by Wendy Wax
Kendall stared blankly at her. The enormity of what had happened hung over them like a shroud, dark and oppressive.
The publicist drew a breath, clearly trying to steady herself, but anger shimmered off her like a beacon. “This whole . . . debacle . . . is completely indefensible. But if I were you, I’d put my heads together and try to come up with some sort of statement. You’re going to need it.”
Kendall’s brain noted the variety of descriptive nouns—fuckup, disaster, debacle—and wondered idly how many Naomi Fondren could come up with. She hadn’t used tragedy. Or catastrophe. Or the good old-fashioned calamity.
“And a lawyer might not be a bad idea, either.” Naomi spun on her heel then walked quickly away, her assistant behind her. Lacy remained, her gaze fixed on Kendall, her disillusionment and disappointment written on her face. “I really believed in you,” she said to Kendall. “I fought for you.” She swallowed and Kendall realized she was struggling to hold back her tears. “And I hate that Jane Jensen will use this to prove she was right about you.”
Without waiting for a reply, Lacy turned and left. Even before they were out of the studio, all three Scarsdale employees had their cell phones pressed to their ears. Within minutes the tom-toms of the New York publishing world would be spreading the word.
A few hours from now, Kristen Calder would tell everyone else.
Kendall spent much of the drive back to Faye’s house alternately staring unseeing out the windshield and trying to get through to Melissa and Jeffrey, though she hadn’t yet figured out what she would say if she reached them.
There was almost no conversation between the four of them; and although there were a lot of surreptitious glances, they were very careful not to get caught looking at each other as they tried to come to terms with how little they’d known about each other and how the only thing they now shared were collapsing careers.
It was a beautiful spring day and sunlight reflected off the glass-fronted skyscrapers and warmed their slabs of marble and granite and limestone, but the atmosphere in Faye’s car on the way back to her house was frigid. Passed in silence and hurt feelings, the drive to the north shore suburb felt interminable.
In Faye’s kitchen they fixed sandwiches that no one ate. Kendall continued calling the kids, frantic to reach them before the show aired in Georgia. It was possible they wouldn’t actually see the show right when it aired, but Melissa was a huge Kristen fan and an enthusiastic TiVoer and had promised Kendall that she’d record her appearance. And even if Melissa and Jeffrey didn’t watch today’s show they were bound to hear from friends who had. With each tick of the clock, Kendall’s panic grew. She could feel Faye’s escalating, too.
Unable to sit still, Faye busied herself putting the cold cuts away and tidying the kitchen. She’d considered calling Sara and Steve and the boys to warn them, but yet again had been unable to bring herself to place the calls. Sara was unlikely to answer, given last night’s altercation in front of Borders. And Steve, who was still out in California? She hadn’t been able to tell him the truth when it was still possible to keep things quiet; how could she tell him now?
When there was nothing left to wipe or arrange, she joined the others at the kitchen table. She wanted desperately to talk this out with Mallory and Tanya and Kendall, but her secret keeping had taken its toll there, too.
Faye stole a glance at Mallory, make that Marissa Templeton, and could tell that they, like her, were still reeling from the morning’s appalling revelations. By this afternoon those revelations would be airing on television sets across the country.
“We looked like complete morons,” Tanya said. “And lying morons to boot. She was loaded for bear from the moment Kendall stepped out on the stage.”
“Yeah,” Kendall said. “And she’s a good shot.” She glanced down at her watch again. “And in a little while, everyone in the universe, including my children, will know that I’m a pathetic washed-up writer whose husband dumped her and who had to ask her friends to help her write her book.” She shook her head as if still unable to believe it. “Did you see the expression on my face when she accused me of plagiarism?” Her voice broke and she wrapped her arms across her chest. “How could you let me go out there knowing all those secrets could be used against us?” She stood and began to pace, her arms held tightly against her body. “And how could I have considered you my best friends and not known that one of you wasn’t even who you said you were and the other was the notorious Shannon LeSade?”
Kendall stopped in front of them. “The audience must have been laughing themselves silly when we kept talking about what close friends we were!”
“We were good enough friends to put you on the New York Times list!” Mallory retorted, clearly stung. “You think that just because Faye and I kept some aspects of our lives to ourselves that we weren’t really friends?”
“A few aspects?” Tanya snorted. “Everything we knew about you was fiction. It’s just too bad Sticks and Stones wasn’t! I can’t believe I’m the one who suggested this stupid collaboration.” It was her turn to stand now. “I trusted and respected you all. I thought we were there for each other. My career is going to end as soon as Darby or somebody else at Masque hears about our Kristen Calder appearance. And you never even trusted me enough to tell me who you really were.”
“This is not helping anything!” Faye couldn’t stand how they were turning on each other, but she, too, felt betrayed and out of control. “Our secrets were not intended as a personal insult to you!”
“You know, my mother’s been a huge disappointment my whole life,” Tanya said. “But at least she never pretended to be something she wasn’t.”
“Tell me that you’re not holding your mother up as a model of behavior!” Mallory jumped up from her seat and distanced herself from the rest of them. “Not after all the stories and complaints we’ve heard all these years.” She shrugged, but the movement was anything but nonchalant. “Maybe she didn’t have to pretend because she had you there to pick up her pieces. I did what I had to do and I don’t appreciate being attacked for it. You have no idea what it took to rebuild my life or the pressures I’ve been under.”
“Well of course we don’t,” Kendall said, jumping into the fray. “Because you never bothered to tell us!”
“Yeah,” Tanya added. “If you’ve been this secretive with Chris, I don’t wonder that he left you!”
Mallory gasped in outrage. “Did you actually just say that? You, who can’t even open yourself up to that poor cook because you’re afraid of needing anyone?”
“Well I let myself need you all and look where it got me!” Tanya bit out.
There was a shocked silence as all of them realized that they’d gone too far. But after all the emotion of the day and all that they feared was to come, no one seemed able to retract or apologize. The foundation of their friendship had been severely compromised. The wrecking ball of their attacks on one another reduced it to rubble.
Tanya’s cab to the airport arrived. “I’ll pay you back for the ticket and the flight-change fee,” she said to Mallory as she gathered her things. “You won’t be out another penny on my account!”
Nobody tried to stop her.
“I can’t spend the night now,” Kendall said. “I’m going to catch a ride with Tanya. I’ll call Calvin on the way to O’Hare and ask him to meet me at the airport in Atlanta so that we can drive up to Athens and talk to Melissa and Jeffrey. I just can’t worry about anything else until we’ve explained things in person to them.”
Mallory, too, felt a need to get back to New York. “I’ve got to sit down with Patricia first thing tomorrow and Zoe’s already left three messages on my voice mail.”
At Faye’s door there were none of the usual hugs or talk of how soon they could get together. Everyone seemed aware that too much had been said, but instead of taking anything back, they each wrapped themselves up in their hurt and anger and turned their backs on the others.
Faye f
ollowed them out to the driveway knowing she shouldn’t let them leave like this, but she was unable to summon the conviction needed to plead or implore. Not one of them had shown the slightest interest in what the revelation that she was Shannon LeSade would do to her; they had only voiced concern for how it impacted them.
All of them were about to face the consequences of what they had done together, but for the first time in a decade, they would be facing those consequences alone.
The taxi driver put their bags in the trunk. Mallory grasped the handle of the passenger door while Tanya and Kendall moved around to the back. “It seems pretty clear we won’t be issuing a joint statement,” Mallory said. “But everyone had best give some thought to one of their own.”
Faye stood in the driveway and watched the taxi pull away. She felt as bruised and bloodied as if she had fought and lost a major battle. She didn’t know where she’d find the courage for the war to come.
From LaGuardia, Lacy, Cindy, and a still-fuming Naomi Fondren took a limo directly to Scarsdale’s headquarters on West 36th. There the publicity head told Cindy she could go. Lacy followed Naomi onto the elevator and down the empty fourth-floor hallways to the conference room.
Although it was almost 8:00 P.M., most of the seats at the conference table were already occupied. The publisher, Harold Kemp, sat at one end. Brenda Tinsley sat at the other. Jane Jensen and Hannah Sutcliff were already seated and ignoring each other. Naomi took a seat next to Jane and Lacy ended up next to Hannah. When she’d settled into her seat, Lacy looked up and saw Jane Jensen smiling menacingly at her. Her skin prickled.
“Now that those of you who were on the spot have arrived,” the publisher said, “perhaps you can explain how in the hell this happened.”
Relieved that the question was directed at Naomi Fondren, Lacy shrank back and tried to become one with her chair. If she could have, she would have disappeared completely.
Naomi didn’t shrink back or apologize, but began to explain. “Apparently a Kristen Calder staffer noticed the similarities between the Kennedy Andrews character in Sticks and Stones and the author, which made her look more closely at all the characters in the book. Then another staffer, who’s a big Mallory St. James fan, noticed the similarities between a scene in Sticks and Stones and one in an earlier St. James novel.
“Although we had no warning of it, Kristen was primed and ready for a witch hunt. She just didn’t realize how many witches there were until all four of them stood up and started trying to protect each other.”
“It was a complete and utter train wreck!” Brenda Tinsley said. “One awful revelation after the next.” She shuddered. “We’ve already had calls from Masque, Partridge and Portman, and Psalm Song, Faye Truett’s inspirational publisher. People are freaking out all over New York City.”
“I hope you’re not suggesting we take comfort in the fact that we’re not the only New York publishing house with egg on its face,” Kemp said in the deep voice that with the power he yielded had earned him the nickname “God.”
“We’ve got a lot more to worry about than wiping up egg,” Brenda said. “There are bound to be lawsuits and ultimately we’re going to have to figure out what to do about Sticks and Stones, which is still climbing the New York Times list.”
“Well, I want to know how this happened,” Kemp said. “How could we not have known that the book was not written by our author?”
“Jane?” Brenda Tinsley’s tone was not the one she normally used with her former college roommate. Out of the corner of her eye, Lacy noticed that the Hand of God’s hands were shaking.
Jane Jensen actually looked surprised at the associate publisher’s tone. She automatically began to bristle, but managed to regain control. “Even before the book was complete I wanted it buried. I had informed the author that we would not be going back to contract. I’d assigned it a recycled cover. The print run would have been minimal.”
She managed to keep her tone civil, but Lacy saw the affront in her eyes. Jane Jensen wasn’t used to being questioned. Or having to control herself. She shot Lacy a venomous look and then continued. “Sticks and Stones would never have been put out in the way that it was if I hadn’t been ambushed at the sales meeting by Lacy Samuels.” She pointed an accusing finger at Lacy. “She fell in love with the book and contrary to my wishes, she marshaled a whole group of supporters, including Hannah and Cash Simpson, with whom Lacy has been sleeping.”
The publisher turned to consider Lacy, but whether he was trying to determine why Cash Simpson might find her attractive or was simply confused as to why this person would have stirred an insurrection at a sales meeting, Lacy didn’t know.
“What is Miss Samuels’s position here?” Harold Kemp asked.
“She’s my editorial assistant!” Jane snapped, her outrage making her forget who she was snapping at.
“So you’re blaming this on your assistant?” The publisher’s tone was incredulous.
“Yes!” Jane snapped again, and Lacy could see how close she was to losing her grip.
“And why would your assistant feel compelled to take action on a book you were editing?” Hannah asked quietly.
“Because she’s a troublemaker!” Jane Jensen spat her answer at Hannah, her fury building by the second.
“Had you read the book at the time your assistant started rallying in-house support for it?” Hannah continued to speak calmly and quietly, in stark contrast to Jane’s increasingly agitated manner.
“Well . . . of course!” Jane lied. She looked at Hannah as if she’d like to jump up and smack the woman down—a look Lacy knew well.
“So you read the book and didn’t notice that it wasn’t written in the same voice as Kendall Aims’s earlier books?”
Lacy realized now that even if Jane had read the book at this early stage she wouldn’t have known, because she’d never bothered to read the author’s earlier titles.
“And then somehow you let your assistant get other reads, have a new cover designed, and present it at the sales meeting?” Hannah’s tone remained smooth and calm. Jane was too angry to mount a credible defense. Perhaps she was using all her mental powers trying to keep herself from beating Hannah Sutcliff to a pulp.
“I didn’t realize what she was doing. I . . .” Jane clamped her mouth shut, apparently just now realizing the depth of the hole she’d just dug for herself.
“Who was assigned to edit this book?” Brenda Tinsley’s voice was cold and hard.
Lacy saw Jane struggle with her answer. Despite her rage, she seemed to realize the trap that had been set. If she admitted she hadn’t even read it until after Lacy had pulled off her sales meeting coup, she would have to admit that she’d planned to pass off important editorial work to an inexperienced assistant. If she claimed she’d read and edited the book, then she’d have to accept responsibility for completely missing the fact that the book was written by four authors and not just the one she had under contract.
“I was Kendall Aims’s editor,” Jane said, her tone stiff with anger.
“And did you actually edit Sticks and Stones?” Brenda asked.
“Yes, I did. But I wasn’t . . .” Jane was shaking from her efforts to hold back her anger. Her eyes took on a glazed, unfocused look that Lacy knew precipitated an explosion.
“Were you the editor or weren’t you?” Harold Kemp asked.
“I knew Kendall Aims was a mediocre talent and I had already planned to drop her. I didn’t want Sticks and Stones in hardcover. I didn’t . . .” Jane Jensen’s voice rose with each statement. She looked like a teakettle coming to a boil.
“Did you edit it or not?” Harold Kemp demanded.
“Yes!” Jane shouted at the publisher. “But you aren’t listening to me!” She’d lost it completely. “I knew that author was a problem. There was no way she should have been allowed to . . .” She was shrieking now. The 360 of the head on the shoulders was coming next.
But she didn’t get that far. Because this t
ime she wasn’t venting her spleen all over a powerless assistant. She’d picked the wrong audience for her pyrotechnics.
“That’s enough,” Harold Kemp said. “You’re fired.”
“What did you say?” Jane Jensen was still shouting. She turned to Brenda Tinsley. “Are you going to let him do that to me?” Jane yelled.
Brenda’s mouth compressed into an angry white line. “Yes,” she said coldly. “Of course I am.”
“You can’t do this!” Jane Jensen jumped to her feet and shoved back her chair. “Not after sixteen years of working my ass off for you! You’ll be sorry. You’ll—”
“Brenda,” Harold Kemp said. “Please call security and have them escort Miss Jensen from the building. We’ll discuss what to do with the book later.”
And just like that Scarsdale’s publisher-in-chief performed a much-needed exorcism. Or in Wizard of Oz terms, he dropped a house directly upon Scarsdale’s Wicked Witch and removed her ruby slippers.
Lacy watched him turn and leave the room. Brenda Tinsley picked up the phone and called downstairs. Moments later two burly guards appeared and escorted Jane Jensen out of the building.
Lacy breathed a shuddering sigh of relief as the door closed behind them. Brenda, Hannah, Naomi, and Lacy stared at each other for several long moments, but nobody seemed to be able to think of a fitting comment. They left their seats and began to file out of the office.
Lacy would have preferred a celebration. Maybe some skywriting. Or a chorus of Munchkins singing “Ding Dong! The Witch Is Dead.” She wanted to hear Jane Jensen’s editorial career pronounced “Really most sincerely dead.” And she wanted to see her feet shrivel up and disappear beneath the killer house.
Lacy’s relief was fleeting. She knew that although tonight’s curtain had fallen, the drama was far from over.
41
Critics have been described as people who go into the street after battle and shoot the wounded.