Food Fight

by Anne Penketh

  “He was living in a commune.” She smiled, remembering his Peruvian hat. “It seems he told one of the residents he felt bad about Guilty Secrets. Of course they’re all health nuts and denounced him to the police who came knocking on the door.”

  Stella wasn’t the only one arrested that day, apparently. The police found all the occupants stoned out of their mind, and a stash of dope on the kitchen table.

  “But if he’d confessed to developing Guilty Secrets, why won’t he tell police?”

  “The guy he told now denies it,” Mark said. “I guess he must have been under pressure. Now he’ll feel a lot worse because the whole commune is being prosecuted for drugs possession and possible distribution. So none of them are going anywhere in a hurry.”

  She thought back to the scene in the Metro when Stella had been so reluctant to talk. Seattle was probably a good hiding place for a geek with a guilty secret. She cast around for anyone else. “What about Ellen?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The company’s Brand Manager. I thought she was my friend.”

  Susan quickly filled him in on the background to Ellen’s role in her exposure. “To be honest, I never want to see her again. I might scratch her eyes out.”

  “Is there anyone else? The problem with this case is that obviously DeKripps was taking pains to keep as few people in the loop as possible. And to cover their tracks.”

  Susan shook her head. “Leave it with me. I’ll talk to Ellen. But she probably won’t see me.”

  “You may have to think of a subterfuge.”

  “Okay.” She’d had enough. She was overwhelmed by weariness. “I’m sorry. Is there anything else?”

  Mark updated her on the FDA inquiry which was now in the hands of the agency’s Office of Criminal Investigations. “This could be a long fight,” he said.

  “They’ve got their own enforcement arm, right? Couldn’t they fine DeKripps?”

  “Of course. A lot of money. Right now I’m not sure whether they’re looking at both civil and criminal action, but I figure the whole FDA process could take at least a year. They may want to talk to you too.”

  “But what about the class action?”

  “That won’t take so long. Like I said, when rich people get angry, they get impatient. But the discovery phase could take time. The lawyers will want to see every last email.”

  Susan stood up to go, rolling herself sideways out of the chair. Her bottom was sore. She held out her left hand to shake his, but he ignored it and kissed her on the cheek, squeezing her left shoulder. She felt a warm stir inside her. Then he stood back as though she’d bitten him.

  “Bye. How long are you planning to stay in Washington?”

  “Not long. Probably only a week or so. It depends.”

  “Maybe we could get together again before you leave?”

  She was glad he’d said that. But the words seemed to have slipped out despite himself. He held open the door for her as she made her way to the lift, reaching up to massage her scalp.

  “Oh God, I just thought of something,” she said, turning. “The media will have a field day when all those fatties turn up in court.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The kid’s department at Macy’s was overflowing with clothes, toys and books, which meant Susan spent much longer than she meant to choosing presents for Meadow. In the end she picked a sweet designer outfit and a red hooded down jacket for winter. She couldn’t wait to see the reaction when she took them home.

  She’d decided to take it easy and make the most of her time back in DC. She slept late at the hotel, behind a carefully locked door, to recover from the shock of the attack and flicked idly through the TV to put it out of her mind. But everywhere she went, she was looking over her shoulder. Should she go to the police? An online search told her that it’d be impossible to trace the driver because Segways had no visible licence plate. She also wondered whether she was wise to continue to stay at the same hotel. What if her every move was under surveillance?

  She slipped into the National Portrait Gallery, located perilously close to her former apartment and the DeKripps offices, and stared at the picture of Obama. She’d always found his ‘Hope’ campaign poster on the ground floor inspiring, and today with his fiercely determined eyes he seemed to be praying for her, hold tight, you’ll get through it. She strolled across the Mall to the Freer Gallery where they flung open the shutters of the Whistler Peacock Room at noon so she could marvel at the proud birds in the daylight.

  She’d never been able to escape from work for the monthly viewing when she was living in Washington, and was startled by the glistening gold in the natural light. The swirl of plumage as the two magnificent peacocks prepared to scratch each other’s eyes out. Did their proud and strutting aggression contain a lesson for her?

  She went shopping in Georgetown. And she went to the theatre. Jessica, predictably, turned down her invitation to see the Heir Apparent, saying that French farce wasn’t her idea of fun, so she went alone to the theatre and laughed so hard that the people in front turned round. Yet despite such moments she couldn’t rid herself of the suspicion that someone might be watching her.

  She was heading to dinner at Jessica’s after finishing her shopping. She might even take her up on her invitation to stay. After she’d paid for the gifts for Meadow, she just had time to look for some makeup for herself. As she examined the foundation creams at a cosmetics counter, rubbing the testers on the back of her hand, she was surprised to see a ginger box decorated with gold glitter called Freckle Free. This must be one of the creams she had tested with the focus group in Chevy Chase.

  “Would you like to try Freckle Free? It really works.” The sales assistant must have noticed her complexion.

  “No, thanks. I think I did already,” she said, putting down the box, and walked away. She took the escalator downstairs into the basement and wandered through the bedding department towards the exit that led straight to the Metro.

  It was rush hour at Metro Center. She needed to take the Red line to Cleveland Park, which was only a few stops away. But the station was crowded with commuters with their heads down like the workers in Fritz Lang’s Metropolis. The lights in Metro Center were as dim as in all the other stations, and she had to adjust her eyes to the gloom as she came out of the store. She’d never understood why the Metro was so dark, although it was so much cleaner than the London Tube.

  She swiped her Smartrip card at the gate and checked she was on the right platform. A train to Shady Grove was due in three minutes. The stone seats by the concrete wall were taken, so she waited on the platform as close to the front as she could. But the travellers were three deep. Out of habit, she glanced around her, but saw nobody suspicious. Still, why would an attacker look suspicious? She was probably more at risk from a pickpocket. She held on tight to her red and white Macy’s bag as the crowd around her thickened. The overhead sign on the platform said the train was due in one minute. She looked behind her again and saw people getting up and moving forward.

  The lights began blinking white on the platform edge. She felt the warm crush of people behind her, and reached the front as the train roared towards the platform. Then suddenly, she was pushed sharply from behind. She tried to steady herself, causing a man standing next to her to stumble. But as he recovered his balance, she was thrust forward into the space that opened up. As she tumbled towards the track, still clutching her Macy’s bag, she saw the yellow headlights of the train approaching in a scream of metal.

  *

  When she opened her eyes, everything was pink. She was in a pink room with pink blinds and matching pink sheets and blankets.

  Was she still dreaming? She tried to lift herself out of bed, pushing pillows aside, and found she was too weak to move. She noticed a drip attached to her arm. She lay back, falling again, falling. A nurse came in and told her she’d been rushed to hospital after breaking her shoulder, and had been given morphine for the pain. She re
ached towards her right shoulder, felt a searing sting, and drifted back into wild and colourful dreams.

  After more than a week, her arm was still in a sling.

  She’d managed to keep her injured shoulder dry without having to ask Jessica for embarrassing help in the shower, but she was right-handed and found it awkward to eat with her left hand. Jessica had chopped up her food into biteable chunks every evening so far. Susan was sure she must be regretting inviting her to stay for as long as she needed.

  She’d been sleeping naked to avoid having to tie herself in knots taking off pyjamas, or worse, getting a nightie stuck at shoulder level. Jessica had already left for the day - she was supervising the redecoration of a house in Virginia - and she went straight across the landing towards the bathroom. What a pathetic sight, she thought as she caught a glimpse of her bruised, freckled right side in the full length mirror, a yellowing mark on one cheek glowing next to her hair. The Botticelli Venus she wasn’t.

  They’d told her at the hospital she was lucky to be alive. The driver of the incoming Metro train had seen her fall and slammed on the brakes, stopping with only a few feet to spare. Her fall had been cushioned by the clothing in the Macy’s bag, which had prevented a serious head injury. But all her weight had been on her shoulder which was smashed by the impact. The emergency ward had alerted Jessica to the accident after finding several text messages and voicemails on Susan’s phone.

  Her friend had thoughtfully left the coffee warming and a blueberry muffin on the table. How considerate, she could crumble it with her left hand. She was unable to spread butter on toast because it kept slipping off the plate. Jessica had also left a note promising her return at six and urging Susan to ‘chill.’

  But she couldn’t forget that moment when she was pushed in front of the train. Although the memory was hazy, disbelief was replaced by fury when it dawned on her that DeKripps had wanted her dead.

  Over sushi that evening, she tried to interest Jessica in plotting her next move. Susan wolfed down the rolls of tuna and salmon with one hand, while her friend took a little longer with chopsticks.

  “So let me get this straight,” said Jessica. “You’ve got to find a way of luring this DeKripps woman out of her office to talk to you. Have you thought of just calling her? You’re hardly in a state to go chasing after her.”

  “She wouldn’t answer her cell phone, I’m sure. And she’d alert the bosses if she knows I’m back. She’s like a young version of me, that’s the trouble.”

  She hadn’t gone into all the intricacies of the plot. She knew Jessica was only concerned about her personal welfare and hadn’t been aware of the DeKripps scandal at all.

  “And what about the love interest?”

  “God, Jessica, you’re incorrigible. I told you I don’t have a relationship with Mark,” she said. “He’s my legal adviser.”

  “But does he give you smouldering looks over his legal documents?”

  “Please, this is DC, not Hollywood. Of course he doesn’t.”

  “He’s a nice guy though, right? Don’t you have the hots for him?”

  “Possibly. I don’t know. I don’t want things to move too fast.”

  Mark had been following up with the police since the accident. It turned out he had a vague connection with the main witness, a lawyer, the man she’d knocked against as she fell towards the track. Police were studying CCTV footage for clues as to the identity of the attacker, but she had asked Mark to make sure the investigation stayed out of the media. She didn’t want Barney to have the satisfaction that she’d been injured.

  She steered the conversation back to Ellen.

  “I could always follow her out of work and into the Metro. But what if she doesn’t stop?”

  She’d been terrified of taking the Metro ever since the attack. Since leaving hospital, she’d been waking up in the middle of the night with a recurring nightmare that she was falling down the escalator at Dupont Circle under the Walt Whitman inscription, her face heading for the slicing escalator steps. She’d never been able to read past ‘the hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand’ before descending into the escalator tunnel.

  “Hey, I’ve got an idea.” She remembered Ellen’s twins. “What if you pretended to be their teacher, and arranged to meet her outside the school?”

  “Are you nuts? Anyone would think that you’ve been hit on the head.” Jessica pointed out that Ellen would know the teacher’s name and probably even the phone number, so she’d be outed instantly.

  “Okay, so what if you were a replacement teacher?”

  The conversation went round and round, with each new idea more outlandish than the last and no solution in sight. In the end, they decided Susan would have to take the risk of ambushing Ellen on her way home from the office.

  “Wait, you’re going to jump out of the bushes when she gets home?” The idea of Susan doing any such thing with a broken shoulder made them both burst out laughing.

  The FDA investigation was now confined to the business pages after the company shares took a big hit. It wouldn’t take much for the scandal to be back on the front pages. If only she could persuade Ellen. If only Tony Stella would do the right thing and talk.

  A couple of days later, she found herself posted at a bus stop from where she could see the entrance to the DeKripps building in Penn Quarter. The signage outside told passers-by that the company was the maker of Delight Ice Cream. A banner was unfurled around a tub of ice cream, with the creamy vanilla dripping from a scoop, and the slogan “More, Please.”

  The poster had replaced a Guilty Secrets ad. DeKripps would have had to pull all promotion for the chocolates under the FDA injunction.

  She pulled the collar of her coat around her shoulders with her free arm, to keep out the cold. An hour went by. After 6 p.m. the offices began to empty. She began to shiver. The garage next to the entrance opened. Susan recognized Barney’s black SUV. Would he see her? She quickly turned her back on the building, and counted to ten, pretending to look at the menu of a restaurant behind her. Had he gone yet? She was too nervous to look.

  Barney’s departure would mean that the other executives would feel safe to leave the building. Slowly, she turned round. The SUV had gone. Moments later, she caught sight of Ellen, who crossed the road and headed straight towards the bus stop. It saved Susan the ignominy of trying to hasten after her.

  “Ellen,” she said quietly when she was within earshot. She was aware that other workers were scurrying home, and didn’t want a scene in public. Ellen looked towards her in horror. Then her eyes showed fear.

  “Jesus. Susan. What do you want?”

  “I wanted to see you. You need to know my side of the story.”

  “What story? There’s no story.” Ellen continued on her way without stopping. Susan was again struck by her resemblance to her former self. Now here she was in the role of Mimi. But before she could say anything else, Ellen said, “What happened to you? Are you okay?”

  Was the old Ellen still there?

  “You’ll never believe this, but someone tried to kill me by pushing me under a Metro train.”

  “What? Jeez.” Her mouth fell open and she finally came to a halt.

  “Look, I don’t want to pester you but I only need a few minutes. Can you spare me that?” She’d been practising a whole speech with which to confront her friend, but now her mind was a blank.

  “Well.” Ellen was clearly reluctant. “I have to get back. You know, the twins …”

  “Please. Just a quick coffee.”

  They headed towards Metro Center and Caribou Coffee, the place where she’d first met Mark Palin.

  They sat in the same leather chairs with their drinks, Ellen carrying Susan’s. “You know it’s over for DeKripps, don’t you?”

  “Thanks to you,” Ellen said. She sounded bitter. Susan bit her lip. She wasn’t going to revisit her own feelings about Ellen’s treachery at this point.

  “I just wanted to warn you, as
a friend, that the FDA is crawling all over Guilty Secrets.”

  “I am aware of that, thank you, Susie. I’m the one working at DeKripps. Yes, it’s crazy.” She paused, waiting for her to go on.

  “But do you also know about the class action?”

  “I saw something about that in the Gazette recently.”

  “Well I can tell you that one of the biggest law firms in the country is going to war with DeKripps over Project Candy. It’s illegal, Ellen. You and I know that. It should never have happened. I’m offering you the chance to do the right thing.”

  Ellen said nothing. Her face was impassive.

  “Listen, I don’t expect you to believe this but I was forced into leaving DeKripps after Barney tried to seduce me in my office. I’ve been kicking myself ever since for not confiding in you, but it’s the plain truth. The thing with Mimi was the trigger, but what happened between me and Barney was the real reason.”

  Ellen looked confused. Then awkward. Had she been troubled by her own role in the smear campaign?

  “So he tried to seduce you? Not the other way round?”

  “That’s right. Can you imagine what it’s been like for me to have my name dragged through the mud around the world? You know how much DeKripps meant to me. And now look at me. My former employer has not only smeared my reputation but they’ve tried to kill me. Did I deserve that?”

  Susan leaned forwards, hunched in her chair. She hadn’t intended the conversation to go this way. This sounded like self-pity. But her arm hurt. Ellen reached forward. “Oh Susie. Why didn’t you tell me? ”

  “How could I? I was too ashamed. I didn’t even know if anyone would believe me.”

  “Didn’t you think of going to HR?”

  “Of course. But after that Peek-a-boo business that you knew about, and Barney talking about ‘consenting adults’, I knew it wouldn’t work. So I took my revenge another way. This probably isn’t making much sense, but there you are.”

  Ellen still looked dubious. “So you decided to bring down an entire company because your boss tried to harass you? Isn’t that a bit extreme, Susie?”