He finished writing and reread his work. It was 3,476 words long, and it was honest and biting and real. Nicholas would be furious—would possibly even feel betrayed—but Lucas didn’t care. Jays would be impressed, which was all that mattered. “Spare no detail,” the Editor had said. Lucas had not. It was 5:00 A.M. and Nicholas hadn’t called. Lucas filed the story. It would now begin its long descent into Empire’s bureaucratic editing process—with one editor reading it and making notes, then sending it to another, who would read, edit, and send to yet another, and on and on until it eventually reached Jays. That could take weeks. Lucas would have to wait for his rewards.
* * *
In the meantime, his romantic depression deepened. As winter dragged on, only his writing sessions with Carmen could truly lift his spirits. They sat across from each other or side by side in the hotel room of her choosing, room service platters between them—all on Jays’ tab—constructing the perfect epistolary repartee. They divvied up the attacks and rebuttals, the concessions and jabs. They were no longer relying on snark but striving for wit—which was only possible because they were communicating. The experience was new for Lucas. He’d never worked so closely with another person before, certainly never written with someone else. They’d become a real team, he and Carmen. Not a romantic team; the downside was that friendship had replaced sex. The most physical contact they now had was a hug or a high five. But aside from losing the pleasure of her body, Lucas had to admit that their relationship had become otherwise more gratifying.
They also started getting creative with the circumstances surrounding their fictional couplings. Freed from the constraints of reality, they sent Carmen and Nice Guy into the city. They climaxed together at the new interactive natural disaster exhibit at the Museum of Natural History as volcanoes erupted in 360 degrees. They had sex in a box at the Metropolitan Opera during a performance of The Merry Widow. And they crashed a cotillion ball at The Plaza, in which Lucas went down on Carmen in the corner of a crowded room, by hiding beneath the ample layers of her gown. All of this created a new frenzy over their identities. Now Carmen and Nice Guy were out on the town somewhere. They could be spotted. Newsstand sales and online subscriptions spiked anew.
“They’re getting careless,” Tyler wrote in Noser. “And sooner or later, they’re going to get caught, in mid-coitus, by me. I promise to expose Nice Guy for the cowardly sex-crazed maniac he really is. Nobody can stay anonymous for this long, especially when boning and insulting a very public woman. It has to end.”
CHAPTER 31
By February, having heard nothing about his article, Lucas checked in with Jays. The reply by email was enthusiastic: “Haven’t had time to read it, looking forward, if it’s as good as I suspect could see a staff writer promotion.” Lucas wanted to print out this missive and frame it. He wanted to send it to his family, to Sofia, to everyone who had ever doubted or rejected him. More than this, he saw the forthcoming promotion as a kind of formal induction. He would be able to confidently call himself a New Yorker. A man who didn’t just live here but who was of here. Gone would be his days of gullible innocence, ahead the wisdom of experience. He fixated on this victory to keep his mind off of Sofia.
And then, more than a month after Lucas had turned in his Nicholas Spragg profile, he was summoned to Jays’ office. Lucas had not been inside Empire’s seat of power since August, and the place had not changed. Not a scrap of paper was out of place. There was not a speck of dust. It reminded Lucas of an article he’d fact-checked, about the Russian and Chinese multimillionaires who were buying up penthouses across the city. Dwellings not for people but for their money. Whole blocks of ghost towers, empty year round.
“Lucas, thanks for coming by,” Jays said. He was sitting on the corner of his desk, his hands folded in his lap. There was something unusually stiff about his demeanor. “Why don’t you take a seat?”
Lucas sat. He pulled out a notebook and a pen, ready to take edits.
“That won’t be necessary,” Jays said.
Was his story so good that it required no revisions? That seemed impossible. But who knew? Maybe he’d knocked it out of the park.
Jays hung his head; when he looked up again, he was frowning. Something was wrong. “Lucas, I assigned you this profile about Nicholas Spragg because I saw great promise in you. I thought, ‘Here’s a young man who is ambitious and eager, who after only a short time at our magazine understands its vision. My vision.’”
“I do—” Lucas began, but Jays put his hand up.
“And then you turn in your assignment. Three thousand words spent disparaging a young man who is only trying to make his way in this great and complicated city of ours. Much like yourself, I might add. I assigned you a simple profile and yet you bring me a screed, impugning Nicholas’s character, bringing allegations against him that, frankly, seem absurd given his character and standing, and which, if printed, could ruin his career, not to mention his reputation. It’s as though you’ve taken great pleasure in bringing him down. You may as well be working for some tabloid. Is that what you think Empire is? Because if so, this is not the magazine for you.”
Lucas could feel the dampness spreading across his back and under his arms. He felt dizzy. The top of his head stung horribly. This must be a joke. Maybe an initiation? What in the hell was happening? Lucas’s article was well reported. It was harsh but fair.
“I am disappointed in you, Lucas,” Jays continued. “But mainly, I’m disappointed in myself. For giving you this remarkable opportunity and believing that you were mature enough and professional enough to handle it gracefully. I misjudged. To think of the public backlash we’d get, not to mention the libel charges.”
“But it’s all true. There’s a police report. I did exactly what you wanted,” Lucas protested. “I don’t understand.”
“Imagine if I had actually promoted you to staff writer!” Jays continued, shaking his head. “In any case, I’m sorry to say it—or maybe I’m not sorry—but your employment at this magazine is terminated.”
And then, as though on cue, somebody snorted. Lucas whipped his head right, then left. He and Jays were the only two people in the room.
“What was that?”
Jays was fumbling with something in his hand. His cell phone.
Lucas stood. “Is someone listening to this?”
“Absolutely not.”
But he’d heard a snort! “But I—” Lucas said, and stopped. If he could only compose himself, identify what had gone wrong, figure out what the hell he was missing. But he needed to figure it out fast. If he left this room, he’d never be allowed back in.
“You’ve got ten minutes to pack your things and get out of the building, Lucas. Otherwise, I’m calling security.”
No, no no! Everything was moving too fast. If he could only find the right words. The right explanation. There had to be one. There had to—
And then Lucas burst out laughing. He laughed like a maniac. He literally pounded the armchair of the seat he was in, because it was all just too much. Because he’d never expected that this was how his Ace in the pocket would be played.
“You can’t fire me, Jay,” he announced, gleefully, like a man transformed. The blood that seemed to have drained from his body gushed back in. He sat up straighter, confident, invincible. He flashed back to Sophia’s advice, after Carmen went on that late-night show. That’s the very definition of the upper hand, Lucas. When you know what the other person expects, you can throw them off guard. Lucas stood up. He took a deep breath. He looked Jays right in the eyes.
“I write the best column in your magazine,” he said.
Jays froze, but his eyes darted back and forth. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m Mr. Nice Guy. Pleased to meet you.”
Now the Editor looked truly stunned. Lucas smelled blood. He kept going. “You don’t believe me? Call your ex-girlfriend. Ask her who she’s been fucking.”
A shadow cross
ed Jays’ face.
“I could quit right now,” Lucas continued. He was on a roll. Nothing could touch him. “I’ll take my show on the road. Maybe take it to Noser. Then what’ll you do?”
Jays closed his eyes. When he opened them, his face was as calm and clear as the reflecting pools, many stories below.
“Yeah,” Lucas continued. “Maybe I will quit. See how you’d like that.”
“You’re right,” Jays said, his voice even. “If you’re Nice Guy, then I’d prefer for you to stay.” Lucas felt himself deflate a little. Where was Jays’ anger? Why did he look so preternaturally calm?
“Oh, so now you want me to stay?” Lucas said, trying to keep up the momentum. “Well, if you want me to stay, then you’re going to have to publish my story about Spragg.”
Jays shook his head. “The magazine’s owner won’t allow it. We can’t afford that kind of lawsuit. Even if there is proof, as you claim.”
Lucas felt the fight drain out of him. How was he supposed to argue against the owner?
“What else?” Jays asked, the epitome of patience.
“I … uh…” Lucas felt himself flailing. “I want a promotion to Staff Writer. I want a raise. At least twenty-five K more.” This was his moment; he needed to milk it. “I want to be more involved.”
“Involved in what?” Jays asked, and Lucas wondered if the Editor wasn’t smiling, just a little, out of the corner of his mouth.
“In editorial decisions,” Lucas pronounced. He didn’t really even know what that meant, but he saw the top editors of Empire in a room together on a regular basis, making the real decisions. He wanted desperately to be in that room. “I’m a lot more talented than you’re giving me credit for.”
Jays nodded. “All right,” he said.
“Good,” Lucas said. But now what? The Editor seemed to be waiting for Lucas to say something else. “Good,” Lucas repeated.
“Anything else?” Jays asked. There it was again, that infuriating glimpse of a smile.
“No.” Lucas turned and walked quickly out of the room. But as soon as he’d stepped through the door he turned around and went back in. “Yes!” he said, fumbling furiously with his Ferragamo tie. He balled it up and then threw it on the rug. “I’m done with these stupid ties. From now on, I wear whatever the hell I want.”
CHAPTER 32
Lucas burst out of the doors of One World Trade. If he could, he’d have kicked those doors down like a fucking boss. Lo, what powers he had felled! That’s how he felt. He walked with swagger. His chest felt larger. When you come at the king, he thought to himself, you best not miss. Jays had missed. Lucas was king.
“Fuck yes!” he yelled, startling a woman in a marshmallow coat. He walked a few blocks. He had no destination. He just felt the need for movement. For the blast of air. He felt like a minor-league baseball player must after getting promoted to the majors—all pride and energy but nowhere to channel it. You don’t get tapped and then magically appear in a major-league stadium, with thousands calling your name. You’re shown your locker. You’re given a new uniform. You do the mundane things, as the energy inside you builds, until you’re thinking just give it to me just give it to me just give it to me. And then, finally, you step out onto that big stage, where the greatest are tested against the greatest, and you become the man you always knew you were.
That time was coming for Lucas. The city wanted to know who Nice Guy was. And he was going to show them that it was Lucas Callahan, motherfuckers. He smiled, thinking about how the news would shock—would physically knock people to the floor!—some of the people who doubted him. His parents. Mel. Everyone.
His parents. Mel. Everyone. Oh, man, Lucas thought. The whole city and half the country were going to know about his sexual exploits. His identity would be revealed, and then his private life would be revealed, too. He took a deep breath. This was not a moment to wilt. This was the opportunity he’d been waiting for, through all those months of loneliness and heartbreak. “Fuck yes!” he yelled again. A few feet away, an old lady pushing her dog in a baby carriage sped up, eager to avoid him.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Lucas was standing outside Carmen’s building, incessantly pressing the buzzer. Finally, the front door’s lock clicked open and he flew up to her apartment, panting, and opened the door to find her curled on the couch with a book. The sight of her bare neck and oversized Columbia sweatshirt, drooping off one shoulder, delighted him. Here she was, just living life like it was any other day, unaware that the universe itself had changed.
“You won’t believe what just happened!” he said, and in a rush told her everything.
When he was finished, Carmen furrowed her brow. Why wasn’t she jumping up to hug him, to pour them drinks? Why wasn’t she ecstatic? “You’re not going to congratulate me?” he said, feeling hurt.
“So you’re saying that Jays tried to fire you because he was unhappy with a story you wrote? And that someone was listening in? Lucas, that all sounds really off to me.”
Lucas shook his head. “I’m sorry—did I bury the lede? When Jays woke up this morning, he did not expect to be outsmarted by his fact-checker. And now I have a seat at the table. Now I finally have some power. That’s going to be amazing for the column, for both of us!”
Lucas walked to her bar cart and began fixing them both drinks.
“Well, as long as we’re sharing, I have some news as well,” she said.
“Yeah?” he said, searching for the ice tongs.
“I’m leaving.”
Lucas spun around. “What?”
She nodded slowly.
“Leaving Empire? Not now. Why?”
“Will you sit down please?”
Lucas shook his head. He’d finally gotten everything he wanted; why did she have to blow it?
“All right. Well, I’ve been offered my own Netflix show. It’s a documentary series where I’ll be coaching the sexually and romantically inept. Not literally—not like Sofia. But they want me to star and co-produce.”
“I’m happy for you,” Lucas said, returning to the drinks.
“Come on, Lucas. This isn’t—”
“No, really, I am. You’ve been working so hard to break out of the sex-writer ghetto. At long last, you get to do the exact same thing, basically, but on TV. For a lot more money.”
“That’s not fair. I have the chance to shape a new cultural product without Jays looking over my shoulder. And yes, I’ll have some money. Enough to afford a good lawyer, so that my grandmother won’t be out on the street.”
Lucas still wouldn’t meet Carmen’s eyes, only now he felt ashamed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that without you, I’m screwed. Nice Guy goes public and then Carmen Kelly quits? The public will eviscerate me and Jays’ll play it up for the publicity.”
“The column is too valuable. You’ll get a new partner. Someone you actually like.”
“Don’t joke about that. We’re a team. I can’t do this without you.”
“That’s sweet of you,” she said. “But I have to get out of Empire, Lucas. I need to get out. You have no idea how much.”
“Can’t you do both?”
She shook her head. “They want me in LA. This is my chance to be truly free.”
Lucas leaned forward, drew his palms together. “Carmen, please. I need you.”
Carmen bit her lip, observed him coolly. “Get on your knees,” she said.
Lucas didn’t hesitate; he dropped to the floor.
“Jesus! I was kidding!” Lucas didn’t move. “OK.” She groaned. “Let me talk to my agent. If it’s OK with Netflix, I’ll give you six more weeks. Because you’re right about the public. And definitely right about Jays. But that’s it. Six weeks, and I’m done.”
Lucas felt the clouds of disaster lift. “Thank you, Carmen,” he said, suppressing the urge to hug her. “I owe you big-time.”
He was just handing her a drink when her phone rang. “Oh, hi,” she said, an
d Lucas immediately knew that it was Jays. “Yes,” she said. “Yes … well, you lost that privilege when you—” Carmen stopped abruptly and frowned.
Lucas didn’t know much about her relationship with Jays or its dissolution, but watching her now, he understood how complicated and painful it must be for her to work under him. This is my chance to be truly free. She didn’t just mean creative freedom or professional freedom, but something much deeper. Which gave him pause. Was he asking too much of her? Yet without her, he’d be lost. And it was only six weeks. Such a short amount of time.
“Yes, I will be there,” Carmen said. “And yes, I’ll tell him.” She hung up. “Well, it’s official. I don’t know what Jays is planning, but he wants us in the office first thing tomorrow morning. Also, he says to wear a tie.”
“Asshole!” Lucas muttered.
Carmen looked at him quizzically, then said, “Right now, I suggest you take a walk.” She pointed to the door.
“Are you kicking me out?”
She shook her head. “No, my friend. I’m literally suggesting that you go on a walk. As of tomorrow morning, you won’t have an ounce of privacy in this city.”
CHAPTER 33
The next morning Lucas and Carmen met in the lobby of One World Trade and rode the elevator together to the twenty-ninth floor. The news of Lucas’s identity had already leaked; the person calling themselves Rogue Empire had published it in “Screw Off!” “Yesterday,” the mole reported, “an Empire fact-checker named Lucas Callahan entered Jays’ office looking nervous and emerged looking triumphant. Jays soon followed, looking like he’d eaten salmonella-tainted kale. This morning, Empire will reveal that Lucas is Nice Guy. Whatever Jays says, those are the facts. Take them as you will.”
Lucas hadn’t actually seen the post, but he was alerted to it by a text message from Tyler. “You son of a bitch,” it said. This warmed Lucas’s heart. Never before had he been the man of intrigue, the one who left people guessing. He imagined what his friends and colleagues were thinking of him now. If Lucas is capable of this, they might wonder, he must be capable of so much more.
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