Original Cyn

by Sue Margolis

  She continued watching, mouthing the actors’ words, concentrating on every expression and movement they made. She was so carried away that she barely heard the shouting and commotion coming from behind her.

  “Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?” a voice yelled. Cyn’s heart rate accelerated like a Harley on a speedway track. She knew that voice. It was Chelsea’s. Dan called “cut” and along with everybody else, turned toward the door. This wasn’t how it was meant to happen, Cyn thought. She hadn’t bargained for this. In her fantasy, she was the one who challenged Chelsea. She was the one to go on the attack. That way she claimed the advantage. Then she noticed Chelsea wasn’t alone. Graham was with her. She hadn’t expected that either. Still, maybe it was no bad thing. Now at least she wouldn’t have to tell her story twice.

  “Who’s she?” Gazza said to Cyn.

  “A woman I work with. The chap with her is Graham Chandler, one of our CEOs.”

  Cyn was in the grip of a full-scale panic. She took a deep breath and waited. Chelsea got closer. The shouting and ranting got louder. The woman was doing her best to stride out, but she seemed to be hampered by a severely stiff back. She was leaning back, legs apart, hand in the small of her back. She looked like a heavily pregnant woman without the bump. The crew was standing around exchanging bemused looks. Nobody was saying a word. Cyn looked at Gazza, painfully aware that she was going to have to start explaining herself to him, sooner rather than later.

  “Cyn,” Chelsea snarled, waving her walking stick in the air like some batty old trout in an Ealing comedy. “I think you have some explaining to do, don’t you?”

  “How did you know I was here?” Cyn said.

  Chelsea gave a smirk. “You’re not as clever as you think. I was looking for you in the office when I saw your Filofax lying open on your desk.”

  Cyn flinched at her stupidity. “You know, Chelsea, I think it’s you who has the explaining to do, not me.”

  “Me?” Chelsea came back with a snarl. Then she laughed. “Oh, that’s cute. That’s real cute. You steal my idea and now you’re demanding an explanation from me? What sort of kooky, Alice in Wonderland world do you inhabit?”

  “Cyn,” Graham broke in icily, “I think Chelsea deserves an explanation.”

  At this point Gazza got up. “Chel,” he said to Cyn, “why is your CEO calling that woman Chelsea when you’re Chelsea?”

  “She’s not Chelsea,” Chelsea said. “I’m Chelsea. Her name is Cyn. She stole my identity.”

  Gazza ran his hand across his forehead. “Sorry, I’m confused. So, Chel, when you told me your name was Chel, it wasn’t really Chel?”

  Cyn was feeling so guilty she could barely look him in the eye. “That’s right,” she said. “I lied to you.”

  He turned to Chelsea. “So, you’re the real Chel.”

  “Let’s get one thing straight, bozo. My name is Chelsea. It is not, never has been and never will be, Chel.”

  Gazza stood ruminating. “You know, now that I come to think of it, your voice does sound familiar.”

  “Of course it’s friggin’ familiar,” Chelsea hissed. “Before I hurt my back and went into the hospital, we used to speak almost every day on the phone. In case it’s escaped your notice, I have an American accent. Cyn does not.”

  Gazza turned to Cyn. “So your boss didn’t insist you lose your accent because of the Cool Britannia thing?” Cyn shook her head. Chelsea let out another burst of laughter. “That’s what she told you?”

  “So could somebody please explain what is going on here?” Gazza said.

  Dan said he wouldn’t mind finding out either.

  “This woman,” Chelsea declared like some hard-nosed courtroom prosecutor, “stole my proposal and then tried to pass it off as her own. While her boss was away she took advantage of a weak, vulnerable colleague who was lying helpless in a hospital bed.”

  “Cyn, what do you have to say for yourself?” Graham said, sounding like he was moments from kicking her out on her ear.

  Cyn pulled herself up to her full five-foot-four-and-a-half and went over to Chelsea. She was about to call her a conniving, cold-blooded, cruel, ruthless, talentless bitch and say she didn’t know how she had the audacity to stand here lying, but she didn’t. This was no time to lose her temper. Graham would think she was bonkers and she would lose all her credibility.

  “You stole my idea,” Cyn said calmly, “and you know it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I steal your idea? I’m the most talented creative at PCW. Everybody knows that. You, on the other hand, have been lurching from one blunder to the next. Actually I feel sorry for you. It’s obvious you’ve had some kind of a breakdown. Nobody in their right mind would steal the proposal after Graham had read it and already knew it was mine. You know what, sweetie, I really think you need to get yourself some help.”

  Cyn didn’t say anything. Instead she bent down and picked up her handbag. From it she took a small cassette player. “The quality may not be very good, but I think it will explain everything. Yesterday I made a phone call to a man named Charlie Taylor. For those of you who haven’t heard of him, Charlie is president of the biggest advertising agency in L.A. A long time ago Chelsea’s father and his father were partners.”

  For the first time, Chelsea was starting to look edgy. “Oh, come on, please. Do we really have to listen to this garbage?”

  Cyn pressed the play button: “Hello, may I speak to Mr. Taylor, please?” Cyn paused the tape and explained that the voice was hers. She asked everybody to excuse her bad American accent. Then she pressed play again.

  “May I ask what it’s concerning?”

  “Just say it’s Chelsea Roggenfelder.” (Cyn had decided that pretense was the only way to get past Charlie’s assistant.)

  “Oh, Ms. Roggenfelder, hi. Just putting you through . . . Mr. Taylor, I have Ms. Roggenfelder on the line.”

  “Chelsea, what do you want now? How many more times do we have to go through this? I’ve told you, it’s over. I can’t keep doing this. I have a business to run. If you can’t come up with your own ideas for ad campaigns, then get the hell out of the business. It’s not right for you. Instead of trying to impress your father, find yourself a shrink. You have issues with your dad that you’re just not dealing with. I came up with the Skippy campaign and that’s it. No more. Finito. The end.”

  Cyn switched off the machine, reliving the utter astonishment she had felt on the phone last night as Charlie spilled everything without her having to say a single word.

  Cyn turned to Chelsea. “When Charlie refused to come up with a proposal for the Droolin’ Dream campaign, you decided to steal mine. For the record, I found out about Charlie Taylor from Luke, who overheard you on the phone to him.”

  “Luke? Luke?” she spluttered. “What does he know? He’s nothing. He’s just the goddam gofer, for Chrissake. Why would anyone believe him? This is an outrage. I am going to sue your ass. Then I’ll sue Luke’s ass. This is slander. It’s a violation of my human rights. It’s, it’s . . .”

  “It’s the truth,” Cyn said quietly. She glanced across at Graham, who looked completely stunned.

  “The hell it is,” Chelsea roared. “You framed me. That guy on the tape is just some actor you found.” She turned to Graham. Her face was red. She was starting to look pathetic and desperate. “Graham, you have to believe me.” There was a nervous laugh. Her eyes were pleading. Cyn could tell that deep down she knew it was all over. “Can’t you see that this is just a cheap, squalid attempt to discredit me? You have to do something. Cyn is the one who needs help, not me.”

  Graham let out a slow breath. “Come on, Chelsea,” he said gently. “I’m going to take you home.” He reached out to put an arm round her.

  “Get away from me,” she hissed, slicing the air in front of her with her hand. “I don’t want any of you near me.” A moment later she had spun round and was marching toward the main door. Cyn and Graham looked a
t each other as if to say “So, do we go after her?” Meanwhile, embarrassed glances were exchanged between the other spectators as they shifted uncomfortably on their feet.

  Cyn found herself chasing after Chelsea. As well as recognizing that the woman was bonkers and needed help, there was something else she needed to say to her.

  She found Chelsea outside, leaning against the wall of the building. She was staring up at the gunmetal sky, her breathing heavy with rage, her arms folded in childlike defiance. Cyn stood beside her, but Chelsea didn’t acknowledge her presence. She simply carried on gazing skyward.

  “I know I’m not blameless in all this,” Cyn said, suddenly aware of the cold and wishing she had a coat. “I did steal your identity. I was angry, but that was no excuse. I shouldn’t have done it.”

  Chelsea didn’t say anything. Nor did she make any attempt to look at Cyn. They stood there in silence for maybe a minute. At one point Chelsea ripped a leaf from a low, overhanging tree branch and began shredding it.

  “You have no idea what it was like when I was growing up,” Chelsea said eventually. Her voice was soft now but there was no mistaking the bitterness. She turned to look at Cyn. “To say my father had huge expectations of me is probably the understatement of the century. By the time I was seventeen I knew I didn’t want to go into advertising, but he wouldn’t listen. I even did my own thing for a few years, but he was devastated and we grew apart. Finally, to make him happy, I caved in and took the job at PCW. I knew straight-away I’d done the wrong thing. My dad thought up some of the most successful advertising campaigns in America. He was a genius and he expected me to live up to that. I knew I never could, but I also knew that just being me would never be enough for him. He always wanted more. The only way I was going to gain his respect was to surpass him.”

  Cyn’s eyes were starting to fill up. “I’m sorry,” she said, placing her hand gently on Chelsea’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  Chelsea ignored Cyn’s demonstration of sympathy, but she seemed happy to let her hand stay there, stroking her arm. “What are you sorry for?” Chelsea said. “I stole your proposal. That is unforgivable.” She released the handful of leaf shreds. The chilly breeze carried them off briefly before allowing them to float down onto the pavement.

  “And stealing your identity wasn’t exactly an act of Christian charity. Having said that, I was pretty angry—not least of all about you making sure I got the Smart Car with the Anusol ad. Why did you do it? What had I ever done to you?”

  “Nothing. You had done absolutely nothing to me.” By now Chelsea’s eyes were glassy with tears and she was swallowing hard. “It’s just that you are so talented and I was eaten up with jealousy. I hated seeing you succeed and I wanted to hurt you. It started with the car and then I stole your proposal. I have no defense other than to say I wanted success so much, it became an addiction. I couldn’t allow myself to fail. I just couldn’t.” Finally the tears started to tumble down her cheeks. “God, I’m such a mess.”

  “You are now, but things can change. Charlie’s right. It’s important to get some help so that you can discover the real you. When you’ve done that, you need to introduce her to your dad.”

  “Cyn, why the hell are you being so nice to me, after everything I’ve done to you?”

  “First of all, I feel guilty because I’m not completely without blame in all this. Second, I know from my own upbringing how a troubled childhood can affect a person. It doesn’t excuse what you did and I’m still angry, but it does explain it.”

  “So, what do I do if my father refuses to accept the real me?”

  “Come on. It’s not like you’re a thief or a murderer. All you are is somebody who isn’t very good at the advertising business. If he can’t accept that, then he really isn’t worth the trouble. But my guess is he had no idea how much pressure he was putting on you, that he’ll be mortified to find out how it affected you and all he’ll want to do is make it up to you.”

  Chelsea sniffed and wiped a tear with the heel of her palm. “I don’t know.”

  “You have to give it a try.”

  Chelsea shrugged. “Maybe I do.”

  It was then that Cyn noticed Graham standing just a few feet away.

  “I take it you heard all that?” Chelsea said to him.

  He gave her a half-smile and nodded. “Most of it. Come on, let’s go,” he said. As he turned to Cyn his expression changed. Suddenly there was steel in his eyes. “I spoke to Gary Rossiter briefly and made my apologies,” he said briskly. “Luckily for you, he seems to be a remarkably generous chap. Nevertheless, you and I need to talk. Two o’clock—my office. I’m not remotely happy about the way you handled this situation.” She felt sick. There was no doubt in her mind that she would be clearing out her desk a few hours from now.

  After Graham and Chelsea had gone, people drifted off to get coffee. Dan and Gazza held back.

  “For what it’s worth,” Dan said to Cyn, “I’d have probably done the same thing in your position. The woman needed to be taught a lesson.”

  “I know,” Cyn said, “but I could probably have come up with a more grown-up way of dealing with it. Look, it was wrong of me to keep you out of the loop. I should have told you what was going on.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t think it’s me you have to apologize to.” He nodded in Gazza’s direction. The man was looking utterly forlorn. As Dan went over to join the rest of the crew, Cyn went up to Gazza.

  “I am truly sorry. I didn’t set out to deceive you. It’s just that the first time I met you at the Droolin’ Dream office, you were convinced I was Chelsea. You wouldn’t let me get a word in and the whole thing just spiraled out of control.”

  He didn’t say anything. His hands were in his pockets and he was looking down at the floor.

  “Gazza, please say something. Shout, scream, but don’t go silent on me.”

  After a second of two he finally looked up. “I know people think I’m a bit of a prat.”

  “No, they don’t . . .”

  “Yes, they do, but it may surprise you to know that I’m not a total plank. I would have understood and I’d have helped you if you’d let me. All you’d have needed to do was explain.”

  “But I didn’t know you would help me. I didn’t know you. I was so angry with Chelsea, I wasn’t thinking straight. I just wanted what was mine and I didn’t think further than that.”

  He nodded. “No, you didn’t.”

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so ashamed. “I’ve got a meeting with Graham this afternoon,” she said. “He’s probably going to sack me, which means somebody else will be in charge of the Droolin’ Dream account. At least you won’t have me around anymore.”

  “Chel, I said I wasn’t a plank and that means I have enough brains to know a good thing when I see it. This ad is going to be fantastic with a capital Terrific and I want you around until we’ve finished. If Graham sacks you I shall have something to say about it, believe me.”

  “I’m not sure it’ll do much good.” She paused. “So what’s happening? Are you forgiving me?”

  He managed a smile. “In time I think I’ll manage to get over it. I just can’t believe I let you convince me you’d changed your accent because it didn’t fit in with PCW’s Cool Britannia image.”

  “Bearing in mind I came up with it in about three seconds, I thought it was pretty inspired.”

  She was so glad Gazza hadn’t shouted at her—even though she’d had it coming. She found herself thinking about how she’d laid into Joe on the phone and called him pond life. Not that he hadn’t deserved it. She couldn’t help missing him, though, and she knew it would take a long time before she could put their relationship behind her. No matter how much somebody hurts you, she thought, it’s impossible to love them one day and simply stop the next.

  “By the way,” she said to Gazza, “there’s something else I lied about.”

  “I know, you’re not a lesbian.”

&n
bsp; “Bloody hell. How on earth did you guess?”

  “I didn’t. It was supposed to be a joke. You mean it’s true?”

  Her face was contorted with guilt. Then she nodded. “You kept asking me out and . . .”

  He let out a long sigh. “I know. You don’t have to say any more. I was coming on too strong. It’s a fault. You’re not the first woman to have said it. When I like somebody I just get a bit carried away, that’s all.”

  “But I shouldn’t have said I was a lesbian.”

  “So that other woman, the woman you were with that night in the pub, she isn’t gay either.”

  Cyn shook her head. “So, do you want your k.d. Lang CDs back?”

  “Nah, you can keep them.”

  “You sure? I really do like k.d. Lang.”

  “Then have them. I’d like you to.” They decided to go and get some coffee. “You know,” Gazza said, “the Audrey Hepburn bird is really fit. Do you reckon she might be up for a film and a chicken vindaloo later?”

  Chapter 22

  Graham said that what Chelsea had done to Cyn was appalling and despicable. “There can be no question of her keeping her job at PCW. Having said that, I realize she’s a complete basket case and deserves a modicum of sympathy. I suggested she go back to the States, get some therapy and later on I can help her find another job in advertising, but in a noncreative role. She wasn’t interested, though. I think she wants to discover where her real talents lie and make a new life for herself.”

  “That makes sense,” Cyn said.

  “Yes, but what doesn’t make sense is the way you handled this situation. Chelsea couldn’t help herself, but you could.” Oh, boy, was the axe ever about to fall. “When this thing blew up, you should have come to me and told me what was going on. Instead you went over my head and took things into your own hands. Your arrogance is mind-blowing. Plus you deceived Gary Rossiter. A less decent and forgiving bloke would have told PCW where to go and then leaked the story to Campaign. Overnight our name would have been mud.”