Eyes on You (11 page)

“I haven’t told them yet.”

“Wha—?”

“I will on Monday. Even though I’m a victim here, there’s a chance that Potts will view it as extra drama he has to contend with. So I want there to be some cooling-down time between that pathetic conversation with him and when I drop this bomb.”

Richard wasn’t happy with my strategy, but he agreed to go along. After I’d signed off, I closed my eyes and tried to mentally force my shoulders to slacken. I’d never looked forward to a weekend so much.

At noon on Saturday, I took a cab to Barbuto, at Washington and West Twelfth. Ann and I had decided to eat in the Meatpacking District for a change of scenery.

The metal garage-style doors on the front of the restaurant had been rolled up, creating an outdoor space for summer, and we picked a table just off the sidewalk. Ann was wearing perfectly pressed navy pants and a crisp blue men’s-style shirt. Even on weekends, she looked dressed to take a meeting. And per usual, her naturally wavy, light brown hair had been blown into submission.

As we waited for menus, I glanced around the area. Though there were people walking along the cobblestone street—a mix, it seemed, of New Yorkers and tourists—the city felt half-full. As one couple passed, they did a double take, clearly recognizing me though I had my hair pulled back in a super-short ponytail.

“Is that happening more and more?” Ann asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” I said. Although I wouldn’t have admitted it out loud, the attention gave me a rush, especially after how my week had played out.

“They’re also probably wondering what you’re doing in the city on a Saturday in August,” Ann said.

“Next summer should be better—once the show’s established, I’ll be able to sneak away more. How about you? Do you wish you could be in East Hampton every weekend?”

Since knowing Ann, I’d spent a few weekends at her lovely home out there.

“Truthfully, I can’t bear the thought of going anymore,” she said. “We have a cleaning lady who comes in, but there’s always something left over from Matthew’s weekend that I unearth—like a tub of sorbet in the freezer—and I want to vomit at the sight of it.”

“Do you really miss him?”

“Miss him?
No
. I can’t stand the thought of him.”

Her answer stunned me. Initially she’d pined for Matthew and I’d thought her reluctance to meet other men meant she was still yearning for him.

“Can you sell the house?” I asked, switching gears.

“Now’s not a good time, unfortunately. We bought the place at the top of the market, and we can’t afford to take a loss on it. But enough about that. Let’s get to Barbie.”

“Okay,” I said. I’d been thinking about the doll nearly constantly since the moment I’d laid eyes on it. “Are you still concerned about me not reporting it yet?”

“No, not anymore,” Ann said. “In fact, I actually feel you should continue to hold off—for a few more days.”

“How come?” I said, taken aback.

“The
Times
piece. I should have realized it initially but I was so floored, I wasn’t thinking straight. It’s important that the article be as close to a wet kiss as possible. If you go to Will Oliver on Monday, he’ll have to alert Potts and probably Tom, too, and there’s a risk that the situation may leak out. We don’t want the reporter getting wind of it. Then the profile becomes more about you being harassed than about your book.”

“Good point,” I said. I hadn’t considered that.

“The reporter’s talking to you on Monday, and I predict the piece will run by the end of the week—they’ll want to tie in with the buzz about the book. The minute the article appears, you can hightail it to Oliver. Of course, if anything else happens before then, we’ll have to reconsider.”

“Makes sense.” I smiled ruefully. “I’ll let you know if I find a horse head in my bed or a bunny boiling on my stovetop.”

Ann leaned in across the table. “You’ve had time to mull everything over,” she said, her gray eyes intent. “Who do you think is doing this?”

“I don’t know,” I said after a beat. “If the Barbie and the torn book jackets are connected to the note in my purse—and I assume they are—it means we’re talking about someone who was at the party. So I can eliminate the floor crew on the show, the tech people, the associate producers, the interns and assistants. Because I only invited senior producers and above.”

“Do you get along with all of them?”

“For the most part, yes. There’s this one producer named Charlotte whose work leaves a lot to be desired, and I’ve had to talk to her on a few occasions. I can tell she’s not a fan of mine. She doesn’t seem to like anyone else, either—unless he looks good in pants.”

“Can you picture her doing this?”

“No. But you never
really
know what’s going on in someone’s mind. Or what they’re capable of.”

“How about the others?”

“Tom’s seemed a little cool to me lately. Like I mentioned to you, he accused me of going around him. Yet that’s hardly a reason to threaten me. As for everybody else, there’s nothing really to report. If there’s an issue at work, I speak my mind, but people take it in stride.”

“So no one on the show seems to hold a grudge?”

“No. But the person wouldn’t have to be on
our
show. There were other people from the network at the party. Some work on my floor. And all of them have access to it.” I looked off, wondering if this was the moment to reveal a thought that had been percolating in my brain. Yes. “One person in particular jumps to mind,” I said, glancing back at her.

“Are you thinking what I assume you’re thinking?” she said, her voice hushed.

“You asked if someone had a grudge, and I can’t ignore Vicky. She tore my head off in front of people and ratted me out to Potts.”

“Have you seen her since the run-in that night?”

“Just in makeup. I had to sit there listening to her extol the virtues of Ambien. She didn’t say anything to me directly.”

“So what would her motive be?” Ann said.

I shrugged. “To throw me off my game? Or knock me off my perch? Maybe she sees me as a threat. The Queen noticing that there’s someone else at court that people are starting to pay attention to.”

Ann smiled. “Please don’t take this the wrong way,” she said. “You’re doing a fantastic job—everybody thinks so—but you’re still a minor player in Vicky’s book. Besides, I bet she bitch-slaps about twenty people a day, and when she’s done with one, she moves on to the next.”

“You’re probably right,” I said. “But just for the record, she hasn’t forgotten about me.” I shared my conversation with Potts.

“Wow, that couldn’t have been pleasant,” she said.

“No, it wasn’t. And that’s partly why I didn’t want to go to Potts about the doll that night—it would have felt awkward after my drubbing from him. Fortunately, the meeting wasn’t
all
bad. He says he wants me more involved in the show, and he mentioned a big survey that showed viewers really like me.”

“Oh, good. I heard that survey was in the works.”

Our food arrived, and we took a minute to start eating.

“There’s one thing I haven’t even asked yet,” Ann said, setting down her fork. “How are you handling all this? It must be very scary.”

“I won’t lie, I feel rattled,” I said. “It’s as if the person doesn’t want to just wig me out but also undermine me professionally.”

“Does it remind you at all of what happened before?”

“What do you mean?” I asked. Was she going where I thought she was?

“Well, your stepmother did creepy stuff like this, didn’t she?”

Once, over a couple of glasses of wine with Ann, I’d related the broad strokes about my early years, and I’d always regretted it, not because I lacked any trust in her but because my stepmother, Janice, didn’t deserve the airtime.

“That was years ago,” I said. “I don’t want to dwell on it.” In my mind, I could see Janice’s face—the piggy nose and the almost white blond hair, translucent and stiff as spun sugar. I could hear her horrible fake-sweet voice, too.

To my relief, the waiter appeared at that moment, cleared our plates and took an order for coffee.

“How about a walk along the High Line?” I asked once we’d figured out the bill. The restaurant was a couple blocks away from the stairs up to the park, which had been built on an elevated rail line once used to haul freight.

“I’d love to, but I’m due at a spin class back uptown,” Ann said. “If you’d like to do the High Line, I’ll walk you there.”

“Yeah, I think I will,” I said. “It might help me chill a little.”

As we headed north on Washington Street, her phone rang. She reached in her purse for it and glanced at the screen. “Darn, a reporter,” she said. “Excuse me.”

She stopped a few feet away from me. I’d always accepted the fact that her work involved plenty of confidential stuff, and the firewall needed to be especially strong now that we were at the same company again. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t curious. I saw a grimace form on her face. She caught my gaze and held it longer than normal.

“You’ve asked me this before, but the answer’s always the same,” I overheard her say. “We don’t respond to inquiries about the personal lives of people at the network. Good day.” Ann dropped the phone in her purse and strode toward where I was standing, never taking her eyes off me.

“That was an interesting call,” she said, sounding miffed. Her irritation splashed in my direction.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“It’s a reporter from Page Six. He wants me to confirm or deny that you’re having an affair with Carter Brooks. Please tell me you haven’t been playing me for a fool.”

“Ann,” I said. “I’d never play you for a fool. You know those rumors have been going around from the beginning.”

“That was the second call from this guy in five days. He claims you were seen having dinner with Carter this past week—and looking very cozy.”

“I’m
not
having a fling with Carter.” My words seemed to have the stilted cadence of a liar. “I did see him the other night for dinner, but it was simply to discuss the incident with Vicky.”

Ann widened her eyes in exaggeration. “You don’t sound very convincing,” she said.

“Okay, if it seems like I’m protesting too much, it’s probably because I do find the guy attractive. Despite my better judgment.”

“You know, don’t you, that it would be utterly crazy to get involved with him?”

“Of course. And I swear, the worst I’ve ever done is strip him butt-naked in my brain, despite how hard he might be to resist.”

“Resist
?” she said.

“He’s made it clear he’s open to something. But trust me, I’m smart enough not to become another notch on his belt.” I smiled again. “Hey, one of the fringe benefits of friendship with you is becoming more savvy about PR—knowing where the land mines are and how to avoid them.”

She smiled back, appearing mollified. “Sorry to sound agitated. I just never want to be embarrassed in front of a reporter. Besides that, this is a time for discretion. I mean, with this whole Barbie-doll incident and you in hot water with Potts, you don’t want to exacerbate things.”

“Wait,” I said, feeling a pang of anxiety. “You think I’m in hot water with Potts?”

She shook her head. “Not exactly, but the point is, he’s told you to mind your p’s and q’s and you need to do that. If he found out you and Carter were involved, you’d have a heap of trouble on your hands.”

“What I’d love to know is who the hell’s spreading the rumors,” I said. Restaurant staff were notorious for calling in gossip, or it might have been Carter’s driver—or mine. Charlotte popped into my brain. I had seen her catch the look between Carter and me the day before.

“Maybe it’s the same person who’s doing the other bad stuff,” said Ann. “I’d steer completely clear of Carter except when you’re at work.”

After bidding goodbye to Ann, I climbed the stairs to the High Line. As I strolled, I looked off to my left at the gleaming Hudson River, its small whitecaps sliced by crisscrossing sailboats, motorboats, and ferries. The sun was hot on my skin, but I relished the sensation—I’d been cooped up inside much of the summer.

Eventually, I let my eyes fall to the old railroad tracks that ran the length of the narrow park. The landscape architects had planted the spaces between ties with tufts of grasses and wildflowers. It always stirred memories of the first summer I spent at my aunt Jessie’s in the middle of New York State, when I’d been about to turn twelve. I’d wander for hours, sometimes with my bike at my side, crossing fields and dusty roads and train tracks that shot off to unknown places. I’d search for arrowheads and for wildflowers to press with my aunt. I missed my father so much that summer—sometimes I imagined him arriving heroically by train one day to scoop me up and take me home to the Buffalo suburbs—but it was nothing compared to the relief I felt from being out of Janice’s clutches, away from her malevolent games and machinations.

In the beginning, she’d been sugary-sweet to me, seemingly eager to please. I was polite enough back—at least I tried to be—but I didn’t have a shred of interest in being her little best friend, and I resisted her overtures. Soon afterward, the tricks started. The first involved the dress she’d made for me, the Liberty-print one that had matched hers to a T. One day my dress was just gone, nowhere to be found, and the implication was that I’d disposed of it. Other items soon vanished—my house key, my charm bracelet, homework, the leash for Janice’s dachshund, permission slips for camp and school. At times I even wondered if something was going wrong with my mind.

And then the stains began to appear. Smears of food or mud or grease, all on my prettiest things. There was an ugly tear once down the front of a brand-new blouse. At first my father was understanding, but over time he grew frustrated with me. Even angry at times.

And then one day I discovered the truth. I’d begun keeping close track of my belongings, examining them before I put them in the wash or tucked them in a drawer, and I could see that Janice had to be responsible for what was happening. I searched her closet one Saturday when she and my father were running errands, and stashed far in the back, I found a small box with most of my missing possessions. That night, as Janice chattered away with a friend on the phone, I led my father to the closet and showed him the box. Four days later he sent me to Aunt Jessie’s, promising he would remedy the situation.