Eyes on You (18 page)

“Mr. Brooks mentioned a brownie. He said you told him you’d eaten it right before going on the air.”

So Oliver had already debriefed people on the set.

“Yes,” I said. “Someone left it for me in the basket on my office door. There—there was a note. Otherwise I never would have eaten it.”

I realized how stupid I sounded. Like Alice in Wonderland, gobbling cake and mushrooms because the messages told her to.

“What did the note say?” Oliver asked.

“Just that the person thought the brownie would make me smile. It—it was signed C. So I assumed it was from Carter.”

Oliver had drawn a notebook from his suit jacket pocket and jotted a few words down. He seemed so calm,
too
calm, as if we were discussing the theft of a stapler from my office rather than a threat to my life.

For the first time, I focused on what I must have looked like last night on the air. To anyone watching, I had probably seemed plastered or stoned. The thought mortified me.

“Has the network issued a statement?” I asked.

“They put out a release this morning saying you may have had a reaction to medication. Do you still have the note?”

“What? Uh, no—it was on a napkin. And I threw it away after I ate the brownie. Wait—I think the cleaning lady had already been in, so the napkin would be in the trash can in my assistant’s area.”

“Okay, let me have an associate check immediately.” He sent a text. As he slid the phone back into his suit jacket, he studied me intently.

“Ms. Trainer, are you involved with Carter Brooks?”

I tried to form a look of utter stupefaction.

“I told you the other day that I wasn’t,” I said firmly.

“But someone may think you are. And jealousy could very well be behind the attacks on you.”

I shook my head.

“They might have simply counted on the fact that Carter and I are friends and that I wouldn’t be surprised to find a treat from him. Ultimately, what does their motivation matter? You’ve got to
do
something about this. I ate only half the brownie. What would have happened to me if I’d eaten the whole thing?”

“We’ve already broadened the investigation significantly, and I’ve decided to pull in the New York City police.”

I leaned back against the pillow. I could feel a quiet fury building in me.

“Are you going to share my suspicions about Vicky?” I asked. “Or do you still think I’m letting my imagination get the better of me?”

Oliver narrowed his eyes.

“Do you have any more reason to believe she’s responsible?” he asked.

“Nothing concrete, no. But there’s a pattern. All the incidents have occurred after she may have needlessly felt threatened by me. The note was at a huge party in my honor, the torn books right after she claimed I poached her guest, the Barbie doll after she thought I was tapping her producers.”

“And was there a trigger this week?” he asked.

I scoffed. “You bet. There was an item online saying I was the rising star of the network. I am sure that seriously chapped her ass.”

“All this information is very helpful,” he said, blank-faced.

After Oliver took his leave, a wave of fatigue walloped me. But I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I needed to make calls, to get on top of the mess.

I had no clue where my purse was. While I picked at the breakfast, too nauseated to really eat, I called Keiki from the bedside phone and arranged for her to locate my handbag and my iPhone and bring them to me.

Then I tried Ann. She didn’t pick up at her office or on her cell phone. Where
was
she? I needed her help now more than ever.

No luck reaching Tom, either, though I left a message with his assistant. I explained that I was hoping to leave the hospital today and would be back to work tomorrow. I
had
to get back to work. I knew the rumors must be flying, rumors that I’d been smashed or stoned, and I had to prove there was nothing wrong with me. At the same time, the thought of returning there terrified me.

I called Richard, my agent, next. He had tried my cell phone numerous times, he said, and failing to reach me was headed to the hospital. I asked him to hold off and pick me up when I was released. Six hours later, just before I left, the tox report came back. According to my doctor, I’d been given zolpidem, aka Ambien, a higher than normal dose. With a jolt, I remembered Vicky in the makeup room recommending Ambien to Jimmy, one of the hairstylists.

If there were press people outside the hospital, I never saw them; at Richard’s suggestion, we sneaked out via the emergency room entrance. It was a strategy I could tell he’d used before, probably with some A-list client who’d OD’ed or been in a bar brawl. Keiki had brought my belongings, and Ann had texted, saying she was dealing with press and promised to call at four.

Richard and I didn’t dare talk in the car he’d ordered. Once we were ensconced in my apartment, he made tea and then brought it to the living room. I took a sip but couldn’t taste it. “What’s the fallout been?” I asked. “Be honest with me.”

“Pretty much what you’d expect. Lots of coverage about whether you were drunk or taking drugs. The release from the network went out this morning, and when you’re back on the air, it will all blow over. Look what happened with Diane Sawyer. They claimed she looked tipsy that election night, and now everyone’s forgotten.”

“But
she’s
Diane Sawyer,” I said, gripping my head. “Please work with Ann on the press, will you?”

“Of course. But frankly, Robin, what I’m worried about is your safety. It’s time they hired private security for you.”

“I know. If I’d eaten the entire brownie, I could have been in real trouble.”

“It may be misinterpretation on my part, but they seem to be dragging their heels on finding the culprit. You’re closer to this than I am. Are they afraid of the potential fallout?”

“Yes,” I said, “but it’s even more complicated than you realize.” I took a breath and told him my suspicions about Vicky.

Richard had put on his reading glasses when he was making the tea, and he peered over them in shock. “Good grief,” he said. “This is staggering.”

“I know, and I’m sure Oliver prefers to think it can’t possibly be true.”

“Robin, I know your instincts are excellent, but let me play devil’s advocate. Why would a woman in Vicky’s position behave so crazily? Admittedly, her star is tarnished these days, but she’s still more or less at the top of her game.”

I took another sip of tea. I felt queasy and fuzzy. “I know it’s far-fetched. It would have to be out of a weird kind of jealousy.”

He pursed his lips together, clearly trying to digest it all. I struggled up from the couch and walked back and forth in the living room, trying to pump oxygen to my brain. “Maybe I’m wrong,” I said, shaking my head. “Maybe it’s someone who hasn’t even occurred to me. Because
whoever
is doing this is acting irrationally, without any real justification.”

Richard was a guy who never seemed to sweat things, but right now his face was pinched with worry. “Okay,” he said, bringing his hands down on his knees with a slap. “I’m going to attempt to meet with Oliver this evening. I’m going to demand round-the-clock private security and more people assisting Oliver.”

“Please make sure they know I’m planning to be back tomorrow night. And Richard? Thanks for all your support on this.”

After he’d gone, the apartment was utterly silent. I felt stuck in a strange vacuum, disconnected from the universe, but I knew if I went on the Internet, I might stumble on vile comments about myself, and I wasn’t mentally prepared to see them.

I checked my email. There were hundreds, it seemed. Some were from the book publishing team and my literary agent. They were concerned, probably freaking in part on their own behalf, worried about what this would do to book sales. I responded, assuring them that everything was fine and that I’d follow up with them in a day or two. There were a couple of emails from people at the show, including one from Alex that stated simply, “Hope you are on the mend.” One, too, from my ex, Jake, saying his thoughts were with me. Go to hell, I thought.

Nothing at all from Carter. You couldn’t say I hadn’t been warned. And yet I felt a pang of sadness.

At four, Ann called, as promised. By this point I felt desperate to talk to her.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t swing by the hospital,” she said. “But I knew you’d rather have me in the trenches on your behalf. I’ve been doing nonstop damage control.”

I groaned. “Has the press release helped?” I asked.

“It was good to send it out right away. But I’m not going to pretend the situation is anything other than wretched. YouTube has changed everything. You went viral.”

I’d assumed all that, had told myself that it must be wretched, but hearing her say the words—her voice as grim as a freshly dug grave—made my stomach twist painfully. “What can I
do
?” I pleaded. “Ann, you’ve got to help me.”

“We’re going to try to fix this. I promise you.”

“Try
?” I said. “What do you mean
try
?”

“We
will
fix it. But Robin, first and foremost, you need to stay calm. If you appear frantic, it’s only going to fuel the rumors.”

I felt like a child being reprimanded. “I would hope I could let my guard down with
you
,” I said.

“I know. But for the next few days, as we sort our way through this, I’d prefer if you let me be a hundred percent PR director with you. That’s what you need from me now.”

It made sense. “Understood,” I said. “So what’s the plan?”

“Right now I’m mostly fielding calls, reiterating what’s in the release. I’ve kept my comments vague.”

I told her that the brownie had contained zolpidem.

“Let’s not go out with that. People will wonder why you were taking it in the middle of the day. It’s better to make it sound like a reaction.”

“Doesn’t being vague lead to more bizarre speculation? Shouldn’t we announce that someone
did
this to me?”

“I don’t think you want that out there. In this case, the less said, the better, at least until you’re back on the air.”

“Well, that will be tomorrow night,” I said.

I was wrong. Tom called after the show to ask how I was. The first I’d heard from him, but I let that go.

“Better,” I told him. “Anxious to be back tomorrow.”

“Um, yeah. We want you here, too. But both Potts and Oliver think it’s best to hold off until Monday.”

I couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth
.
“
What
?” I exclaimed. “No, I can’t accept that, Tom.”

“Robin, it’s for the best. Plus it gives you the weekend to fully recover.”

“I don’t need any more recovery time. Someone is trying to sabotage me, and we’re allowing that person to triumph. Is
that
for the best, Tom? Is it?”

“Your personal safety is at stake.”

“What about my darn reputation? That’s in tatters at the moment.”

“Robin, I understand how you must be feeling, but this is what Will Oliver is advising.”

“Tom—” I was nearly yelling.

“Robin, I know it’s hard, but I need you to get a grip. Please.”

Oh, that’s rich, I thought. You make
me
feel like the crazy person in this whole freaking mess.

After I hung up, I plopped on the couch again and rocked back and forth, trying to calm down.

The weekend was miserable. Ann had a wedding out of town, and I spent both days alone. I studied the notes for Monday’s show and worked up the nerve to surf the Internet, doing my best to avoid anything about me. I scrubbed my kitchen floor and cleaned out a closet. Both nights I crashed early in a weird haze, as if traces of the drug were still snaking through my brain.

Sunday at five, Richard phoned. “Great news,” he announced. “Potts’s assistant called and said he and Oliver have something to report and want to meet with us first thing tomorrow.”

“Thank God,” I said. I felt euphoric, as if I’d just been given a pass out of hell. “Did they share any details?”

None, Richard said. But five minutes after I hung up, Ann called. Once I told her the news, she admitted she’d just heard it from Potts directly.

“Do you know anything?” I pleaded.

“I’m being kept mostly in the dark,” she said. “But they’ve apparently determined who’s behind everything.”

“Vicky?”

A pause.

“No, I don’t think so,” she said finally.

“What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t get the name out of Potts, but he said it’s someone who never would have crossed our minds.”

Ann’s words nearly floored me.

“But—but maybe it just never crossed
his
mind,” I said.

“Remember, though? Vicky’s name came up that day at Potts’s apartment, so she was on his radar, whether he liked the idea or not. No, it’s somebody different.”

“So I was wrong,” I said.

“Don’t focus on that,” Ann told me. “Focus on the fact that you’re finally going to feel safe again. That’s all that matters.”

After signing off, I lay back on the couch, trying to absorb the news. If Vicky wasn’t the person behind all the mayhem, then it was likely someone who worked on my own show, someone I saw every single day. Earlier in the week, in Oliver’s office, I’d briefly considered if I should raise Charlotte’s name because of how prickly she’d been acting. Was it her?

Another name suddenly rammed against the inside of my brain.
Maddy
. She’d been upset with me recently, on more than one occasion. It couldn’t be her, though. She was my second cousin.

Whoever it was, the news would be shattering.

Richard called back right before I went to bed to give the location for the meeting. I’d assumed it would be at Potts’s apartment again and that I’d head to my office from there. Instead, it was scheduled for a conference room on the executive floor. Richard and I arranged to meet in the building lobby so we could arrive together.

I told him what I’d learned from Ann.

“Frankly, I’m relieved it’s not Vicky,” he said. “The lower the profile of the person, the less likely it is for the story to go wide and blow back on your career.”