by Kim Boykin
The doorbell seemed louder than church bells. Marsha finally appeared from the dining room with a glass of wine, sauntering toward the back door until I gave her a look. She finally opened up, and I darted inside.
“I see you’re dressing yourself again,” Marsha quipped. Marsha quips a lot when she’s had a few glasses of wine, but I was in no mood for it.
“Close the curtains.” Both her house and mine had huge beautiful views of the lake.
“What’s wrong with you? You know the drapes are side panels. They’re just for show. Do you want a glass of wine?”
I hurried into the kitchen, which was probably the safest place to hide given it had plantation shutters and drapes that really closed, but I had no intention of getting anywhere near the windows. “Please Marsha, it’s the press. Go see for yourself.”
She walked into her living room and came hurrying back. “Oh my god, they have all their antenna thingies sticking up, and there’s a horde of people trampling your lawn.”
“It’s not my lawn I’m worried about.” I grabbed a glass and gave myself an extremely generous pour. “There are photos of me and Jake all over the news. I don’t know how they got them but they did.” The doorbell rang. “Tell Mike not to answer it.”
“Mike just left for the airport an hour ago, but honestly, how bad can the pictures be?” Marsha scrolled through the stories. “There’s nothing suggestive—Oh. My. God.”
Then I remembered being bored one day when Jake was out at the pool. I’d been curious as to what he was writing, but I figured he’d show it to me when he was ready. It wasn’t like he hid his writing from me, so I read it, over and over again. I’d even photographed certain parts, downloaded them to my iPad, and now they were all over the news.
“What am I going to do?”
Marsha’s lips were moving as she read one of the entries. “Honey, this is so freaking hot. Oh. My. God.”
Marsha’s house phone rang. I was jacked up on paranoia, praying the wine would take me down a few notches. “Don’t answer that.”
“It’s probably Mike,” Marsha said looking at the caller ID. “No, it’s a New York number.” She answered the phone. “Jake? She’s okay, she’s with me.”
I grabbed the phone. “Jake? I tried your cellphone, but it went straight to voicemail. Are you okay?”
“Yes, my phone’s dead. How did they get pictures?”
“I’m sorry. One of the hotel maids found your iPad and sold the pictures to TMZ. It’s my fault, I should have made sure I had it before I left for the hospital, but I was out of my mind when you got hurt.”
“It’s not your fault, Jake, but I don’t know what to do.”
“You did the smart thing. Got out of the house. I want to be with you, but Erin said it would only make things worse.”
“She saw the pictures too?”
“The whole world has. Penguin’s collaborating with an outside contractor to salvage your brand.” I could hear the tightness in his voice.
“It’s Lou, isn’t it?”
“Yes. And as much as you hate her, she’s the best person you can have on your team right now.”
“And you’re with her now?” There was a long pause.
“No. But I’m on my way to Atlanta.”
“No. Jake.”
“Tara, listen to me. I need to fix this, but Erin’s not going to let me anywhere near it.”
“That woman wants you.”
“Lou’s hypercompetitive. She was just trying to make you jealous.”
“Well, she did a damn good job.”
“Before I left Charlotte, you asked me to trust you, and I do. Now I’m asking you to do the same.”
“It’s not you I distrust.”
“Tara, I’ve seen how important your career is to you, how much you love it, and if our being together takes that away from you—”
“I don’t care.”
“Maybe not now, but later, I think you would. And I don’t want anything to come between us, not Lou, not Jim, and not this.”
Total silence. “Honey,” Marsha whispered, “he can’t hear you when you nod.”
“I love you, Jake.”
“And you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Stay at Marsha’s tonight and then go to the hospital like you’d planned tomorrow. Don’t drive your car, take hers. I already notified the hospital so they can be prepared for the media onslaught. Jim’s in a private room, so you should be fine. Don’t talk to anybody except for me and Erin. Got that?”
“What about Marsha?”
“Okay. Yeah, you can talk to Marsha.” Jake laughed, but I wasn’t laughing. “Just trust me, Tara, everything’s going to be fine. We’re going to be together soon. I promise.”
“If she lays a hand on you—”
“We’re pulling away from the gate, they’re making me turn my phone off. I love you. Bye.”
The doorbell rang and Marsha decided it was best to answer it and play dumb about my whereabouts. She deserved an academy award for her performance when the reporters barked questions at her, the most frequent of which was, did she know where I was. She offered them a glass of wine and I almost peed my pants when she said they could wait inside her house. Of course every single one of them declined and slithered back over to my yard to ambush me.
Jake got to Lou’s fancy Peachtree Street apartment just after midnight. It had been a long time, but he knew his way around her place.
“You didn’t bring any clothes, how delightful,” she said. She was dressed for bed in some sort of thin lingerie, but Jake wasn’t having any of it. “Oh, yes, I remember, you like to sleep in the raw too.”
“Okay. I’m only going to say this once. Cut the Mrs. Robinson shit. I’m here for Tara. I love her. That’s it.”
“But you need me.”
“For this, yes, but only for this.”
“I bet she loves that you’re here with me now, or doesn’t she know?”
“She knows,” Jake said. Although Tara didn’t know he was staying at Lou’s tonight.
“And does she know we might have to work through the night?”
“Let me put it this way. You’re going to get a lot of money from Penguin because I screwed up, but that’s all you’ll get. I’m here to help make things right for Tara. End of story.”
Lou could attempt to toy with him all she wanted, but in the end Jake knew that for her, it was all about the money. “All right then, Jake. Let’s get started.”
They plowed through the news stories first to know what they were dealing with. The photos of the notebook pages were the most salacious. The media were comparing Tara to James Frey who got in trouble for lying to Oprah about the book he’d written, only Tara had deceived the entire married public.
“You went to work fast, Jake,” Lou said, sifting through the date stamps on the photos.
“I didn’t take the job to get in her pants, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, it’s obvious she loves you, which explains the unprofessional display the last time I saw her.”
“You knew what you were doing.”
“Yes, Jake, but the most interesting thing that is you knew what I was doing too, and you didn’t stop me.”
Had he purposefully baited Tara, with Lou? He didn’t think he had, but he knew she was jealous from the minute he introduced the two of them.
“I’ll conference with Erin and Sylvia first thing tomorrow, while you play the part of the invisible man. I’m thinking we put together the biggest interview we can get, shoot for Barbara Walters and settle for Matt Lauer. I know I can get People to do a story. Whatever they do, Us will do too. But none of this will happen in Charlotte. She’ll have to go back to New York. Alone.”
“She won’t do that.”
“She will, if she wants her career to survive this mess. She’s filed for divorce, she needs to get the hell out of Charlotte and get her ass to New York to explain to America what happened and beg their forgiveness.
”
“She won’t do that. She promised her husband she’d help him through his recuperation, and that’s what she’s going to do.”
“But why? He dumped her and made her fair game for you.”
“Trust me, I don’t want her with him anymore than you do, but Tara believes it’s the right thing to do.”
“Oh, she’ll go to New York, all right, if I have to drag her, and without her hottie boyfriend by her side.”
“Tara’s as sick of hiding our relationship as I am. Besides, she’s good on camera, even with all the bad press, I know she can turn this around.”
“You’re delusional, Jake, or at best, you’re too close to this to make any rational decisions. All the press has to do is put your picture beside her sickly husband’s and you’ll have everyone in America who doesn’t already hate her on the wrong side of this.”
“If this is what you want Tara to do, you can have Erin try to talk her into it. I suggest she not mention that it’s your plan, but I’m telling you Tara won’t go for it. She’s done things on everybody else’s terms her whole life, but not anymore.”
“She’s been a celebrity for five minutes and already she’s a prima donna? Not on my time. She’ll do what I tell her if she ever wants to publish again.” Lou rubbed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m going to bed. Alone apparently. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Chapter Twenty-One
‡
Jake settled into Lou’s guest room and texted Tara. Are you up? His phone buzzed a few seconds later. “I sleep like shit without you, Tara.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“God, I miss you.”
“I’m wearing your sweats. Wish I hadn’t washed them. They don’t smell like you.”
Jake laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing bad. But I do miss you, and I’m scared, Jake. The setup next door is crazy. They must think I’m still home because they haven’t budged.”
“We’re going to sort this out.”
“What did Lou say?”
Jake weeded out the snide remarks and innuendo and told her the plan.
“Won’t heading to New York be an even bigger media circus?”
“I can promise you that.”
“And you think this is the only way to salvage my career?”
Jake was quiet for a beat. “The way things stand, yes.”
Apparently not much of the media thought I would show up at Charlotte Medical Center the next morning, and I was grateful for that. The dozen or so reporters who were there shouted questions while texting the rest of the sharks my whereabouts. The hospital was prepared with extra security to keep them off of Jim’s floor. He was still in the cardio care unit and was watching the news when I arrived.
“Hi,” he said turning off the TV. “You came back.”
“I said I would, so I’m here.”
“I’m sorry about all of this,” he motioned to the TV.
“Yeah, me too.”
“I heard them on the news talking about you like you were some kind of snake oil salesman.”
I shrugged. Maybe I was. Maybe everything was over, my marriage, my very brief writing career. But Jake and I had each other. “Your color looks good. How are you feeling?”
“Better than I thought I would. I can breathe easier. The doctor claimed the surgery was minimally invasive, but I’m sore and getting out of bed that first time was a bitch.” He pulled his gown down to show me the small incision on his chest. “At least I won’t have one of those huge scars like my dad did.”
It was odd talking like this. It felt more like I was talking to a long-time friend rather than my husband.
“I saw the doctor at the nurses’ station. He said your prognosis is good, you should be home in a couple of days. He expects your recuperation to go fast.”
“And you’ll be there for me?” I nodded and he looked away. “You could have let me die, but—”
I shook my head. “I didn’t save you, Jim. Jake did.”
He didn’t say anything for a long-time. The fluid in his IV bag ran low, setting the alarm off. The nurse came in and changed it, checked his vitals, and then left us alone again.
“Those things you wrote about in your book, did we ever have any of that?”
“Some, in the beginning, but I was so young, Jim. I let you shape me into the person you wanted me to be. By the time I wrote the book, I wanted those things so badly, writing them down made them seem real.”
“And you never felt you could be yourself with me or tell me what you wanted? Jesus, Tara, I’m sorry.” He shifted in the bed to face me. “I’m sorry I let my ego get the best of me, but most of all, I’m sorry I didn’t stay and fight for you.”
“I’m not blaming you for our marriage ending. It’s just that somewhere along the way I lost sight of who I am. Your leaving was the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but it was also the best thing.”
“Because of him.”
I watched the blood pressure numbers on the monitor rise. “Because it forced me to throw myself into the dream I’d always wanted. It forced me to grow.”
“When I left, I did it to hurt you, to annihilate you. But I was wrong.” He noticed I was looking at the monitor and took several deep breaths. The numbers came down, closer to normal. “You love him, don’t you.” I wouldn’t answer. “It’s okay, Tara, you can just say it.”
“Yes, I love Jake.”
“I have to admit that when you agreed to see me through the surgery, I thought that maybe—” His voice trailed off. “But this is my fault. Things started to go wrong when I let you think you couldn’t have kids. I knew how much you wanted a baby, and I was so afraid if I told you the truth, you’d leave me. Every day the lie got a little easier to swallow until it seemed real.
“Then the book came out. At first I didn’t read it because I knew we didn’t have the perfect marriage, nobody does, but I also knew ours was based on a lie.” Jim watched his hand run along the bed railing. “I’m sorry for everything, so sorry. I don’t want to hurt you anymore, Tara, and I don’t want to—”
There was a long silence. “You don’t want to what?” I said softly.
“Let you go.”
“Jim, I told you I’d stay until you’ve recovered, and I will.”
He shook his head. “I asked the hospital liaison to recommend a good home care nurse for me. I had Mike wire your half of the money I took into the new account Marsha set up for you. I know I made a mess out of things and I’m sorry. Go take care of things on your end. I’ll close out the house and send your stuff wherever you want.”
“Thank you.”
“You can take Lilly with you. She always was your dog more than she was mine.”
“Jim, Lilly passed away months ago.”
“I’m sorry, honey—” He reached for my hand and I surprised myself by taking it. “She was a good dog.
“I’ll always love you, Tara. I hope you know that.” I started to cry, and Jim pulled me into him. “But I want you to be happy.”
Jake got to the Charlotte Medical Center just as the news trucks were setting up. He parked illegally on the doctors’ level of the parking garage and went into the hospital without anyone recognizing him. He asked one of the nurses what floor the cardio care unit was on and then texted Tara he was on his way. She’d texted him back saying she couldn’t wait to see him.
He still hated the idea of Tara waiting on that bastard hand and foot while he recovered from surgery. Jake didn’t understand why it was important to Tara, especially after everything Jim had done to her. But he respected her decision and tried to keep his bitching to himself.
He walked down the hall on the seventh floor like he knew where he was going, glancing in each room with an open door. And then he saw her, holding the old guy’s hand. She was crying. She kissed Jim on the forehead, and in that moment, Jake was sure he had lost her.
She came out o
f the room swiping at her tears and stopped when she saw Jake. Her chin was quivering, living up to her claim that she doesn’t cry pretty. She fell into his arms like she’d just finished a marathon. Jake didn’t know what any of this meant, but he was never letting go.
One of the nurses caught Jake’s attention and nodded toward an empty room. He sat down in the recliner, pulled her onto his lap and let her cry. A box of cheap hospital tissues later, she was better.
He stroked her back. God, he loved everything about this woman. He even loved the way she cried. “You okay?”
“I am now.”
“What happened, Tara?”
She pulled away just enough to look into his eyes. “You know the last chapter in a romance? When the girl gets her guy, and you just know—you just know their life together is going to be wonderful?” He pushed her hair away from her face and smiled. “I’ve written a lot of those happy endings, Jake. Twenty-six, and now I get to write my own.”
Five Months Later
‡
“Good evening, I’m Barbara Walters, and we’re here to take a look at eight of the most fascinating people of this year.
“Recently, British writer E.L. James shattered book sale records with her Fifty Shades of Grey series and nobody thought her accomplishments could be equaled. But not so fast. A Charlotte, North Carolina housewife named Tara Jordan wrote a little book called Thirty Days To The Perfect Marriage, and it has taken the publishing world by storm. Her nonfiction title was at the top of bestseller lists all over the world and four of her twenty-six romance novels that followed hit the big time on those coveted lists as well. But that’s not what makes Tara so interesting.
“While her dreams were coming true, her personal life was falling apart. Before the royalties started pouring in, her husband of fifteen years left her with a staggering debt and no money; she had no choice but to promote the already successful book.”
Jake had prepared me well for the interview. I tried to look relaxed, being on the View a few months ago was surreal enough, but now this?
“Tara, you were a housewife, you lived in a little lakefront community in Charlotte, you wrote, played a little tennis, and then your book hit the lottery and did so well, your publisher put out—twenty-six of your romance novels? You’re a prolific little thing. Tell me what it was like to finally grab that brass ring.”