Over. (This. Is. Not. Over. #2)

by Dianne, Shannon

  My necklace with the earth pendant. It must have fallen off in the limo because I remember having it on when I got on the flight from New York. In the midst of all the commotion, I didn’t even realize that I wasn’t wearing it. Damn … I almost lost this. I’ve had this necklace since high school. When I shower, give a speech, go to work, attend meetings, head to a bar … I’m wearing this necklace. I wear it every day like Jasmine wears her pearls. That’s a running joke between us two: Jasmines loves her pearls, Danielle loves her worlds. Goodness, Malcolm gave me this earth pendant when I was sixteen years old. I would have never been able to replace this. Never.

  “There are just some things you just can’t put a price on.” I say to Donald as I raise the necklace to him. He smiles and nods in understanding before looking around. “Hold on, let me go get my clutch.” And as I head to grab Donald’s tip, I realize that maybe, just maybe, I’d be willing to appear like a fool for Malcolm Blair. Wow, I can’t believe I just thought that.

  Damn, what’s going on with my life?

  Malcolm

  7:15 p.m.

  “Alright, are the royal houses of Blair and March all ready?” My mother says as Jim walks to the cockpit.

  “Yeah.” We all mumble as we sit together at a long table in the cabin of the plane.

  I’m tired as hell. I’ve had a long day of black coffee and head scratching. Jacob, Nat and I were prepping Rossi for an interview that he’ll have to give in light of this fire and adultery story. He needs to smooth this over and he needs to do it soon because Red is impatient. I’ve also spent part of the day sealing her divorce settlement so that the media won’t get their hands on the legitimate copies in my possession. The good thing is that Jon and Red’s divorce was amicable. They weren’t fighting each other for money or homes or support. So Jon didn’t retain his own attorney. That’s a common practice for couples who peacefully divorce; it eliminates extra attorney fees. (Of course Jon and Red’s divorce was free of charge. Something he has yet to thank me for.) The bad thing is that I fear there’s only so much adultery talk Red will be willing to take before she decides to commit another murder. I’m almost nervous to see who the next person on her list is. So the divorce papers are sealed. Private … except for two copies.

  Red and Jon have the only legitimate, unsealed copies of the divorce settlement.

  The fire story made it to the national news a few hours ago so I’ve been on the phone nonstop, trying to sweet talk producers, hoping they’ll keep Red’s name out of their journalists’ mouths. So far, the national news mentioned her as my current girlfriend and that’s it. But there are some producers who care more about ratings than money, so I’m preparing for Red’s marriage to come up anytime soon. But it’s okay, I’ve got that covered when the time comes. I also have a connect at Fox News who is planning to help me out with this fire story, I’m shooting her an email before we take off.

  So what’s everyone else doing? Ralphie (Winnie and Jacob’s son), and Evan (Nat and Dena’s son), are both three years old and are currently slamming each other against the plane’s walls. They’re finding this game hilarious. Nat and Jacob are checking their emails, tying up some loose ends with Rossi’s local interview that’s scheduled for tomorrow. My father is leaning back in his chair, smoking a cigar and humming Frank Sinatra’s Come Fly With Me. About a minute ago, Lola accidentally spilled her glass of champagne on Cadence. So right now, he’s drying himself off and saying ‘hell hath no fury ...’ Lola’s now watching him dry off. Dena is crying into a stack of tissues, sniffling occasionally and then crying again. Winnie has her Beats headphones on, sitting next to Jacob, singing Adele’s Someone Like You. I know this because periodically she’ll yell out: Never mind I’ll find someone like you! When Winnie does that my mother shoots her a look, which quiets her down until the chorus comes around again. Currently the chorus has come around again so my mother is holding Dena’s hand and looking at Winnie.

  “I just can’t believe Laura’s gone.” Dena cries. “I shouldn’t even be leaving,” she hiccups, “not until we find her. I mean, heaven forbid, what if she’s dead?”

  “Never mind I’ll find someone like you!” Winnie screams out.

  As far as Red goes, I’ve been texting her all day and this is how it’s going:

  Me 3:30 pm: Can you answer your phone please?

  Red 3:30 pm: No, fuck you.

  So that’s pretty much what we’re all up to.

  “Malcolm.” Nat says as the plane begins to move along the tarmac. I look up and he nods. He’s found Laura.

  “Where?” I ask.

  “Vacation.” She’s on her way to Hilton Head.

  “Flying?”

  “Yep.” His airport connect just notified him. “Twenty-eighty.” That means she’ll be landing at 8:20.

  “Good job.”

  Laura’s coming to Hilton Head. But I was expecting that.

  Danielle

  8:30 p.m.

  “Welcome to Oyster Bar, wait a minute, I remember that hair. You were here this summer.”

  “I was.”

  “Well welcome back. Whatcha drinking darlin’?”

  “Scotch please.”

  “Here alone?”

  “No, I just needed a moment to myself. I’m expecting three other ladies here in about an hour.”

  “Wait … aren’t you that girl on the news? Look up there on CNN, that’s you right?”

  “Oh shit.”

  Laura

  9:20 p.m.

  To Do List:

  Find $250,000.

  Catch a flight to Hilton Head.

  Meet with Danielle.

  Publish a book.

  Receive my book advance.

  Mani-Pedi.

  Dear Danielle,

  Well it seems as though you’ve gotten yourself in quite a pickle haven’t you! Red Rouge: The Adulterer. How embarrassing. Yet, it’s not as embarrassing as being called a mistress. Now that shit is embarrassing. Did I expect to be called that once I anonymously notified The Boston Globe about the deed and your marital status this past summer? No. (By the way, Nat told Dena that you were still married, that’s how I knew.) Unfortunately, it appears, the captain went down with the ship. Fucking reporters, I swear they have no loyalty. I give them a good story, they bitch slap me with it. Just tell me how I’m supposed to show my face in North Boston’s Junior League meetings now! The answer is, I don’t.

  Danielle, I’m getting pissed off here. I really want us to have a peaceful working relationship but I’m getting royally pissed off. You better give me an awesome book advance.

  But in other news, guess where I am. Hilton Head. I’m actually right across the street from Oyster Bar. I can see you at the bar right now, looking up at the TV screens, wearing those high heel boots. I think I have had those boots, very sexy. I won’t lie, you’re a knockout Danielle. Cream silk blouse, dark tight jeans, sexy boots, nothing pink on … good for you. Effortlessly sexy. The fact that you’re a natural redhead just tops off the entire outfit. Love the bun by the way, it’s so Wilma Flintstone. In fact, there’s been a blond guy, right in the corner of the bar, right near the window, that’s been staring at you since you walked in. He looks like the All-American type, probably played polo in college, I can see the blue Ralph Lauren polo horse in the corner of his shirt. But surely you’ll want nothing to do with him, he’s a good guy and as we all know, you don’t like good guys. You like Blairs. And, take it from someone who’s fucked two of them, Blair boys are not good guys. Yes, Cadence, Malcolm and Jacob (from what Winnie brags) have dicks like warriors. And yes they like to have a chuckle or two. But, like my grandmother says, don’t let cocks and cackle fool you, every man is full of ca-ca.

  But I digress. Did you know that you can get through airport security with no ID? That is, if you’re Laura Rossi you can. All it took was one look at me and TSA ordered one of those carts and drove me to my gate. Pretty soon, you’ll be getting those kind of perks. Is that why you
stole Malcolm from me, because you didn’t feel like walking to your departure gate? Or was it something else?

  Oh yeah, almost forgot about this. I have a new name for Friend. From now on, Friend will be called My Agent. More appropriate don’t you think? I met with My Agent this morning and we really didn’t say much to each other. They seemed to be in a really sour mood, so there isn’t really much to report. And true to their word, My Agent flew me to Hilton Head and put me up in a hotel on the resort, per our agreement.

  After we met at Starbucks, we went to a bank notary and signed a cease and desist contract regarding the picture, I was given $250,000 and then I handed over a copy of the picture. Well you didn’t think I’d give My Agent the actual picture do you? Come on, you know me better than that. I still have part two of my plan that My Agent needs to set up for me. Then, and only then, will I put this picture away for safe keeping.

  Speaking of My Agent, I actually just met them right here, about 45 minutes before you walked your sexy ass into Oyster Bar. Hi there! I’m right across the street at Italiano’s. Anyways, back to My Agent, here’s how the conversation went:

  “Like my new wig?” I said as I ran my fingers through the brunette waves I just recently acquired.

  “Why did you want to meet me in public?”

  “I like to live on the edge.” I took a sip of my Shirley Temple.

  “Listen, I’ve done what you’ve wanted me to do. I got you here and I’m putting you up in a hotel on the resort. I’ve given you a quarter of a million dollars and now my part is over.” My Agent tried to get up.

  “Yoo-hoo,” I said to stop them from walking away, “Have you forgotten that you’re supposed to arrange a meeting with Danielle and me, privately, apart from all others? But I don’t want you to tell her that I’ll be there. I just want you to ask her to meet you somewhere and then I’ll just show up.” My Agent sat back down.

  “That’s going to be impossible. Everyone’s here now, there’s no way I can get her alone. Remember, this is supposed to be a trip where we all hang out together and get to know each other, not a trip where we all walk along the beach alone.”

  “You’ll find a way.” I shrugged.

  “I don’t get it!” My Agent hissed. “Just put the book by the front door and walk away!”

  “Nope. See, while riding in the airport cart with TSA, I came up with a really good plan. I’ve decided that Danielle must give me an answer right on the spot. The fate of the family will rest in her hands. Did I say that part dramatic enough? I was working on that while in the cart. I wonder how she’ll handle the pressure! If she says yes, she’ll immediately have to wire the funds into a brand new account that I’ve opened without Malcolm’s help, thank you very much. I’m sure Malcolm will just pay her back the cash, so it’ll be no big deal for her. But, if she says no, I’ll be immediately setting up an interview with a reporter from The Globe. I figure the exposure will have publishers beating down my door!

  “Oh don’t you look at me like that. Just stop it! See, if I let Danielle read what’s in my diary, Malcolm will have time to bullshit the truth, and ‘prove’ to a judge that I’m mentally unstable and a harm to myself and others. You’ll tell him all about the money you gave me, he’ll mention to a judge that I bribed you, extorted money from you –by the way, I plan on calling the money you gave me a gift on my tax returns, I’m fine if you mark it as a charitable donation– he’ll find a way to stop my freedom of speech and press. He’ll pay off the fire commissioner and his home insurance to make it seem as though I accidentally started that fire. That would prove that I’m unfit to live alone. Or he’ll imply that I burned his house down in malice and that I’m publishing this diary to assassinate his character. He’ll bring up my past, have everyone testify against me, even my own father. The judge will put a temporary hold on the publication of my diary until he investigates the truth. And, if I live to see what the judge says, I’ll already be confined to a loony bin by my psychiatrist, whom Malcolm would have already bribed, blackmailed and paid off. Whew, that was a lot, I think I worked up a sweat.” I took another sip of my Shirley Temple while My Agent looked at me like I was deranged. “Disturbed.” I reminded them.

  “Yeah, no kidding.”

  “See, if you want to be a book agent, you have to think about these things. This is why Danielle owns her own agency, she’s smart. She would have already figured that whole thing out.” I really meant that Danielle, I really do think highly of you. (When you aren’t wearing pink. Please stop wearing pink, it neither suits your hair nor your personality. That pink cashmere sweater just makes me so angry. So, from now on, if I see you in pink, I’ll know you’re just doing it to get under my skin.)

  “Listen, to me Laura, really listen to me. Everyone is here now and is currently trying to figure out a time to meet up. They’re already trying to plan activities. There won’t be any time for her to talk to you privately. Not here.”

  “You’ll find a way. Just think about that picture every time you feel discouraged.”

  “Why do I have to be involved in this any further? Why? Why can’t you just approach Danielle on your own?”

  “I need her apart from the others! What don’t you understand? You’re to act like you want to meet up with her somewhere privately and that’s when I show up instead.”

  “No, I’m not doing that.”

  “What’s the big deal? I just want to talk to her.”

  “I don’t know what you’re liable to do when you get Danielle alone. I could be setting her up to be killed for all I know.”

  “What’s more important? That picture or Danielle’s life?” My Agent leaned into the table, very seriously and looked me square in the eyes.

  “You’re insane.” Then My Agent immediately sat back and gave me a sad grin and a nod. It wasn’t a grin where they appeared ashamed for calling me insane or even thought that I may be humiliated by their findings. No, it was done more like a doctor would do it: done in a way that they wanted to give me enough support so that I could come to terms with their diagnosis.

  “If you think that I came all the way down here to leave my book on Danielle’s doorstep, then you’re insane too.”

  “Oh really? You think that out of the two of us, someone would find me crazier? You’re the crazier one, trust me.” My Agent said as they stood up.

  “This isn’t a contest!” I yelled.

  “Too bad, because if it was, your ass would take home the gold.” And that statement made me think about my gymnastics trophies that Malcolm burnt alive. So, if you see the watermarks on this page, that’s the reason why.

  “We’ll meet at Oyster Bar, tomorrow at 3.” I said as I began wiping the tears from my face.

  “You have become the biggest damn headache of my life.” They said before they walked away.

  Anyways, there you have it. Now remember, I’m working off memory here so the conversation happened more or less that way, give or take a few sentences, or maybe complete paragraphs. I don’t know, I’m a little scattered right now. When I ran out of the house, I seemed to have remembered my diary but guess what I forgot.

  My pills.

  Uh-oh.

  Respectfully Yours (when you’re not wearing pink),

  Laura

  Malcolm

  9:30 p.m.

  “Sir, I–”

  “Malcolm, I want to make this sweet and to the point.”

  “Yes, sir.” I say and then shut my mouth.

  Right now, I’m sitting in a rental truck outside of Oyster Bar, waiting to walk in and pull Red aside to speak with her privately. CNN was the first national news outlet to report the adultery story, about an hour ago. I had to go looking for Red to plead my case. I see that she’s at the bar with her mother, Jasmine and Rena. Before I walk in, I thought I’d call and talk to Attorney Rouge first, I’m sure he’s not thrilled about the news of his daughter being an adulterer. The conversation isn’t exactly going as planned; I’m trying to get a w
ord in without being interrupted. Understandably, he’s not in the mood for any sob story that I’ve rehearsed with Jacob. I know when to keep my mouth closed and when to spew bullshit from it. Tonight, while on the phone with Attorney Rouge, I’ll be shutting the hell up.

  “I have one child.”

  “Yes sir, I–”

  “One.”

  “I understand.”

  “She’s done everything a parent could ask of a child. She’s received her bachelor’s, her master’s, owns her own business, takes care of her only child and attends Mass every Sunday. In my mind, she’s perfect.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “So, when I hear the news calling her an adulterer, that makes me angry.”

  “I–”

  “And what makes me even angrier is that you were the one who met her here last summer, you were the one who drew up her divorce decree and you were the one who had them served. So why does the news know nothing about that?”

  “Because I’ve just sealed those documents, sir.”

  “You’ve sealed those documents.”

  “Yes, sir. I have a plan in action, as we speak. The divorce documents are the first step.”

  “And everything else?”

  “I’ve been working around the clock, making calls–”

  “I don’t care about calls, I care about action. What actionable steps have you taken to clear my daughter’s name?”

  “I’ve contacted a connect of mine at Fox News. I came to your home as soon as I landed to talk to you and your wife and possibly Red. I heard the guys in the house but no one answered the door.”

  “Yes, we were ignoring you.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. Now how long will these actionable steps of yours take?”

  “A matter of weeks, sir.”