“I completely understand. You can totally trust me, Lucy.”
“So what do you want to know?” I ask.
Ten minutes later, I hang up with Daniel and stand up to shake out my legs. I realize I’m shaking a little, and I’m not sure if it’s caffeine or vitriol I feel coursing through my veins. After I wash up and brush my teeth, I get into bed and lie there, looking up through the dark at the ceiling. I hear the traffic outside my window. Suddenly, what usually seems like background noise sounds very loud. I start to sweat and then bolt out of bed and make it to the toilet just as I start to vomit. When I’m done, I sit on the bathroom floor and lean against the wall. I look up at the bathroom mirror and read the quote (by one of my favorite authors, Elizabeth Gilbert) that I had taped onto it last week: Embrace the glorious mess that you are. Glorious mess, indeed. And about to get a whole lot messier.
Chapter Fourteen
Lucy: STOP. Do NOT run the piece. Second thoughts. Call me!!
I text the number Daniel called me from last night. I wait a couple minutes. No response. I call him. No answer. I text Ava something similar. When I don’t immediately hear back, I call her. No answer. I leave a voice mail and frantically continue to call her every four minutes as I get ready for work.
When I woke up this morning, after a restless night’s sleep, it took me a while to realize why I felt so awful. Then I remembered my conversation with Daniel, and I instantly regretted what I had done. So I scrambled, actually fell (it wasn’t pretty), out of my bed and ran the two steps into my bathroom where my phone was charging to text Daniel. Sure, I’m furious with Katherine for what she did to me. But feeding that information to Daniel and allowing him to use me as a source to write an article about her?
What I will find out later is that while I’ve been texting Ava in a state of frenzy, she’s been ohming and downward dogging her way to tranquility. While I realize, truly realize, the extent of the damage I could cause to Katherine by being the source for that article, Ava is blissfully unaware that her phone is vibrating like crazy on the other side of the yoga studio wall.
When she finally does get back to me, as I’m walking, trudging, to work, she decides that the nature of the correspondence requires a phone call instead of a text.
“Luce?”
“Ava, finally! Where were you? Did you get my messages?”
“I was in yoga. Sorry. Yes, I got them.”
“So, did you call Daniel? I really, really don’t want that to run, Ava. Please say you spoke to Daniel and he’s erasing all evidence of what I talked to him about.”
Crickets.
“Ava?” I ask, urgently, desperately.
“Oh my God, Lucy. Please sit down. Please find somewhere safe to go so I can tell you what I’m about to tell you. Please step away from any and all curbs and bus stops.”
“What?” I ask hysterically.
“It’s already done,” Ava says quietly.
“What’s that? I don’t think I heard what you said,” I say furiously.
“Oh my God, Lucy. It’s on the front page of today’s Post and it’s on the home page of the newspaper’s website. Daniel texted me the link this morning. I’m so sorry. But it’s going to be okay. I promise. Katherine will never know it was you. Daniel understands that this is 100-percent confidential. He is so trustworthy. He’ll never tell. And I’ll never tell. And you’re going to be fine. Please don’t worry,” Ava says, speaking so quickly. Sounding so worried.
“Fuck! Ava, what am I going to do? I can’t believe I could do something so awful.” I’m walking around in tiny circles now, near the plate-glass window of a bank on Broadway. “Yes, Katherine did something awful to me, but this is so much more awful, Ava. How could I be so stupid?” I start to bang my forehead lightly against the glass until I see the look of complete fear on the face of the bank manager whose office is on the other side.
“Really, Lucy. It’s going to be okay. Here’s what you have to do. Go get a coffee and one of those big street-vendor bagels that you like. Then take a deep breath and walk into your office like everything is absolutely normal. Sit down, wait for Katherine to come in, and go through your day. Like nothing ever happened. Because, remember, you, Lucy Cooper, were not the source for that article. Some anonymous person was the source for that article. No one would ever think it was you. And when you, quote unquote, find out about the article, because inevitably someone will come up to you and tell you that an article about Katherine is in the Post, act surprised and then appalled, and then help Katherine deal with it like you would if you honestly did not know anything about it.”
“Jesus, Ava. This is awful.”
“I know, Lucy. It’s awful, but do what I said and everything will be okay. I promise. Do you want me to come meet you somewhere?”
“No,” I say, calming down a little. “I’ll be okay.”
So I did what she said.
“Good morning!” The guy in the bagel cart outside my office says to me, in his chipper bagel-guy voice as I order a cinnamon raisin with cream cheese and a large coffee all done up. I want to shoot him and his good morning.
I walk into the office, and I’m shocked to see Brooke sitting in my chair, cell phone to her ear, yapping away, high-heeled boots on my desk. When she sees me she gets off her phone, stands up, smooths her leather skirt, and says, “Thank God you’re here!”
Act surprised to see her, Lucy.
“Um, hi, Brooke. What’s going on?”
“Did you not see it?” She asks with shock, her mouth wide open, her palm splayed dramatically, but not ironically, on her chest.
“See what?” I ask.
She’s holding a newspaper that she proceeds to shove in my face. I unfold it and my eyes go wide at the headline on the front page that reads “America’s Darling of Balance Is a Fraud” under which is an exceptionally unflattering photo of Katherine.
“Oh my God,” I say, truly shocked. I start to read.
Women everywhere have hopped onto the Katherine Whitney bandwagon ever since her bestselling book The Balance Project came out six months ago. These women are impressed with Whitney’s confidence, her success as the COO of Green Goddess & Company, her movie-star looks and designer clothes, her Upper West Side apartment with enviable views of Central Park, even her courtside Knicks seats. Most of all, they’re impressed with her ability to have it all and make it look so effortless.
But sources are blowing Katherine Whitney’s cover and revealing that she doesn’t balance her life as effortlessly as she purports in her book and in her interviews. They confirm that Whitney doesn’t have it all, at all.
An anonymous source, who works with Whitney at Green Goddess & Co., calls her an outright fraud. “Katherine’s life is a complete mess. It’s everything but balanced. It’s a well-known fact in the office that she’s an absolute nightmare to work with. Everyone does their best to keep their distance from Katherine.”
The source also revealed that Simon & Schuster recently pulled the plug on a proposed follow-up book to The Balance Project when they got word that much of Whitney’s life is a pretense.
Turns out “doing it all” is not so easy after all. Especially for working moms. According to a former nanny, “Katherine’s daughters are nightmares. They constantly whine and cry, and they act like complete spoiled brats. They rarely see their mother and the family has a hard time holding on to nannies because Katherine is so demanding.”
A mother at the prestigious Cartwright School, where Whitney’s older daughter is in kindergarten, acknowledged that Whitney signs up for committees so she can be perceived as an involved parent. “She doesn’t come to any of the meetings and doesn’t do any of the work required of her. It’s a joke when you see Katherine Whitney’s name on a committee list. Everyone knows she doesn’t ever lift a finger. She is so high on herself that, to be honest, no one cares that she doesn’t show up. It’s almost easier if she doesn’t.”
The mother also admitted that
she heard from numerous people that Whitney has recently undergone some type of plastic surgery.
The Green Goddess & Co. employee added, “Katherine makes a lot of effort to cover up all her shortcomings. Her livelihood is entirely tied into convincing American working women that she should be their role model. Her carefully constructed facade would completely fall apart if people found out the truth.”
Women’s advocates are calling for Whitney to admit her charade to the world. They say it’s no longer acceptable for her to be the face of balance for American women when everything she says is a lie. Katherine Whitney, the jig is up.
I know I’m the Green Goddess source but those are not my quotes. And the quotes from the nanny and Cartwright School mother? I have no idea if those are true.
“Oh my God, Brooke. This is awful!” I say, meaning it.
“I know! Isn’t it? Such hate!”
“Does Katherine know?” I ask, slowly making my way over to my side of the desk, switching places with Brooke. I set my coffee and bagel bag on my desk and wake up my computer. The e-mails start downloading like a downpour on a stifling-hot summer night.
“I don’t think so. I haven’t heard from her. I didn’t want to call her and have this conversation over the phone, so as soon as I found out about it this morning, I came right over to see her in person. But this article has gone viral. It’s everywhere.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“I’m going to use every tool in my damage control toolbox to fix this. And we will fix this. Don’t you worry,” Brooke says.
We both turn at the same time to see Katherine walking down the hall toward my desk. She’s on her cell. She nears my desk, and we see her surprise at seeing Brooke register on her face. She hangs up her cell but not before I hear her say, in an impatient voice, “I said, we’ll talk about it later, Theo.”
“Brooke, what a surprise. I didn’t know we had a meeting,” Katherine says, smiling at Brooke. “Was it left off my calendar by mistake, Lucy?” she asks, looking at me.
I start to talk, but Brooke, thankfully, interrupts.
“No, Katherine. Something unexpected came up. Let’s go into your office, sit down, and talk about it.”
The two of them walk in, Katherine in the lead, and Brooke shuts the door behind them.
I open my browser and call up the New York Post website. I read the article again, and it seems even worse on a big screen. Plus, there are terrible and awkward photos of Katherine throughout. The Post is known to be sensational, but still.
“WHAT????” I hear Katherine yell through her office walls.
My stomach feels as if it’s on that Perfect Storm boat with Mark Wahlberg, and I actually grab my garbage can because I think I might vomit. I put my head down and stare at a snag in the carpet. Within a few minutes, I feel like I can sit up again.
I look back at my screen and see the comments, which are in the hundreds already. For every one comment supporting Katherine, there are at least ten, if not more, saying awful things. Truly awful things. About someone they don’t even know. And every time I refresh the page, the numbers on those little social media share buttons increase exponentially.
“Hi, Lucy.”
I look up, startled to be taken out of my reverie. “Hi, Maggie.”
“Is Katherine in there?”
“Yes, but she’s in a meeting.”
“In a meeting, meeting? Or in a—” and she makes little air quotes with her fingers, “meeting?”
“No, Maggie. She’s actually in a meeting, with a person, but I’ll let her know you stopped by.”
Maggie walks away. What a bitch.
I’m about to reimmerse myself in the hell that is the New York Post when I see Evan marching down the hall toward me. He darts right by my desk and straight into Katherine’s office. He slams the door.
I start panicking and imagine that the reason he didn’t look at me was because they suspect it was me. But I can’t imagine that they would suspect it was me. Who in their right mind would even begin to suspect it was me? I’m so loyal to Katherine. I’m like the most loyal assistant ever. Or so they think. Plus, Katherine would never suspect me because she doesn’t know that I know what she said to Ash. So I’m okay. I take a deep breath. I’m okay.
“Lucy, can you come in here?” Katherine asks sternly through the intercom.
I jump up and am through the door in an instant. Brooke and Evan are in the Kelly chairs. I stand behind them. Katherine is in tears.
“Do you have any idea who the anonymous source is?” she asks. Brooke and Evan turn around to stare at me.
“No, Katherine. I’m so sorry. I have no idea. It’s awful. Is there anything I can do?”
Katherine continues crying and Brooke gives me a look like I can go back to my desk. That’s all they wanted to ask. I honestly didn’t get the sense they were suspicious.
The three of them stay locked in the war room for another hour. On occasion I hear raised voices. And once in a while, Katherine’s phone line lights up but I don’t know who she’s calling. In the meantime, I’m fielding calls and taking messages. I can tell almost immediately whether the caller is aware of the article. It’s an audible version of the head tilt you do when you walk up to someone whose loved one has recently died.
Eventually Brooke comes out of Katherine’s office and closes the door behind her. She leans next to my chair and says in a hushed tone, “So we’ve got a plan, and I want to fill you in.”
“Okay,” I say, grabbing my pad and a pen.
“Katherine is booked on the Today show tomorrow morning so we can get out in front of this and address it head-on. It’s the weekend version so that’s not ideal, but it’s the best we can do since today is Friday. The plan is to make it seem like there’s someone in the office who has it out for Katherine, that things with Katherine are just fine and dandy, and this is just another case of the Post printing untruths. We’ll spin it that way. She mentioned she suspects someone named Maggie but she’s not going to name names in the press. And she can easily dismiss the other two sources by calling them a disgruntled former household employee and a jealous and competitive private-school mother with too much time on her French-manicured hands. She might even suggest that the Post made the sources up as they’ve been known to do. I’ve canceled my trip this weekend so I’ll be around, but Katherine says she’d like you to be with her at Today tomorrow morning as well. She trusts you and she wants reinforcements at her side. I’ll e-mail you where you have to be and when. I spoke to Ellevate and got them comfortable with keeping Katherine for tomorrow night’s award dinner, but we’re going to have to make that speech shine like the diamonds they only show the VIP customers in the Tiffany concierge rooms. Can you help with that?”
“Of course,” I say softly. I’ve never seen this side of Brooke. She’s dropped her excessive enthusiasm and is acting completely professional and in command. Someone you’d want on your side if your trustworthy assistant ever decides to ruin your life.
“Now, there will be a lot of people calling today. I need you to be command central. If the caller acts like they don’t know anything about the article, then carry on with business as usual. Take messages. Say that Katherine is busy and that she’ll call them back. She’ll let you know when or if she’s ready to start taking calls today. If anyone calls about the article and wants a comment, tell them that Katherine’s public relations firm is handling those calls and then give them my direct number. And whatever you do, make absolutely no comments to anyone. Certainly not to the press but not even to your boyfriend, best friend, manicurist, pizza guy, mother, or anyone else for that matter. Got it?”
“Got it, Brooke. Thanks. Katherine’s really lucky to have you.”
“Well, that’s nice of you to say, Lucy, but this is what I do,” she says and stands up ready to leave.
“Brooke?” I ask.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to be able to find out who t
he source is?”
“You bet your oversized bagel I will. That’s the easy part. A couple phone calls and a little Brooke intimidation, and I’ll find out for sure. Plus, we’ve been on the phone with the lawyers to see if we’ve got a libel case. This clearly seems to fit the bill. The big problem is that even though we know most of the article is untrue, the public will want to believe what’s in print. Katherine’s reputation is damaged no matter what the truth is. And every tweet, like, share, and comment makes it exponentially worse. But no time for that right now. Right now it’s about protecting Katherine and making this whole thing old news.”
I force a smile and she walks away.
Shit.
The news about the article travels around the Green Goddess office like a Bugatti Veyron Super Sport on the autobahn. Katherine keeps her door closed most of the day so whenever someone walks by my desk and sees the closed door, he or she (it’s mostly shes) stops at my desk and asks, in her best library voice, one of three things: (1) How is she doing? (2) Was the article true? (3) Do you know who the office source is? Some of the inquiring minds stick around hoping I’ll go all Perez Hilton and spill sordid details, but inevitably the conversation is cut short when the phone rings. I give a little smile and wave, and the inquiring mind is off on her nosy way.
And oh how the phone does ring. I direct calls to Brooke and take loads of messages. And despite my raging guilt and justifiable fear that Brooke will channel her inner Nancy Drew and find out I’m the source, outwardly I act pretty calmly.
That Daniel better keep his mouth shut. I’m almost tempted to send him a fake bloody finger in a box or whatever mob bosses do to keep people quiet. Maybe it’s supposed to be a bloody tongue. Anyway, I’m not sending any bloody body parts. Mostly because I don’t want any proof of my connection to him. I just can’t believe he butchered my comments so egregiously. I’m praying to God, the universe, to anyone who will listen that Katherine does not find out.
The Balance Project Page 16