He snapped his phone closed. “I’ll check with the office tomorrow, but I expect your case will be closed—unless there’s something else that needs to be done.”
There was something that needed to be done, starting with him planting a kiss on my lips. I hadn’t even thought about the case being over. Oh no—if there was nothing else for him to investigate, that meant I might never see him again, and I didn’t want that. I don’t think it was just that he made me feel safe—even though he was paid to do so. I don’t think it was because I didn’t know anyone else like him who does what he does and did what he did. I think it was all that and more. Even his clean-cut appearance had grown on me—his traditional off-the-rack Brooks Brothers clothes and the throwback sunglasses he wore. I liked his quirky sense of humor and his way of catching me off guard.
If anything was going to happen between Frank and me, it was clear I would have to make the first move. Just as I’d realized when I was deleting winkers and other bottom feeders sent by NowLove: The good guys take more work. As much as I wanted him to pursue me, Frank was the kind of guy who needed a signal.
“If they close the case, does that mean we won’t see each other again?” If he doesn’t get that this is something I didn’t want to have happen, I’ll need to get a hammer.
“I don’t think there’d be a reason to, unless you intend to file a complaint about me.” He smiled so enigmatically I couldn’t read a deeper meaning.
“No complaints here,” I said, while sending major vibes for him to jump my bones. Sheesh, how blatant did the move need to be?
“Not even when you were losing your mind because it took me so long to get back to you?” He was smirking. What did that mean?
“Oh, that, well… ” I drifted off, frustrated that he was either not picking up on or ignoring my subtext. How quickly new concerns obliterate the previous ones.
I had to think of another reason for us to see each other. I considered asking if he wanted to have lunch sometime—maybe meet me at Katsu-ya for old time’s sake. I could simply tell him I wanted to see him again, but that seemed too direct. How far was I supposed to go with this signaling business? I felt as though I’d already told him I liked him in several different ways, and he’d chosen to ignore me. How much more could I lay myself out there before I appeared desperate? Screw it, I’ll just be obvious.
“So what will you do now, Frank? Get assigned to another damsel in distress?”
“This was kind of a unique situation.” He shook his head. “It’ll probably be another corporate espionage case—theft of trade secrets, that kind of thing. I don’t generally do damsels.”
“Too bad for the damsels.” Could I get any clearer? “This one liked having you around.”
He knew what I meant now and held my gaze. I could see his brain working as he figured out what to say next. Please, please don’t make it be about the weather. I stood close to him in my stocking feet, he in his basic brown loafers. And he was just a teensy bit taller than me—perfect.
His mouth opened and closed just as quickly. It felt like he was going to move in to kiss me. I know I didn’t make that up. But he didn’t, and that enigmatic expression of his returned. He glanced at the table where my book lay. Safer territory.
“When Will There Be Good News? Is it good?”
“Excellent.”
Picking up the book, he opened it, perusing the dust jacket. “I read a lot—pretty much anything.”
“If you like police procedurals, you’d like it—even though it’s written by a woman, if that matters to you.”
“It doesn’t. I’ll put in an order.” Right answer. He put it down. ”Well, good night, Quinn.”
A slight wave of embarrassment washed over me even though I felt like he’d been tempted; I could even see it. But he hadn’t accepted my invitation. A guy like Frank wasn’t about to get involved with somebody like me—a shallow, Hollywood type with a history of adultery. No, he was too high-minded, I concluded. He just nodded, opened the front door, and was gone.
I stood with my back against the door for several long seconds, playing the events of the last couple of weeks over in my head, and wondering if there might have been anything else I could have said or done. But short of throwing myself at him physically, I decided there hadn’t been.
Flipping off the light in the entry, I headed for the bedroom ready to call it a night. I took a sharp inhale realizing when he’d said good night, he’d called me Quinn.
CHAPTER 25
With the mystery of who sent the photographs solved, I knocked on Jamie’s open door the next day to tell her.
“Come in.”
She barely looked up from what appeared to be frenzied note taking. It was immediately clear that something was off. She was not her typically put-together self—her hair not so coiffed, her outfit not so pressed. At 10 a.m., with very little of the day gone, it was unusual for her to have a hair out of place.
“What is it?” She was also in a snitty mood.
“I’ll be brief.” I stepped closer to her desk so as to avoid being overheard. “I came to tell you that the pictures were sent by the wife of an ex-lover of mine—that’s another story and this isn’t the time. But essentially, she had both her husband and me followed by a private investigator with instructions to take any pictures she could use as evidence or to shame us. They have money, so following me to Japan was apparently not a problem. Anyway, when I fell running for the plane, the guy tailing me saw an opportunity to get some of those embarrassing pictures and when the wife saw them, she decided to send them to you to make my life hell.”
“I see.” Jamie continued making random marks on her note pad. Was she doodling? It didn’t look like work. “I hope the investigator hit her with a big bill for sushi expense.”
“Excuse me?”
“It was a joke, Quinn. I don’t condone adultery, but there are limits to what is acceptable behavior on the part of the wronged spouse. Sounds like she crossed it.”
Maybe I’m off the hook. “Thank you,” I said, suddenly remembering there was more I needed to fix. “The pictures have been deleted from the wife’s phone and computer, and the private investigator is no longer in the employ of the wife. So other than the investigator who was told to destroy them, you are the only person with those pictures.”
Jamie nodded her head, appearing to ponder the possibilities. “What about the marriage?”
“No idea,” I said flatly. “It could go either way, but I want you to know I don’t feel good about the affair and if I could go back, I would never have started it.”
Jamie was definitely doodling. I could see a little face on the pad—was it frowning? She was giving me nothing, and I realized I’d better point out what was, to me, obvious, just to make sure she fully understood.
“If you’re wondering whether those pictures might still make an appearance on the Internet, the answer is ‘no’—that is, unless you decide to put them there.”
She glanced up.
“Not that you’d do that,” I said quickly. “Only that I don’t believe there’s anyone else who has access to them, so Talent Partners will be spared any backlash.” I finished with a flourish, hoping to hear something from Jamie about how the matter was now well behind us, and we can forge ahead into many new celebrity commercial ventures—maybe even Hello Kitty!
She pursed her lips and made an effort to smooth her hair. “Could you please close the door, Quinn?”
Suddenly, it seemed she had nothing but time for me, but something was lurking behind her eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was pain.
“Sure.” I quietly pressed the door shut, hearing the latch catch.
“How did you find out about all this?” she asked.
I considered the downside of telling her. Could I have figured everything out on my own? Sure, eventually. Would I be satisfied the pictures were destroyed just because Steven said they were? No. Having Frank had made all the difference. F
rank.
“I had someone helping me.”
“Another investigator?”
“Yes, a friend’s husband’s company let me borrow him.” I figured that much couldn’t hurt.
“I see,” she said, deep in thought.
I waited for more, but she just kept doodling.
“Can I ask ‘why’ you asked if someone helped me?”
She looked up. “I was just wondering what else your private investigator might have found out.”
“What do you mean?” I knew what she meant, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to volunteer anything.
“It’s no secret that you and… ” She hesitated. “You and Titania don’t like each other.”
“I don’t mind her, really. She’s just so… ” I was trying to form the word perfect, because that’s what Jamie had called her, but my lips wouldn’t obey.
“Not really,” Jamie snapped, reading my mind. “What I’m asking is, in the course of the investigation, did your private investigator follow Titania at any point? Did he try to find out if she might have been the one who was behind the pictures? And don’t deny you suspected her. I ask because that would have been—if I were you, that is—she would have been my first choice for who would have sent those pictures.”
As demonstrated by her halting language, Jamie was uncomfortable discussing any of this—at least with me.
“Oh, well, sure,” I said. “I mean—yeah, I did. That is—I did think she might, you know, have thought—or wanted to get me fired. But there seemed so many other people… ”
I wasn’t doing much better.
“And? Did he follow her?”
Clearly, all was no longer blissful with the happy couple. Jamie was desperate for information. I knew that Titania wasn’t gay, of course, but it was now clear that Jamie had also begun to think something was amiss with her perfect princess. But did she suspect another woman of stealing her beloved’s affections, or did she know Titania liked cock?
“He did follow her, didn’t he?” Jamie shot back before I could respond to the first question. “What did he find out?”
“He knew pretty early on that she didn’t send the pictures.” Hopefully, that would be enough to satisfy her curiosity.
“You’re not telling me something, I can see it. What else?”
Ugh. Is it right to tell your boss what she doesn’t really want to know, even though she’s begging for it? It’s a no win; lose big or go home.
“Titania has a boyfriend,” I said.
She stared at me.
“You wanted to know what he found out, and that’s what he found out. Titania has a boyfriend.”
She continued to stare.
“Frank—the investigator—got the guy’s name but… ”
“This is such a violation… ”
This was the Jamie I knew, her rage boiling up.
“I know; not ethical at all,” I said. “Pretending to be lesbian.”
“The audacity.”
“Incredible.”
“The nerve.”
“A...dick? It’s disgusting.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Get out!” Enraged, her face the shade of Chanel’s Pink Posey, she began moving toward me. Shit.
“I’m sorry you found out, Jamie,” I said, backing away. “You wanted to know and you’re my boss. What was I supposed to…? ”
“Get out now!”
Was I fired? I ventured a tentative, “Permanently?”
She stopped, processing what I just asked.
“What? No, just get out of my office. And don’t say anything about this to anybody.” Her hand reached for the doorknob and stopped, adjusting her manner. “Thank you, Quinn.” Then she flung the door open, and I scooted through the opening, mumbling lame apologies for upsetting her. There was a small gust of wind behind me as the force of the closing door was accompanied by a thwunk that probably was heard in Chinatown.
There, staring at me, were the faces of my concerned colleagues, all of whom also answered to the temporarily (we hoped) unhinged Jamie Harris—to wit, Carolyn, Rafe, soon-to-be ex-assistant Titania, and Sameer, who remained seated, gazing at me with worried eyes, head waggling.
“She just needs a minute,” I said. “A deal went bad, and she needs to figure out how she’s going to handle it.”
As I said this, I made the effort not to look directly at Titania while, at the same time, trying not to completely avoid her. Instead, I allowed my eyes to meet each of those listening—yes, acknowledge them and move on—exactly like I’d learned at Toastmasters during college.
“Shit, not the Beyonce PSA against body mutilation,” said Carolyn with concern.
“No, I think that’s still a ‘Go.’ ”
“Not the Alex Rodriguez/Brian Williams ‘Tell the Truth’ project,” said Sameer.
“No.”
“Then what is it?” asked Titania.
Now I had to look at her. Did she know? Maybe she could see it in my face. Warning her was an option—one I considered for about two seconds. It was two seconds too long.
The door to Jamie’s office opened and there she stood, restored to full power with a smile on her face. Her skin was no longer that deep shade of emotional-looking pink, but was back to its usual Bobbi Brown Perfect Neutral and her hair had been brushed into place. Clearly, she was making an effort to seem her normal self.
Back when Jamie had first confronted me with the pictures, I was so angry with Titania, I’d imagined something like this happening. Dreams of schadenfreude had me hoping Jamie’s takedown of the Moldovan would go according to this script but, now that it was happening, it didn’t feel sweet at all. I just felt bad for the girl. I was also a little thrown because I thought Jamie at least possessed the wherewithal to keep it together until the end of the day, at which point she could ream the little Twitiot in private.
“Hello, everyone,” she said, surveying the floor. “You’re all hard at work, I see.”
It was obvious none of us was working—let alone with any diligence. But each of us got the message and turned our faces to what was on our desks. Our mental focus, however, was still fixed on what we suspected was about to become a raging storm.
“Good.” There was a long pause while she surveyed us all. “Titania, could you come in here, please?”
I felt Titania’s stare, daggers for eyes, as she crossed to Jamie’s office. I did feel guilty, but Jamie would have found out about her eventually, I reasoned. In fact, if Jamie’s demeanor was any indication, she’d already known something was amiss when I arrived that morning, possibly even suspected that Titania had a boyfriend.
Had I promised Titania I wouldn’t tell? No. Did I owe her some allegiance? Not really. If I owed anybody, it was Jamie, whom I had known far longer. And she was my boss. It was a pretty clear-cut situation, far easier than trying to decide whether you should tell your best friend that her husband is screwing around. But did I feel good about getting Titania fired? Not a bit.
As Titania went into Jamie’s office and closed the door behind her, I caught Sameer’s eye and shrugged, hoping to convey that I had no idea what was about to happen in there. Besides, no one else at the company needed to know.
Life is tough then you die, whether you’re born dirt poor in Islamabad or you’re a member of the Hilton family. If you can put yourself in another person’s situation in a real, empathic way, you’ll see there’s always some headache for him or her, just like there is for you. Even the rich celebrities I work with go through tough times. They’re first-world problems, but that’s only because the first world is the world celebrities find themselves in. Let’s say they’re no longer hot, they’re broke, and they get asked to do a Danny Bonaduce movie for $200,000. They never imagined when they co-starred with Brad Pitt or Sandra Bullock and commanded a million dollars a movie that they’d ever be groveling for a “C” horror picture to be shot in Kabukistan. But they have to take it to pay the bills. Don’t you th
ink Don Rickles would rather be asked to do a TV show than to have to make the rounds of the low rent comedy circuit at age 87? On second thought, maybe he’s just happy he’s not in a retirement home.
The point is, I don’t know why Titania should have it any easier than anyone else. I didn’t know much about her past, but I’m sure there were struggles back in Moldova and probably a lot more struggles since coming to the U.S. It’s all relative; no matter what condition we’re born into, the human condition of wanting more than what we have is hard wired. For me, life is a struggle punctuated by occasional bursts of joy—everything, good and bad, shared with the women of The Muffia. I hoped, for her sake, that Titania also had some good friends who could help her through.
CHAPTER 26
The Alzheimer’s benefit was a week away, and by this point, Lauren had enlisted all of the Muffs to help her. She’d put Maddie on the board, not only for her ability to keep the meetings moving, but so as to expand fundraising efforts into the legal community; Vicki was in charge of lining up the video crew to shoot the event, along with doing some tasteful social networking; Jelicka was the perfect pick to acquire items for the gift bags that would be handed out to guests; I was supposed to be lining up celebrities as both guests and auction items; Kiki was the logical choice to set up a first aid plan and to book the emergency personnel; Sarah, the ex-possibly-soon-to-be-rehired Williams-Sonoma employee, and arguably the Muffia’s most accomplished chef, had been working with participating restaurants to develop the ideal menu; Paige was making calls, and Rachel was in charge of the art. All in all, the Muffia might as well have been credited first on the Volunteer Committee.
Since the mystery of who’d sent the pictures had been solved and the threatened Internet exposure quashed, I’d been able to keep my job, which had made it far easier to contact all those celebrities. Titania’s ouster had so far not provoked the feared backlash from the Moldovan expat community and, though I remained vigilant when out late at night, I was pretty sure the threat was gone for good as well.
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