The Standout (17 page)

“Thanks for dinner, Dad.” The voice is female, and only now do I remember that Nick’s younger sister lives here too. She flicks the lights on and I hear them walk inside.

“It was my pleasure.” He sounds stiff and formal, like he’s trying too hard. “I’m glad we had our talk.”

“Me too.”

There have been no further footsteps, so I figure that the sister is still in the entryway, facing away from the backdoor, and the dad is focused on her so he hasn’t looked up yet. I should use this opportunity to make my get-away, but she says something that makes me stay and listen.

“You understand why I’m so concerned about Nick?”

“Of course,” he answers.

“I really hope he knows what he’s doing.”

“I know, Sweetheart. And you’ve had to make some difficult choices.”

“Yeah, but—” she cuts herself off. “What is it, Dad?”

“Did you leave your back door open?”

Crap! I bolt, running across the yard and nearly slipping on the wet grass. But I make it to Monty’s fuel-efficient family sized vehicle, which is also my get-away car. I have no idea if they’ve seen me or not as I get in and drive off.

The rest of my trip is uneventful; Monty is the big hero when he gets the sex tape taken down. So I’m anxious to get home, but when I do, Miles and Mason are at their baseball game, which Tina has taken them to. They don’t get home until late, and then it’s like they’d forgotten I was ever gone.

A few days later, Tina is silent in the passenger seat as I drive us to the auto show gala. She’s barely spoken to me since I turned my back on her the night she was crying and I haven’t known what to say since. I glance at her while we’re stopped at a red light. Her dress is blue. The top is loose but the bottom is tight across her butt, and there’s a long slit that shows off her leg.

“You look amazing,” I tell her. “Everyone will think I’m the luckiest guy in the world.”

She just huffs, crosses her arms over her chest, and turns toward the window, away from me. The light turns green but I don’t press my foot against the gas petal. We just sit, until the cars behind us honk.

“Ted, what are you doing? Go!”

I do, but I turn left instead of going straight, so we’re no longer headed in the right direction for the gala.

“Ted, you’re going the wrong way! Have you gone crazy?”

The squeal of the tires is my only answer as the car accelerates. I don’t even know where we’re headed, but I do know that we’ve been on the wrong path. Besides, some of my co-workers will be at the gala, which means Tina would for sure find out about my unpaid leave. That can’t happen, so I turn down random streets and alleys while Tina white knuckles the dashboard, too surprised at my behavior to protest.

After a few minutes I see a Mexican restaurant, the type we used to eat at when we were in college. It looks small and dark, and I bet the menus all have salsa stains, and the margaritas come in huge, plastic glasses full of tequila and limeade, and all the food is covered in brown sauce and cheese. I pull up and park along the curb.

“What the hell, Ted?”

I unfasten my seat belt, so I can lean in and touch her bare arm. “Tina, let’s forget about the gala. Please, for one night, can’t we just talk like we used to? Remember when we used to get a little drunk and laugh at stupid jokes? Let’s do that again.”

I brush my fingers along her shoulder and by some miracle she doesn’t pull away. I can see her thinking. She’s blinking rapidly and biting the corner of her mouth, probably calculating how many calories are in a taquito.

“Sugar, you’re so lovely.” I whisper, because all of a sudden I’m kind of choked up. “Please believe that.”

Tina’s eyes wander for a moment but then she looks back at me, and the moment feels honest, like we’re naked in front of each other. “You stopped calling me ‘sugar’ about five years ago.”

Is that true? Surely not, but I think back, trying to remember our moments of affection. There was a time when Tina was the only sweetness in my life, the only sweetness I’d ever really felt, and when I held her in my arms all I wanted was to protect her, to make her happy. But have I become so engrossed with losing myself that I’ve cut her off as well?

“I’m sorry, Sugar. I guess I’ve just been distracted.”

And then it’s like sun breaking through the clouds, because Tina smiles.

Tina moans and tightens her grip around me, her nails digging into my back. I can taste the fiesta salad and Margarita she had earlier as I plunge my tongue through her lips. I kiss her with enough passion to make up for the all kissing we haven’t done for months. She’s like this little lightening rod. Her body has gotten so small; there are fewer soft spots than before, but I am so grateful to have her in my arms that joy is my one, overreaching emotion. The gala dress she so carefully put herself into is lying in a careless heap by my office chair and we’re actually on top of my desk. I’m taking her in the way you always see hot couples in movies do, the way I’ve always wished she’d someday agree to.

After we’re done my body feels like warm, oozy lava. I collapse into my chair and Tina lunges for her dress to cover herself. It’s not that she doesn’t want me to see her naked, I decide, but that she’s worried somebody will walk in.

“My office door is locked. We’re safe.” My voice is soft. Tina’s back is to me, and if she hears me she doesn’t acknowledge it. “Come here.” I’m a little louder now, but I make sure not to sound demanding. I just want to sound like the guy who desires his wife, who needs her like he needs water and sunlight.

She turns, and hot damn, there’s another smile. I pat my knee in a “come hither” gesture and she actually complies. “You have a lock on your office door?” She betrays a hint of laughter as she descends into my lap. “Why do you need a lock, Ted? You’d better not be having assignations with any other women on your desk.”

She’s wrapped up into me. My arms are around her legs, her arms are around my shoulders, and her head is tucked up against my chest, directly below my chin. Possible jokes come to mind, like all my assignations are on the floor or against the wall; or the lock is to keep me in, not to keep others out, but the words just wilt on my lips. All I can manage is, “You know there’s only you, Tina.”

If she’s startled by my sincerity, she doesn’t show it. We just sit there for a while, feeling our hearts beating. After a while she says, “I suppose we should get back. I told the babysitter we’d be home by eleven.”

She climbs off my lap and begins dressing. I watch her, marveling at her beauty. The way that the shadows play across her profile makes me think of the Mats Gustafson watercolor.

“Hey, can I ask you a weird question?”

Tina looks at me as she straightens the dress strap over her left shoulder. “What?”

“Did you ever write me a note in my mother’s handwriting and hide it behind that painting in the guestroom?”

She squints and puckers her lips. “Why would I do something like that?”

“I don’t know. But I found the weirdest thing the other day. There was this sheet of paper in my mom’s handwriting with the message:
Get yourself together, don’t be afraid, and jump.
”

“What’s your point, Ted?” Tina’s arms are crossed over her chest in a defensive pose.

“Never mind. I was just asking.” I reach down for my pants and suddenly I’m nicked in the forehead by something heavy and blunt. I realize that Tina’s thrown a paperweight at me.

“Are you crazy?” I yell. “You could have killed me!”

“Don’t be so dramatic!” It’s like flames are shooting from Tina’s eyes. “And don’t call me crazy! You’re the crazy one! Are you seriously letting a note from your dead mother trigger your midlife crisis?”

“What are you talking about?”

She counts on her fingers. “Your trip to Des Moines; your unpaid leave; your private investigator course!” Tina walks toward me and puts her face in mine. “You didn’t even try to hide any of it. Instead you just lied! How stupid do you think I am?”

“I don’t think you’re stupid.” I’m flailing, grasping for words I don’t have. “I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Obviously.” Her breath comes out in short, angry puffs. “I ran into Stan’s wife at the club and she told me you’ve stopped going to work. I pretended like I knew. All it took was one look at our account activity to figure out the rest.”

“Why didn’t you say anything until now?”

“Because it wasn’t worth my time.” She straightens out her dress and grabs my car keys, which were lying on my desk. “It’s a good thing you still have your office,” she says. “Because you’re not sleeping at home tonight.”

And with that, she storms away, slamming the door on her way out. I don’t chase after her. I just let myself drown in the waves of defeat that wash over me. What hurts the most is that tonight was just an act.

She was just biding her time until the right moment came to confront me.

She’s right to be angry. But, bad as I feel, I don’t believe I’m the crazy one. She threw a paper-weight at my head. What was that about?

My hand creeps over to my computer and I flick it on, though I hadn’t thought consciously to do so. I have access to all sorts of data bases here that I don’t have at home.

If I can’t figure out my own life, maybe I can fix Robin’s.

“Slow down, Ted.” He is usually so calm and composed that I don’t even recognize this half-crazed voice at the other end of the line. Besides, his “emergency phone call” to the production team at
The Standout
is also out of character. I look at the caller ID screen and see that it’s neither his home number nor his cell. “Where are you?”

“At my office.”

“But it’s Sunday morning! Why are you—”

“Never mind about that! I have to warn you. The sex tape was awful but we got it taken down. Even still, I think Nick did something bad. Or maybe it was his sister, but I doubt she’d know how. Several days ago, that
Rotten Robin
website claimed that you bribed one of the judges on
The Standout
. There was no evidence of it in your bank account. Well, today there is. There’s a transfer of $40,000, only it’s from Nick’s account and in your name.”

“What? How do you even know all this?”

I hear him start to answer, but suddenly the phone is snatched from my grasp. I turn and see that Jim Giles is the one who did the snatching. Kyla is standing behind him, chin down, sneering triumphantly. Jim places the phone back in its receiver like it weighs 100 pounds.

“I was talking to my brother!”

“Well, we’ll add that to the list of rules you’ve broken!” He literally waves his finger at me. “We have to talk. Now!”

The cameras follow the three of us to a private space, but “private space” is an oxymoron on any reality TV show. Once we’re behind closed doors, with several cameras pointed at our faces, Jim confronts me for real. “Kyla says you invaded her work station and stole her best pair of fabric sheers.”

“What? No I didn’t!”

Jim lifts the shears for me to see. “We found these with your stuff, Robin.”

“Kyla is lying! She framed me!”

Jim shakes his head. “You’re the one who disappeared during filming last night, so I’m afraid I can’t give you the benefit of the doubt.” Jim’s face is pink with strain as he turns to Kyla, giving her back her shears. “Kyla, I need you to step out now.”

Kyla, poser that she is, nods gravely. “Of course,” she says, giving me a snaky grin as she shuts the door behind her. Then Jim speaks again. “Evie Messina got a text from you this morning.”

“Um. . .Uh,” I stutter, “I haven’t been using my phone. It’s against the rules. And you guys have it anyway.”

“I don’t know how you managed but we have proof.” Jim gives me my phone. Sure enough, there’s a text from me to Evie Messina.
Check your bank account. I’ve just given you another reason to take me to the top.

“Robin,” Jim drawls, “if this text was all it was, I’d believe that you’re being framed. But $40,000 has been transferred into Evie’s bank account in your name.”

“I knew nothing about this!” I say. “I mean, not until just now when my brother called to warn me. But someone has been messing with my phone and my computer. I can even show you the website!”

“So you’re saying that your fiancé acted independently of you?” Jim purses his lips and I wonder if he’s actually listening to me.

“What? No! Nick would never do that. Besides, he doesn’t even have that kind of money. We’re both being framed.”

Jim shakes his head, deeply disappointed. “I can assure you, Robin, he has the money because it came from his account. I’m sorry, but, given the circumstances, I have to ask you to leave.”

I can’t let this happen. I’ll be the Tanya Harding of the fashion world.

“Jim, I swear I’m innocent. Don’t I even get a chance to defend myself?”

“This is your chance!” He places his hands on his hips. “Can you give me some details about how this happened? I mean. . .” his eyes roll toward the ceiling, “if it’s not you, can you tell me who
is
responsible?”

Chastised, I scratch at my wrist. “Someone has been messing with me. I think I was pushed while I was on the treadmill, and yesterday someone dumped water on all my fabric. . .” saying it out loud sounds so lame, just schoolyard crimes.

“And you didn’t report it because. . .?” Jim asks.

“Because I was worried I was just being paranoid.”

Jim strokes his chin slowly, deep in thought. “I wish you had reported it. Maybe you’d have a leg to stand on now.”

“Talk to Gabe.” I gesture towards him, as he’s holding a camera in my face. “He came in right after I fell and he got it on film. And he also caught my freak out after I found water on my dress.”

Jim glances at Gabe but he doesn’t actually say anything to him. That would be taboo. You don’t talk to cameramen, not while you’re being filmed. Meanwhile, Gabe stays silent; he’s merely the eyes and ears but definitely not the voice, and no matter how much I implore him, that’s not going to change.

Jim sighs. “Unfortunately, that’s just not enough.” He sighs. “Robin, I really want to believe you’re innocent, but there’s too much evidence stacked up against you. I hate to say it, but I need you to go clean out your work station.”