained that she’d gotten back together with Red. Danielle would spell out all the reasons why it was a mistake, yada yada yada.
Entering Café Metro, Nicole was busy studying the menu and trying to decide what she might want, when a person also in line kept getting closer and closer to her. She stepped away to get some space, but the tall, thin man stepped closer again.
She glared at him with some annoyance. What was this guy’s problem? Was he trying to hit on her or something?
He was nearly bald, and the hair he did possess was salt and pepper and thin. He wore thick-rimmed glasses and a beige suit with a red tie. He looked like one of those nerdy economists who would go on all the talk shows and bore you to death lecturing about the debt crisis.
When she gave him a dirty look, he turned and smiled brightly at her. “Hello, Nicole.”
Her blood suddenly ran ice cold. That voice. She knew that voice.
He turned fully towards her now. “What, aren’t you even going to say hi?” he asked.
“You’re that weirdo. Anderson, the one who won’t leave me alone.”
“That’s me,” he said happily.
“Leave me alone or I’ll scream,” she told him.
“Now, why on earth would you do that?” he asked, looking puzzled. “I’ve never threatened you, I’ve never hurt you and I’ve certainly never lied to you.”
“I don’t care. Go away.”
He shook his head. “Nicole, I’m one of the few people actually trying to help you.”
She laughed derisively at his. “I’m not an idiot.”
“If you’re smart, you’ll listen to me.”
“Well, who are you?” she said. “I don’t trust people who won’t tell me their real names. How did you get my number? Do you work for The Rag or something?”
“Come, let’s sit together for a moment.”
She folded her arms and shook her head. “No way.”
“We’re in a public place. I’m not going to hurt you, I’m an old man and you could probably beat me up.”
“Definitely,” she said, without humor.
“Then what are you so afraid of?” he asked. “The truth?”
She laughed at that. “Hardly.”
“Then come sit for a few minutes. I have something to show you.” He walked without looking back at her. Confidently, he sat down in the corner, knowing that she’d follow him.
And she did follow him, because part of her couldn’t help but want to know what he had to say that was so important, even as she dreaded it.
Nicole sat opposite him.
He was carrying a small brown satchel, which he placed delicately near his feet. She saw that his brown shoes were clean, new, and polished to a bright and shining surface.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” he told her.
“Somehow I doubt that.”
“This sort of thing gives me no pleasure.”
“Then why do you do it?”
He sighed. “I don’t like seeing powerful men take advantage of naïve, young women.”
She folded her arms again, as if trying to protect herself from his negative words. “That’s not what’s happening.”
“Isn’t it though?” He cocked his head at her.
“No.”
“Did I lie to you about his being engaged twice previously?”
Nicole licked her lips. For the first time since he’d begun talking to her, she was feeling uncertain. It was true. The things he’d said about Red Jameson had turned out to be accurate. “Just because you told the truth once, doesn’t mean you won’t lie to me now.”
Anderson grinned. “Smart girl.”
“Smarter than you think.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, and she thought she sensed some anxiety on his part now. “The smarter you are, the better the chance that I can get through to you.”
“Say what it is you have to say, or I’m leaving.”
He sighed. “I really hate this part.”
“No you don’t.”
Anderson smiled again, wider this time. “Maybe not as much as I pretend. Nonetheless, I’m going to put my cards on the table, Nicole. Red Jameson is playing you for a fool. This is all part of a marketing campaign that he and his staff concocted months ago.”
Nicole’s insides shriveled and twisted at his words. Instinctively, she thought he was lying. “I don’t believe you.”
“Oh, but I have proof.” He dipped down into his little satchel and produced a few pieces of paper, handed them to her across the table.
Her nose wrinkled in distaste. She didn’t even want to touch anything this man had handled, but she needed to see his so-called evidence.
The papers contained what looked like email printouts. The email addresses were clearly from the Jameson International email server. Red’s email address was in there, as was Talia Ferring, from the marketing department.
Talia—wasn’t that the woman who had called Nicole a hobo that one day outside of Red’s office? Nicole thought. Quickly, Nicole scanned the email chain, and her eyes widened with shock at what she was reading.
Red’s first email was like a knife through her heart. It said:
T,
We need to do something different with my image. I’m tired of always being discussed in the media as if I’m some modern Don Juan, running around trying to get rich and famous women out of their Oscar de la Renta gowns and into my bed. And beyond that, I want to take the Jameson brand itself in a new direction. But I need help. I need you to come up with something new for
me. I’m tired of doing the same old photo shoots and the same old interviews where I smoke cigars and drink scotch and take these writers out in my car and drive fast through the streets of New York.
Ideas?
-Red
The response from Talia was simple.
Maybe you should go out and find the most average girl in all of the country and start dating her? The public and the paparazzi would love it.
-T
Red’s response was positively jubilant.
That’s an incredible idea, Talia. You’re a genius. It reminds me of Rocky, when Apollo Creed randomly picks the Italian Stallion as his next fight because he wants to give an everyman a chance to win the title on July 4th. Next steps for this to become a reality?
Talia responded yet again.
Not sure. We need to select some candidates for you. Maybe we’ll use a casting service.
Nicole couldn’t bear to read further. She folded the papers in half. “I’m keeping these,” she said, her voice hardly audible.
Anderson studied her expression. He was no longer smiling. “So you see, maybe I’m a better friend to you than you give me credit for.”
“No. You’re still an asshole.” She stood up and started to walk away.
“Everything in there is true,” he called out, but she just kept walking.
***
After reading those emails, Nicole wasn’t sure what to do. She thought of a million different things—taking her engagement ring off and handing it to a receptionist to give back to Red. Or better yet, throwing the ring down a sewer grate, quitting her job without a word, and moving home.
But then it occurred to her that if she did any of those things, she’d have learned nothing from the last two months of her life. If Red was using her, then she needed to confront him about it like an adult, not run away like a child.
She started back to the office, walking with her head held high. Just then, she heard voices. “There she is!” someone shouted.
Next thing Nicole knew, there were three or four guys taking pictures of her and asking her an incessant stream of questions as they snapped their pictures.
“Nicole, how do you feel knowing that you’re a pawn?”
“Nicole, look over here.”
“Were you in on it?”
“Did Red Jameson make you an offer you couldn’t refuse?”
“People are saying that you knew all along Red Jameson was using your relationship as a publicity stunt, Nicole.”
She didn’t answer any of their questions. She just kept walking. Confused, she called Danielle, who answered the phone immediately. “Someone just told me about it,” Danielle said in greeting.
“About what?” Nicole asked, trying to shield her face with her phone as she walked. The half dozen paparazzi followed her down the street, while others gawked at them.
“You didn’t see the article in The Rag?”
“No,” Nicole said. “Tell me what was in it.”
“Oh my god, honey. I’m so sorry.”
“Was it about Red using me for publicity?”
“Yeah. It’s long and detailed and it seems to be from an inside source, someone who knows him really well. Whoever it is must not like him very much.”
“I’m being followed by photographers as we speak,” Nicole said, trying to walk faster. She was close to the building now.
“Come back to the apartment right now. I’ll meet you there and we can figure out what’s next,” Danielle told her.
Nicole sighed. “I need to take care of this myself. But thanks for being there for me,” she said.
“Of course,” her friend said.
When Nicole finally made it back to the building, she ducked quickly inside the revolving doors and watched as the paparazzi continued to mill about outside, smoking and talking.
She went to the special elevators reserved for Red, but now also reserved for her. The operator smiled at her as she got in. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”
“Hi,” she said.
He smiled and nodded as if nothing at all were wrong. Nicole supposed that in his world, nothing much was wrong.
She got out and strode to the office, opening the door without bothering to knock. Red was on the phone, standing beside his desk.
“Make sure you stay on it,” he was saying—nearly shouting into the phone. “And don’t stop until you have an answer for me.” And then he saw Nicole and his eyes widened. “George, I’ve got to go.” He hung up the phone.
“Tell me the truth, right now,” she said.
“About the story in the tabloids?” he asked.
“All of it.”
“It’s nothing but lies.”
“Is it really nothing but lies? Don’t say something you’ll regret,” she warned him.
He came towards her to wrap his arms around her, and how badly she wanted his comfort right now. But instead she shook her head and stepped back.
“You can’t believe what we have is just some stunt for publicity,” he said. His face was a mask of worry.
“I need the truth from you,” Nicole said. “If you lie to me now, I promise you’ll never see me again.”
Red searched her eyes with his own. She tried to understand why he would do all of this, why would he go to such lengths to fool her? Just for an image makeover?
He turned and walked back to his desk, sat down. “There was a plan, a few months back, for me to begin a relationship with a so-called “ordinary girl.” There were some discussions about how the whole scheme would work, but it never took off.”
Nicole produced the emails and threw the papers on his desk. He picked them up and made a face as he read them silently. “God, I sound like such an asshole,” he said, finally, putting a hand up to his face.
“And now you’ve made me look like an asshole.”
“No, Nicole.”
“I was just followed by five or six photographers outside. Everyone knows. The story is all over the place,” she told him.
“It’s a coincidence, I swear.” He stood up again. “Look at the dates on these conversations. It’s from last year. We discussed it, we batted some ideas around, but it never went anywhere. When I met you, I never intended for any of this to happen, I had no agenda whatsoever.”
“What a lucky coincidence that I’m just a regular girl from upstate New York, and you just happen to be in love with me now.”
Red shook his head. “If that’s all this was, why would I even bother sitting here trying to convince you otherwise? The story’s blown. Everyone thinks this was just a big publicity stunt, so there’s no reason for me to keep you around anymore.”
“Why not? Seems like you got exactly what you wanted, Red. Attention for yourself, a new angle, something different and exciting to tantalize the media.”
Red’s expression was devastated. “I swear to you, my love for you and my proposal to you had nothing to do with that ridiculous idea. I’d actually forgotten all about it until this story broke.”
“I don’t know how I can believe you,” she said.
Red sprang from his desk and grabbed her in his arms, and even though she resisted, he pulled her in close. She could smell his scent, his cologne and aftershave. He leaned towards her as he held her. “Everyone’s going to say this is a stunt. But it’s not. You and I know it’s not.”
“I can’t believe you were planning to date someone just for publicity, Red.”
“I was a fool. But then I met you,” he whispered.
“Now we’re both fools.”
“But we’re two fools in love,” he said to her smiling. And then he kissed her.
Somehow, Nicole knew he was telling her the truth. As crazy as the whole thing was, as ridiculous and unbelievable as it might be that Red Jameson loved her—Nicole knew that he did.
They sat down together on the couch in his office. Red took off her heels and rubbed her feet. “I guess this will make telling your parents we’re still planning on getting
married even more complicated,” Red laughed.
Nicole put her face in her hands. “Oh my god. Please, don’t remind me.”
“If we can get through this, marriage is going to be a piece of cake,” he said.
“Don’t joke at a time like this.” But she smiled and curled into him, like a kitten on his lap. Red stroked her hair and told her he loved her.
They sat like that for a few minutes, Nicole marveling that she was somehow able to trust him after seeing those emails.
Suddenly, a knock on the door. Red stood up. “Come in.”
Two men walked through the door. One of them was a total stranger—a big man with a beard who looked about as friendly as Tony Soprano. The other man practically knocked the breath out of her.
Anderson. He was standing there with a nervous smile playing across his face, trying and failing to appear confident. Nicole stood up. “That’s him,” she said. “That’s the guy who gave me those emails.”
“I know,” Red told her. He turned to the Tony Soprano look alike. “Thanks for this, George. Send me a bill for your time.”
George nodded briskly. “Absolutely, Mister Jameson.” And then he left the room.
“Now it’s just the three of us,” Red said, as if he were hosting an intimate dinner party and was happy to be rid of the noisier guests.
“You didn’t have to have your goon bring me in. If you’d asked nicely, I’d have come in willingly,” Anderson said.
“Want a drink?” Red asked, strolling to the bar.
“No thank you. I’d rather you cut to the chase.”
Nicole watched Anderson and noticed he was actually sweating, and a little vein was pulsing in his throat. He was petrified right now, she realized, and felt a surge of pity for the man.
“The thing is,” Red said, “I never like to get in the way of anybody’s livelihood. You’re a tabloid journalist and I respect your right to earn a living.”
“Thank you,” Anderson replied.
“On the other hand, I really can’t allow you to hurt the woman I love.” He poured some vodka into a glass and came back to within a few feet of where Anderson stood. Physically, Red was imposing, and Anderson seemed to wither in front of him.
“I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I had information I thought she might like to know, and I told her. I’m sorry if it inconvenienced you.”