News Blues

by Marianne Mancusi

  “I was doing undercover work for that drug cartel story Miguel told us about.”

  She looked over at me before turning back to the road. “And where’s Jamie?”

  “Hell if I care where he is. I hope he rots in this backwater town.”

  Jodi slammed on the brakes, causing me to lurch forward and bang my head on the dashboard. The dogs yelped their annoyance from the back.

  “Ow!” I protested.

  “Madeline Madison, you weren’t planning on leaving him here, were you?” she scolded.

  “What are you, my mother?” I growled, rubbing my head. Though of course, if she were my mother, she’d be too busy shopping in gay Paris to give me a lift.

  Jodi steered the SUV to the side of the road. “What’s going on, Maddy?” she asked. “Why are you mad at Jamie? I thought you guys were becoming friends.”

  I shook my head. “What can I say? He’s a jerk.” I really, really didn’t want to tell her how stupid I’d been. How I’d had an affair with a nearly married man who, this afternoon, had informed me that he would never be leaving the wife-to-be. It was way too clichéd.

  But Jodi was hearing none of it. “If you won’t tell me what happened, I’m getting out of this car and searching for Jamie myself.”

  “You can’t. The dogs and I will suffer from hot-car syndrome and die.”

  “I’ll leave the air conditioner on.”

  “You’ll run out of gas.”

  “There’s a gas station a block up.”

  “But think how expensive gas prices are right now—”

  “What happened, Maddy?” Jodi demanded. “I drove two hours to find you. And I’m driving another two hours back. That means today I’ve given you four hours of my life. You’d think for four hours you could come clean.”

  I stared at the Italian greyhound in my lap. “Fine, ” I muttered. “We had a thing.”

  “A thing?” Jodi cried angrily. “How do you define ‘a thing’? Isn’t the guy getting married in three months?”

  “See? This is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d be all judgmental and stuff.”

  Jodi swallowed. “Sorry. Go on.”

  So I told her. Everything. How we’d slept together the night I’d found out my parents were getting divorced. How he’d found me abandoned, after my date left me, and asked me to dinner with him and Jennifer. How we’d accidentally taken Ecstasy in the desert and how he’d confessed his feelings, only to take it all back the next day.

  By the end of the tale, Jodi was seething with indignation. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Maddy?”

  “What am I doing? I’m just the innocent bystander here. He’s the one with the fiancée.”

  “Please, Maddy. Grow up. Take some responsibility for your actions. Sure, I’m not saying Jamie’s been acting like Mother Theresa here, but you haven’t exactly been discouraging his behavior either.”

  “Oh fine. So it’s all my fault.”

  “I’m not saying that. I’m just suggesting you gain a little perspective before you leave the guy stranded in the desert. I mean, what are you really angry about? ’Cause he told you that it would never work out between the two of you? That he needed to stay faithful to the woman he’d made a lifetime commitment to? You should have known that from the start, messing around with another woman’s guy. You’re not the innocent wounded party here, and I hate to say it, but you deserve everything you’re getting for becoming involved with an almost-married guy to begin with.”

  “I know, but . . .” I stared out the window, shamed. “It’s not some weird, dirty affair. It’s sweet and innocent and good. I have real feelings for him. I can’t help it.”

  “You need to start trying. Stop putting yourself in situations where you’re vulnerable. Okay, you slept together once. Can’t take that back now. But you’ve got to move forward. Otherwise you’re spiraling down the pit of destruction.”

  “I know, I know. It’s just . . . it’s like I’ve finally met the perfect guy and I don’t want to lose him. And I know he has doubts about getting married to Jen. He’s admitted that.”

  “Trust me, everyone has doubts about getting married. That doesn’t mean he’s not going to go through with it. You need to prepare yourself for that reality and quickly.” She reached over and touched my shoulder. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

  A vision of Jamie standing at the altar smiling at Jen haunted me. Jodi was right. I had to get over this ridiculous crush—and fast—or I was going to be crushed myself.

  “Look, I don’t know whether Jamie’s a two-timing bastard or just a guy who has feelings for two women and is genuinely confused. But either way, you’re not doing yourself—or him—any good by perpetuating this flirtation. And you have no right in the world to get mad when he tells you that he’s trying to honor his commitment to his fiancée. I mean, think about how you’d feel if you were Jen. Knowing some bitch in San Diego was chasing after her man?”

  Ugh. She had a point. In a way, I was no better than Cindi with an i. And Jen was my helpless mother. Ugh, ugh, ugh.

  “You’re right, ” I said, swallowing hard. “You’re totally right. I need to stop this now.” I looked over at her. She really was good friend. “Thank you.”

  Jodi reached over and pulled me into a hug. “I’m sorry, sweetie, ” she whispered. “I don’t mean to go all tough love on you. I know you’re hurting and I’m sorry. I just don’t want it to get any worse.”

  “I know. And I appreciate it. I really do.” We held each other for a moment, then pulled away.

  “So, you okay for giving Jamie a ride home?” Jodi asked. “I really think it is the right thing to do.”

  I nodded. “We can take him. I don’t mind.” I looked to the back of the truck and threw her a half-grin. “As long as he rides in the back with the rest of the dogs.”

  There’s nothing like stepping into your own apartment after an extended absence, the sense of peace and quiet that envelops you as you open your front door and step over the threshold. No matter what’s happened out in the unpredictable world, you know you can always return to your sanctuary.

  Except if you have your little sister staying at your place.

  I groaned in dismay as I surveyed my living room. Candy wrappers were strewn throughout. The couch cushions had been pulled onto the floor, one beige cushion now stained with some kind of grape-colored liquid. Empty bottles of Bud Light were lined up like soldiers, guarding my coffee table. But most horrifying was the presence of my bathroom makeup mirror behind the beer sentries. Laid on its side, and covered with chalky residue and rolled up dollar bills.

  Dear God, no.

  I approached the mirror cautiously, to get a better look. And while I was certainly no expert, I wasn’t a babe in the woods, either.

  Lulu and her friends had been doing drugs. In my house!

  I scanned the room again, looking for more evidence of drug use. Instead I saw a trail of abandoned clothing leading to my bedroom. I took a deep breath. Could this possibly get any worse?

  Half of me wanted to just retreat out the front door and come back later—after Lulu had picked everything up and kicked out whoever was there with her. Then I could return and pretend nothing had happened and not have to deal with what I was about to have to deal with.

  But she was my little sister and, at the moment, I was all she had.

  Stepping into my bedroom, I found Lulu in bed, an unshaven, scraggly-haired guy by her side, listlessly watching television. Except the television in question was currently spitting out static snow and neither party seemed to notice. Their blank expressions made the scene more chilling than if they’d been in the middle of some dirty deed.

  “Lulu, what the hell is going on here?” I demanded.

  Lulu started, coming out of her trance with a guilty, red-faced look. “Maddy!” she cried. “What are you doing here?”

  “Uh, I live here?”

  “Er, right. I know, I’m sorry,
” she amended quickly. “I just mean, well, I thought you were coming back later, that’s all. I would have . . . cleaned.”

  Right. “Um, I’ve been gone more than twenty-four hours, ” I reminded her. “And I tried to call your cell about fifty times on the way home.”

  “You have?” She scrambled out of bed, thankfully fully dressed, and started racing past me to the other room. “Wow, I must have lost track of time.”

  “I’ve already seen the drugs, Lulu, ” I called after her, realizing exactly what she was headed to do.

  She stopped dead in her tracks. Turned around slowly to face me. “Drugs?” she asked, her eyes wide and innocent.

  “Oh, please. Save it. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  “Oh, you think—” She laughed. A brittle laugh that sounded more hyena than human. “That’s just Ritalin.”

  Ritalin? As in, the medication used to treat ADHD? Did she think I just fell off the turnip truck or something? “Since when does Ritalin come in a white powder?” I asked, raising my eyebrows in my best skeptical look. I felt kind of like my mother and tried to remember all the tricks I used to use when I was lying, in case Lulu tried to pull any of them on me. Not that I would have ever lied about something like this.

  “It doesn’t. Drummer’s doctor prescribed the pills. But he’s been on them so long, he’s like, um, immune to swallowing them now. And his jerk doctor won’t up his dosage. So he crushes them up and snorts them to get the medicine directly into his bloodstream.”

  She actually thought I was going to buy that? That her buddy Drummer was simply self-medicating? Would Mom have considered that a good excuse?

  “It’s true, ” the guy (Drummer?) said, also crawling out of bed. To my horror, all he was wearing was a pair of ratty flannel boxers with massive holes in some pretty distasteful spots. His legs and chest were pasty white and overly hairy, like those of a scrawny wooly mammoth. How could Lulu be attracted to such a disgusting creature? She was so pretty. She could get any guy. Did she sleep with him? And if so, how could she? In my bed, nonetheless?

  “You must be Maddy. Lulu’s told me lots about you.” Drummer (and while we’re questioning, what the hell kind of name was that!?) strode over and shook my hand. Complete confidence. As if he weren’t standing nearly naked in my bedroom. As if he hadn’t just admitted to bringing drugs—prescription or otherwise—into my house.

  I could barely control my fury. “Get out of my house. And take your drugs with you.”

  “Well, hell, it’s not like I’d leave them here, ” he drawled, grabbing a pair of dirty jeans from the floor and hoisting them over his scrawny hips. “Damn, Lu, you were right.”

  I could only imagine what he was talking about, what Lulu had said about me behind my back. But at that moment, I didn’t care. I’d be the biggest bitch in the world if I could save my baby sister from trash like that.

  After he left, Lulu flopped on the cushionless couch, a sullen expression on her face.

  “So, are you mad?” she asked.

  I stared at her. “Are you joking?”

  “Okay, fine. You’re mad. Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”

  “Lu, this isn’t like being caught sneaking a beer, ” I cried in exasperation. I replaced a cushion—the lone unstained one—back on the couch and sat down beside her. “I don’t want to be responsible for anything happening to you.”

  “Oh, I see. You don’t care if anything happens to me. You just don’t want to be responsible.” Lulu snorted. “Typical. Just like the ’rents.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it, ” I scolded. “Stop trying to twist my words.” Man, I hated being the disciplinarian. “Now how long have you been doing Coke—or meth—or whatever that was?”

  “It was Ritalin. A legal, perscription drug. And besides, I wasn’t doing it. Drummer was.”

  “Bullshit, ” I interrupted. “I can tell by looking at you. Your eyes are black—completely dilated. Your hands are shaking like you have Parkinson’s. And you’re grinding your teeth. I can hear them from here.”

  “Okay, I tried it. One line. I didn’t even like it.” She reached for a pack of cigarettes on the coffee table and pulled one out, as if daring me to say something about her smoking, too.

  “So, you’re not going to do it again?” I asked, wanting desperately to believe her.

  “Never, ” she promised. “Cross my heart and hope to die.” She made the crossing motions with her cigarette, grinning a little. “Stick a needle in my eye.”

  “Fine. I’m going to treat you as an adult and believe you, ” I said, too exhausted to pursue the subject further.

  “But if I catch you one more time, I’m going straight to Dad.”

  “You won’t. I promise.” Lulu gazed at me with a sincerely mournful-looking expression. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let you down.”

  Her sad face melted me. Against my better judgment, I held out my arms. “Come here, you.”

  I didn’t need to ask twice; Lulu practically threw herself into my embrace. We hugged for what seemed like hours. A serene sense of almost motherly love came over me as I stroked her bleached blond hair. I could do this. I could be a responsible adult and help my little sister through this difficult time.

  Maybe it really had been the first time she’d done meth, or Ritalin—whatever it really was. Most likely this event had been Lulu’s way of crying for help. After all, both parents had essentially abandoned her. She was probably feeling confused. Lonely. Unsettled. A rebel with a very legitimate cause. I’d simply keep an eye on her from now on. Step up to the parental plate and make sure she didn’t go down the wrong path. After all, besides me, she had no one. She was a little lost angel with a tarnished halo.

  “I know you’ve been going through hell over Mom and Dad’s divorce, ” I said, smoothing her back with my hand. “I’m sorry I wasn’t nice about you moving in.”

  “And I’m sorry I trashed your house, ” Lulu replied, sounding a little choked up. “From now on, I’ll be a better houseguest.”

  “Roommate, ” I corrected.

  “Really?” She pulled away, her eyes shining with happy tears. “You consider me your roommate?”

  “Sure, ” I said, feeling generous. “And I won’t even make you pay half the rent.”

  “Oh, Maddy. Thank you. I’ll be the best roommate ever. I promise.” Lulu bounced up from the couch. “In fact, I’ll start right now. I’ll clean up the house.”

  “I’ll help you, ” I told her. “And then we’ll go out for ice cream.”

  “Cool!”

  I watched as Lulu skipped to the kitchen to grab a garbage bag and begin Project Apartment Cleanup. She looked so innocent. Sweet. It was hard to believe she’d been up all night and day doing drugs.

  It was all going to be fine, I told myself, quashing the worried gnawing sensation deep in the pit of my stomach. She’d made a mistake. We’d both made mistakes. But now the time for mistakes was over and we could move on as two responsible siblings. Together, we could take on the world and anything life threw at us.

  At least, I hoped we could.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  FROM: “Richard Clarkson”

  TO: “Madeline Madison”

  SUBJECT: Too Much Terrance

  Madeline,

  I spoke with Jodi who said you’re out shooting Murderous Mail (sounds like a great topic by the way!!!) but when you return, we need to discuss the “Cosmetics That Kill” piece.

  I saw the finished product and I have to tell you, when I said we wanted the “Terrance Tells All” series to feature Terrance, I didn’t mean to imply that Terrance had to physically be in every shot of the piece. Sure, a couple of shots sprinkled here and there would be appropriate—after all, we do want to feature our talent. But to have Terrance appear in 43 out of 47 shots seems like overkill.

  Also, shooting the stand-up of Terrance applying the leaded lipstick to his own lips
struck me as a bit on the disturbing side.

  Please make the appropriate changes (I do not want to see Terrance more than three times total) and bring the new version for me to review.

  Thanks for your hard work!

  Richard

  News Director, News 9

  The next day at work, I sat down at my desk and clicked open my e-mail. I hadn’t realized I’d been secretly hoping for a note from Jamie until I realized there wasn’t one. Only spam and more work drama, joy to the world.

  I wondered if Jamie had gotten in to work yet. I dreaded seeing him, facing him, working side by side with him, but what else could I do? It seemed too immature to ask Richard for a new photographer. He’d want to know why. And then what would I say? Besides, Jamie was a great photographer and I needed his expertise for my big Mexican shoot.

  Tonight, fake-purse-seller Miguel had volunteered to lead us to the Mexican entrance of the drug tunnel. He knew a guard, he said, who could give us an inside look. It had the potential to be the smoking gun-type video we needed—the best video in the story. I couldn’t exactly leave my photographer at home just because he didn’t want to be my boyfriend. I needed to grow up. We were both adults, both professionals. We could do this.

  The ride home from Calla Verda had been torturous, though. Of course, Jamie was perfectly polite, cordial. Thanked Jodi for giving him a lift and offered her gas money. But he didn’t say a word to me. And when later in the trip I got up the courage to ask him a direct question, he pretended to be asleep. Even though I knew for a fact he couldn’t be, since no one on earth could possibly sleep through the antics of Jodi’s ultra-hyper dogs.

  I turned back to my e-mail, trying to put him out of my mind. The first message was from Terrance, talking about how “utterly fabulous” the “Cosmetics That Kill” piece turned out. The second came from Richard, instructing me to make major changes to the aforementioned utterly fabulous piece—namely by taking out the utterly fabulous Terrance. And the third was from poor, tortured editor Mike, who begged me to tell Richard that it wasn’t his fault that the plethora of Ter-rance shots had made it into the finished product. (Ter-rance had evidently verbally abused him for a full hour and a half, until he, as a man facing torture is wont to do, crumbled and gave the male diva everything he wanted and then some.)