Ugly

by Margaret McHeyzer

  I smile at Max. “You’re going to give me a massage?”

  Max shifts in his seat, obviously uncomfortable. “Ahh…no. I arranged an appointment for you with the hotel’s masseuse. I’m not sure I’d be able to touch you like that,” he openly admits to me.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Anyway, I do have a few things planned for us.”

  “Thank you.”

  Last night’s massage was the best thing I ever felt. The woman, I forgot her name, was absolutely magic with her hands. When she started working on my back and shoulders, my eyes closed in bliss. Then she started on my legs and I swear I fell asleep.

  When I went back to our room, I was drifting on the most perfect of waves. I loved it, every moment of it. And though Max had made a reservation at the restaurant in the hotel, we ended up ordering room service and going to bed early. Max got us a suite with two rooms and two beds, saying he didn’t want me to think he was taking the situation for granted.

  And now we’re sitting, waiting for Jolene to introduce herself. Max offered to stay at the hotel, but I feel better knowing he’s here for me. We’re waiting in the meeting room on the fifteenth floor, and I’m nervous. I wipe the sweat from my hands down my pants and then pick up the water we’ve been offered and take a sip. “It’ll be okay,” Max reassuringly says.

  “I know, I’m just nervous and kind of excited.”

  This tiny woman, no taller than five feet barrels into the office. She has a severe bob haircut and she’s wearing red-rimmed glasses. “You must be, Lily. So pleased to meet you,” she says as she approaches me and extends her hand so I can shake it.

  I stand and welcome her out reached hand. “Jolene?” I ask.

  “So good to meet you. And who would this very nice-looking man be?” she says, eying Max. She may be small, but she’s a force to be reckoned with. She has to be pushing sixty, but I can tell she’s a ‘take no crap’ kind of person.

  “Max Sterling, ma’am,” he carefully and slowly introduces himself.

  “Oh I like this one, he calls me ma’am. Keep that up, young man.” She sits beside me and puts a file on the glass table. “Now, about you Lily. You’re younger than I thought.”

  “Oh, um, okay.” I look sideways at Max, unsure on how to respond. “Thank you?” It’s more a question than a statement.

  “It’s a good thing, a very good thing.” She opens the file and starts reading it. Again, I’m lost at what to think. Bizarre is most certainly a word I would use. “These are a list of your books, yes?” She hands me the paper and I see them all.

  “They’re my books, well the books I’ve worked on,” I correct myself.

  “Every one of these books has made a list. And I sit up and take notice when I see the same name being thanked for her proofreading and editing. And it appears it’s your name.”

  “I’ve been fortunate. All my clients have been exceptional.”

  “See this is what I do. I look out for someone who’s going to be a star. Authors, editors, cover artists, you name it. I watch and learn. Now, take Michaela. New York Times and USA Today bestseller with her first book, and I do believe you’ve finished editing her second book, is that correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “This is what I know. We’ve signed her, actually, she only flew out just two weeks ago and signed all the paperwork. I asked her for the original manuscript prior to it being sent to you, then I asked her for your notes on both books. She was only too happy to provide them to me. I looked at her book, looked at your notes and I took notice. Her book was good raw, but what you did to it, the suggestions you made were terrific, and truthfully, I found one error once you were done.”

  “You found an error?” I ask horrified. “Oh my God!” I clasp a hand to my face, instantly ashamed of myself.

  “It’s okay,” Max whispers, as he grasps my knee below the table.

  “Ha,” Jolene laughs. “Dear, Max it’s more than okay. Because we’d send the manuscript to no less than three editors, then two proofreaders and sometimes there’s still errors. You did it all, and that takes a lot of talent.”

  I smile. “Thank you,” I say.

  “Oh no, darling, you don’t get off that easy. I thought possibly you just fluked it, so I had my team rip apart the other books you did. I needed to make sure if I offer you a job, you’re actually as good as I think you are. I had all your books edited, torn to shreds. Each line, each error, each word.”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands, and I feel ill. Suddenly I have a feeling it wasn’t such a great idea to come to New York. “Oh,” I say, unable to form anything comprehensible to say.

  “And this is what I found. Out of all these books,” She taps the paper on the table, “you made a total of fifteen errors.”

  “That’s embarrassing,” I whisper.

  “No, it’s not. It’s fantastic. It means you have an acute eye for detail, and you do a very good job. I’ve been in the industry a long time, if you haven’t noticed, and I’ve seen it change on a dime. It’s constantly evolving, but the one thing that is consistently rare to find, is an editor who has the eye for detail, and the know-how of where to steer the story to change it from good to exceptional. And those are the reasons I want you. I’m willing to negotiate.”

  “You are?”

  “Yes, so tell me, Lily Richards, what do you want?”

  “Actually that’s not my name. Lily is, but Richards isn’t. I had to go under a pen name.” It’s the only way I can describe it without giving away why I don’t use my actual name.

  “Makes sense, because when I did a search for ‘Lily Richards’ I did not find any information on you. Back to the reason you’re here. Wherever you’re working now, I’ll give you ten percent more than you’re currently earning.”

  “I’m a personal assistant.”

  Jolene rolls her eyes and flicks her wrist. “And your talent is being wasted there. I want you, Lily. I want you to work for us, and do what you’ve done here.” She taps twice on the glass table on top of the list of books.

  “But I don’t have the qualifications to be an editor.”

  “You, my dear Lily, have something much more valuable than qualifications. What you have can’t be taught; it can’t be learned. You have the most elemental understanding of a story and where to improve it. So, what do you want? I’ll give you your own office and a personal assistant.”

  “Wait, I’m not moving here,” I say. Abruptly I’ve gone from a high, to a low. Because there’s no way I’m moving. “I’m sorry, I must’ve misunderstood our initial phone call, but there wasn’t any mention of moving.”

  Jolene sits back and casually hooks her left arm over the back of the chair. “I had thought if you weren’t local, which I found out from Michaela you weren’t, you may refuse to move here. I think I can come up with an alternative. You can do everything via phone or email, fly out once a month so we can touch base, and I’ll have a personal assistant here for you.” She smiles triumphantly at me.

  “It’s a generous offer. If I was to take it up, would I be able to still edit away from here, I mean take on my own jobs which I’d ensure doesn’t interfere with my work here.”

  “No. You’d be working for us, and all your work would come through us alone.”

  “I see,” I say. “Thank you for your offer. I think I’ll need some time to consider it.”

  I stand, Max follows, then Jolene stands. “If you get approached by anyone else, make sure you come back to me and let me know of their offer.” She extends her hand and shakes mine, then Max’s.

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you,” Max says, and we both leave.

  We walk outside and I take a deep breath, “Wow,” I say and turn to Max as we walk toward our hotel room.

  “How do you feel about it?” he asks.

  “Truthfully, the compliments were quite difficult for me to hear, actually. And her offer I think is okay.”

&nbs
p; “Just okay?”

  I shrug as we walk along the sidewalk. “She’s offering ten percent more than I earn now, and I can’t take on any jobs for myself. So I think I may end up earning less than what I make now.”

  “I sense a ‘but’.”

  “The ‘but’ is I’ll be doing something I love. And something she thinks I have talent in.”

  “Then ask for more money.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Here, let’s go have a coffee. Or in your case, a hot chocolate.” Max points to a small deli, and opens the door for me. We find a seat at the back and Max goes to the counter to order our beverages. I sit and look out at the city.

  It’s Saturday morning and the street looks so busy with people coming and going everywhere. As I wait for Max, I wonder if this is a place I can move to. It’s obvious there’s opportunity here, but can I actually pack up, leave the only family I know and move here?

  “Penny for your thoughts,” Max says as he sets the take-away cups down. “They don’t have marshmallows.”

  I look at him as if he’s speaking a foreign language. “Who doesn’t have marshmallows in their hot chocolate?” I ask as I pick up the cup and blow on it before sipping it. “I was thinking how Jolene offered me a job here, in New York. And I was wondering if I could actually move.”

  Max’s face doesn’t falter, though I’m sure he wouldn’t be happy. “Would you?” he asks as he stirs his coffee. I shake my head. “Because it’s too busy, right?”

  I shake my head again. “No, although I’m not keen on just how hectic it seems. I mean, we’ve been in the deli for only a few minutes and I already feel exhausted looking at everyone rushing around. But no, that’s not the reason.”

  “What is it?” He lifts the cup and tastes his coffee. “God, that’s awful.”

  I smile but then I answer, “Because I’ve never really had a family. And now I do, and I don’t ever want to let them go. I have Shayne and Liam and you.”

  Max reaches over and cups his hand over mine. “Thank you,” he says.

  I smile at him, and turn to watch the bustle of a city that never sleeps.

  I took a nap after lunch, and then had a soak in the bath in our room. Max went downstairs because he ‘had something to do’ and said he’d be about an hour or so. I took advantage of that and used the bath.

  When he returned he was quiet and not his usual self. But I didn’t pester him to find out what was wrong. I’ve learned with Max he’s big on communication, and when he needs to say something he will. Pushing him to tell me what’s wrong, will result in him saying he’s fine.

  “Come on, we’re going to be late,” he says. I come out and Max’s eyes light up when he sees me. “You look beautiful.” He comes toward me looking quite suave in his tailored suit.

  “Thank you.”

  “Have you got a jacket or cardigan you can take?” I’m wearing a black pair of pants, low heels, and a top Shayne convinced me to buy, because apparently ‘it looks so hot on you’. It’s a black corset top with red ribbon.

  “I do, hang on, I’ll get it.”

  I put it on, and walk back out to Max. “You sure I look okay?”

  “You look so much better than okay.” He leans down and kisses me on the lips. “Come on, Snowflake, let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask as we get in the elevator and travel down.

  “I can’t tell you that, but you’ll enjoy it.”

  He leads me out the front, and we cross the road, to where a horse-drawn carriage awaits. There’s a man in a top hat and suit holding the carriage door open. “Good evening, Mr. Sterling, Miss Anderson. I hope you enjoy Central Park.”

  “Central Park?” I squeal in delight as I half skip to get into the carriage.

  “Central Park,” Max confirms as he gets in and sits beside me.

  The ride starts, and my eyes are wide open as I watch all the sights. The outer loop of Central Park is nothing short of breathtaking. I feel like a princess as Max pours us champagne and the horses trot along in all their majestic glory. “This is like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” I say in awe.

  “It’s the most perfect sight I’ve ever seen.” I turn to see what Max is looking at, and it’s me. “I want to tell you something, Lily. And I want to tell you now, so I know you’ll remember it for as long as you live.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I love you. I think I’ve loved you from the moment I first saw you, I may have even loved you before then. You’re perfect, beautiful and rare. Just like a snowflake.” I run my hand down his cheek, feeling the scruff of the stubble already coming through. I open my mouth, but Max holds his hand up. “Please, don’t say anything. I just need you to know how I feel.” He leans in and kisses me sweetly.

  I understand what he’s saying. He knows I’ve been through a lot, and he also recognizes how I’m not quite ready to say those three important words. Because once I say it, I’ll mean it for the rest of my life.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “We’re going to the theatre to watch Matilda and then, I’m taking you out to dinner.”

  “Won’t it be too late?” I ask as I rest my head on his shoulder.

  “It’s not a school night,” he chuckles and kisses my temple.

  I lay against Max, watching the city go by, and know I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

  “Lily,” Peter calls me into his office.

  “Peter, you need me?”

  “Two things. Did you make a decision about New York? And there are two police officers downstairs who want to see you.”

  Cold instantly blankets me and I suddenly feel ill. “What?” I say as I quickly back up to hold onto the wall.

  “My God, Lily. Sit down,” Peter says as he rushes from behind his desk and helps me over to the chair opposite his. “Do you want some water?”

  “Police? Why are they here? Oh my God, Max, I need to call him make sure he’s okay. And Shayne, and Liam.” I’m starting to go into a panic, and I can’t believe how badly I’m reacting.

  “Calm down. It’s okay. I can get them, and be here with you.”

  I nod my head vigorously unable to actually say anything.

  Peter goes around to his side of the desk and picks his phone up. “Dale, there’s two police officers who need to talk to Lily, down by the cashiers. Could you go and get them and bring up a bottle of water? I don’t have any in my fridge, I’ve run out.” He listens for a second, then adds, “In a moment.”

  “What do they want?” I ask Peter. Of course, my asking him is useless. I know he’s not aware, because he would’ve told me if he knew.

  “Lily, do you want me to call your boyfriend and have him here, too?”

  “He’s working, but what if it’s him? What if something’s happened? Oh God, I feel sick.” I clutch my stomach as I take deep, short bursts of breath.

  “Lily, this is Detective Harris, and Detective Jones, they have some questions to ask you,” Dale introduces the two female police officers. “Peter.” Dale flicks his head, telling Peter to leave.

  “NO!” I shout too loudly. “Please, they don’t have to go, do they?” I ask Harris and Jones.

  “Ma’am, if it’s more comfortable for you to have them stay then that’s fine by us. But what we have to ask is of a very delicate nature,” the one identified as Harris says.

  “They can stay.” I look at Peter and Dale and beg them, “Please, will you stay?”

  “Of course,” Dale says and goes and stands in the opposite corner of the room. Peter sits down in his chair and the two police officers step inside.

  “Would you prefer to close the door?” Jones asks as she looks behind her.

  “No one comes up here except for me and Lily, and sometimes Dale,” Peter answers.

  “Okay, are you alright, Lily, you’re looking really pale?”

  “Are Shayne, Liam, and Max alright?”

  The two women look at each other then back to
me. “We’re sorry; we don’t know who they are.”

  Instantly, I relax. My shoulders slump and I exhale a big breaths. “Please, go on,” I say after the few seconds it takes me to calm.

  “Do you know Trent Hackly?” one asks.

  And as quickly as I relaxed, it takes less time for every single muscle in my body to tense again. “He’s my ex-husband,” I say as I look between them.

  “Lily, you okay?” Peter asks. I nod my head, but I’m feeling ill.

  “Can you tell us about the relationship you had with Trent?”

  I’m shaking my head before she even finishes the question. “I don’t want to,” I whisper. “I can’t…go through that again.”

  “Go through what, Miss Anderson?” Harris squats down in front of me and asks in a gentle voice.

  “Why are you asking me about him?”

  “We need to know some details, because it’ll help us with our investigation.”

  “Investigation?” I ask and look at Peter then Dale. “Am I part of this investigation? Have I done something wrong?”

  “No, not all. Trent’s gotten himself into trouble, and we need to know how he was with you.”

  I shake my head and shrug my shoulders. “I don’t understand, what’s he done?” I won’t tell them anything which can cause me further embarrassment without knowing what they’re actually doing here.

  Harris turns to look at Jones, and Jones gives her a small nod. “Trent beat his wife.”

  “Wait, what? His wife? Our divorce only went through about two months ago. Who…how?” The questions I’m asking are more like me thinking out loud. I don’t actually expect a response.

  “Do you know an Audrey Miller, now Audrey Hackly?” Harris asks.

  “Oh my God.” I feel ill. “I knew her from high school.” I suspected she and Trent were having an affair back then. “She married him?”

  “They’ve been together for a number of years. She moved out here to be with him.”