Virtually Perfect

by Paige Roberts

  “What are you always calling that thing over at CC Media? You know, where like all of your different channels and services help each other.”

  “Synergy?”

  “Synergy! Yes!” She turned back to Lizzie and Zoe. “You girls could have a lot of synergy together.”

  “I highly doubt that,” Zoe said.

  “Why? You seem like a perfect match.”

  Lizzie’s and Zoe’s eyes met again. Neither of them knew what to say, even though they both knew the answer. Lizzie decided to speak first, before Zoe could undermine her. “I think our styles are probably too different.”

  “What, you mean like you’re too old for Zoe’s followers?”

  That wasn’t what Lizzie meant, but now she felt self-conscious about her age. How old did they think she was?

  “Not exactly,” Lizzie said.

  “You probably are, actually,” said Zoe.

  Lizzie felt as if she were engaging in a virtual game of chess, and if that was the case Zoe just left her knight open to attack. “I guess your readership probably does skew really young,” Lizzie said. “At this point in my career, I’d be looking for a broader, more serious audience.”

  Zoe’s expression hardened. “My audience isn’t the problem. People in their fifties and sixties regularly visit my site.”

  “You’re kidding!” Barb crowed. “Oh my God, send me the link, will you? You know I’m always trying to lose a few pounds.”

  “It isn’t that kind of site,” Zoe said.

  “What kind of site is it, exactly?” Lizzie asked. It hadn’t been her plan to out Zoe in front of her parents and their friends, but if that’s what it took....

  Zoe stared coolly at Lizzie. “I think we’re out of cucumber water. Could you go make some?”

  Lizzie didn’t want to let Zoe off the hook. But she also knew her role, and that role was private chef. So unless she wanted to lose her job, all she could do was smile and say, “Sure,” before heading back to the kitchen.

  * * *

  Most of the guests cleared out by lunchtime. Some went to their own homes and others headed straight for the beach, but they all planned to meet up again for afternoon cocktails and dinner. Lizzie tidied up the pantry and began the prep work. Since breakfast had turned into more of a brunch, she wasn’t responsible for feeding people a midday meal.

  As she toasted some pine nuts in a small frying pan, Lizzie pulled out her cell phone. She was going to text April. At this point, Lizzie had given up on making this the summer of atonement, though she still hoped she and April could bury the proverbial hatchet. But she didn’t like the idea of Zoe cozying up to her former roommate. April knew too much about Lizzie’s backstory, and Lizzie feared what Zoe would do with those tidbits.

  She sent April a message:

  Hey! Sorry we still haven’t been able to meet up. Lmk what the rest of your summer looks like. Btw, Zoe mentioned you chatted recently? Curious how that came about!

  Lizzie knew the odds of April replying were low and of her doing so with any useful details were even lower. But Lizzie couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that Zoe might know something unflattering about her and would do something even less flattering with that information. Was Lizzie being paranoid? Maybe. Still, she didn’t trust Zoe and didn’t want to get caught in her web of lies.

  Lizzie slid her phone back onto the counter and sniffed the air.

  “Shit!” She grabbed the frying pan off the burner, but it was too late. The nuts were burnt. “Damn it.”

  She dumped the nuts into the sink and rinsed the pan under the faucet. There was a loud hiss as the water hit the hot surface.

  “Everything okay in here?”

  Kathryn stood in the doorway. She had changed into a bathing suit and sheer black cover-up and wore a floppy black-and-white sun hat that Lizzie hadn’t seen before. She seemed a bit jittery.

  “Yeah, sorry—I just burned some nuts.”

  “Oh, no. Do you need Renata’s help? Or someone else? I thought I smelled something. Our old cook at home was famous for burning nuts. He once nearly set the oven on fire with a tray of walnuts. Or maybe not on fire, but there was enough smoke that there should have been. And . . . well . . . hm-m-m.” She wrung her hands.

  “I don’t need help, but thanks for asking.”

  “Oh. Good.” She was blinking a little too quickly.

  “Are you okay?” Lizzie asked. “You seem . . . upset. Or bothered.”

  Kathryn cleared her throat. “Well, if I’m being completely honest, I am. Upset and bothered.”

  “Did Zoe do something . . . ?”

  “Zoe? No, no, no. Zoe is fine.” She looked over her shoulder. “Ah—here she is! We had a good chat this morning, didn’t we, sweetheart?”

  Zoe sidled up behind her mother and nodded. Lizzie couldn’t quite place the expression on her face. The word smug came to mind.

  “Anyway, we talked about lots of things, but one of the things we discussed was my Martha Stewart cookbook.”

  “The signed one?”

  “Yes.” She glanced at Zoe, who now stood beside her, then looked back at Lizzie. “It’s missing.”

  “Missing? I just saw it earlier this morning.” Lizzie dried her hands and went to the display shelf in the main kitchen, but as soon as she did she saw Kathryn was right: The book wasn’t there. She returned to the butler’s pantry, completely confused. “But that doesn’t make any sense.... I put it right back. . . .”

  “See? I told you she’d say that.” Zoe raised an eyebrow.

  “Say what?”

  “That you put it back. But you didn’t.”

  “Yes, I did. You saw me.”

  “I think I’d remember.”

  Lizzie started to talk, but Kathryn interrupted. “So you admit you took it from the shelf.”

  “I flipped through a few pages for inspiration. Then I returned it.”

  “And when was this?”

  “I don’t know. About five in the morning?”

  Kathryn’s and Zoe’s eyes met. “What were you doing up here at five in the morning?” Kathryn asked.

  “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d get a head start on breakfast.”

  “By using a precious artifact whose value would be greatly diminished if it got a single stain on it?”

  “I wasn’t planning to use it. Like I said, I was just trying to get ideas. I put it back.”

  “And yet it’s nowhere to be found,” Zoe said.

  Lizzie retraced her steps in her mind, as if she were fast-forwarding through a video of the morning’s events. “No, I’m one hundred percent sure I left it where I found it.”

  “I just don’t see how that’s possible,” Kathryn said. “It isn’t there, and you were the last person to touch it.”

  “Maybe Renata moved it when she was dusting. Renata?”

  Lizzie made her way toward the kitchen, but Kathryn and Zoe blocked the doorway. “I’ve already spoken to Renata,” Kathryn said. “She didn’t move it and hasn’t seen it.”

  Lizzie turned and began lifting up random platters and cutting boards in search of the book. She wasn’t quite sure why—she remembered returning the book to the shelf and hadn’t removed it again. But maybe one of the other guests had glanced through it and accidentally put it in the butler’s pantry instead of the kitchen. She scoured the counter, rifled through drawers, and combed every shelf. The cookbook was nowhere.

  “This doesn’t make any sense—I literally had it in my hands a few hours ago.”

  “The thing is . . . I hate to do this because it’s so awkward, but . . .” Kathryn wrung her hands. “I’m going to need to check your room.”

  “My room?” Lizzie felt as if she’d been punched. “Why?”

  “Because . . . well, think of it from my perspective. Renata says you made a big fuss when you saw the cookbook for the first time, especially once you found out it was signed by Martha herself, and then Zoe saw you sneaking it into the butler’s pant
ry this morning—”

  “I wasn’t sneaking. I was very open about what I was doing.”

  “Zoe said you were acting very odd when she caught you looking through it; didn’t you, Zoe?”

  Zoe nodded.

  “I was acting odd? Me?” Lizzie could barely control herself. “She’s the one—”

  “Excuse me,” Kathryn interrupted. “Lower your voice, please.”

  “Don’t try to pin this on me,” Zoe said.

  Lizzie tried to calm herself, but she was having a hard time. “I think you have this backwards. You’re accusing me of stealing, when I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “I’m sure you think you’ve done nothing wrong—”

  “I don’t think—I know. I didn’t take that book. I flipped through a few pages, and then I put it back. End of story. The only reason you’re pointing the finger at me is because—”

  “Let’s not start blaming this on Zoe,” Kathryn said.

  “Why not? She’s the one blaming me.”

  “Because she saw you with the book.”

  Lizzie felt as if she were going crazy. They were talking in circles. “She did see me with the book. And then she saw me put it back.”

  Kathryn looked at Zoe, who was shaking her head.

  “I’d like to check your room,” Kathryn said.

  Lizzie started to object, but before she knew it she was chasing Kathryn down the stairs. She was enraged. Was this really Zoe’s plan to stop her from talking to Kathryn and Jim about her site? Because if it was, it was having the opposite effect. Now all she wanted to do was expose Zoe as a fraud, to anyone who would listen.

  Kathryn opened the door to Lizzie’s room and began searching through every drawer and across every surface. As expected, she found nothing.

  “Well, this just doesn’t make any sense,” she said.

  “Did you check under the mattress?” Zoe asked.

  Kathryn nodded. “This would be a lot easier if you just told me where you put it.”

  “I told you—I put it back on the shelf.”

  “Here we go again. . . .” Kathryn gestured toward the door. “Let’s go look for the hundredth time, shall we?”

  They headed back upstairs, and when they got into the kitchen the empty space on the shelf stared back at them.

  “What do you know—still not there,” Kathryn said.

  “Zoe, I know you saw me put it back. Two seconds afterward we started talking about your flour and almond meal, and—”

  “Oh, right, that’s another thing, Mom—she was using ingredients that belong to me.”

  “You were?” Kathryn looked shocked, as if Lizzie had just been accused of drinking their liquor. “Didn’t I tell you her cupboard is off-limits?”

  “I was going to replace the ingredients.”

  “Just like you replaced the cookbook?”

  Lizzie clenched her jaw. She was losing patience. “Do I really have to keep defending myself? I didn’t steal your stupid cookbook.”

  “It isn’t stupid,” Kathryn said. “It’s a signed first edition!”

  Lizzie felt as if she were losing her mind. Before she could once again make a case for her innocence, Zoe pushed past her and walked into the butler’s pantry. She searched the same drawers and shelves that Lizzie had gone through herself, but when she peeked into one of the canvas shopping bags hanging by the door she raised an eyebrow. “Now what would Mom’s cookbook be doing in here?”

  She pulled the book from the bag and held it high.

  “I-I have no idea,” Lizzie stammered. “I didn’t put it there.”

  “Sure you didn’t.”

  “I swear. Someone else must have put it there.”

  “It is a little interesting that you didn’t check there the first time around,” Kathryn said.

  “I guess I didn’t think the book I had returned to its proper shelf would be in my shopping bag.”

  Kathryn closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she pressed her fingertips against her temples. “I don’t have the energy to go over this for the umpteenth time. Zoe, bring me the book. Lizzie, Jim and I would like to have a conversation with you later this afternoon. Meet us in the living room at two.”

  Zoe handed her mom the cookbook, and as she followed her mother out of the room Lizzie swore she heard her whisper, “Gotcha.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Linda,

  Yes, the coffee enema is literally brewed coffee that I insert into my you-know-what. I know it sounds gross (and it is, I won’t lie), but is it really any grosser than all those chemicals you pump through your veins for chemotherapy? At least we can pronounce the word “coffee” and know where it comes from. The process isn’t comfortable (I have to hold about two cups of coffee up there for 12-15 minutes, and then I need to do another 2 cups for the same amount of time—yikes), but then no one said fighting cancer was pleasant. I’ll admit I occasionally have misgivings about going this route and wonder if I’m doing the right thing, but if I keep second-guessing myself I’ll go crazy. That’s what Gary says, anyway, and I agree.

  Otherwise, I’m doing . . . okay. I’m still sore from the surgery, but I’m trying not to overdo it on the pain meds, especially since I’m trying to phase them out (don’t tell Gary—he thinks I’ve already stopped using them). I’m basically doing the enemas and juices, along with the occasional Motrin. I found some excellent juice recipes on that Clean Life site Dr. Konovsky recommended, and Gary has been kind enough to make them for me. He offered to help with the enemas too, but brewing the coffee is pretty much as far as I’m willing to take that for now. I mean, talk about killing the romance.

  Anyway, my arm is really stiff, so I can’t write more at the moment. I’m doing the exercises the surgeon gave me, but everything is still very tender, which makes it tough. Give me a call when you’re home from work, and I can fill you in on the rest. I’ll preempt your question about Lizzie by saying: No, I haven’t called her yet. I’m working on it. Maybe later this week. Or next.

  xxoo

  S

  CHAPTER 27

  At 1:59 p.m., Lizzie sat on the couch in the Silvesters’ living room, waiting for Kathryn and Jim to appear. She felt sick. Her job was on the line, and she knew it, and to make matters worse, it was for an offense she didn’t even commit. From the bits of hushed conversation she’d overheard, Lizzie knew Jim in particular considered Zoe’s behavior bizarre and unpredictable, so in Lizzie’s mind he was her only hope. If she could appeal to him and convince him this was yet another instance of Zoe gone wild, maybe he would override Kathryn’s misplaced faith in their daughter.

  Lizzie picked nervously at her cuticles as she kept an eye on the clock above the mantel. Part of her hoped Kathryn would appear, sun hat in hand, and apologize for the entire misunderstanding. Actually, what Lizzie really wanted was for Zoe to get her just deserts, but Kathryn probably didn’t even understand the concept, and the mere utterance of the phrase would prompt her to ask if they were Paleo or gluten-free.

  The Silvesters’ house was uncharacteristically quiet and empty. Had they told their staff and guests to leave for an hour? Lizzie hoped not. That meant they anticipated yelling—maybe even tears. Not that Lizzie planned on crying. Oh, who was she kidding? Of course she would cry. That’s what happened every time she was involved in a heated argument. She was just so bad at it. Instead of her diffusing the situation or one-upping her adversary with additional facts and logic, something inside her would crack and she’d disintegrate into a heap of tears and apologies. It was so embarrassing. Why did she do it? She wasn’t sure. One of the guys she had briefly dated in college said it had something to do with her balance of estrogen and progesterone, to which she took great offense, but then the argument got heated and, inevitably, the tears came, and that was pretty much the end of their relationship.

  Lizzie steeled herself as she heard footsteps on the stairway behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Kathryn and Jim making their way towar
d the living room. Kathryn had changed into white capris and a navy tunic, and Jim was wearing his usual combination of chinos and polo shirt. They both wore stern expressions, though Jim’s bordered on annoyance.

  They sat on the couch opposite Lizzie, with a good foot between them. Lizzie sat tall, her hands folded in her lap. She refused to look guilty.

  “So Jim and I wanted to talk to you about what happened this morning,” Kathryn said. “How, exactly, did my book end up in your shopping tote?”

  Lizzie could feel her heart racing. “Honestly? I have no idea.”

  “Is that really ‘honest’? Because I think you must have some idea.”

  “The only idea I have is Zoe.”

  Kathryn cast Jim a sideways glance. “See? What did I say?”

  Jim shushed Kathryn with his hand. “Maybe it would be best if you took us through the morning, from the time you looked at the book until the time Zoe found it in your bag.”

  Lizzie took a deep breath and tried to maintain as even a tone as possible, even though she wanted to stomp her feet and scream. She recapped every step of her evening and morning, a sequence of events she felt she’d already summarized far too many times.

  “There seems to be a lot of unexplained time between when you first looked at the book and when Zoe found it,” Kathryn said, ignoring Jim’s pleas for her to let him do the talking.

  “It’s not really unexplained. I was preparing breakfast and otherwise doing my job.”

  “Barb seems to think you and Zoe had an argument.”

  Barb. Lizzie had wondered if she would say anything. What had Barb overheard? Lizzie didn’t see how she could have caught much of anything, given that her face was buried in Sam’s crotch. But she saw Lizzie chasing after Zoe, so at the very least Barb knew some sort of squabble had occurred.

  “We had . . . a disagreement,” Lizzie said.

  “About the book.” Kathryn turned to Jim. “See? Zoe says she told Lizzie to leave the book alone, but Lizzie wouldn’t listen.”

  “It had nothing to do with the book.”

  “Then what was it about?”

  Lizzie stared at Kathryn and Jim. She hadn’t planned on bringing up Zoe’s Web site, mostly because she doubted they’d believe her, given the circumstances. She knew how predictably defensive she would sound: I’m not the liar—your daughter is! But they weren’t giving her much of a choice. Kathryn seemed hell-bent on believing everything Zoe said, and Jim looked weary of this entire exercise, as if he wished he could just fire Lizzie and be done with it so that he could turn his mind to more important matters.