by Jess Bentley
“So anyways, how was the bachelor auction last night? Did you bid on a sexy stranger?” Lillian winks. I was kinda hoping she wouldn’t ask. No one at work knows that our boss, Max, took me to the charity bowl except Lillian, who’s his secretary.
“You kidding me? I don’t have that kind of money! But otherwise it was nice. Pretty fancy!”
The blonde woman. The revelation, the shock—all of it is coming back to haunt me. After I recovered consciousness from the fainting spell, Max was gone — nowhere to be seen. I don’t even remember how I got home but I spent half the night wondering whether it was true. Is Katherine really Max’s future wife? Was I just a plaything for him while his girlfriend was away? If so, I’m disgusted. But I can’t deny that the way Max looks at me, the way he speaks to me, all point toward him being an honest man. Max wouldn’t do that to me. I know it, I keep telling herself.
I’m not sure what’s going on but I want to get to the bottom of it. But I’m certain that Max didn’t lie. He couldn’t have.
“I bet Mr. Jefferson went for a bomb?” Lillian’s curiosity is plain.
“Yep. $20,000.”
“Whoa! I wasn’t expecting that number. Who bid on him?” Lillian asks.
“Some lady named Katherine Griswold.”
Lillian’s face goes sour and I decide to prod further.
“Are those two an item?” I ask, feigning innocence. “She was announced on stage as future Mrs. Max Jefferson.”
Lillian scoffs. “She doesn’t deserve him. Mr. Jefferson deserves someone much better than her.”
“She seemed okay. Why do you say so?”
“Oh, Carrie! You're new to the office so maybe you don’t know but it’s a long story,” she sighs.
“I’m all ears and we’ve still got a fifteen minute walk ahead of us.” I smile nervously, hoping she’ll spill.
“Well, tell me, who owns our Coyote magazine?” Lillian asks.
“Er. Max?”
“A part of it yes, but he’s just a partner. The magazine is owned by Griswold Media, which is a part of the massive business empire of the Griswold family.”
“The Griswold family?”
“Yep. That Griswold family. The magazine is just pocket change for them and guess who is the sole heiress of the Griswold empire?” Lillian raises an eyebrow.
“Katherine?”
“Yes.”
“But what does that have to do with her and Max? Are you saying that he is into her for her money?”
“Oh not at all,” Lillian laughs. “Mr. Jefferson would never do that. He’s far too noble than that. You see, early in life he lost his parents and when he was in college he was spotted by one of the Griswold brothers, Katherine’s father, who was impressed by Mr. Jefferson, as everyone is, and took the young boy under his wing.” Lillian pauses to take a sip of her coffee. “The Griswolds took Max in as one of their own, groomed him and the day he was done with his education, they had him working for their companies. Once Coyote magazine started failing, they sent in Max for the rescue and made him a partner.”
“But Katherine?” Come on, lady. I don’t want to know Max’s biography—just his relationship with that woman.
“They’ve known each other for years. Honestly, Mr. Jefferson doesn’t talk about his private life and Katherine rarely ever comes to our office, so I'm not sure what’s going on there. Besides she’s traveling around the world for her charity work and no one really knows what her deal is. But my theory is that Mr. Jefferson feels that he owes the Griswold family big time, which is why he entertains Katherine.”
So Max is appeasing Katherine because of his connection to her family? My mind is racing to solve this mystery. I knew he couldn’t have lied to me. I just knew it.
“Why doesn’t he just tell her off?” I ask.
“Would you? If you owed them everything you've achieved in life?”
“That’s a difficult situation. A bad place to be in.”
“Yes, it is. That’s why I feel so much for Mr. Jefferson. The poor man has to endure so much and that Katherine, ugh, she just makes me so angry.”
If I didn’t know better, I would think that Lillian is in love with Max. But it all makes sense. It was all as much of a surprise to Max as it was to me. But where does that leave me? Does my two months old romantic story with Max end here? Should I confront him?
As I walk toward the conference room for the daily eleven a.m. staff meeting, my heart is pounding hard. Max will be in there. When I open the door, I see Max is already in a quiet discussion with a feature editor. Once everyone streams in, the standard order of business resumes, with editors and writers laying out their plans for the day.
“Phil here,” Max nods at their staff photographer, “has quite a scoop for us today. Do any of you watch soccer?” A few hands went up.
“How many of you know David Adams?” All but two hands raise. One of them is mine.
Max hasn’t even made eye contact so far.
“Exactly! Everyone knows this guy and what a bad boy he has been his entire career. At least when he was playing in the English League. The problem for us media people is that ever since he came over to our country, he’s been laying low. No scandals, no gossip, nothing we can report on. And we can’t have that, now, can we?” Some of the people in the room chuckle, anticipating the big scoop Max is ready to reveal.
“So this morning, when David Adams was leaving the house of a certain Victoria’s Secret Angel, Phil here snapped some pictures and made a deal with that model for her side of the story. Ladies and gentleman, this is his first scandal in the US and we will be the only publication to run this story on the notorious Mr. David Adams!” Max spreads his arms in triumph as excited cheers and claps ring around the room.
If there’s one thing that I don’t love about Max, it’s that he’s hell bent on turning Coyote into a gossip mag. But what can he do? He’s got a business to run and from what I know now, he has an obligation to the Griswold family. Poor guy. Stuck between a rock and hard place.
“... I want to run that story as soon as possible,” Max says, still addressing the staff. “I want a field reporter to go interview that model, what’s her name... Ana something. Get her story, do a quick copy edit and we should have it online before anyone else even gets a whiff of intrigue. This is a priority. David is an international celebrity and there is a lot of mileage to be had here.”
Max, utterly pleased with himself, is wasting no time in putting everyone to work.
“Carrie. Hold back a moment,” he says as the rest of the staff file out of the conference room. Shit! My nerves are on the edge. I have no idea what he’s going to say. No idea what I should say to him.
“Are you all right Carrie?” he asks with a serious look on his face.
“Hmm?” That’s an odd thing to ask.
“You fainted last night. Are you okay?... health-wise I mean.” There’s genuine concern in his voice.
“Oh. Yes. I'm fine. I was just tired yesterday.” He cares about me. I’m relieved at that thought. He sits silent for a minute, lost in his thoughts.
“Sometimes life only leaves a man with difficult choices, and at times it can be difficult to escape such situations. Some men find their way out and others don’t. The difference is the faith others have in them.”
This is not just a random speech—Max is trying to tell me something without making it too obvious. But what is he trying to say?
“Do you have faith in me Carrie?” He looks me dead straight in the eye. That same look that always sends tingles down her spine.
“Of course,” I reply automatically.
“Good. I'm glad to hear that,” He smiles as he stands up. “Things will work out, I'm sure of that.” He pats my shoulder and steps out of the room.
What is he really trying to say?
A few articles to finish and then lunch, but my mind keeps wandering to Max’s words. He obviously is stuck in a situation with Katherine so he can’t talk
openly about her in the office, lest anyone overhear. Does he want me to read between the lines? What does he mean by everything will work out?
Last night and early this morning, I felt heartbroken and betrayed. But after talking to Max, a hope is reigniting in my heart. I’m reassured. It’s not over yet. He wouldn’t have lied to me, I know that. In the two months that I've been with him, he has opened himself up to me and revealed his vulnerabilities. I know I'm not wrong about this.
I’m just about finished the last article for the day, when I get a shock — an email in my inbox from the assistant editor. They’ve reassigned me to the job of a field reporter and my first job is to go and interview the model that wants to sell the story about David Adams.
Chapter 80
Tossing and turning all night has left me tired and in no mood to talk to anyone, let alone some obnoxious model. But it’s now my duty as the newly appointed field reporter. Max made it sound like I was moving on to better things, but it feels more like a demotion.
When I got this job, I thought I’d be working with the renowned Coyote magazine, where writers like Christopher Alexander once wielded their pen. But with time and the changing nature of the audience, Coyote has changed its tune and is now a magazine that pays more attention to celebrity gossip than to thoughtful social discussion.
But Max will surely change that.
He has big plans for the magazine, to restore it to its past glory. He told me so himself. It’s the main thing that attracted me to him. It still gives me goosebumps to remember the speech that Max gave his staff at the beginning of the current quarter. He was like an army general, urging his troops to go on an all-out attack.
If he’s moved me to a new position, then he must have something in mind. I should trust his judgement, after all he’s never wronged me before. He wants the best for me. At least, I've moved from the online edition to the offline one. That’s gotta count for something.
When I find the model’s house, Phil the paparazzo isn’t even there yet. And I don’t even have his phone number.
Instead of waiting around in the heat, I decide to ring the bell. A tall woman, who looks gorgeous even without any makeup leans out from the window of the first floor.
“Yes?” She says in a thick Eastern European accent.
“Hi! I'm Carrie, from Coyote magazine. I’m here to interview you?” I say meekly. The woman just stares at me, as if I’m speaking Greek.
“Why are you here?” she asks finally.
“Er... to interview you,” I say again. I’m mortified, standing on the pavement, staring up at the window.
“Yes, you told me that already. But you must speak to my agent first. Are you new or something?” She’s visibly irritated.
“No... yes... I mean…” I stutter.
“Amateurs,” Ana rolls her eyes. “Talk to my agent first.” With that she shuts the window and goes back inside.
Shit!
No one told me that I was supposed to talk to an agent and I don't even know who he or she is. Goddammit. My day isn’t exactly going according to plan.
“Hey!” A man’s voice says from behind me.
“Phil! Where the hell have you been?”
“What? I'm here, aren’t I?” he says, flicking a cigarette onto the sidewalk.
“You’re late!”
“Yeah, whatever. Is she in there?” he asks.
“Yes. But she won’t let me in. She told me to call her agent,” I cross my arms. Phil just chuckles.
“What? What is so funny Phil?”
“You're new to this. You'll get used to it all soon.” He takes a long drag of his cigarette. I hope not. I don’t want to get used to this kind of work.
“What she means is that she needs to get paid for the story and for that we need to contact her agent. In advance.”
“Why the hell would we pay her for a story?” I ask sending Phil into fits of laughter again.
“Because that’s how the world works! You’ve gotta get with the program if you're planning to survive in this industry!” What a patronizing attitude.
“Watch and learn!” He smirks as he walks up to the door and rings her bell.
“There’s my favorite supermodel of all time!” He exclaims as the model appears at her window again. This time she puts on a slight smile.
“Phil. Hey.”
“You look younger every time I see you. What is this sorcery?” He grins but Ana’s not amused.
“What’s it Phil? Get to the point,” she says.
“Carrie, here, is new. She is still getting the hang of how things work and today she needs to interview you. Won’t you do us a big favor and let us in?”
“I told her already, she needs to call my agent first,” Ana answers in her thick accent that would surely appeal to men of a certain taste.
“Let’s cut to the chase, sweetheart. You sold us the story, cause you need exposure and you know that we always pay you on time. Just cut her some slack so we can get on with this. I'm sure we all have other things to do today.” He smiles a greasy smile.
Ana seems thoughtful but isn’t in any mood to concede.
“I want to be on the cover,” she demands. Phil just chuckles under his breath.
“Why don’t we come up there and talk to you about this. Besides I got a little gift for you too,” he says and takes a small plastic bag with white powder in it out of his pocket. There’s a gleam in her eyes as she smirks and moves away from the window. Moment later she buzzes us in.
“You’re welcome!” Phil gives a smug grin to me as we walk up.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Ana says, as she grabs the little plastic bag from Phil and disappears through a side door.
“Remember this. These models will do anything for a bit of blow,” Phil laughs. So now I'm supposed to be a drug dealer too? I am disgusted with the whole situation.
“All right. Let’s get this done.” Ana sits on the sofa with a thump. She rubs her nose and seems to be in a better mood than before.
“So David Adams…” I begin, not sure about what to ask.
“What a bastard! He was trying to sneak off in the morning when you caught him,” she tells Phil.
“And thank you for the tip!” He winks at Ana, as he shoots a few test photos of her.
“I met him at this party and he was rude, and cocky and so full of himself.” She lights a cigarette. Then why did you sleep with him? I want to ask, but don’t.
“But he is sexy man and he is soccer star so I say to myself, why not. For a sports guy, he can really party. He out-drank me and I'm Eastern European. That’s a big deal.” She blows puffs of smoke, carelessly directed toward me.
“Any drug use?” Phil asks. A soccer superstar using drugs would make for a great story. Ana pauses to think before she answers.
“Not really, no.” She sounds disappointed. “But he is an out and out party guy who is obsessed with sex. Even though he isn’t any good at it,” Ana chuckles.
“Is he big?” Phil asks.
“Oh not at all!” Ana laughs. “He is teeny tiny.” She gestures a length with a small distance between her thumb and index finger.
Jesus! Is this what my writing career has come down to? I'm reporting on the size of a celebrity’s penis. A year ago I was working for a literary journal and while pay may not have been great, at least I was surrounded by intelligent people, who care about literary arts. I got to review great books, poems and theater productions.
Now I have no clue what to write in this article about Ana. There’s no story here. Ana got drunk and had sex with a famous person and somehow I’m supposed to build a great story out of it.
“Enough about him. He is arrogant, rude and asshole. That’s all. Now let’s get to my story. I want a two-page profile on my career at least,” Ana demands, “...and I want to be on the cover.” She interrupts again just as I’m about to speak.
Jeez. This is gonna be a long day.
It takes two hours for m
e to get all the things down that Ana wants in her profile. Phil’s still shooting pictures but I’m ready to get out of here. I can’t take Ana’s condescending attitude anymore. Besides the constant smoking was making my eyes itch.
Since this David Adams person is a big deal, the magazine will run this non-starter along with the pictures of him escaping Ana’s apartment that Phil had gotten. This is not what I'm meant to be doing, runs through my mind.
I’m startled by the sound of my phone rang and my mother’s phone number flashing on the screen. Shit! I dread taking her calls nowadays. Every single time we speak, our conversation eventually goes back to the uncomfortable topic of saving dad’s failing bar. As I stare at the phone, getting ready to accept the call, I wonder how I should break the news of another rejected bank loan application to my mother.
Chapter 81
I pick up the magazine and throw it across the room and then kick it out the door. I’m furious. The last thing I need at this point is a scandal and I regret the moment I made the decision to spend the night with Ana.
“And now, the coach is gonna be up my arse over this. That old wanker doesn’t like me already as it is,” I say aloud in frustration to no one in particular.
“Look, David. This was obviously a setup. This Ana girl played you and there is nothing we can do about it. This piece is an absolute sham. I'm sure the coach will understand,” says Shauna, my PR agent, in a pacifying tone.
“You don’t know him Shauna. Hank Miller is a class-A pain in the ass. He takes the head coach job too seriously. He’s an absolute dictator. It’s always his way or the highway and considering his mind still resides in the 19th century, he is not going to take kindly to this news.”
“You want me to talk to him?” Scott, my manager/agent chimes in.
“Yeah, right!” I sneer. “He hates agents even more.”
“It’s just bad timing!” Shauna sighs, garnering a nod from Scott.