34
Casey took a Lyft to a place on Convoy she liked, a small Korean gastropub, cute but not fancy, with tiny lantern lights strung above the distressed metal-clad bar. “It’s a bit hard to find,” she told Sarah on the phone. “It’s in the little strip mall across the street from the Lexus dealer. Just look for the big ‘TOFU HUT’ sign, and this place is right next door. I like it because it’s quiet enough to hear ourselves talk.” Also because this time of night she knew it was not likely to be crowded. She found a table at the very back of the long, narrow room, hidden in shadow, framed by more of the tiny lantern lights.
She spotted Sarah as soon as she walked in the door, in spite of the dim lighting. Not so much because she was a blond white girl in a pub mostly frequented by Asians but because of her posture, the way she moved—stiff, wary, unsure of the space she occupied.
Had she ever seen Sarah look comfortable?
Casey pasted on a smile and lifted her hand. “Thanks for meeting with me,” she said after Sarah had sat down.
Sarah nodded. “What did you want to talk about?”
No foreplay with this one.
The waiter approached with a platter and a paper cone in a wire frame, plus Casey’s mojito. “I got us some snacks,” Casey said. “Do you want to order something else? Something to drink?”
Sarah hesitated. “Maybe a beer.”
“We’re featuring Alesmith this month,” said the waiter, a wiry guy with spiked hair and purposefully nerdy black glasses. “We’ve got the double IPA, 394 Pale Ale, the English nut brown ale, the barley wine, and the Speedway Stout.”
“Which of those isn’t too strong?” Sarah asked. “I’m driving.”
“I’d try the 394 if you like IPAs.”
“Great. I’ll try that.”
“So, you like beer,” Casey said.
Sarah actually smiled. “I’m learning to. One of the guys—” She stopped. Shook her head a little. “People at the office really like beer. Matt even takes us out sometimes.” Her cheeks ever so slightly flushed.
“Beer is a big deal in San Diego,” Casey said, watching her. “I really need to learn more about it.” She gestured at the food. “Please, have some.”
“What is it?”
“Popcorn chicken and a kimchi quesadilla.”
Sarah stared at the platter. “I don’t think I know what that is,” she said. She seemed not just embarrassed, but as though she’d failed somehow.
“Hah, yeah, it’s a little weird,” Casey said, trying to make it light. She wanted Sarah to feel comfortable; she needed Sarah to trust her. “But if you like spicy food, it’s really good.”
Dammit, she thought, I should have picked a different spot, somewhere Sarah would feel more comfortable. Like maybe an Outback Steakhouse.
“Okay,” Sarah said. “Thank you. I was supposed to get some dinner. I haven’t done it yet.”
Casey dished her a slice. She watched Sarah cut her quesadilla into small bites, chewing each one carefully, following with sips of her beer.
“This is really good,” Sarah said.
“Glad you like it.”
I’ll let her eat for a bit, drink some beer, Casey thought. Let her get settled before I talk to her, tell her what I saw. Before the ask.
Sarah beat her to it. “So, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?”
Casey swallowed her mouthful of mojito. She hadn’t worked out her approach yet, how she wanted to angle this. Then thought, this is not a person who angles. She’s being direct; I might as well be too.
“I know you’re concerned about trolls,” Casey said. “And there’ve been some new ones since the segment aired yesterday.”
“I know. I’ve been on the social media feeds all day.” Sarah served herself another piece of kimchi quesadilla. Apparently she really did like it. “I figured there would be. It’s not as bad as yesterday at least.”
“When was the last time you looked?”
Sarah’s brow wrinkled. “I guess about two hours ago?”
Casey drew in a breath. A part of her had hoped that Sarah had already seen it. That it really wasn’t a big deal. Because as much as she wanted whatever the story behind that tweet was, there was something about Sarah—that wariness and discomfort, the lack of emotion, or maybe it was emotion constantly suppressed—that made Casey think there was something deeply injured in the center of her.
“There was one that posted a little over an hour ago,” she said. “It worried me. I wanted to make sure that you saw it.”
Sarah put down her knife and fork. “Okay. Do you want to show me?”
Casey got out her phone. She’d taken a screenshot of the tweet in case it had been removed, but it was still there. She held it out to Sarah.
Sarah took the phone and read. Something flitted across her face, a ripple of some emotion: Fear? Disgust? Casey wasn’t sure.
“Right,” she said.
“Is this … is it for real? Do you know what they’re talking about?” Casey asked, as gently as she could.
“Sure I do.” It was one of the few times Casey had heard something resembling humor in her voice, a bitter laugh that sounded like it belonged to a much older person. Sarah put the phone down on the table. “Now you’re going to ask me if you can interview me about it, right? So I can set the narrative. Craft the messaging.”
“Yeah.” Because there was no point in trying to deny it. “But only if you want to. Look, Sarah, I meant it when I said I was worried. This whole True Men thing … I still don’t know if it’s real. But there are people doing violent things, and they’re using this tag to brag about it. Someone is anyway.”
Sarah took a long sip of her beer and then another, blinking rapidly. Blinking back tears? Then she put her glass down. Something in her face changed, turned blank and hard. “If I give you this story, then it has to be on my terms. I only want to tell it once. You can record it. But you can’t show it or post it until I say so.”
“Okay,” Casey said, thinking, probably okay. They could hold it for a reasonable amount of time. Even if someone broke the story first, assuming there was an actual story to break, if they had the segment in the can and ready to go, it wouldn’t be too bad. They’d have an exclusive from the source.
“Though to be honest with you, there are no guarantees that we’ll ever broadcast it,” Casey said. “That’s up to the news director, not me.”
Sarah smiled, a big broad smile that made her look very young. “Oh, you will.”
35
Of course they would. Sarah had no doubts. It had been a big story, one that had broken nationally. Not for long; it faded out of the news pretty quickly, because nothing lasted long in the public’s consciousness anymore unless it was constantly repeated.
But there was the video. And though the video had mostly been scrubbed from the internet, there was the image from that video, and there would always be that image, it would never go away.
That was what scared her the most, that it would never go away. That it would follow her for the rest of her life, and she’d never get any real distance from it.
She’d changed her name. Changed her hair. Changed her body, lost weight and transformed the baby fat into muscle. Kept her head down, didn’t date, hardly socialized, went to grad school and got a master’s degree. Was on the path to doing what she really wanted to do in spite of everything.
She’d thought she could stay hidden a while longer. Even when they’d found her email address, they still hadn’t known where she was. Who she was.
But there was still the image, and it was catching up to her again. Maybe she could have outrun the emails, but the shitstorm now? It was too big, too strong. It had killed people in the park. Put Ben in the hospital. And now it was howling on social media, looking for more blood.
“We can go to the stud
io and tape it right now,” Casey said. “We’re ten minutes away at most.”
Sarah nodded. Because at this point, she just wanted to get it over with.
Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was time to stop carrying this thing around, time to stop wrapping it in layers of silence that had grown hard and too tight, to the point where she couldn’t ever just breathe deep and exhale it all out.
Just let it go, and face the consequences.
“I have to talk to my boss first,” she said. She owed it to the campaign to tell them ahead of time. Before it came out on Twitter.
“Jane Haddad?” There was no mistaking the avid note in Casey’s voice, the way her eyes brightened and focused.
You’ve got to be careful with her, Sarah reminded herself. She’ll use whatever she can, whether you want her to or not. “I’m supposed to go back to work tonight. I can’t just walk out on my job to do an interview.”
“Okay, sure, understood,” Casey said.
She did a good job of disguising her impatience, Sarah thought, but it was still there.
“I’d like to do it tonight if we can. I just need to talk to my boss first.”
“We can totally do that. Just text me. I’ll make sure there’s a crew ready to go.”
When Sarah got back to the office, Jane had already left. That was not normal.
“Do you know where Jane went?” Sarah asked Natalie.
“No. She left right after you did. Just said she had to go and to forward her calls.” Natalie seemed to focus on her laptop, not meeting Sarah’s eyes. “Something’s up.”
Sarah sat down at her desk, her heart pounding hard. Was it something about Matt? About Anbar or Jesse Garcia, whatever the story was?
About Ben?
Had they found out about her?
She grabbed her phone and opened Twitter, her fingers fumbling on the virtual keys. Typed in Matt’s handle. Tried #CasonShooting, #TrueMen, and #AJLA too.
Finally, she typed in her old name.
Nothing new.
Sarah let out a breath. Whatever was going on with Jane, it probably wasn’t about her.
She opened up Campaigner on her phone. Found Jane on the chat list and opened up a private conversation. Hi Jane, I am back at the office, she typed. Something important has come up that I really need to talk to you about as soon as possible. Sorry for the inconvenience.
She labeled it high priority and hit Send.
A minute went by. Two. Then the alert and a reply: Is this very urgent?
Sarah hesitated. She didn’t want to bother Jane. But it was.
Yes.
A pause.
At home, Jane said. Do you remember the address?
The police car was parked in front of Jane and Charlotte’s house.
If it was really bad, she wouldn’t have replied to me, Sarah thought. If it was really bad, she wouldn’t have told me to come over.
Jane answered the door. “Police are in the backyard,” she said, before Sarah could ask.
“What—?”
“Eggs, dog shit, garbage, and graffiti.”
“Harmless pranks, I’m sure,” Charlotte said from the couch, taking a sip of a drink from a tall glass. “They were very interested in raping dykes, from the notes they left.” She patted at the couch. “Please, sit. Jane can get you an iced chia lime tea.”
Sarah sat. She thought Charlotte looked even more pregnant than she had on Saturday. Maybe it was the T-shirt she wore.
“The police should be gone soon,” Jane said from the kitchen. Sarah heard the clink of ice cubes on glass. “I can clean up most of it tonight. The graffiti will have to wait for tomorrow.”
“Sweetie, just … let’s call someone and have them do it. There’s no reason for you to.”
Jane came over to the couch, carrying a tall tumbler with a greenish liquid. “It actually tastes good,” she said, putting the glass on the coffee table in front of Sarah. “I’d rather do it myself. It’s too risky to hire someone. I don’t want this … I don’t want this getting out. I don’t want to give it any more oxygen.”
They might have taken pictures, Sarah almost said, and there’s nothing you can do about it. But she didn’t say that. “I’ll help you,” she said instead.
Jane shook her head. “No. No, there’s no need for that.”
“I want to.”
Jane shook her head again. “I can do it—” she began.
Charlotte cut her off. “Honey, one of these days you’re going to have to learn to accept help when someone offers it to you.” She turned to Sarah. “Thank you. We’d really appreciate your help.” Then she looked at Jane. “See how easy that was?”
“Then you are not helping,” Jane said, pointing at her.
Charlotte lifted up her glass of iced whatever it was. “My plan succeeds.”
The backyard smelled like rotten garbage and dog shit. The garbage was heaped in piles against the sliding glass door and the back fence, spilled across the yard, emptied out of big plastic bags that had been split open. The cement patio was sticky with eggs, the yolks bleeding into the whites. The dog shit was in paper bags that had been lit on fire.
They’d sprayed graffiti on the stucco wall of the house and the interior of the fence.
“They probably came up from the canyon and climbed the fence,” Jane said. “Easiest way to get into the backyard and not be seen.” She shook her head. “We have motion-activated lights but those don’t do any good during the day.”
The realization hit Sarah like a blow. “Oh my god. I … the day I was here … I thought I heard voices behind the fence. I meant to tell you. I didn’t see anything but—”
“Sarah.” Jane reached out and rested her hand on Sarah’s for a moment. “Please don’t worry about it. There are kids down there all the time. And that’s probably who did this anyway.”
“I meant to tell you … I just … ”
“Had other things to think about.” Jane let out a deep breath, looking pale and drained in a way that Sarah had never seen her. She went over to a Rubbermaid cabinet and retrieved two pairs of gloves, brooms, and a box of lawn-sized trash bags. “I don’t want to try tackling the graffiti,” she said. “Just … if we can get the garbage bagged up so I can hose off the patio.”
“Sure.”
The garbage was rancid. One of the bags had held what looked like old fryer grease. There were vegetables and rotten scraps of meat and things that had started to liquefy.
“This isn’t even our trash,” Jane said as she swept some up into a garden dustpan. “Looks like it came from a restaurant.” Sarah held a bag open while Jane dumped the pan-load into it. “So they not only dumped our garbage all over the place, they stole somebody else’s and brought it with them. Hauled it down into the canyon and schlepped it up here. I mean, what kind of people do that?”
I could tell you, Sarah thought. “Did the police find anything?”
“Apparently they were smart enough to wear gloves. I think the technician got a couple of footprints though.”
“At least they’re taking it seriously,” Sarah said. The smell of the garbage was making her gag.
“After what happened this weekend, I guess they have to.” Jane took the bag from Sarah, tied the ends of it together, and tossed it into the black trashcan.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m taking Charlotte to a hotel tonight,” Jane said, grabbing another trash bag from the box on the picnic table. “Maybe we’ll spend a couple of days with my mom after that. There’s no way I want her here by herself. She’s the one who came home today and found all this. I’m not letting something like that happen again.”
Then Jane stopped what she was doing. Paused, garbage bag in hand, straightened up, and fixed her gaze on Sarah.
“But you had
something you needed to talk about. I’m sorry. I’m a little distracted. Was it about what Casey Cheng wanted?”
“Yes,” Sarah said. She could feel her heart pulse in her throat. “Can we sit down?”
36
“Why does it have to be now?”
“I don’t know, because it does,” Casey said. “Hang on, let me step outside.”
She could understand why Rose was less than thrilled by the prospect. It was closing in on ten p.m., Rose had already gone home, and who knew how long this might take?
She’d hung out at the gastropub, limiting herself to the one mojito and then switching to tea, reading news and typing notes on her iPad. Now she stood outside the pub, drifting over to the blue neon lit entrance of the vape shop, trying to convince Rose that it was worth going to interview Sarah now, for a segment they couldn’t even show until Sarah said it was okay.
She just had a feeling about Sarah, that whatever her story was would be worth the wait.
Or, that’s just what you want to believe, she told herself. You want a backstory that lives up to that photo of her in the park. Something that would push the series even higher. Keep this streak, this momentum going.
“Do we even know what it’s about?”
“She didn’t want to say. She said she only wanted to tell the story once.”
She could hear Rose’s scoff in her ear. “I don’t know, Case. This sounds like some weird manipulation to me. Maybe she liked being on the news more than she thought she would.”
“Could be. My take is that she’s trying to exercise what little control she’s got over all this.”
A pause on the other end of the line. Rose was thinking it over, Casey knew.
“Fair enough,” she finally said.
Excellent, thought Casey. I’m right. She feels it too. “If it’s a bust, I’ll buy you guys dinner.”
“She says she’ll buy us dinner,” Rose said, presumably not to Casey.
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