The Friends We Keep

by Jane Green

  He was supposed to read through the final edits and approve them, but he was so fed up with the book by that time, he didn’t have it in him to read it again. He gave the book to his assistant to approve, figuring she would pick up on any typos or grammatical errors. Which she did. What she did not pick up on were the numerous sections that had been directly copied from someone else’s work.

  “What do we do?” Benedict asked, not worried, for he had been around long enough to know that these things always blew over. “How do we address this?”

  “Maybe with the truth?” Topher said, turning the corner onto their block. Outside their apartment building was a swarm of journalists. Topher slowed to a halt, his mouth dropping open. There were photographers, journalists, even a news crew. This can’t be for me, he thought, until he heard his name, and suddenly they were all running toward him.

  “Topher! Daily News here. Can you just tell us a few words about how you’re feeling? We’d love to have an exclusive.” Topher kept his head down, looking at the pavement, raising a hand for the first yellow cab, ushering them both in as his heart pounded.

  “This is not good,” Dickie said, finally looking worried.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do?” said Topher. “Where am I supposed to go? And how on earth am I supposed to explain that this was all a terrible mistake?”

  thirty-seven

  - 2019 -

  They spent the afternoon holed up in the apartment, speaking to various crisis management PR firms. Topher didn’t deny the plagiarism, he honestly had meant to change it, but even that was problematic. While the PR experts conceded that the memoir wasn’t necessarily one hundred percent real, adding in full paragraphs that did not belong to you did not bode well.

  Perhaps they could spin that it wasn’t supposed to be a memoir. That it started as a novel, and it was not unusual for writers to add notes from things that inspired them, that those passages—and they were numerous—were overlooked.

  The local cable news channel featured the story, showing the growing press outside their apartment, kept at bay—thank God—by their ferocious doorman, and both Topher and Dickie turned their cell phones off, turning them back on only to make calls rather than to take them.

  Topher spent much of the day feeling sick. For years he had been famous, feted, loved. He had been interviewed by everyone, even the Today show, and had seen his memoir climb up the bestseller lists. Today, every time he heard his name mentioned by a news anchor, it was synonymous with fraud. A part of him wanted to crawl under the covers and never come out; he wanted to run away from all of it and disappear, but he didn’t dare leave his apartment.

  The doorman buzzed up early evening. Dickie had left an hour before. He was being honored at a gala dinner and couldn’t back out, even though Topher, obviously, couldn’t join him. Not tonight, so naturally, Cookie stepped up in his place, leaving Topher all alone.

  “I have Evvie downstairs,” said the doorman, who was clearly impressed at this former supermodel showing up in his building. “She says you’re expecting her?”

  Topher wasn’t expecting her, but hearing that she was there filled his eyes with tears. “Send her up,” he said, opening the front door for when she arrived.

  “They are all fuckers,” announced Evvie, walking through the door and going straight to Topher, putting her arms around him and holding him tight. And Topher, who for years didn’t much like to be touched, sank into her, allowing her to hold him for what felt like several minutes.

  “I can’t believe you came up here,” he said, blinking back tears as he disengaged. “Also, I can’t believe the doorman let you in. Everyone’s been trying to get in all day.”

  “He was a fan. I turned on the Evvie charm and he was toast. So, what are we going to do about this? We need to get you out of here. The press won’t go away until a bigger story breaks, and God only knows when that will be. As your fairy godmother, I’ve decided that you should come and stay with me in Westport, and we should move our flights to England to as soon as possible. I’ve already spoken to Maggie and she’s on board. No one will bother you in Westport, and look!” She reached into her giant purse. “I’ve got baseball hats, dark glasses, spray-in hair color, and a fake beard for us. Well, the beard’s for you, clearly. And the hair color.”

  “Are you serious about me staying with you?”

  “Absolutely. You can’t stay here with all the crazy press. You’ll be trapped in this apartment like a prisoner. And even though it’s lovely”—she looked around with approval—“I know you. You’ll go stir-crazy.”

  “How can we get out without them following us?”

  “My friendly fan the doorman already said we could use the service elevator to the basement, then go out the back entrance. I can pull my car around and they won’t even know you’re gone. I’m telling you, in another life I should have been a PI.”

  “Evvie, you’re amazing. But don’t I have to face the music at some time? My career’s effectively over and I have no idea what to do.”

  “Honey, you were always leaving your career. That’s the point of moving to England. We’re all having a redo. It’s time for our second acts to begin.”

  “I have no idea what I’m going to do for my second act. Acting’s clearly off the table now.”

  “You’ve been wanting to give that up for ages. You’ll figure it out. Your soap never aired there. Nobody cares. This story will be done soon and it won’t matter in Somerset, where you’ll be lord of the manor.”

  “Gaylord of the manor.”

  “Even better. Come on.” She slipped her arm through his. “I’ll pour us a glass of wine while you pack.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me about the book?” Topher said, when Evvie handed him a glass.

  Evvie shrugged. “No. I don’t really care. If you want to tell me about it, you’ll tell me, but here’s what I do know: that you are one of the most honorable and decent people I have ever known, and I have known you for over thirty years, so I think I’m qualified to say that. If you did what they are saying you did, I’m sure there was a reason. And whatever the reason is, I’m sure it makes sense. We all make mistakes, this one just happens to be in the public eye, but it doesn’t make me love you any less. A mistake doesn’t change who you are. I know you, and I love you. Don’t cry or you’ll set me off!” she commanded as Topher blinked hard.

  “I know you don’t care, but I need to explain. I did copy paragraphs from the book, but not to intentionally steal. They were so beautiful, I wanted to write like that. I planned to use them as notes, to remind me of the kind of writing I was striving for. I never meant for them to be in the finished version. Thank you for not caring. You’re amazing,” he said. “You really are a true friend.”

  “I’m sorry we haven’t seen each other all these years. But I’m going to make it up to you now.” After he packed, she took his hand and they walked to the service elevator, which let them out on the side street, and to the car. By the time they hit 95 and Topher had called Dickie to tell him his plans, the car was toasty warm, the purr of the engine soporific, and Topher was so emotionally drained, he fell fast asleep. When he woke up, they were turning off the highway, and a minute later they pulled up outside Evvie’s condo.

  “It’s not much,” said Evvie, climbing out of the car. “But it’s been a good place to lay my hat. At least until we get to our real home.”

  Home, thought Topher. The place he had always felt most at home. Somerset. It had all been a romantic fantasy, one that he was eager to play out, but now, given his newfound place in the public eye, he wanted it more than anything else in the world.

  thirty-eight

  - 2019 -

  Topher couldn’t think of anything else but his humiliation. He slept last night, but not for long. Evvie’s Ambien knocked him out, but he was wide awake four hours later. He had promised Evvi
e he wouldn’t go online, but the temptation was too strong. He got out of the king-sized bed he had shared with Evvie and crept into the living room, phone in hand.

  His hand was shaking as he opened up the gossip sites he had always loved, and there it was, his name the top story on all of them. He started to read, his heart pounding, feeling nauseated as “sources” were quoted saying how shocked they were, that he wasn’t the person they thought they knew.

  He felt himself flush as he mentally scrolled through who might have said that, jumping from website to website, all of them proclaiming him a fraud. The more he read, the worse he felt. It was too early to call his agent, but what would his agent say? There was nothing anyone could say to make it better, for it was true, he had plagiarized, and even though it was inadvertent, he couldn’t deny what was being said.

  After a while, he couldn’t take it anymore. He turned his phone off and lay on the sofa, closing his eyes and doing his best to sleep.

  When he woke up, he felt as if he hadn’t slept at all, but his phone said differently. For a second, he wondered where he was, and then he remembered both where he was and why he was there. The room was piled high with boxes, Evvie having already packed most of her things, and because he was not going back to sleep, and because he needed anything to distract himself, he walked over to a box labeled Photographs, picking one up from the top of the box and turning it over, squinting as he looked.

  It was Evvie, looking gorgeous, from the height of her modeling days. Her hair was a thick straight mane, her makeup lifted directly from the sixties as she balanced on a chair in a multicolored caftan-like beaded dress that undoubtedly cost thousands of dollars.

  He smiled as he looked at how beautiful she was; still is. She had gained weight, but they were all in their fifty-first year; wasn’t that what they were supposed to do? He didn’t see the weight when he looked at Evvie; she looked the same to him. They all did, as if their eyes didn’t age along with their bodies. To him they each looked just as they did at eighteen.

  He put the photo back in the box and had just picked up another when Evvie walked in, bleary-eyed as she yawned and smiled before seeing Topher standing with the photograph. She rushed over.

  “Don’t look at those,” she said loudly. She seemed to catch herself, then said more calmly, “We’re not going to revisit the past today. Come on.” She strode over to him, took the photograph out of his hand, and put it back in the box before leading him to the kitchenette with a smile.

  “Coffee. We both need coffee. We probably need something stronger. How are you feeling this morning?”

  “Terrible.”

  “You went online, didn’t you?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Because I know you. Was it bad?”

  “Yes. Terrible. I want to disappear.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I mean, it’s not okay, and I totally understand how you feel, but even in this day and age, it will blow over. I can’t say today’s news is tomorrow’s fish and chip wrappers, not anymore, but another story will break any second now, and this will be forgotten. Do you want a bloody Mary instead of a coffee? We can go across the street to Parker for breakfast if it’s not a crazy idea?”

  Ten minutes later they were settled at a window table, two bloody Marys in front of them.

  “It’s five o’clock somewhere. Cheers!” Topher chinked glasses with Evvie. “That’s better. Thank you for stealing my phone. I hate you for it, but I’m also grateful. When in pain, bury your head in the sand.”

  “I agree.”

  “Can I go through those photographs when we get back? You must have a bunch of us from college.”

  Evvie blanched. “No,” she said, a little too sharply. “I’ve organized them all and I don’t want to pack and unpack.”

  “Okay. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You seem a little on edge.” He peered at her. “Are you hiding something in that box? Are there porno pics or something in there?”

  Evvie seemed to relax as she let out a genuine bark of laughter. “Oh, Topher. No, there aren’t porn photos in there. Life may have been hard at times, but it was never that hard.”

  “Okay, good. It just felt like there was something you didn’t want me to see.”

  “Oh my God, no! Well, actually, there are some pretty heinous pictures of me in that box. All fully clothed, I might add, but some of them are dreadful.”

  “Honey, I’ve lived with you. I’ve seen you first thing in the morning, horribly hungover, and with chicken pox. Remember when you got chicken pox?”

  “How could I forget? Look. I still have a scar.” She leaned forward and showed him a tiny round scar above her eyebrow. “Makeup artists spent years covering it up. I love that I don’t have to do that anymore. Especially now, with our fresh start in England.”

  “England.” Topher closed his eyes for a second. “Never have I been more relieved to be leaving this country. Thank you, Evvie.” Topher took her hand and squeezed it. “I have no idea what I would be doing if you hadn’t rescued me.”

  “You’d be a prisoner in your apartment,” she said. “And spending much too much time on your phone. With any luck, we might be able to get a flight out to England tomorrow. But what do we do about your things?”

  “I can get Dickie to send them on. Frankly, the thought of setting foot in the city right now makes me sick with fear.”

  “Then let’s go back after breakfast and start exploring flights.”

  “Am I going to be okay?” Topher took a deep breath.

  “You’re going to be better than okay. We’re all going to be great. This is our second act, and it’s time. And even if we end up not being great, at least we’ll all be together.”

  thirty-nine

  - 2019 -

  It was the little things that irritated the most, Maggie realized. It had been so long since she lived with anyone besides Ben, she had forgotten how easy it was for the tiny annoyances to lodge themselves under your skin and itch.

  The sink was empty when Maggie went to bed last night. She made sure she took note. Every morning she thought she was going mad when she found the sink filled with cereal bowls and empty mugs. How hard was it to put them in the dishwasher? Just open the door and pop them in. Why can’t the culprit load the bloody dishwasher?

  She had said something two mornings ago, and four mornings before that.

  “Guys, can we just make sure everything goes in the dishwasher rather than the sink if you use anything?”

  They were sitting around the kitchen table, Topher on his phone, Evvie eating toast while scouring the classifieds in the local paper for a job. They had looked up and nodded, which Maggie presumed meant they had heard. And here were the cereal bowls again.

  Don’t let it bother you, she told herself. These, after all, were the minor irritations that you would expect when a group of adults lived together. Of course they were going to do things that annoyed the others, get on each other’s nerves from time to time.

  The key was not to dwell on it, not build up resentment. The key was to be mindful of the fact that they were all doing their best.

  Still. Was it really too much to ask of the secret late-night cereal eater to put their bloody bowls away? Also, Maggie turned to inspect the glass jar that sat on the counter that was normally filled with granola but now held merely crumbs. Would it be too much to ask the cereal eater to buy more or even just to add it to the shopping list? There were now three people living here, and Maggie would have quite liked some cereal today, which was strange only because Maggie’s breakfast had always been two slices of toast with butter and jam, and a cup of tea. She had only ever filled the glass jars with cereal because it looked nice.

  It had been a month since everyone moved in, and Maggie still couldn’t quite b
elieve how lovely it was—mostly—to have people here. It was as if the house had woken up after a long, deep sleep. She lay in bed at night listening to the sound of footsteps, a loo flushing, the murmur of people saying good night, and she smiled to herself. She wasn’t alone anymore, had been waking up every morning filled with excitement at what the day would hold. There was always someone to talk to, to eat with, to sit with. If she didn’t feel like being around people, she could take herself off to her little office (but that had only happened once, for she was loving the change).

  The energy of the house was completely different. It felt lighter, brighter, buzzing with possibility, even when everyone was out. Maggie had had no idea how lonely she was, how dull and quiet and dead she had allowed her life to become, until her friends moved in. She had no idea how depressed she had been, and how much her life had come to a standstill until now.

  During all those years married to Ben, she had hoped that he would take care of her, but now it was quite clear that Maggie was happiest when she was taking care of other people. Having people to cook for, to nurture, to love, was making her whole again in a way nothing else had.

  Sometimes she wondered what would have happened to her had she not dragged herself out of bed and gone to the reunion. She shuddered to think.

  In a throwback to their time at university, Evvie had once again taken over breakfast. She still made her famous ackee and saltfish, her johnnycakes, but she added homemade blueberry pancakes, waffles, giant slabs of vanilla-infused French toast, and streaky bacon cooked until it was crispy. She bought bagels, smoked salmon, cream cheese. Evvie introduced them to strata—a sort of gourmet French toast casserole, but savory, with asparagus, mushrooms, and tons of cheese.