Mr. Nice Guy

by Jennifer Miller

  She could see herself reflected in his expression; she was a small animal he was desperate to capture. But she would not let herself be netted. “I’m sorry,” she said, and hurried away.

  CHAPTER 50

  Lucas returned to the party with the notebook tucked awkwardly into the back of his pants, hidden beneath his suit jacket. No one seemed to have missed him.

  “There you are!” Jays materialized. “Let’s get you ready for your big moment.” Lucas held his breath as the Editor looked him up and down. “Armani’s a good look for you,” he said. “Now follow me.”

  They made their way into the tented backyard and up onto a stage where the band was playing. At Jays’ signal, the music stopped.

  “It’s a thrill to bring you all together,” the Editor said, his voice as smooth and rich as the passed foie gras. The guests listened, rapt. The only sound was the wind chime of clinking ice. “You know how much I love opening my home for these gatherings. And tonight is particularly special. I know you’re eager to witness the big kiss—”

  At this, the party erupted into cheers. But Jays held up his hands.

  “But first, I wanted to formally introduce you to a special person, the subject of this week’s cover story. Mr. Nicholas Spragg!”

  The tent flaps parted, and there stood Nicholas, half-blinded by the glare of an actual spotlight. The theatricality of the moment was crude, hardly of a piece with the party. And yet the moment felt very Spragg-like. Lucas was certain Jays had engineered this subtle humiliation on purpose.

  “As you already know, the superb profile of Nicholas was penned by our own Lucas Callahan, aka Nice Guy.” Jays clapped Lucas on the back. Lucas, in turn, felt the notebook shift precariously in his pants. “Mr. Spragg is a courageous and ambitious young man, newly arrived in the city from Idaho. For those of you who don’t know, that’s one of our fifty states, located roughly in the vicinity of Washington and Montana. I’m told it has a lot of potatoes?”

  There was laughter. Nicholas smiled, clearly unsure of whether he was being praised or mocked.

  “Though seeing as I’m from Kansas,” Jays added, “I can’t really judge. You’ve heard of Kansas? Also a state?”

  More laughter. Lucas looked around the room and spotted Jai Rogers in the corner, sidling up to a runway model. A recent profile of Rogers in Businessweek said the guy was from small-town Illinois.

  “You’re going to be seeing a lot from Mr. Spragg in the coming months,” Jays continued. “He has plans to build great things in this city. I hope you’ll welcome him into the fold and make him feel at home here—as much as you did for me nearly two decades ago, when I stepped off the bus at Port Authority.”

  The guests chuckled. Some shook their heads, as though public transportation were the quaint remnant of a bygone era. Lucas caught sight of the Pulitzer-winning journalist at the bar. He’d heard him speak on a panel once and was pretty sure the guy mentioned growing up in Toledo. And there, discreetly tapping his cigarette ashes into Jays’ landscaping, was the Lady Gaga guitarist. He had a southern accent.

  “Back then, I didn’t know Tribeca from Southampton from my ass,” Jays said, and the room laughed again. Lucas laughed, too, weakly, because it seemed inappropriate not to. But now it was dawning on him: Most of the guests weren’t originally from New York. A lot of them had likely arrived long after Jays received his Port Authority “welcome.” So what was so funny to everyone? But Lucas didn’t have any time to think about it, because Jays had moved on to the main attraction.

  “… and so it is due to the insight of Nicholas that we are lucky enough to have a beautiful and talented writer for our new column, ‘Love the Critics.’”

  Sofia appeared beside Spragg, glorious in a rose-colored jumpsuit with a plunging back and cream heels. As he took her in, her gorgeousness, Lucas’s heart ached. But the feeling was fleeting, like a shiver on a hot day.

  Nicholas took Sofia’s arm and, as though leading her down the aisle, walked her to the stage. Now the four of them stood in a row: Lucas, Sofia, Nicholas, and Jays. In between the party’s two most handsome guests, Nicholas should have looked even uglier. Instead, he seemed to be siphoning light from them, filling himself with confidence and bravura. This was his moment, and not even biology was going to get in his way. Except then Jays nudged him aside.

  “Well,” said the Editor, turning to Lucas and Sofia. “Are you two going to kiss or what?”

  There were more cheers and more laughter, and Jays reveled in their adoration. Never for a moment did he question the outcome of these events. Nicholas turned a gloating, almost maniacal smile on Lucas. He looked ready to piss himself.

  “What do you say, Lucas?” Sofia smiled like the fresh-faced ingenue she most certainly was not.

  Lucas looked steadily back at her. He’d made big, important decisions before, but never had he watched the future split, right before his eyes, into alternate paths. It was time to choose: kiss the princess and live unhappily ever after or pronounce himself the frog. He stepped forward.

  CHAPTER 51

  Carmen ran home so fast that she was gasping for air by the time she made it up the four flights of stairs to her apartment. Immediately, she pulled up the live feed of Jays’ party. Like hell she wasn’t going to watch. (At the very least, she was now obligated to do so in the name of book research.) But she certainly wasn’t going to give Tyler the pleasure of witnessing it. And she didn’t want Lucas to know. Or think that she cared.

  And yet. The two of them were tied together, not just because of what they’d been to each other but also because of who they were to Jays. Not so long ago, Carmen had stood in Lucas’s shoes. She could empathize with his entrapment. For that reason alone, she felt compelled to watch. Like it or not, she was part of this reality show.

  Carmen had come to the proceedings a few minutes late, and it took her a moment to orient herself. Jays, Lucas, Sofia, and Nicholas Spragg stood on a stage, beneath a tent, in Jays’ backyard. It looked like one of those childhood jokes where a priest, a rabbi, and an atheist walked into a bar: What were they all doing together up there?

  “Before I smooch the leading lady,” Lucas was explaining, “I’d like to say a few words.”

  Carmen felt sick. She wasn’t sure if she could stomach this apparent display of Stockholm syndrome. But then she noticed a look of doubt cross Jays’ face. This, she realized, was not part of the program.

  “This is why Lucas is such a nice guy,” the Editor said, quickly recovering. “He wants to have a conversation before jumping into bed!”

  Carmen heard the guests laugh. She didn’t need to be among them to know that they were completely within Jays’ thrall. But she was more interested in Lucas, who kept glancing from his phone to the camera and back again. She realized that he was waiting for word from Tyler. Confirmation that she was watching. Well, too late for that.

  Finally, Lucas put his phone away. “For the longest time,” he began, “I dreamed of coming to New York and working in magazines. I thought that my determination to make it here made me special. I thought that I was better than everyone back home. But it turns out I’m not so special, and I’m not any better.”

  He sounded sincere, but she wasn’t going to soften. Whatever this was, it was too little, too late.

  “I have made terrible mistakes,” he continued. “I hurt the person I loved the most.”

  “That’s right,” Carmen said aloud. “You did. And this isn’t going to make up for it.”

  “But, Carmen,” Lucas said straight to the camera, as though responding directly to her. “You are my best friend.”

  Carmen swallowed. It was unnerving, the way he seemed to be there with her, talking just to her.

  “You are the most generous, most genuine—the most honest—person I know. I mean”—and here he turned to the assembled crowd—“I get why you all jumped on her so quickly. If ‘Screw the Critics’ taught me anything, it’s that judgment is human nature.” He started
to pace back and forth across the small stage, not unlike a professor giving an impassioned lecture or, Carmen thought, a lawyer trying to persuade a jury. “Against our best intentions, we seek out other people’s failures. Anything to make us feel a little bigger, a little stronger. But Carmen is decent. She is real. She doesn’t deserve your judgment. But I do.”

  Lucas stopped. The room was silent. Jays was frozen, his expression inscrutable. “Jay calls me a nice guy,” Lucas finally said. “Well, I’m not.” He turned and looked meaningfully at Nicholas and the camera zoomed in on them both. Carmen had never seen Nicholas Spragg in person. She’d only seen the photos of him that Empire ran with Lucas’s cover story. There the photo team had proved its merit; they’d nearly made Nicholas handsome. Here, on the screen, he looked every bit as awkward as Lucas described. The constipated smirk on his face didn’t help either.

  “My cover story about Nicholas Spragg is a lie,” Lucas said. “More than that, it’s an intentional cover-up.”

  Nicholas’s head popped up. Jays turned sharply. Carmen shot forward and punched at the “volume” key. Did Lucas realize what he was doing? Of course, he must. But she could hardly believe it.

  “Nicholas assaulted a young woman and paid her to keep quiet. I’ve known about it for months.”

  “This is absurd,” Nicholas said. “Jay, make him stop!”

  “Lucas,” Jays said calmly, “what you’re saying makes no sense. I never would have allowed such a thing. Frankly, I’m worried about your mental and emotional health.”

  “Oh please!” Carmen exclaimed at the exact moment that Lucas said, “Oh, fuck you.”

  The camera was still trained on the stage, but Carmen heard a collective gasp from the guests.

  “For years,” Lucas went on, “you’ve dug up dirt about wealthy, famous people and then printed glowing pieces about them. And they, in turn, have been doing you a lot of favors and paying you a lot of money.”

  Carmen jumped up from her chair. She had no words for this. “Oh!” was all she could manage. Then, “Holy fuck!” She felt ridiculous—she was shouting to an empty room—and also conflicted. Lucas was doing the right thing, the brave thing, and, admittedly, the dumb thing. Which were all reasons to root for him. But he’d nearly destroyed her life. And Mira’s.

  Jays shook his head with parental disappointment. “This slander is an offense to every upstanding person in this room, starting with Nicholas here.”

  Carmen wished she could see the partygoers. She imagined them nodding along. Because of course Jays’ guests would be so credulous. She’d been to plenty of his parties. She knew that the Editor hadn’t just welcomed them with his bounty but had made them feel deserving of it. He’d united them in an exclusive, self-congratulatory embrace. And it was obvious to her that no one felt better about himself at this particular moment than Nicholas Spragg.

  “You’re a lying piece of shit,” Spragg spit. “And you’re a nobody. You’re a nobody who thinks he’s a somebody. It’s pathetic.”

  “Come on, Lucas,” Carmen said aloud, still on her feet. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  “That may be true, Nicholas, but you’d better take a hard look at your relationship with Jays. You think he’s your ally? He just needs your money. He doesn’t give a shit about you—or about me for that matter. You should see what he’s written about you here.”

  And with that, Carmen watched Lucas pull an object from his jacket. She leaned toward the screen. It was a notebook. One of the grotesquely expensive ones that Jays billed to the magazine and secreted away in his closet.

  “What’s that?” Nicolas was still boasting a haughty expression.

  “Lucas,” Jays said quietly, “give me that.”

  Lucas took a step away. “This is where Jay keeps tabs on his marks, Nicholas. It’s where he lists their character flaws, records their petty crimes, their serious crimes.”

  “Give me that,” Jays repeated, his face hardening.

  “Jay and I have a shared vision,” Nicholas said, though his voice faltered. “He understands that I—”

  But before Nicholas could finish the thought, Jays lunged for the notebook. Carmen watched it happen, her mouth wide open. The events on the screen seemed to unfold in slow motion: the Editor hurling himself at Lucas like a lion pouncing on a wildebeest; Lucas canvassing the party for a way out and then yelling, “Walt, help!” as he tossed the book offscreen.

  Whoever was holding the camera quickly panned left. The book was caught by an outstretched arm, far above the sea of bobbing heads. Carmen recognized the catcher instantly: It was Walt Frazier, the basketball player. Mira often said that Frazier, in his 1970s-era short-shorts, had the sexiest thighs in sports.

  Then there was a crash. The sound of a microphone thumping to the ground, followed by screeching feedback. The camera jerked back to the stage, where it landed on Jays, grasping idiotically at the air. Below him, Lucas lay on the stone patio, clutching his leg. The Editor had knocked Lucas off the stage! It was so surreal that Carmen began laughing. Here were the men who’d done her the most harm, and they were now enacting some moronic WrestleMania scene, all for her benefit. Two enemies, canceling each other out. But she had to root for Lucas, if only because there was work left to do.

  Lucas pulled himself up to standing and yelled, “Walt! Flip to Spragg and start reading!”

  The camera panned back to Frazier; whoever was operating this thing deserved an Emmy. “‘Nicholas Spragg,’” Frazier read in his butter-smooth baritone. “‘Entitled. Sycophantic. Dull. Needy. Naïve. Gullible.…’” There was a pause. Was that it? Then Frazier licked his finger like a librarian and turned the page. “‘Paid off sorority sister to keep quiet about attempted r—’”

  “It’s all lies! Lies!” Nicholas yelled over the reading. “Jay, tell them!”

  “I wrote nothing of the kind,” Jay said.

  “He’s got a dozen of those notebooks upstairs in his closet,” Lucas announced. “You can see for yourselves.”

  Carmen smiled. She knew exactly how the rest of this would play out. And indeed, there it was: Jays threw Lucas a look of pure fury, jumped off the stage, and pushed his way through the crowd, presumably to go and hide the evidence. Nicholas Spragg was fast on his heels. The camera followed them, but a bunch of partygoers had a head start. They might be grateful to Jays for their invite, but that didn’t make them loyal. Whoever got to the notebooks first, Carmen knew, was going to have a fabulous few seconds of fame. And who wouldn’t want that?

  CHAPTER 52

  Lucas looked around the party for Sofia, who hadn’t said a word during all this. In fact, it turned out, she’d excused herself from the fracas entirely. As he hobbled off into the house, and out the front door, the guests just looked at him, a little bit awed, a little fearful, as though he really was mentally and emotionally off-balance. Finally alone in the quiet night, he hailed a cab. He was only going a couple of blocks, but the fall had done something awful to his knee.

  En route, his phone buzzed. “You were amazing!” Tyler sounded out of breath. “I mean, holy shit!”

  “Carmen!” Lucas demanded. “Did Carmen watch?”

  Tyler paused a beat too long, and Lucas’s stomach sank. “But you talked to her, right? How … did she seem? Did she say anything about me?”

  “I mean, you know,” Tyler said. “She said some things.”

  The taxi stopped outside Carmen’s building.

  “Tell me, Tyler!”

  “Are you getting out or what?” the driver said.

  “Yes, sorry.” Lucas pulled out a twenty, the only money he had, and pushed it through the window. Then he slid out of the car, accidentally stepping out on his bad leg. He groaned. “What did she say?” he huffed.

  “That her life wasn’t the only one you ruined. What did she mean?”

  Lucas lowered the phone from his ear. Carmen was sitting on the front steps smoking a cigarette. Lucas had never seen her smoke before, and yet she
seemed practiced. She hadn’t spotted him arriving, and so, for a moment, he was able to just watch her. He hadn’t seen her in months. The physical urge he felt seeing Sofia earlier that evening was nothing compared to the longing and pain that gripped him now. How he wanted to pull Carmen close, breathe in her hair, kiss her lips, the bump on her nose, her sternum. He missed her voice, her sarcasm, her confidence. He just missed her.

  “Carmen,” he said. It came out like a plea.

  She raised her head. When she saw him, she exhaled and then stubbed the cigarette out on the steps. Lucas opened his mouth, but before he could speak even a single word she smirked, stood up, and went inside.

  Had she watched? Lucas entertained the thought, but he couldn’t decide what outcome he preferred more. If she had watched, her reaction now would be all the more devastating. It meant he’d sacrificed everything and still lost her.

  He knew it was useless to stay, but he did. He watched her windows until the lights went out. Even then, he didn’t leave. He imagined that her head appeared from behind the curtain and she called down to him. At one point, his phone rang, and his heart leapt. But it was only a reporter calling for comment about Jays’ party. Lucas hung up on him. Eventually, the pain in his knee grew intolerable and he had no choice but to go home.

  CHAPTER 53

  Alexis was always the first to arrive at Empire’s offices, at 7:30 A.M. sharp. No other editor would stroll in until at least ten, and the graphic designers wouldn’t deign to show their faces until at least eleven. But as Jays’ third assistant—the young, disposable one—Alexis couldn’t afford to enjoy the largess of media hours. It was one of the many reasons she never felt like she truly worked for the magazine. She really worked for Jays. Which meant she had to get in early in case he needed anything.

  The Sphinxes, it went without saying, arrived at ten. Media hours.

  Typically, Alexis would have an hour or so to sip coffee and search the Internet before Jays sauntered by. But today, the morning after his disastrous party, he was already standing by her desk, arms folded, when she arrived. She was startled to see him, and also anxious: Was she supposed to say something about last night? Of course, she hadn’t been invited to the party, but she’d watched the live stream.