“I know!” she shouts. She’s pacing the floor in the living room now. “I’m just sick of feeling alone. I felt alone with you because I pushed you away so I wouldn’t feel guilty about sneaking around with Ty. I felt alone with Ty because he always had to go home to his wife and that’s apparently where he wants to stay. I’m just sick of being alone,” she repeats.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I really am, but you can’t think that the two of us pretending like we’re something we’re not is going to make things better.”
She’s quiet.
“That’s not how it works,” I tell her. “If we did that, you’d feel just as lonely because you’d know that what we’d have wouldn’t be real.”
“I don’t care if it’s real. I’m just sick of always being in the background.”
“I’m not the one that put you there,” I tell her.
“Don’t you think I know that,” she says. “I’m not saying this is your fault, I’m saying that I’m sick of it being mine.”
The truth is, despite how uncomfortable the situation, a big part of me is happy to see her back in my apartment. You don’t just throw away years with someone without having some kind of residual feelings.
“Do you really think we could go back to the way things were before?” I ask. “I find that hard to imagine.”
“We really could,” she says. “The one thing that got in the way is out of the way. Maybe we just start off with a drink.”
I do feel like drinking.
“I don’t know if I have anything,” I tell her.
“I brought you a little something,” she says, opening her purse.
She pulls out a fifth of blueberry vodka. It’s my kryptonite.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “Nothing’s going to change, and I don’t want you to think I’m leading you on.”
“You’re pretty conceited, you know that?”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Actually, I do.”
She goes to the kitchen and I’m having trouble getting my head straight. On the one hand, Melissa and I really did have our good times together. There were a lot of things that I wasn’t willing to live with anymore, the affair with her boss first and foremost on that list, but there’s a lot to miss.
She comes back with two shot glasses and a smile. “I know you’re not sold on it yet, but I really think this is going to be the best thing for both of us,” she says, pouring the drinks.
I don’t know, maybe she’s right. Maybe we both just lost sight of what made us work in the first place and maybe that’s something we can fix.
I just wish Grace would return my phone calls.
Chapter Nineteen
Swan Song
Grace
Back in the chemo suite for the last day of getting pumped with liquid death: this is my bargaining chip.
The one thing that people love more than a deal that brings in a lot of money is a deal that gives them a lot of good press and makes them look like a Good Samaritan while still making some money. That’s my hope, anyway, even though I have no reason to believe in the veracity of the theory.
The truth is that the biggest bankroll will win ninety-nine out of one hundred times. The other time, someone’s got their feet to the fire.
The doctor comes in and checks my bag. It’s about empty, but he tells me it’ll be a few more minutes.
My phone rings, and I’m slow to answer it. Right now, everything’s kind of slowed down.
“This is Grace Miller,” I answer.
“Did I get this address right?” Andrew asks. “I’m out in front of a hospital.”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “My assistant Margaret should be waiting for you in the main lobby.”
“Why are we meeting in a hospital?”
“I had a previous engagement that I couldn’t get out of.”
He knows I’m sick, so he must know what I’m planning to do. Still, he comes up to the room. When he walks in, his face tightens as he tries to override any natural reaction he may have and replace it with a smile.
“Grace,” he says, “it’s good to finally meet you face to face.”
“It’s good to meet you, too,” I tell him, extending the hand at the end of the arm with the needle sticking out of it.
Gingerly, Andrew shakes my hand. “I’ve got to tell you,” he says, “right now, the boss is thinking of going with one of your competitors.”
“I’m sure he is,” I tell him. “I forget, your last name is Evans, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” he says, looking around at the other patients in their own recliners in the chemo suite. “Look, I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but-”
“Andrew,” I tell him, “you and I have a bit of history, don’t we?”
“I guess.”
“You guess,” I scoff. “We’ve been talking for almost a year.”
“Yeah, but to be honest with you, I never really thought you’d make an offer. Speaking of which,” he says, “what is it?”
“I’m sorry, what is what?” I ask, playing the only card I have.
“What is your offer?” he asks, looking at the silver bag of chemo hooked to the other end of the tube, supplying my bloodstream with the drug.
“Ten,” I tell him. “It may not be much, but we’re going to let you hang onto a lot more of your station’s flavor than any of the bigger guys will.”
“Ten million?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe if that word started with a b,” he says, “we might be able to do something, but you have to know that we’ve been hearing numbers that make yours, well, kind of insulting.”
“It’s certainly not my intention to insult you,” I tell him. “I’m just coming to you with what I have.”
Playing the victim isn’t really my cup of tea, even when I am a victim, but it’s keeping him in the room.
“I appreciate that,” he says. “How are you doing with your treatment, by the way?”
I’ve almost got him, but the space between almost and definitely is going to be next to impossible.
“I’m still here,” I tell him. “Other than that, I’d say you might want to ask me again when I’m a little farther away from this room.”
“I have a cousin that had cancer,” he says.
Anyone who’s ever walked into a chemo suite will be able to tell you that it’s difficult knowing how to act. Over time, you learn when to smile and when to ignore, but unless Andrew here’s been through the treatment himself, I’m pretty sure he’s working without a net here.
“How did that turn out?” I ask.
Cancer stories, even when they contain the word “remission,” don’t often end well. Judging by the long pause, I’d say that would be the case with Andrew’s cousin.
“I’d rather not talk about it right now,” he finally says.
“Okay,” I tell him. “Let me tell you what our money gives you that nobody else’s will. First off, you get to keep most of your programming. Over the first year or so, we’ll slowly start to introduce more of our content, but we have no problem with you keeping your higher rated shows. Higher ratings are good for both of us here.”
“That’s great, but-”
“Hold on,” I tell him. “Along with keeping a few of the more familiar faces, you’ll also get great publicity out of it. I mean, do you really think viewers are going to be impressed if you turn their beloved station into just another face for the big six?”
“Grace, you’ve got to understand that this is business,” he says. “We’ve got to make the best profit we can so we can do the things we want to do.”
“How much are the other guys really going to let you do?”
“They said we could keep all of our programming for one year,” he says. “From there, if we make a good impression, they may syndicate a few of our shows and-”
“You really think that’s going to happen?”
I’m just killing time now. My secret weapon is running a little la
te.
“They’re willing to put it in writing,” he says.
“Well, that’s the ballgame then, isn’t it?”
“Grace, I’m sorry-” Andrew starts.
“Ten million isn’t a lot of money in our business; I know that,” I tell him. “You’ve got to understand that we were a lot like you guys for a long time. Hell, we’re still a lot like you guys. How long do you think it’s been since the people leaving messages for your bosses and your bosses’ bosses have been able to say that?”
“I would imagine it’s been a very long time,” he concedes. “As you know, our station hasn’t been faring very well lately, but your board has thrown us quite the life preserver.”
“I take it your mind is made up, then?” I ask.
“I’m sorry to say it is,” he answers. “After all we’ve discussed over the last year or so, I felt that I should be the one to tell you, and I wanted to be able to tell you to your face.”
“That’s a shame,” I tell him. “By the way, have you ever given a press conference?”
“No,” he laughs. “Why would I ever have given a press conference?”
“No reason,” I tell him as Mags comes through the door.
“They’re ready for the two of you,” she says.
“Give us just another minute,” I tell her. “The doc still needs to unhook me from my chemo drip.”
“Do you want me to track him down?” she asks.
“If you would, Margaret,” I answer. God, I hate calling her Margaret.
“Who’s ready and what are they ready for?” he asks.
“I took the liberty of setting up a nice press conference just off the hospital property,” I answer.
Now he has that look in his eye. He knows exactly what I’m planning.
“No,” he says. “I won’t do it.”
“I don’t think you’re going to have that much of a choice,” I tell him. “We were planning on announcing today, and I’d bet that the print reporters Mags has sitting in the waiting room are going to tell their people if you leave a poor, sick, dying woman hanging right after she’s just gone through chemo.”
“You’re trying to smear me — and by extension KJBP,” he says, stating the obvious. I’ve always wondered why people bother stating the obvious. Isn’t it already, well, obvious?
“I’m trying to give you the opportunity to come off like a saint and KJBP a savior,” I tell him. “The fact that once you leave this room, you’re going to be answering questions from the press while someone wheeling me right behind you shouldn’t make you nervous.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, I make my move.
In preparation for this round of chemo, I went ahead and shaved my head. I find that better than waiting for it to just come out on its own. This way, I don’t have to worry about half my hair coming off my head with a stout breeze.
Andrew doesn’t know any of that, at least until I reach up and slide my fingers through the hair of the black wig I’m wearing and lift it off my head. “What are you doing?” he asks.
“Just making myself more comfortable,” I tell him. “These things can get so hot after a while. They really don’t breathe.”
“So if I don’t go out there and announce that we’re taking your offer, you’re going to make me look like a monster,” he says.
He’s very astute.
“It’s not going to work,” he says. “Even if you smear me, it’s not going to change anything. You don’t have the money or the influence to strong arm us like this.”
“You’re right about the money,” I tell him. “The influence, though — the press has enough of that on its own.”
The doctor comes into the room and checks my bag, saying, “Looks like you’re done for the day, Grace.”
“Thanks, Doc,” I tell him, feeling sicker than confident. Oddly enough, that might just work for my benefit. “Would you mind if I take a puke bag to go?”
Andrew glares at me.
“Not at all,” he says and grabs one of the blue plastic bags with the plastic handles and gives it to me.
“Margaret!” I call.
Mags comes in the room, and I tell her to grab my chair, that Andrew and I are ready to meet the public.
“I’m not going to give a press conference,” he says. “You may get a few reporters to see me leaving, but it’s not going to be the story you’re hoping for.”
“That’s certainly your choice,” I tell him. “You really can’t make a person give a press conference when they don’t want to, so I guess I’ll have to do it myself. I just hope this doesn’t get picked up on social media. I certainly wouldn’t want our competitors to think that your public image is so radioactive they have to end up withdrawing their proposals.”
“Grace,” he says, “is this really what you want to do? We have a history. We have-”
“We’ve talked on the phone and you’ve been dragging your feet ever since our first contact,” I tell him. “If you’re trying to appeal to our longstanding friendship, I’m afraid you’ll find that only works when there’s a longstanding friendship to appeal to.”
Not my best pitch, but hey, I’m not at my best here.
“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” he says. “I was really hoping we could work together.” With that, he turns and leaves the room.
“I think it’s our time in the spotlight,” I tell Mags and I move to the wheelchair.
This probably isn’t the ethical thing to do here, but it’s my only shot at getting what I’ve been working for ever since I started with Memento. Is it going to work? I’m not getting my hopes up.
Mags wheels me out to the waiting room where we find Andrew being accosted by reporters. Hospital security is trying to convince everyone to leave, but not before Mags wheels me up next to Andrew, still holding the puke bag in my hand.
“Miss Miller,” one of the reporters says, “how is your treatment going?”
The press loves a good human interest story.
“Well, to tell you the truth, Charlie,” I start — yeah, I learned the reporter’s name about half an hour ago, “it’s not a walk in the park. It was really nice of Andrew here to come and pay me a visit.”
Andrew looks down at me, still trying to manage the nerve to say something.
“You all need to leave right now,” one of the security guards says.
Everyone starts filing down the hallway, and as quickly as Andrew tries to walk, Mags keeps me right next to him on the way down the hall. We get to the elevator and Andrew presses the button. I motion for him to come close.
“Why don’t we have a little talk on the way down?” I ask.
“You’re out of your mind,” he says.
“Well, either that or it’s you, me, and a few reporters from some of the better circulating newspapers in the country,” I tell him.
The elevator door opens and Andrew hesitates a moment before going in.
“Just you and your assistant,” he says.
“Mags?” I ask.
She wheels me into the elevator with Andrew and once the door closes, I get back into it.
“Can you see the headline?” I ask. “Representative from KJBP Runs from Cancer Patient.”
“This isn’t going to work,” he says. “I’m not going to answer any questions.”
“That’s your choice,” I tell him, “but you know the press. If you don’t give them a comment, they’re going to come to their own conclusions.”
“Why are you doing this?” he asks.
“You’ve never met someone who’s got nothing to lose, have you?” I ask. “You may make a deal that’ll get you a big office in a nice, tall building, but those pictures of you coming out of the chemo suite with me in the background all bald and sad-looking are going to be with you pretty much forever. It’s really up to you what the caption beneath them turns out to be.”
“I’m not the fucking station owner,” he says. “I can’t just make this de
al without the approval of my-”
“You say the words,” I tell him, “and I’m willing to bet your betters are willing to overlook a zero or two to avoid a public boycott.”
“This isn’t going to work,” he says. “People are going to see through it if you smear me.”
“You know what the one good thing about looking like me right now does for you?” I ask. “It makes people really sympathetic. Now, I’m not usually the type of person that’s looking to exploit my illness to get what I want, but you’re not leaving me much of a choice, now, are you, Andrew?”
“This isn’t going to work,” he says.
He says that right up until we come out of the elevator and he sees the cameras waiting out front.
“It’s up to you,” I tell him. “Today, you can either be the hero to your company’s bank account or you can make KJBP the station that cares. Do me a favor and give your boss a call. I’m willing to bet he says that a positive image is better for the growth of a company than a fatter bankroll.”
Actually, I’m betting his boss is going to say the exact opposite. I’m not delusional.
Luckily for me, though, Andrew doesn’t know any better.
This is almost too easy.
“I don’t know what I would say even if I did go along with it,” he says.
“Mags?” I ask and my lovely assistant pulls a folder from her oversized purse and hands it to me.
“I took the liberty of preparing a statement for you,” I tell him. “I think you’ll find it rather flattering to you and your bosses. By the way, Mags, did you tell them to turn on their televisions? They’re probably going to want to see this.”
This shouldn’t work, and if I were talking to anyone with more experience handling the press, it wouldn’t. Andrew, though, seems to think that the media cares a lot more about this sort of thing than they actually do.
I may have forgotten to mention that to him...
“This is going to get me fired,” he says. “I can’t turn down better deals from bigger companies just to try to avoid some personal embarrassment. I don’t know who you think I am, but my job is to do what’s best for the company.”
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