The FBI team stopped at the table. Not our table. They stopped on every side of Libby’s nephew, Drew, surrounding him. Libby heard the commotion behind us, and her head flew around in despair. A strangled cry escaped from her throat. She reached out her hands toward Drew, and her nephew simply offered a patient nod and stood up to accept the handcuffs.
“Drew,” she murmured.
“I’m so sorry, Libby,” I said.
She watched them taking her nephew away. Her face was wrenched with pain. I knew it was worse for her than if they’d put her in prison herself. Libby was a rescuer. A savior. She wanted to raise up everyone. There were no lost causes. It was bad enough that Irving Wolfe had taken away her legacy, but now he’d taken away her pride and joy, too. He’d sacrificed her nephew.
“Drew was just trying to save me,” she said.
“I know.”
“He was furious about what Irving did to me. He’s a good boy. He made a mistake.”
“He’s not a boy, Libby. He made his own choices.”
“Only out of the best intentions, Julie. Only out of love.”
“Libby, he killed Nick Duggan, too. There’s no excuse for that. No justification.”
Libby flinched. “No, no, no, that’s my fault. It’s all my fault. Duggan contacted me. He’d figured out that I was one of Irving’s victims. He made the connection to Sonny and the book. He said he’d found someone who saw my limo at the pier the night of that last cruise. When he started asking all of these questions, I panicked. I told Drew we couldn’t let the truth come out. Drew said he’d take care of it. I shouldn’t have let him go.”
I watched her cry. I held her hand, but there was nothing I could do.
I thought about Sonny. Wherever he was, I’m sure he was unhappy with me for letting the truth come out. Why couldn’t you just drop the gun in the river, darling girl? He’d risked everything to avoid this moment and spare Libby this pain. Instead, I couldn’t stop myself from knowing things that my father never wanted me to know.
If I had it all to do over again, if I’d known what I would discover, I would have – I would have –
I would have done the same thing. Bree was right. I’m a one-choice girl.
Sonny and I simply made different choices. His choice was to lie, bribe, cover up, all to protect Libby and her nephew. I knew why Sonny had gone so far. Only out of the best of intentions. Only out of love. My father had loved Libby right to the end. She was still the woman he wanted to marry, years after she’d told him no. He still would have done anything for her. And he did.
In the end, Sonny sold his soul to save her. He sold out West 57 the day he agreed to publish Captain Absolute. There was no going back.
42
A few days later, I made it official. I issued a press release, short and sweet. I was voluntarily pulling Captain Absolute from bookstore shelves and offering refunds to anyone who had already purchased it.
I assumed this would be a popular decision, but you’d think I had asked libraries to burn their copies of To Kill a Mockingbird. Bookstore owners called me in droves, begging me to keep the book on the market. It seems that in the wake of all the publicity – Irving Wolfe’s body, Drew’s arrest, Libby’s grief-stricken press conference, King Royal’s public mea culpa on Jimmy Fallon, complete with a live rendition of Assy McHattie – demand for Captain Absolute was at an all-time high. It was like I’d published The Gone Girl on the Train With the Dragon Tattoo.
As for refund requests, we got six. Six. This was out of several hundred thousand copies delivered to stores. Everyone else went out on eBay and Amazon and sold their used copies for twice the price. You have to love the American entrepreneurial spirit.
I finally compromised with booksellers. They’d bought the books; they could keep them and sell them. We wouldn’t print any more copies, but we weren’t demanding that we get the existing books back to be pulped like orange juice. With a finite supply, and seemingly infinite demand, customers flocked to stores, waited in huge lines, and paid full price. Even Wal-Mart didn’t discount Captain Absolute. As a result, it was the first book in recent memory on which every bookseller in the country made money. Most independents were on track for their best sales month in ten years, and I became an instant industry hero. I was on the cover of Publishers Weekly and on the front page of The New York Times. The photo caption read, “Publisher With Long Hair.”
I’m kidding.
The whole spectacle nauseated me, but Bree pointed out that, in the end, Sonny had been right again. Nobody cared that the book was a lie designed to cover up a murder. Even the big O announced that she was reading it, and with the Oprah Seal of Approval, every book club in the country made Captain Absolute their monthly pick. Everyone was happy, including King Royal, who was already in discussions with Fox about a reality TV show. According to Bree, a seven-figure auction was underway for King’s next memoir. He was going to be a wealthy man.
For me, the good news was that Morningside Park had followed Captain Absolute up the bestseller list, thanks to all the news reports about Libby, Drew, and Wolfe. Massive orders started flowing in, and we had to do a huge new print order. Libby was going to make a lot of money with her next royalty check.
Helmut was as giddy as a schoolgirl about the whole thing. When I went to see him at Gernestier, I expected to find him drinking Rostocker beer and dancing to polka music with his buxom secretary. He’d hit a triple jackpot, all 7’s lining up on his slot machine. My decision to yank the book enhanced the reputation of West 57 for quality and integrity in its literary line. My decision to let booksellers sell their existing stock was making everyone a pot of money. Naturally, I also knew that as soon as I signed on the dotted line to sell the house, Helmut would quietly reverse my decision and reprint several hundred thousand more copies of Captain Absolute to meet the market demand.
It was a win-win-win.
He greeted me with a bear hug in the lobby of the executive floor. Other executives flooded from their offices to meet me. Everyone had to come see Julie Chavan and shake her hand.
“Julie, Julie, Julie,” Helmut said as he led me into the board room. “What a week you’ve had.”
“That’s true.”
“It’s extraordinary. I never expected this book to become such a pop culture phenomenon.”
“Neither did I,” I said. “I wanted to bury it.”
“Ah, but you can’t bury something once the culture takes hold of it. Such things have a will of their own. However, I was impressed that you tried to make amends in the marketplace for the dishonesty of the book.”
“Thank you.”
“Naturally, I would never have done the same thing,” he added with a playful flick of his eyebrows. This was definitely the first time I have ever used the word “playful” to describe Helmut.
He pointed me to one of the leather chairs. I was thinking of asking if I could take one with me. It’s more comfortable than my bed.
As I sat down, I saw a stack of papers neatly placed on the long conference room table. That was when the reality of this meeting hit me. I tried to keep the sadness off my face, and I don’t think I was successful. These were the contracts for selling the brand. I’d had a lawyer review them, and everything was in order. The deal was done. Just sign my name, and I would be free. West 57 would belong to Gernestier.
Just sign my name, and Sonny would really be gone.
If Helmut recognized my discomfort, he was discreet. He looked away as I brushed back the tears. He had champagne ready for us again, and a very nice cheese tray, but I didn’t want anything. I wanted it to be over.
I looked around, wanting to see Sonny here, even if it was just one last time. I hadn’t seen him in days, not since that late night in the office when I’d first realized he was on the boat with King and Wolfe. Maybe that was the discovery I needed to make; maybe that was the unfinished business we had. You can’t keep the dead around forever, right? Sooner or later, heaven wants t
hem. Even so, I was struggling with the idea that I would never see him again. If I’d known, I would have told him what was in my heart. I would have said goodbye.
“I know this is hard for you,” Helmut said quietly.
“I didn’t realize how hard it would be,” I replied, staring at the papers and the expensive Cross pen placed next to them.
“You know, this does not have to be end,” he told me. “Our offer still stands. You are welcome to join Gernestier as the director of West 57. I think you would be pleasantly surprised at the autonomy we would give you. With all candor, you are even more valuable to us today, thanks to your high profile, than you were a week ago. With that in mind, we would be inclined to sweeten our offer.”
He mentioned a new number.
It was an even nicer number than he’d proposed to me at dinner when all of this started.
Anything to say, Sonny? Any advice for your darling girl? But no. He didn’t weigh in or tell me I was crazy or tell me to take Helmut’s bratwurst and shove it up his sauerkraut. I was on my own.
“That’s extremely generous,” I said, “but I have other plans.”
“Los Angeles?”
“Yes.”
“Well, believe me when I say that your departure is a gain for Hollywood and the movie industry and a sincere loss for New York and the publishing industry.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
I’d made my decision. As always, I really only had one choice to make. I reached for the papers and the pen. Helmut’s lawyers had thoughtfully placed little sticky arrows on every page on which I had to sign. There were lots of pages with lots of legalese about intellectual property, fixed assets, reps and warranties, human resources, and other clauses that keep lawyers paying their country club bills every month. I didn’t hesitate. I went through the contract page by page, signing every line where I needed to sign. It didn’t take long. Not even five minutes. When I was done, I didn’t own West 57 anymore.
“Here you are,” I said to Helmut.
We shook hands. “You won’t regret this decision, Julie,” he assured me. “Gernestier will honor Sonny’s legacy.”
“I hope so.”
“Are you sure I can’t offer you something to drink? I could invite some of our other officers to join us.”
“No, I need to go.”
“I’m sure our paths will cross again,” he said.
“I’m sure that’s true.”
I got up. Strangely, I felt a sense of relief. I’d been dreading this moment for days, but now it was done. I had cut the cord once and for all. I could get on with the rest of my life.
There was absolutely nothing keeping me in New York anymore. No strings. No ties. No regrets. I could leave for the west coast with Cherie and Thad and leave nothing behind me.
Absolutely nothing.
Nothing at all.
Really.
43
“Julie!” Cherie announced happily as I answered my phone. “Where are you?”
“I’m at Thad’s hotel, mother,” I told her, but she already knew that. I’m sure her GPS tracker was working fine. “The taxi just dropped me off.”
“Are you packed? Do you have your bag with you?”
“Of course.”
“Wonderful! My dear, this is so very exciting. My assistant will be waiting at LAX to pick up the two of you in a town car and whisk you right back to my office. I will give you the grand tour, show you your space, introduce you to the entire team. We can eat in the cafeteria. You have never seen a cafeteria like ours! We have an Automat with fresh sushi and a salad bar with organic produce grown on-site in our own gardens. Did I mention the running track, too? We will have that pooch gone in no time.”
“I don’t have a pooch,” I said, which was not altogether true.
“Our building is more like a spa than a corporate campus, trust me. Of course, no need to work today. Or even tomorrow, my dear. I want you to get familiar with the area. You and Thad can go see the sights, check out some of the studios, or just lie on the beach if you want. It’s going to be 75 degrees and sunny, but of course, that’s the forecast every day. Most TV stations out here don’t even bother with weather girls. What’s there to say about it?”
“It’s supposed to pour down rain in New York tonight,” I said.
“See? I will be so happy to have you out of there. At long last!”
“It’s only a week, mother.”
Cherie tut-tutted me. “Julie, California is a drug. Give it a week, and you will be addicted. Trust me, you will never leave. You will be just like Katy Perry, my dear. A California gurl.”
I’d made the mistake of telling her about my Katy dream. She was very amused at the idea of wearing a Snoop Dogg goatee.
“Oh, and I’ve talked to a realtor for you!” Cherie went on. “We’ll see him on Friday.”
“A realtor? Mother, slow down.”
That was a foolish request, because my mother does not do “slow down.” She has one speed. Cherie speed.
“You need to meet him, my dear. Lovely little cherub. Gay as the day is long, but he attends all the right parties. That’s how you find properties out here. MLS in L.A. stands for Mojitos Lunches Skybar. William will take you around and show you places in all the right neighborhoods, and I assure you, you won’t see a For Sale sign outside any of them. Advertising is tacky tacky tacky. Don’t worry about prices either. You know I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
“That’s not what I’m looking for, mother.”
“And that’s why I’m here to help you, my dear! I can make all the arrangements. We’ll find the perfect place in no time. I know you’re going to be staying with Thad, and his place is divine, but you will want a home of your own, regardless. Even if you’re only there a couple days a month, it’s useful.”
I felt a little like Dorothy, and Cherie was the tornado.
“I have to go, mother,” I said.
“Yes, I know, you have a flight to catch. Thank God you’re taking Virgin. They understand first class. Oh, one other thing! I almost forgot! I’ve scheduled you for driving lessons, too.”
“Driving lessons?”
“It’s Los Angeles, my dear, not New York. People in our business do not take public transportation. We drive. We drive everywhere. We drive to work. We drive to the beach. We drive to our garage to get our car. I’m not letting you on the 405 until you’ve had a month of lessons. As an incentive, I have my eye on an Audi convertible for you. My dealer owes me a favor. He’ll let you have it for a song. A song, my dear, right off the lot. It’s yellow.”
“I don’t like yellow,” I said.
“Oh, Julie, yellow is the new red. It’s the hot color out here. If you’d like, consider it a welcome-to-Los Angeles gift from me. I’ll have it waiting at Thad’s, and your driving instructor can run you through the basics. You’ll be terrorizing the crosswalks of Malibu in no time.”
“Don’t buy me a car, mother,” I said. “Really.”
“We’ll call it a loan. How about that?”
“I really have to go,” I repeated.
“Yes, yes, safe flight, my dear! Give Thad a big hug for me! Get some sleep on the trip. You’ve earned it. Tomorrow you’ll be on my patio enjoying a cup of tea.”
“I like coffee,” I said, but Cherie had already hung up.
I know, I know. Tea’s better for me.
Thad was on the phone when I arrived in his hotel room. He didn’t notice me standing there. I hovered by the door with my roller bag in hand. Meanwhile, Thad’s people buzzed around me like worker bees. When Thad relocates, it’s not like packing a carry-on and catching a cab. At least ten trunks wheeled by me, pulled by moving men. I saw artwork being taken off the walls. A treadmill. An exercise bike. A filing cabinet. Two espresso machines. Two. I guess that’s what they mean by double espresso.
I realized that I was a cog in the wheel of a multi-million dollar enterprise. An international corporation. Thad
, Inc.
Mandi with an i, the perky blond who met me at the limo for my date with Thad, was supervising the move. She looked efficient, directing workers, checking items off on a clipboard. She was already dressed for L.A. in a hot pink dress that showed off her mile-long legs. Her nose was a well-sharpened knife. She had Farrah hair, lips by Botox, and breasts that made me wonder if the U.S. Olympic volleyball team was missing a couple balls.
Mandi saw me and smiled a fake smile with a mouth that had twice the normal complement of teeth. She dodged the parade of workmen and made her way to me at the door.
“Julie,” she said smoothly. “It’s great to see you again.”
I think there was an implied “bitch” somewhere in that greeting.
I smiled back. “Great to see you, too.”
“I understand you’re traveling with us,” Mandi said. “Terrific.”
“Thanks.”
She eyed my eighteen-inch travel bag like I was traveling with a flatulent sheepdog. “Is the rest of your luggage downstairs? We’ll put it in the van.”
“This is all of it,” I said.
“Wow, really? How cute. I could never travel so light.”
“Well, my bras don’t take up as much room as yours,” I said.
No, I didn’t say that.
“It’s only a week,” I said.
“A week? Really? Thad made it sound like you were making the big move.”
“We’ll see.”
“Well, you should do it. New York is dreary.”
“I always thought it was the most electrifying city in the world,” I said.
“Oh, it was exciting the first few days, and then I missed the ocean, you know? I’m dying to get in my bikini again and head for the beach.”
“I guess you can catch up on your reading there,” I said. Yes, I may have tucked a little sarcasm into that comment.
Mandi shrugged. “Who reads anymore?”
I didn’t know what to say to that. She said it so matter-of-factly that I was speechless. Of course, maybe she was right. Maybe nobody reads in L.A. Maybe nobody reads anywhere anymore. Except in New York. A lot of us still read in New York.
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