Girl Before a Mirror (22 page)

“And you'll be ready in exactly one year?” Michael asks.

“Well—”

“It doesn't work like that, Anna. You can't schedule when you're going to start living your life,” Michael says.

“Yes, you can,” I say, and Michael just laughs.

“So, no pressure on your birthday dinner then,” Michael says, pulling into a parking lot behind a nothing building that looks more like a strip mall than a Recovery House.

“He said he was saving me.”

“From what?” Michael asks.

“From him.”

“Ugh, that's such a line,” Michael says.

“I use it all the time,” Ferdie says.

“Well, you would,” I say.

“Right?” Ferdie says, laughing.

“I'm fine with it either way,” I say.

“Liar.” Michael turns off the car. I smile and turn around to face Ferdie.

“We're here,” I say.

“Oh cool. Where's here?” he says.

“This is the Recovery House. Ferdie, I think you need help.” Michael gets out of the car and walks into the rehab facility.

“What?” Ferdie asks, leaning forward.

“You need help,” I say, twisting around. Ferdie leans his head through the front seats and rests his mop of hair on me.

“Don't leave me,” he says, pulling my hand to him.

“I'll never leave you,” I say, kissing the top of his head.

“You're going to leave me here. You're going to leave me here,” he says. His voice is exhausted. He looks so tired.

“You need help,” I say again.

“I know. I know.”

“These people can help you,” I say. Michael comes out of the facility with what looks like two orderlies. Ferdie crumples in tears.

“You don't love me anymore,” he says, and the sobs come out of him like he's a tired baby at a grocery store. He's rubbing his eyes and just . . . crying. I step out of the front seat. Tell the men to give me a second. I open up the back door and tuck in next to Ferdie in the backseat. He crumples into me.

“What did I always say to you? Right before bedtime?” I ask.

“I'll eat you up, I love you so,” Ferdie says. I nod.

“It's you and me, right?” I ask. He nods. “You and me.” I make him look at me. Those big brown eyes. Just like mine. “Say it.”

“You and me,” he repeats.

The flower arrangement on my desk is from Helen. I can't stop staring at it. The card is short and sweet.
You kick ass
. And she signed it with just an
H
. Michael finally dropped me off at home at around ten thirty last night. I had just enough energy to put on my pajamas, plug in my phone, and fall into bed. Which means I'm processing what happened yesterday in the early morning hours before Holloway/Greene opens. On the day after I landed my biggest account and checked my little brother into rehab.

As the Lumineux e-mails stream in and the scent of the flowers wafts, I replay what the check-in counselor at Recovery House said. Ferdie is going to be on lockdown. No cell phone. No communication with the outside world. He'll be attending meetings and earning his keep. I can come see him when he gets his thirty-day chip. That's the longest Ferdie and I have gone without speaking. A knock on my door.

“I knew I'd find you here,” Sasha says, stepping into my office and sitting down in one of my client chairs with a steaming
cup of coffee. “Isn't it amazing? She sent me one, too,” Sasha says, eyeing my flower arrangement from Helen.

“They're beyond,” I say, eyeing my phone. As if it will somehow telecommunicate with Ferdie.

“You okay?” she asks.

A beat.

“No,” I say honestly. I look up at her, through the wafting beautiful flowers and the afterglow of a job well done, and I'm just exhausted.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sasha asks.

“My brother. We had to check him into rehab yesterday,” I say. I clear my throat and can't stop shaking my head. “He'd tried to get sober before. Never told me about it. He'd go cold turkey for however many weeks. He even checked himself into a place once. Told me he was going to a hockey camp. Why wouldn't he tell me?”

“This happened yesterday?” Sasha asks.

“He called when we were in Phoenix. From jail. Fighting. Always for fighting,” I say.

“In Phoenix? And you didn't say anything?”

“I know. So, I went to check on him after brunch. It was so bad. It had gotten—”

“So, you did a good thing. He's in the right place, now,” Sasha says.

“The counselor told me that—I mean, she was nice about it—but she said I was his prime enabler.
Enabler
. They use words like that there. I didn't help, I enabled. Lincoln said I wasn't helping him by constantly fixing everything. He was right,” I say.

“You were just trying to love him,” Sasha says.

“I know, but I need to learn how to love people without trying to control everything,” I say.

“Yeah, well,” Sasha says.

“Michael—he helped yesterday, we've known each other forever—thought my idea about inviting Lincoln to my birthday dinner was more of the same. Me trying to control everything,” I say.

“What? He doesn't know what he's talking about. That's romantic. It's—”

“It's super controlly,” I say.

“Maybe, but—”

“On precisely this date at this time for this function you will present yourself to me and we shall both be ready on precisely this date at this time and at this function to be in love exactly the way I've always imagined and then we'll walk off into the sunset that I've timed to happen just when I blow out my candle and know exactly now what to wish for that will make me happy and the question I've struggled with for exactly one year will finally be answered to my satisfaction,” I say.

“That's bananas. That was so cool what you did.
Pfflt
,” Sasha says.

“That's the thing. It sounds really cool and all romance novelly, but in reality it's me trying to be the boss of everything yet again, so I wouldn't . . . you know, I thought I did it because if I gave him this sweeping epic option he couldn't say no. He could see the error of his ways and not be afraid or something,” I say.

“No, I get that,” Sasha says, deflating a bit. “I really wanted it to be awesome.”

“Me too,” I say.

“So, what do you do then? Do you call him or just . . . wait?”

“I'm beginning to think I do whatever feels completely wrong. I have to let it go,” I say.

“Let it go? What . . . I mean, how does that work?”

“Just like it sounds. I let whatever is going to happen, happen. Just like with Ferdie. I can't go down there and make sure he goes to his meetings and I can't—” I choke up. “I can't make sure he's okay all the time. Every day. I can't keep protecting him. That counselor was right. I never let him grow up. It's hard not to jump from there to it being my fault.”

“It's no one's fault,” Sasha says.

“That's what the counselor said,” I say. “But, see, if I blame myself for it then I get to control it and then . . . I can fix it! Oh my God, it's everywhere?!” I say.

“Isn't the first step admitting you have a problem?” Sasha asks.

“It is.”

“Well.”

“My name is Anna and I'm addicted to control.”

“Hi, Aaaaaanna,” Sasha says.

We're quiet.

Sasha continues, “But Lincoln still might come to the birthday dinner, so . . .”

“I know, so it's perfect. I wait around for a year for someone who may or may not show up. I don't have to date or anything in the interim and then if Lincoln doesn't show up I've had a year to ready myself for it,” I say.

“The good thing is that we've got Lumineux launching in October, so every day until then is going to be packed with awesome. Letting go will be a little easier,” Sasha says.

“Hope so,” I say.

“Audrey is being oddly quiet,” Sasha says.

“Oh, I know,” I say.

“She was CC'd on all the Lumineux e-mails and never responded.” Sasha cranes her neck toward the door.

“We have to be ready. There's another play.”

“But Lumineux is ours now.”

“One would think,” I say, crossing my fingers.

“Well, I'm not going to let Audrey Stinkpants ruin today. We are awesome and this campaign is going to be awesome,” Sasha says.

“Speaking of, I'm off to see the elder Stinkpants,” I say, gathering myself.

“Charlton?”

“He wanted to debrief on the Lumineux pitch,” I say.

“You want me to join you?”

“Nah, it'll be fine,” I say. Sasha looks immediately relieved. I stride through the office to a smattering of congratulations, but mostly what Sasha and I did at Lumineux yesterday is off everyone's radar. It's not the big car account. It's not that billionaire that Chuck brought in. No one cares about Lumineux. Yet.

“Anna Wyatt to see Mr. Holloway,” I say to his ancient, terrifying secretary.

“Right this way,” she says, rising from her chair and leading me through the gorgeous mahogany doors and into Charlton Holloway's corner office.

“Ms. Wyatt here to see you, sir,” she says.

“Yes, thank you, Nora,” Charlton says, giving an efficient nod to the woman who has taken care of his professional life for decades. She closes the door behind me and I take a seat in one of the chairs across from Charlton.

“Congratulations, Ms. Wyatt,” Charlton says, signing a letter and setting it aside.

“Thank you, sir,” I say.

And then he's quiet. I cross my legs. Quiet for a long time. I recross my legs, the leather of the chair now the soundtrack to the quietest meeting on record.

“We're waiting on one more,” Charlton says, signing another letter and setting it too aside.

“Oh, sure,” I say, breathless. Which Holloway child is it going to be? A quick knock and I turn to see Audrey sighing her way into Charlton's office. I eke out a smile.

“My apologies,” Audrey says.

“Oh, we're fine. I was just congratulating Ms. Wyatt here on Lumineux,” he says. Charlton Holloway has yet to look at me. He's signing letters with a pen that costs as much as a year's rent.

“Yes, very exciting,” Audrey says.

“Thank you,” I say, looking at her. We make eye contact and then she slides her gaze back over to her father.

“Shame about the rumors, though,” she says.

“The what now?” Charlton says, still not looking up. I don't lean forward in my chair. I am calm.
I am calm, goddammit
.

“You know me, Daddy. I hate to gossip . . . ,” Audrey starts.

“But . . . ,” Charlton leads, finally setting down his pen and looking at us for the first time.

“But as one of the few women in this office, I believe it is my duty to protect and stand up for—champion, if you will—the other females at Holloway/Greene,” she says, her hand at her breast. I plaster a smile on my face, remembering to breathe. I don't move. I can't. The stupid leather chair will give away any imperceptible shift.

“Audrey, I have another meeting in ten minutes; please stop babbling and just spit it out,” Charlton says.

“While I think the spokesman who was selected for Lumineux is gorgeous and women everywhere are going to fall in love with him, I wouldn't want it to get out that he and Ms. Wyatt here had a bit of a fling during the conference,” she says.

“I assure you—”

“I know, Anna. It had nothing to do with him winning, but other people might not be as open-minded as I am,” Audrey says.

I say nothing. This is her move. I knew it was coming. I dared her to take her shot. And here it is. And it's a doozy.

“It's not like other execs haven't dipped a toe in, Wyatt,” Charlton says with a newfound respect that's more disturbing than if he'd been horrified.

“Mr. Holloway, I can assure you that I behaved in a professional manner at all times during the conference,” I say, my voice even and level.

“That doesn't sound like any fun at all,” Charlton says.

“Well, just to be sure we've dodged the bullet, I'm willing to join the Lumineux team and support Anna in any way I can,” Audrey says.

“Sure, sure. Go ahead,” Charlton says, picking back up his pen.

“Thank you, Da—”

“Won't have to worry about one of those beefcakes coming on to you, eh, Audrey?” Charlton laughs and I watch Audrey. With new eyes. How is she any different from Ferdie or me? Audrey tries to hold her head high, but I can see her deflate centimeter by centimeter as I sit here. I look away.

“Will there be anything else, Mr. Holloway?” I ask.

“No . . . you're good, Anna. And congratulations, again. On Lumineux and whatever his name is,” Charlton says, waving his hand around as if Josh's name is somewhere in the ether above his desk. I stand and smooth my skirt. A nod to Charlton and a nod to Audrey.

“What was his name, Anna?” Audrey asks.

“The Lumineux spokesman's name is Josh Fox,” I say with a smile. “They're over the moon with him and the two runners-up, Lantz Kelton and Jake McCall. We're very excited to get started,” I say, my voice a monotone.

“As am I,” Audrey says. A nod to Audrey and I will myself to move. Move. Step. Walk toward the door. Another nod to Nora the Terrifying Secretary and I pick up my pace toward Sasha's office.

“It's just lazy,” I say, slamming her office door behind me.

“What happened?” Sasha asks, setting down her pencil.

“She insinuated that because of my . . .” I shake my head and set my hands on my hips.

“Hey. Sit down. Come on. Just sit down,” Sasha says, half standing. I look at her. Imploring. “Just . . . sit.” Sasha leans across her desk, pointing at her client chair. Another point. I sit.

“Audrey was there,” I say.

“At the meeting?”

“Yeah.”

“What the fu—”

“She insinuated that Josh was crowned Mr. RomanceCon because he had a fling with me,” I say.

“What? Are you . . . Wow. That is . . . masterful.” Sasha slumps back down in her chair.

“The sick part? Charlton? Unfazed,” I say, waving my hand violently in the air. “Almost made him respect me more.”

“What?”

“I know.”

“Why would Audrey—”

“I'm sure she got the idea when Josh and I came back from taking you to the hotel. We arrived together at the party.”

“Oh my God. I'm so sorry,” Sasha says.

“What? No way. Don't even. I'm not saying that it was anything worthy of . . . no. Wait. I'm just saying that's probably when she got the idea.” Sasha gives me a look. Begging me to tell her the truth. “I mean it. She was going to do something. This? Actually isn't that bad.”

“So what does it mean for the campaign?”

“She wants to be on the team.”

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

“That's totally not it,” Sasha says.

“Nope. Not at all,” I say.

She smiles and we dive into all the Lumineux new business. We've already been allotted a support team of three for the campaign—along with Audrey, who will do no work and spend the entire time trying to ingratiate herself with Lumineux. As the morning wanes, Sasha and I get ready for our first Lumineux meeting, and she's right. I think about Lincoln and Ferdie a little less as I funnel it all into this campaign.

Audrey is a no-show at the first meeting. I'd be angry, but I'm relieved. We can get to work and she won't be in the way. I'm finishing up with one of the copywriters when I get a knock on my door. It's just after five
P.M.

Chuck Holloway. At my door. The copywriter scurries out, and before I can say or do anything, Chuck walks into my office and closes the door behind him. Other than my brief sojourn at The Naughty Kitty lo those many days ago, Chuck and I have had very little interaction. Well, other than my knowledge that he's an entitled sexual predator and that his mere existence motivates Audrey to try to ruin my career. Outside of that? Smiles in the hallway and CCs on e-mails. I look up. Why did he close the door? I've had about enough of this Holloway sibling rivalry.