Hello, Sunshine

by Laura Dave

  “About sleeping with her husband? Not really.”

  “Well, it would make me feel better.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I started working for Julie Diaz, who is fantastic.”

  Julie was the agent I liked. And she was a perfect boss for Violet. She would grant her access to everybody.

  “She’s getting into production, and we’ve talked about my running development for her,” Violet said, beaming.

  “That’s great, but I thought you wanted to do your own show?”

  “Not so much anymore. Too many skeletons in this closet.” She pointed at herself. “I don’t want my nudes hitting the internet.”

  I smiled, trying not to let it gnaw at me—the feeling I had whenever I thought of my own photograph somewhere on the internet. Even after it had been scrubbed, it wasn’t completely scrubbed. Enterprising people would be able to get at it.

  “I really love working for her, and it was my experience with you that got me the job, so . . .”

  She smiled, grateful. It was all water under the bridge as far as she was concerned. Why wouldn’t it be? She had gone on to do better things—things she should have been doing anyway. Maybe a bigger person would have been glad to see it. And part of me was. The other part of me was sneaking into Amber’s party with the hope that I would ever again have good career news to tell anyone.

  Violet’s headset went off. She pulled the microphone to her ear. “I’ve got to jet! Duty calls.”

  “Is Julie representing Amber now?”

  “No, she’s representing a certain celebrity who’s a friend of Amber’s. I think Amber catered a bridal shower for her. She didn’t end up getting married. Though it did end up on the cover of Martha Stewart Weddings, so . . . everybody won. Anyway, the former fiancé is also stopping by. So I’m on duty in case he brings the new girlfriend, and our girl needs to make a quick exit.”

  She started walking away.

  “Let me know when you’re moving back though, all right? We should get coffee or something.”

  I nodded. “Definitely, sounds great.”

  She looked at me like she was trying to decide whether she believed me. “I mean, you’re not going to just hide out here forever? It gets creepy in the Hamptons after Labor Day. Like, I’m talking The Shining creepy.”

  I laughed. “That it does.”

  “Besides, your scandal is so over. There have been like fifteen better ones since. There was a better one this morning. A certain sexy-if-sexually-ambivalent hunk of a movie star’s male assistant just got hacked, and I have two words for you. Camping trips.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  The porch had cleared out.

  When I walked inside, everyone was turned toward the front of the vaulted living room. I actually thought they were turned toward me.

  After all, it could have been a party for me. I had eerie flashbacks, looking around the exquisitely designed room—rustic beams and a fireplace. All the usual suspects were milling around. Julie and Christopher. The food writers and journalists. It reminded me of my party at Locanda Verde. It could have been my party at Locanda Verde. Except instead of me being feted by Louis and a variety of Food Network and publishing brass, it was Amber. She was standing a little to my left, behind a rustic farm table covered with farm-fresh ingredients and cookware, wearing a Dolce & Gabbana dress.

  I quickly stepped down into the room, before she saw me, before any of them did.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Louis said, putting his hands together for quiet. “If I could please get your attention. Thank you for joining us tonight to celebrate the release of Tender Toast.”

  There were whoops and cheers from the crowd—which Amber pretended to be embarrassed by. It was all I could do to not vomit.

  “We couldn’t be more excited to be releasing Amber’s cookbook. Her recipes are not only inventive, but they reflect her rustic approach to cooking. And of course, they are pulled together by her signature ingredient. Toast. Made tenderly.” He paused while a couple of people let out cheers. “We are thrilled to welcome her into our family, and for you to welcome her into your home.”

  Amber put her hand on her chest, as though touched by this. And the crowd smiled at one another—at her humility, at her talent. It was funny being on the outside of it all. How bullshitty it seemed. After all, Louis was saying all the same things he would have been saying about me.

  “Amber is going to make us a little something, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “That’s right. I wanted to pick something both sexy and homey. Something that really exemplifies my cookbook. My ricotta and raw honey toast, if that sounds good to everybody?”

  “It sure does!” someone called out.

  Amber threw her head back, laughing.

  Then she went to work, whipping together a fresh, homemade sheep ricotta, drizzling it with raw honey.

  As she prepped, she explained what she was doing, and I could already see it. She was going to be great on television.

  “I made the buckwheat toast from scratch, of course,” she said. “As can you, if you go to page fifty-five in Tender Toast.”

  The crowd laughed.

  “I feel the buckwheat is a great platform for appreciating the salty and sweet synthesis of the toppings, but if you don’t have five hours to spare, you can also head to your local bakery and pick out any dark bread.”

  She was stunning up there. She was talking bullshit, but she was stunning all the same. And it wasn’t new to me that the look was all that mattered. I knew that better than anyone.

  “Who wants a taste?” she said.

  Everyone started to applaud as waiters in matching TENDER TOAST aprons started handing out the ricotta and honey toasts.

  “I whipped these up for you. Enjoy!”

  The crowd broke into more applause, grabbing for the waiters, eagerly having a taste.

  My curiosity got the better of me, and I reached for a triangle of toast off a tray. I took a small taste. It was delicious—creamy and light, with just the right amount of sweetness coming from the honey. It occurred to me mid-chew that I probably shouldn’t have been eating it. Raw cheese was a pregnancy no-no. But I had no idea if it was actually homemade—and, if it was, if it was homemade by Amber. For all I knew, what she made up there wasn’t what was being passed around. The ricotta was from Murray’s Cheese. The honey was from a great farm in North Carolina.

  Even if it was the case, who was going to tell on her? No one. Or maybe someone, one day. There would have to be someone she treated so badly that they were compelled to undo the mirage she had created.

  As Amber stepped toward the crowd, greeting people, I tracked Louis, heading toward the bar.

  I dropped the toast and made a beeline toward him. But I felt a hand on my arm, stopping me right before I reached him. Ryan. He looked pretty great in jeans and a relaxed button-down shirt.

  “I thought that was you,” he said. He focused in on my thickening waist. “I wasn’t sure.”

  I forced a smile, watching Louis order his drink, knowing I was about to miss my chance.

  “What are you doing here?” Ryan said.

  I turned to him reluctantly. “Night out. You?”

  “Well, these are still my people.”

  I smiled. It was such a ridiculous thing to say—such a Ryan thing to say—that I couldn’t even take him seriously. “That’s right! Violet was just saying that you’re gearing up to air. How’s it going?”

  “Great. Really great. The focus groups are just in love with Meredith. Not that Violet would ever tell you that.” He leaned in. “We had to let her go.”

  It was all I could do not to call him out. What did I expect from him, though? Honesty? What did I expect from any of these people, from a world that was built on perception? Their whole business was to make people long for a perfect meal—a perfect night, a perfect life. And then they held it, just outside of reach.

  Ryan was still talking. “We just shot the pilot u
p in Scarsdale. And we’re really doing stuff that no one is doing. It’s like this Korean fusion, but in the French tradition . . .”

  He prattled on, and I nodded, as though I cared. How had this man ever been intriguing to me? And why did he think that, after what he did, I’d want anything to do with him? Then I remembered. He wasn’t thinking about me. He hadn’t thought about me for one minute since I hadn’t done exactly what he wanted. And yet, for him—and his silly games—I had compromised my relationship.

  My cheeks turned red, and Ryan clocked it. “Are you going to cry?” he said. “Really. C’mon!”

  I was close to slapping him, right across the face, but I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Louis, a bourbon in his hands.

  “Hello, Ryan.”

  “Louis!” he said. “How are things with you?”

  Ryan put out his hand for Louis to shake, but Louis smiled instead. “Forgive me, but I’m going to steal her.”

  And without waiting for an answer, he moved us to the other end of the bar.

  “Is it fair to tell you now?” he whispered. “I hate that jackass.”

  “Thank you for the assist,” I said.

  “It seemed like you could use it.”

  He tipped his bourbon in my direction.

  “I’d offer this to you, but I’m not waiting in that drink line again.”

  “Actually, I’m not drinking tonight anyway.”

  Louis looked at me, considering. “I’ve never known you to turn down a drink. Five in the morning, five at night. Anything you want to tell me?”

  I shook my head, not answering. Louis was friends with Danny, and it occurred to me that I might not be the only one with interesting information I was withholding. How could I ask Louis, though? Have you seen my estranged husband and how does he feel about his new girlfriend? How do you think he’s going to feel about this baby?

  Louis nodded, deciding not to press. “How you holding up, kid?”

  I wanted to scream: You abandoned me, how do you think I’m doing? But I smiled. “Pretty good. You?”

  He sipped the bourbon. “About to be a lot better. Despite the hundred people here I have to say hello to.”

  I motioned toward the deck, which was steps from the beach, the Atlantic Ocean. “We could sneak outside, and you could have your drink in peace.”

  Louis smiled, a little sadly. “Afraid I can’t do that.”

  I nodded, knowing that would be his answer. Louis had forgiven me as much as he was going to forgive me. That didn’t mean he wanted anything to do with me.

  “Be well, though,” he said.

  “Wait!” I said. “I just need to tell you something . . .”

  He shook his head. “Sunny, I was trying to lend you a hand, but I really don’t want to do this.”

  “I know, but this is not about us. I mean, it’s not about me trying to get you to forgive me or anything.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I think in order for that to even be on the table, there would have to be an I’m sorry. Haven’t heard that yet.”

  “There’s something you need to know about Amber.”

  “I’m not interested,” he said.

  “Well, I am!”

  We turned to see Julie, a mostly empty champagne glass in hand, a pantsuit highlighting her figure.

  “Julie,” Louis said.

  She kissed Louis on each cheek. “Hello, sir! Congratulations.”

  Then she smiled at me.

  “This is a surprise! Well, not really, Violet texted me the second she saw you walk in.” She took a sip of her drink. “What’s the Amber gossip?”

  “There is no gossip,” Louis said.

  I shook my head, staying quiet.

  Julie looked back and forth between us, intrigued. “Let her tell you, Louis. Let her tell us.”

  Louis paused, and I knew this was the moment. I leaned in, ready to jump into my story. My initial plan had been to tell Louis what Amber had done—to turn him against her—to remind him that I wasn’t the enemy; to tell him that I was working for Chef Z, and I was trying to rectify it, trying to become what I had only before pretended to be.

  Except, with Louis waiting to listen, it seemed wrong to talk about Chef Z, wrong to say I was fixing anything, even wrong to talk about Amber. It was just a different form of pretend.

  I shrugged. “You know what? I forgot.”

  He looked over at Julie and then back at me. “I don’t follow.”

  My heart started to race, the room closing in. “I need to go,” I said.

  Which was when Amber intervened.

  “That’s certainly true!” she said loudly.

  Several people at the bar turned toward us, a few groups of people turning to look as well.

  “I want you out of my party!”

  Julie put her hand on Amber’s arm. “Darling, you should probably calm down.”

  “Get out, or I’m calling the fucking police!”

  Julie pulled back. “Or not.”

  Amber lowered her voice. “Do you know how much that skirt cost that you ruined? A lot.”

  “Do I want to know what you’re talking about?” Louis asked.

  “Sunny publicly attacked me with a plate of peaches.”

  Julie laughed. “I’m . . . uh . . .” She cleared her throat. “Sorry.”

  Amber shot her a look. Then she turned back to me. “What are you even doing here? No one invited you. And believe me, no one wants you here.”

  I turned toward Louis, my desire to take the high road disappearing with Amber’s entitled display. Now I just wanted Amber knocked down a few pegs.

  “Amber is the person who hacked me.”

  She laughed a little too loudly. “That’s ridiculous.”

  I put my hands up in surrender, no need to raise my voice or make a big deal. Telling the truth was funny that way.

  “And how do you know that?” Louis said.

  “She told me.”

  “She told you?” Julie said. “She confessed?”

  “More like gloated.”

  “I did not.”

  “So you just happened to show up at my apartment the next night?”

  She tried to pull off confused, as though trying to remember. “I think I had dinner reservations near there.”

  “Please.”

  “And even if I did go a little out of my way to revel in what happened, I still didn’t do it. I swear to you.” She turned to Louis. “I swear to you.”

  Louis looked back and forth between us, he and Julie both, like they didn’t know whom to believe.

  I met Louis’s eyes. “I don’t expect you to give me another chance. Please, though. Don’t reward her for what she did.”

  Amber shook her head. “This is insane. I’m done defending myself. No one would do this for professional reasons.”

  “How about what you think happened with your boyfriend?” I said.

  Julie leaned in. “What happened with her boyfriend?” she said.

  “Nothing!” Amber said. “Louis, would you help me out here? I have a whole party of people I should be talking to.”

  I looked at Louis apologetically. He turned to Amber and I could see it. He thought if anyone was lying, she was.

  Amber shook her head. “I don’t believe this,” she said. “I’m a feminist! I love women. Even the ones I don’t particularly like.”

  She looked at all of us, exasperated.

  “And how dumb would I have to be to show up at your apartment if I actually had done this?”

  “So you admit that wasn’t a random run-in?”

  “Yes, you caught me! I admit it. I was happy someone had finally taken you down, and I wanted to gloat. I’m only human. I can’t always be sweet Amber.”

  “When are you ever sweet, Amber?” Julie said.

  Amber shot her a look. Then she turned back toward me. “I don’t know what to tell you except that it wasn’t me,” she said.

  And the weirdest thing happened. Th
ere was a look on her face that I couldn’t deny. She didn’t look guilty. She looked like she had nothing to hide. And suddenly it was too much. It was too much looking at her, because I started to think she wasn’t lying. And if she wasn’t—if she really wasn’t behind this—then who was? Not Ryan. Not Violet. Not Amber. Not some random guy—I was sure of that too. So who?

  “I’m going to enjoy what’s left of my party,” Amber said. “But I’ll expect five thousand dollars from you. For a new skirt.”

  Julie blanched. “You paid five thousand dollars for a skirt? I guess you really want to hold on to that boyfriend.”

  Amber put up her hands in surrender. “Charlie’s not my boyfriend anymore. Can everyone stop it with that?”

  “Amber, he’s here tonight,” Louis said.

  “I know. No one will seem to let me finish.” Amber paused. “Charlie’s not my boyfriend anymore,” she said. “He’s my fiancé.”

  Then she held out her ring finger like proof.

  “We bought the ring together months ago. So there was really no need to punish you for anything. I won.”

  I held Amber’s stare, Louis falling away, Julie falling away. Everything falling away except for Amber. “What did you just say?”

  “We’re getting married. I won.”

  Which was when it hit me. Who I was married to, and who had lost. Who had really lost as I had been rising. As I had been forgetting where I’d started. Forgetting what was important.

  And all of a sudden, I knew who had hacked me. I knew who had done this.

  Standing over our bed when the first tweet came in.

  Selling our apartment out from under us.

  Forcing me to end up in this exact moment. Having lost as much as he did.

  40

  I drove the two and a half hours to New York in under two hours. It would have taken even less time than that, except I had to stop twice to eat. Once for ice cream. And once for a cheeseburger. In that order. Those people who say they can’t eat when they’re upset? I ordered an extra scoop of chocolate for those people. And then in my anger I threw it against the wall.

  And still, when I arrived at my old apartment in Tribeca, I was famished. Not so famished as to not be worried that when I knocked on the door Maggie would be there. Though if I had puzzled this together correctly, my husband certainly would.