Eyes on You (19 page)

“At least I’ll be back on the air tomorrow night,” I said.

“Ideally, yes. But depending on what happens tomorrow, they may suggest a different timetable, and we need to be prepared for that.”

“What are you
talking
about?” I knew I sounded abrupt, but my patience was shot.

“Someone’s going to end up fired over this,” Richard said. “There may even be an arrest. And if that happens, the network may prefer a buffer period between then and when you return to the air, so you aren’t mired in the mess.”

“I’m not a delicate flower. I can handle it. I just need to be back, before the rumors get any worse.”

“Let’s try to hear them out, Robin. If they suggest anything we aren’t expecting, I’ll say we want the day to think it over. That way you and I can discuss matters privately. The key thing is for us to seem cool and collected.”

“You’re right,” I said. “And I’m sorry to sound rattled. I just feel so tense from everything that’s happened. And from wondering what name I’m going to hear tomorrow.”

“That’s understandable. But try to rest now.”

I took a long hot bath, hoping it would make me sleepy, but I ended up tossing and turning for hours in bed. When I was finally asleep, I dreamed that in the morning I took the subway instead of the car to work, and the train stalled in the tunnel between stations. Minutes passed and then more minutes, and I knew I was going to be horribly late. I tried to pry open the doors and escape from the train. A man watched me, speechless. He was a stranger at first, but then he morphed into my father. When I woke, my cotton camisole was soaked with sweat.

As planned, I met Richard in the lobby. He seemed oddly preoccupied, and as we waited at the front desk for his security pass, he kept monitoring his BlackBerry.

“Is there an issue with another client that you’re trying to deal with?” I asked, not disguising my irritation.

“No, no,” he said. “I’m sorry. Just a minor headache I had to handle.”

“Richard, I need every ounce of your attention right now.”

“Of course,” he said. “And you have it. Let’s go up.”

As we headed toward the elevator bank, I caught sight of Charlotte stepping into another car, her blond curls piled on her head. She looked back in my direction, and I could have sworn I saw a sly smile form on her face, as if she could read at a glance how distressed I felt and was gloating about it. If she
was
the one, she clearly had no idea she was about to be busted.

The receptionist was expecting us. We were shown to a conference room at the far end of the hall, one I hadn’t even known existed.

The receptionist asked if we’d like coffee. Richard accepted the offer, but my stomach balked at the thought. When she returned two minutes later to deliver Richard’s drink, she told us that Mr. Potts would be down momentarily.

But it wasn’t momentarily. We sat in the room alone for at least twenty minutes. The wall that abutted the corridor was floor-to-ceiling glass, and it felt as if I’d been trapped in a terrarium. What was taking so fucking long? I glanced up at one point to see Richard staring at the glass wall.

“What is it?” I asked. His pinched expression unsettled me even more.

“I’ve just seen Ross Carey go by for a second time. He’s the in-house attorney. My bet is that he’s coming to this meeting, too.”

“That’s not so odd, is it?” I said. I’d dealt with Carey once or twice during my contract negotiation. “There are legal ramifications for putting a coworker in the hospital.”

“Yeeeees,” he said, dragging the word out as if he couldn’t commit to it. “Of course.” Then he turned to me, lowered his head, and whispered, “There’s something else, something I need to forewarn you about.”

My body tensed. “What?” I asked.

“The reason I seemed distracted in the lobby is that someone with inside info sent me an email saying that the meeting might turn ugly—but didn’t elaborate. I didn’t want to alarm you, and as far as I know, this person could be dead wrong. But now that I see Carey, I’ve got a bad feeling.”

“Ugly
how
?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. Originally, when you thought Vicky Cruz was behind this, I was afraid Potts wouldn’t want to throw her under the bus. She’s his major cash cow, after all. I figured she might be forced to admit what she did and promise to stay clear of you under threat of being canned and the story leaked. But since it’s not her, I don’t know what to expect.”

“Maybe Ann misinterpreted what Potts said,” I told him.

“Whatever the situation, you need to stay calm today, Robin. Promise me—”

The conference room door swung open, and Oliver, Potts, and Carey entered single-file, their faces forbidding. They looked like spokesmen from the C.D.C., about to announce a resurgence in bubonic plague.

“Gentlemen,” Richard said, rising and shaking each man’s hand. I simply nodded. Oliver made eye contact with me, and so did Carey. Potts didn’t bother. Stay focused, I told myself. Don’t start overreacting.

“Thank you for coming in,” Potts said. “We have important information to share today.”

“Good,” Richard said. “I’ve been terribly concerned about Robin’s situation, as I know all of you have.”

“Let me turn it over to Will Oliver,” Potts said. “He’s done a thorough investigation, and his efforts have paid off. We’ve finally learned who’s behind these—events.”

Simultaneously, Richard and I shifted attention to Oliver.

“As I explained to Ms. Trainer previously, we had no luck when we viewed the tapes from the security cameras. Then we took the investigation a step further. We began examining people’s work emails and their Internet usage. As Mr. Carey can attest, that’s all within our rights.”

“Of course,” Richard said. “That’s a smart move. And I assume that’s how you discovered the truth.”

“Yes, it is.” Oliver turned to me, his gaze boring into me. “Ms. Trainer, did you do a search about Ms. Cruz on your office computer?”

Why was he asking that? I had done a search about Vicky the day after she’d dressed me down in the newsroom.

“Um—yes, actually, I did.” A faint pounding had begun in my head. “Why is that relevant?”

“The timing is interesting. It was shortly after an argument between the two of you.”

I couldn’t tell where the hell this was going. Maybe Vicky
was
the guilty one, and he was trying to suggest I was partly to blame so they could make a case for keeping her. I tried to catch Richard’s eye, hoping he would give me a sign, any sign, but he was staring at Oliver, perplexed.

“First let me point out,” I said, “that it wasn’t an argument. Ms. Cruz came to the newsroom and admonished us for poaching a regular guest of hers. I happened to be the first one she encountered. And yes, I did do a bit of research afterward. I wanted to learn about her in case there was ever another incident. When people are angry, it’s good to figure out the best way to diffuse it.”

“You were quite upset about the way she treated you, weren’t you?”

Had Tom told them that? Or Carter? “I was a little annoyed, if that’s what you mean. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Then she went to Mr. Potts with several other complaints.”

“What are you getting at?” I asked.

“Yes, Mr. Oliver,
please
,” Richard interjected. “Is there a point here? We need to know what’s going on.”

Oliver dragged his gaze back to mine and held it. “All right, then,” he said. “We received the test results back on the makeup, and TCA was definitely added to it. Ms. Trainer, according to our findings, you also used your computer to search for information on trichloroacetic acid.”

“I—I don’t believe I did,” I said. The pounding in my head was intensifying, like the muffled sound of a party raging from the floor just above my head.
Had
I, though? “The whole thing was very upsetting, so maybe I did—without remembering.”

“Except your search was done two days before the acid was used on your face. You also searched the official site on Barbie dolls—three days before the Barbie was left on your chair.”

“
No
,” I said. “That’s not true at all. I never did anything like that.”

“What in the world are you suggesting?” Richard demanded.

“We believe Ms. Trainer actually staged all these incidents herself, including taking the zolpidem.”

I felt like I was in an airplane being torn apart at the seams. I glanced at Richard and then toward Potts. I willed my voice not to rise. “Dave, you can’t believe this,” I said. I was nearly gasping for air as I spoke. “It’s absurd. What could my motive possibly be?”

“According to Will, you’ve suggested from the beginning that Vicky Cruz was responsible. It appears Vicky made you mad as hell, and you obviously wanted to even the score. I assume you also fancied the attention that being a victim could bring if this went pub—”

The lawyer touched his arm. “I think it’s best not to speculate about motivation.”

“But Will
asked
if I had any suspicions, and I shared them only as part of the investigation,” I said. “There were comments from Vicky that made me think it
could
be her.”

“How do you explain the searches from your office?” Will asked.

“The person obviously sneaked in there. I used to keep my office open, and my assistant has been in and out lately. I—I bet there was nothing about zolpidem on my computer, was there? Because I’d started locking my door by the time the brownie was left.”

Carey, Potts, and Oliver stared at me completely stone-faced.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” I said. “No one could plant anything from that point on.”

“As for the zolpidem,” Oliver said, ignoring my comment, “there was no way Ms. Cruz could be responsible. She took the shuttle to D.C. that morning and did her show live from there that night.”

My mind raced, searching frantically. “If it
is
Vicky, then—then she probably has an accomplice,” I said. “Or maybe someone else entirely is tormenting me. Did you analyze the handwriting on the napkin? You said you’d try to find it.”

Oliver shook his head. “We looked through your trash. The wastebasket was still full, but there was no napkin in it.”

I turned to Richard, desperate, but he appeared completely bewildered. I’d never seen him like that.

“Wait,” I exclaimed. My memory had snagged on something. “
Stacy.
Vicky asked her about what makeup I used. Did you talk to her yet?”

“Yes,” Oliver said. “And she doesn’t recall Vicky ever saying anything of that kind to her.”

I shook my head.

“
I
get it,” I told them. “Stacy’s afraid if she says anything, Vicky will have her canned.” I threw my hands in the air. “What about Vicky mentioning Ambien? Jimmy must remember that.”

“Robin, let’s leave that for a moment,” Richard said. He looked directly at Potts. “Dave, there clearly needs to be further investigation. It seems that there’s been some horrible misunderstanding. I suggest that we all take a deep breath, put Robin back on the air to quell the gossip, and then dig deeper here.”

“Dick, I respect you. You know that,” Potts said. “But we’ve already taken a breath and dug deep. And Robin’s not going back on the air. We’re terminating her immediately in violation of the morality clause in her contract. We will pay out part of her contract, which we can discuss separately. And for her sake as well as ours, we will do our best to keep this ugly business under wraps.”

I fought the urge to wail in disbelief.

Richard patted the air with his hands, as if trying to calm an angry mob. “Gentlemen, please,” he said. “Allow us at least to bring in an outside investigator. We’re not trying to witch-hunt Vicky Cruz. We just want to find out what’s really going on.”

Potts shook his head.

“Dave,” I said, my voice pleading. “Think about it for a moment. The only thing I wanted for the past two years was to get back on the air. Why in the world would I sabotage my performance by taking a sleeping pill before a show or putting acid on my face?”

Potts shot a glance at Oliver, who spoke next.

“We don’t know why, Ms. Trainer,” he said. “But there’s history of this type of incident happening in your life, isn’t there? As a girl, didn’t you accuse someone of harming you, and then it turned out you had done it yourself?”

“What?” I exclaimed. “Who
told
you that?” The pounding in my head was so hard that I could barely hear, and my hands were shaking. There had never been any public record of what had happened with Janice.

“We’re not at liberty to say,” Oliver said.

“That’s a complete and total lie,” I said. “My stepmother was guilty. I never harmed—”

“Robin, I think it’s best that we leave,” Richard interrupted. “Gentlemen, Ms. Trainer will be enlisting the services of an attorney.” He cupped my elbow, urging me up. But I couldn’t leave, not yet. I looked across the table at Potts.

“Dave,” I said. “You have to give me a chance to prove that none of this is true. Think about it. Think about
me
. Have you ever known me to do one unethical, untrustworthy thing?”

He stared at me, his eyes piercing. I sensed a finger squeezing against a trigger.

“Well, for one thing,” he said, “you’ve been having a secret affair with your cohost. I wouldn’t call that the most trustworthy move in the world.”

I looked at him, dumbfounded. How had he found out?

“All right, I admit, that’s true,” I said desperately. “But it’s irrelevant to what we’re discussing. I didn’t do those things to myself.”

“I think we’ve said all there is to say,” Potts said.

I leaned forward, frantic. I had to reason with him. Before I could speak again, Richard tightened his grip. “Robin, let’s go,” he said.

As I stood, I realized my legs were floppy, in danger of folding up under me. I grabbed the table briefly for support.

This can’t be true, this can’t be true, I thought as Richard led me away. The next thing I knew, I was in the elevator, shooting downward, and then in the vast marble lobby, with people rushing by us in a blur. I realized Richard was talking to me. “What?” I asked dumbly.

“Robin, can you call a car? We need to get out of here.”