by Alexa Davis
Reeves says, “Let’s not make this personal, Nick.”
“I’ll step down if Jacque takes it,” I answer.
“Has he answered your calls yet?” Verne asks, smirking at me.
“You know you can’t stop it if he decides to take the company,” I tell them. “Even if you succeed in knocking me off the top of the mountain, he steps in and you’re not going to have time to smear him out of a job, too.”
“We’re not trying to s—damn it, Nick!” Reeves growls and slams the table with his fist. “Will you wake the hell up already?”
Everyone on the board but Verne averts their eyes. They may be behind every word, but they like to preserve the appearance, however flimsy, of calm objectivity and Reeves is straight up calling me out.
“Don’t you see what you’ve done to the company by not allowing this move before now? From what I hear, you’re still thinking about moving headquarters to Mulholland!” Reeves spits. “If we’re going to talk about people sabotaging things, maybe we should start with that!”
I sit quietly a moment.
It’s been a while since I’ve been yelled at—with an audience, that is. I smile. “I bet it felt good, finally getting that out after all this time, Reeves. Damn it, I’m proud of you,” I tell him. “Also, that’s a no to everything. If you can guarantee me we don’t lose one job here, and that the company will make it intractable that we stay headquartered right here, no matter what you or anyone else who may follow me has to say, I’ll sign the paper right now. You can keep whatever golden parachute you’ve had in mind. But you’re not willing to do that, are you?”
Nobody answers.
I stand up and adjust my tie. “It may just happen that you get me out of here and manage to screw everyone we ever made a promise to, but you’re not there yet,” I tell them. “For now, I want each of you to write me at least a page, but no more than two, on ideas you have to save the company that don’t involve moving it overseas.”
“Homework, Nick?” Verne asks. “Really?”
“Call it a show of good faith,” I answer. “If nothing else, it’ll show the public that you at least considered other options before you decided to screw the world.”
There’s nothing more to say or do here, so I give one more glance to the board and walk out of the room.
After telling Nolan, my lead assistant, to hold my calls, I head into my office and shut the door.
This is really happening. In the room, I project confidence because I can’t afford to look weak, but I’m running out of moves. They’re going to remove me. The investors are behind it. At the end of the day, that’s all that ever matters.
Where the hell is Jacque?
I pick up my office phone and dial the number, but it just goes to voice mail. Jacque sold his shares not long after our IPO made us—him, me, and a lot of others—very rich people. He won’t answer my calls because he’s probably still mad at me for calling him a coward and a traitor after he told me what he’d done.
That was before I ever had this office. It was a while before I learned never to make things personal. Of course, that’s a lesson I’ve found myself conveniently forgetting over the last few months.
For now, I pour myself a drink, sit in my fancy chair, and try to tattoo the view from this window into my brain. It won’t be long until it’s nothing but a memory.
* * *
It’s after nine o’clock and I’m still at the office when Nolan knocks on my door and shows himself into the office.
“There’s a call for you on line two,” he says, “someone named Naomi.”
“Take a message and then tear it up,” I tell him. “Anything else?”
“She says it’s urgent,” he tells me. “She said, ‘Something’s wrong with Ellie.’”
I press the button for line two and pick up the phone, saying, “What happened?”
“Oh, hey Nick,” Naomi says. “Yeah, so I just got to the beach house and there are a lot of people here.”
“People?” I ask. “What do you mean? Where’s Ellie?”
Naomi clicks her tongue, saying, “I don’t think she’s doing so well. You should probably get here and talk to her.”
“Is she all right, though?” I ask. “What’s going on?”
“She’s fine … physically,” Naomi says. “I don’t know. You should probably get here, though,” she repeats.
I say, “I’m on my way,” and I hang up the phone. Sending a quick text to Trevor to let him know I’m on my way down, I leave the office. I try calling Ellie’s phone a few times, but it just rings.
When we pull up to the house, I’m more than a little surprised to see dozens of cars parked in the long driveway.
I get out and tell Trevor if I’m not back out in ten minutes, he can go home from the night. Music is blaring so loud the doors, windows, and walls of the beach house do precious little to dampen the sound.
The place is packed.
People smile and greet me as I walk through, but none of them seems to know where Ellie is, though everyone remembers seeing her at some point in a different part of the house. Why any of these people are here, I don’t know.
After looking for ten minutes, I don’t find Ellie, but I do find Naomi. She’s nursing a drink and chatting to Rave McAllister, one of the only rock stars I still let into any of my homes. Most of them think they’ve got to be Ozzy Osborne, snorting ants off the ground or they don’t have any credibility. If that’s their thing, it’s fine. I just don’t like being the one to clean it all up afterward. Rave’s okay, though.
“Naomi, have you seen Ellie?” I ask.
Naomi doesn’t even look at me, she just waves her hand in my general direction, I can only assume as an attempt to dismiss me so she can keep talking to Rave.
I tap her on the shoulder and she spins her head toward me, saying, “What?”
“Hey, Naomi,” I say, “welcome to my home. Enjoying the party?” I nod to Rave who nods back.
“Oh, Nick,” Naomi says. “Yeah, I think she’s out in the hot tub or something.”
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
Naomi rolls her eyes. “How should I know?” she asks. “Go talk to her.” With that, she turns back to Rave.
I have tried to like that woman, but I’m convinced it’s never going to happen.
Making my way out back, I cross the deck and make my way around to the side by the pool, dodging people I didn’t invite here all the way. My position is already weak as it is. I don’t need it going public I’m throwing an A-list party while my company’s going under.
First thing’s first, though: I need to make sure Ellie’s all right.
I come around the side of the house to find the pool dark, but filled with people and what has to be almost as many crowded inside the hot tub. To be fair, the hot tub is just about as big as the pool. As if the party wasn’t bad publicity enough, the only clothes or bathing suits I see are collected in little piles around the water.
The few people who bother to notice the lord of the manor’s home erupt in a cheer when they see me, but I can’t find Ellie. I finally spot her about a quarter of the way around the hot tub, talking to a semicircle of people.
She’s naked right along with everyone else.
I walk around to where Ellie has her back against the hot tub wall, and I set my hand on her shoulder. She looks up at me, saying, “Hey, baby! We were just talking about you. Why don’t you come in and join us?”
“Where did all these people come from?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she says. “Ralph here says he’s from New Jersey, but I haven’t had a chance to get to everyone yet.”
“Why is there a party at my house and I don’t know about it?” I ask.
With that, everyone but Ellie scatters. On their way out, it seems they fill others in because soon it’s just Ellie and me.
“What’s your deal?” she asks. “Andre and I thought it would be a good way to blow off some steam af
ter all that’s been going on lately.”
“Andre?” I ask. “You called Andre Moriarty, just about the sleaziest guy making movies—and he doesn’t even do porn—and the two of you decided to throw a party?” I ask. “Now, when everything is hanging in the balance?”
“Calm down, will you?” she says. “He called the house. I didn’t know if it was you or if it was someone who needed to leave a message, so I answered. I told him you weren’t home, but we got to talking. Turns out he’s a really nice guy. I don’t think he’s a sleazy guy at all.”
“Have you ever watched his movies?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “If you think so little of him, why’s he calling your beach house?” she shoots back.
“He’s one of my oldest friends,” I answer. “I see your point. Still, this isn’t the time to do something like this, and whose idea was it for everyone to get naked?”
“I don’t know,” she says in that sing-song voice that I don’t want to hear right now.
“It was your idea?” I ask.
She shrugs. “So what? I’m a little drunk and I wanted to see if everyone would actually do it. By the way, this having power thing is fantastic. I haven’t even done anything and people I’ve seen on the news are dropping trou.” She starts laughing. “Sorry,” she says. “I heard that from Mike Humphry a little while ago and it still cracks me up.”
This isn’t happening. “Why don’t we go inside and talk a minute?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “I’m mad at you.”
“You’re mad at me?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “I was right in the middle of a perfectly wonderful conversation with Loreen LeFleur, Janella Swiss, and Nyla Th—”
“What are you doing?” I ask. “What is this? Have I offended you in some horrific way I don’t know about?”
“What’s the matter with you?” she asks. “After everything I’ve been through these last couple months, I’d think you’d support me having a little fun.”
The funny thing is, I know she didn’t cheat on me. Still, she’s not acting like herself, and I’ve seen it happen so many times, I know exactly what’s happening.
“Ellie, we need to go inside. Grab your clothes. I’ll get everyone home and you and I can talk. There are some things about this kind of life you need to understand,” I tell her.
“Nah,” she says. “I’m good. Hey, come back in, you guys!”
I turn to find about a dozen of my stupider guests peeking their heads around the corner, watching us. As soon as Ellie gives the green light, though, everyone’s getting back into the pool and the hot tub. Not everyone disrobes this time, but I still see a lot more of very familiar people than I ever wanted.
“We’ve got to go,” I tell her.
Ellie leans back, saying, “Where are we going?”
“How drunk are you?” I ask.
“I only had a couple of drinks, but ever since I got in this hot tub, woo!” she says, wiping her brow.
Thirty people echo, “Woo!”
“Come on,” I tell her. “It’s thinning your blood and making you loopy.”
“I know,” she says. “It’s kind of fun.”
“No,” I tell her. “I’m not going to stand here and argue with you.”
“Why do you think I told everyone to come back in the pool?” she asks.
Ever since she came back, I don’t know if it was Amelie, or exactly what it was, but Ellie’s starting to lose herself the same way nearly everyone I’ve ever met who came into this lifestyle has. I can’t let that happen.
I’m not getting through to her this way, though, and I need to make sure I can get everyone out of here without flipping my lid. Without a word, I start back around toward the back door and inside the house.
Making my way through the party toward the kitchen, I’m bombarded by three separate senators, each a little too inebriated for distinguished conversation. I politely, then impolitely, push my way past.
As usual, nobody’s in the kitchen, because nobody wants to risk having to clean anything, but when I hold my hand above the stove, I can feel the heat rising from it. There’s a bottle of Sambuca on the counter and I ever so clumsily tip it over onto the still-hot burners.
By the time I’m on my way out and back to dodging politicians, smoke is starting to creep out of the kitchen. It’s not long before someone yells, “Fire!” and everyone’s running for the doors, though not in every case the nearest ones.
As I come onto the deck, the people outside start to catch word. Before I’m to the side, everyone but Ellie, nude or not, is running in some crooked direction away from the house. Finally rounding the corner I see Ellie putting her clothes on.
“What’s going on?” she asks. “I heard something about a fire?”
“There’s a jet that drops flame-retardant on the stove whenever the alarm in the kitchen goes off, and it extinguishes everything,” he says. “We were going to release it next year, but we never quite got the cleanup part right.”
“What?” she asks.
I bend down and hand Ellie her shirt. I tell her, “We need to talk.”
Chapter Nineteen
Mulholland
Ellie
It’s been three days since I’ve been back home. By home, I mean home, home.
After that party, Nick and I had a talk. I dare say it didn’t go quite the way either of us wanted it to. He says I’m changing, that I need some time away from all the distractions of New York.
He says he’s going to join me here when he can, but we’ll see if that ever happens.
I know I should be at the store right now, trying to hock what I have for next month’s rent, but I don’t feel much like going anywhere.
I’ve hardly left my room, except to take care of Max and Sammie. Naomi left them with a friend of hers who does that sort of thing for a living. She takes excellent care of animals and all, but the woman can’t get it through her mind that not every animal needs a poodle cut.
Sammie has little puffs of straight, short fur sticking up in the oddest directions while Max looks like a canine social deviant. The way Bernice lets them run around her fenced-in three-acre lot with other animals, though, the two couldn’t care less about the bad groom job.
They’re happy, so I’ve learned to live with the occasional look from people on the street when I take Max out for a walk. Problem is, Max’s walks are the only time I’ve left the apartment since I’ve been back.
Nick says I’m changing, that I’m losing that thing about me that he fell in love with oh, so very long ago. The thing is I know I’m starting to change. I’m getting sick of people walking over me all the time.
How much money I have or what I do doesn’t matter. I sat down with a lot of people who will be talked about for generations, and small-town as I am, we got along just fine.
My door opens and Naomi walks into the room.
I sit up in bed, saying, “Where have you been?”
“You’re not going to believe this,” she says. “When everyone ran out of the party because you were stripping or whatever—”
“That did not happen,” I interrupt. “Along with everyone else, I removed my clothes in a very mature, even ladylike way. Besides, everyone left because of the smoke coming out of the kitchen.”
“Whatever,” Naomi says. “Anyway, so I was looking online because I found Nick’s secret liquor cabinet. By that, I mean, it’s like bigger than this whole apartment and there’s booze—booze everywhere!”
“What’d you steal?” I ask, lying back in bed and covering my face with my blanket.
A moment later, Naomi’s on top of me, pulling the cover back off, saying, “I didn’t steal anything.”
“Okay, what’d you try to steal?” I ask.
“A bottle of Jose Davolos Cognac,” she says. “If that maid lady wanted a big payout, instead of spreading your tits all over the world, she should have just snagged a bottle of that and sold it on eBay.”
<
br /> “You tried to steal a two-million dollar bottle of cognac?” I ask.
“Calm down, I put it back right after I took it off the shelf,” she says.
I lean up on my elbows and ask, “And why did you do that?”
She looks away a moment, saying, “There may have been an alarm.”
“Okay, so why aren’t you in prison?” I ask. “You know when you’re out on bail you’re not supposed to leave the state, right?”
“Oh stop that,” she says, slapping my arm. “Nobody’s arresting anybody. I did have to play some shadow games with that one maid, though. I think her name is Fern or something old-fashiony like that.”
“Her name is literally Jane Doe,” I respond.
“Whatever,” Naomi says. “The point is, she does not stop looking. After a while, I started to get hungry, though, so I was eating some crackers and drinking some water—”
“What were you really having?” I interrupt.
“Okay, the crackers were imported and I may have slathered them with caviar, but the water was just water,” she says.
“You’re a sterling example of knowing proper boundaries,” I respond.
“I know right,” she says. It takes her this long before she’s looking down at me, saying, “Are you all right?”
“I think it’s over,” I tell her. “That party—I don’t even know if that’s what did it. Ever since I got back there, I just feel like I can’t do anything right.”
“It’s not over,” she says. With a laugh, she adds, “You were pretty wasted, though. I almost took some pictures to show you, but I thought that might be a bad idea after the other thing.”
“How bad was I?” I ask.
Naomi returns, “You don’t remember?”
“I think I remember most everything,” I answer. “Honest opinion: was I or was I not the most embarrassing person you’ve ever seen at a party.”