Adulation (32 page)

“Look, Sunny, you’ve got to listen to me. Whitford’s is not going to take care of you. You’re expendable. You’ve got to get out.”

A tornado of anxiety was coming at me, and I covered my face with my hands as if to shield it. “Stop,” I said. “Stop saying such things. I owe Whitford’s everything. They’ve supported me, appreciated me, treated me well. I have a life because of them.”

“Sunny. Come on!” I hated when he spoke to me with that condescending tone, making me feel like an awkward,  naive teenager, and I glared at him as he spoke, resentment replacing anxiety in the pit of my stomach. “What life? You go to work, hidden away from the world, and you come home to me and your two friends. Plus you worship some screenwriter who insulted you. What the hell kind of life is that? If it wasn’t for me—” he started, then cut himself off.

“Finish your sentence,” I demanded.

He shook his head. “No.”

I took the cloth napkin from my lap and dropped it on the table. “Yeah, I think you should. If it wasn’t for you, what?”

“It just seems that sometimes I’m more interested in your future than you are. Do you have any idea how much effort I’ve made to get the word out about your novels? How do you think they got this far, osmosis?”

I looked at him suspiciously. “Just what have you done?”

He finished his wine, and I could tell he was deliberating on whether to come clean. And everything in my gut told me he’d done something that warranted a confession.

He took in a breath, then blurted it out. “I decided to use that video to your advantage.”

My eyes narrowed.

“What video?” I asked, although in the back of my mind, I
 
knew
.

“I posted on Masterminds that Sunrise M. Smith is the same person who called Danny Masters a jackass and the same person Danny referred to at the end of his Oscar speech when he said
 
Sunny
.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Had I been holding my wineglass, I either would’ve crushed it with my grip or thrown its contents into his face.

“And not just on Masterminds either. I went on Facebook, Twitter...” He began shooting off his sentences rapid-fire, as if to deflect my reaction or response. “Look, Sunny, you’ve been a big fish in a little bowl long enough. For God’s sake, your nose is pressed up against the glass, it’s so small. I’m not your regional manager here to tell you what a great job you’re doing; I’m someone who loves you and is telling you that you’re way bigger than Whitford’s, and it’s time to get the fuck out. I’ve been trying to tell you that all along.”

He might as well have smacked me across the face.

I stood up and left him at the table. The moment I opened the door and the brisk air swept me outside, I exhaled and panted loudly, as if coming up for air after someone pushed my head underwater. I took out my phone and dialed frantically, having to start over twice because I kept pressing the wrong numbers.

Georgie picked up on the second ring. “What’s up, Sunny?” he said with disinterest.

My eyes stung with tears as I sobbed. “Please,
 
please
 
pick me up, Georgie. I need you.”

His voice became alert, even urgent. “Where are you? Are you hurt?”

“I’m at that French place in downtown Huntington by the water. You know, the one we took Theoto for her birthday a few years ago? I always forget the name of it.”

“I know it. Can never pronounce it, but I know it.”

“It’s not...I’m not hurt, not physically. Just come pick me up, OK?”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” I said, but he’d already hung up. I turned to find Josh approaching me.

“Get away from me,” I said as softly as I could, afraid someone would think he was assaulting me. I headed out into the parking lot.

“Sunny, I know you’re mad at me, but calm down and let’s talk about it.”

“And stop talking to me like I’m an idiot. God, I hate when you do that.”

“I’m sorry, I really am,” he said, and he sounded sorry too. “I know I come off that way sometimes, and I don’t mean to. I just want more for you, that’s all.”

I kept walking away from him. A part of me knew he was being sincere, but I couldn’t get past the betrayal. Then I stopped and turned to face him.

“You know how I feel about that video! You know about my ex-husband and how I don’t want that kind of attention, and you went and did it anyway! And you know how I feel about Danny!”

There was enough light in the parking lot for me to see the look in his eyes and for them to tell me that last thing I said was too much.

“How
 
do
 
you feel about
 
Danny
?” he asked, injecting a hint of condescension into the name, as if Danny Masters and I had an actual relationship; or worse, as if I was deluded enough to think we did.

I dabbed at my eyes and cleared my throat. “Georgie’s picking me up,” I announced. “I think it’s best you not be standing here when he does. He might mow you down.”

Josh looked miffed and shook his head slightly. “Well, I’m not letting you wait in a dark parking lot by yourself.”

“I could kill someone with the heel of my shoe, so don’t worry about it.”

“Fine.” I watched him return to his car while I made my way back to the curb, near the entrance to the restaurant. He looked so handsome in his suit without a tie.

Georgie raced up in his two-door Civic (he had made it in less than ten minutes), and I burst intotears the second I stepped in and slammed the door shut. He leaned across and pulled me to him in alopsided embrace, clenched for several minutes.

“I am so,
 
so
 
sorry, Georgie,” was all I could say.

“I’m sorry too,” he said softly. He was crying as well.

“I was a fool,” I said.

“Me too.”

“And I’ve missed you so much.”

“Me too,” he echoed.

We let go, and he wiped my wet cheeks with his thumbs, careful not to smudge what remained of

my makeup, and cupped my face for just a moment. Then he leaned back a bit, as if to take a better look at

me.

“Damn, Sunny—you look smokin’ tonight!”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I sobbed. “I do not, you idiot. My makeup’s all smeared.”

“But you’re
 
wearing
 
makeup...and a skirt! You must really love this guy.”

Another laugh quickly morphed into heartbreak. “I do. And I think we just broke up.”

Georgie put the car in gear, sped out of the parking lot and up New York Avenue, then turned a corner and passed a closed Whitford’s, looking dark and empty and alienated, as if its fate was already sealed.

“OK, Sunny Smith, author extraordinaire,” said Georgie as we sat cross-legged opposite each other on his bed. I had changed into a pair of his sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, cuffing both at the ends; I

always felt ageless when I was hanging out with my best friends. Georgie had already been dressed in pajamas when he’d picked me up. Marcus was in the living room watching TV to give us some privacy. Bless Marcus. “What did Mr. Wonderful do?”

“How clichéd am I, running off like a helpless little girl after a fight?”

“Right. It was all
 
your
 
fault. Now tell me what happened.”

I started with the news about Whitford’s. He didn’t even change the expression on his face. Just let out a deadpan, “Well, that was predictable. What’d you think Mr. Wonderful has been up to all this time? He’s been trying to assess which stores are salvageable and which ones aren’t.”

As this realization came into focus, I flopped sideways onto the pillow. “Ohmigod, I am
 
such
 
an idiot. Seriously. How did I not see that?”

“You’ve always had blinders on when it comes to Whitford’s,” said Georgie, before pausing to reconsider. “Maybe that’s not fair of me to say. Actually, I’ve always envied you for that. I always wanted to adore the place the way you do, but never could. I hate the job way too much.”

“Anyway, Josh went on about how I should get out. But it was the way he said it. He said I have no life, told me to get the fuck out of there—Whitford’s, I mean.”

Georgie fiddled with the imitation Milano cookies Marcus made, turning one with his fingers, as if to study it, before resuming eye contact with me.

“You’re going to kill me for saying this, but he’s right.” Then he muttered, “God, I cannot believe I’m siding with that homophobic freak.”

“He’s not homophobic.”

“Whatever. Did you hear me, Sunny? I said he’s right. You were always way too talented to fritter your life away at Whitford’s, and you’ve always known it, and you’ve just been too afraid to go out into the big ol’ world, lest you get dumped again. Or succeed, for that matter. I mean, how many times have we talked about this? Maybe I should’ve told you to get the fuck out too—no, wait, I did! Many times. And you blew me off every time. Never ran off crying, but still. What’s got you so upset this time is that it’s finally sinking in now, and that’s a good thing.”

“Maybe,” I said as I considered this.

“That can’t be all that upset you,” said Georgie. “What else happened?”

I paused for a beat, as if to prepare myself to drop the bomb.

“Josh has been going on Masterminds and a bunch of other sites and telling everyone that the one who called Danny Masters a jackass, the Sunny in Danny’s Oscar speech, and Sunrise M. Smith the author are all one and the same.”

He looked at me, as if waiting for more. “And...?” he finally asked.

“Geez, Georgie, what more do you want?”

“I wanna know what’s so bad about that.”

“For starters, he did it
 
without my permission
,” I said, my voice rising slightly.

“OK, so he gets a strike there. But I don’t see where the damage was done. Your e-book sales are through the roof and you’re making money. So what’s the problem?”

I looked at him incredulously. How could he not see it? “The
 
problem
,” I enunciated, “is that it’s Teddy all over again.”

This time Georgie looked at me in utter disbelief. “Sunny, this is
 
nothing
 
like what happened with Teddy. Not even close. Teddy demeaned and humiliated you in public. He betrayed your trust and broke your marriage vows for no good reason. All Mr. Wonderful did was confirm what was already true, and he did it to give your books some attention. And it
 
worked
.”

I sat there, dumbfounded.

“And that’s not why you’re upset. I mean, that’s not what made you run out of there and call me.”

“Then what is?”

“You’re in a
 
relationship
 
with him, Sunny. A serious one. For chrissakes, you’re about to meet his kids.” He read my mind before I needed to ask how he knew. “Theo told me. That’s a huge step for you. And while Joshua Hamilton may be a jackass—sorry, poor choice of words—he’s been good for you. He calls things as he sees ’em, and that’s precisely what you’ve been needing. Of course, he does that after he’s schmoozed the hell out of you, hence that’s why he’s a manipulative jerk.”

“He’s not a manager twenty-four seven, Georgie. There’s a side of him you don’t know.”

“He’s got some strong attributes, I’ll give you that. He looks good in a suit, for one thing. And he lit a fire under you. He helped you publish your books and encouraged  you to start writing again. Why do you think he did that? Because he knew what was comin’ down the pike, and he didn’t want to see you out in the cold. He also recognized that you have talent, and that you were letting it atrophy in that dank cavern. He was trying to
 
save
 
you, for chrissakes, just like we were. And you let him. And although I’m glad you finally did, I gotta tell you, I hate that you let him and not us.”

Those last words made an incision into my chest, and remorse bled out of me. How could I have not seen it from Georgie’s point of view?