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Foreverywomanwhosharedherstorywithmeorwiththeworld,andforeverywomanwhofueledthecollectivevoicewithinthesepagesandamovementthatdemandstobewitnessed,wehearyou.PROLOGUE
Ifonlyyou’dlistenedtous,noneofthiswouldhavehappened.
EyewitnessAccounts
12-APR
Eyewitness1:
I’djuststeppedoutsidewhenIsawaflashof—Idon’tknow—something,movement,Iguess,ontheothersideoftheplazaandatfirstIthoughtitwasagiantbirdandthensometerroristbomb.AnothersplitsecondandIrealizeditwasaperson.Icouldn’ttellifitwasamanorwoman.Peopleinthisdistrictareallprettyoldschool.Theystillwearsuits.Traditional.Blackpantsandblazerflapping.Anyway,it’saprettygoodfallfromupthere.
Eyewitness2:
Itwasaroundone-thirtyintheafternoon.IwasjustleavinglunchwithaclientatDakota’s.Inearlythrewupmysteaksalad.
Eyewitness3:
I’mnotsayingIdon’tfeelbad.Ido.It’sawful.Butalsoyouhavetobeprettyselfishtodoathinglikethat,youknow?Therewerepeopleonthestreet.Itwasjustafterlunchtime.Ifyoureallyhaveto,ifyoureallymust,thendothatonyourowntimewithoutsomanypeoplearound.That’sallI’msaying.
CHAPTERONE
ThreeWeeksEarlier:TheDayItBegan
20-MAR
Beforethatday,ourlivesracedalonganinvisibleroller-coastertrack,acartfastenedtotherailsthroughengineeringandforceswecouldn’twhollygrasp,despiteoursuperabundanceofacademicdegrees.Wemovedwithasenseofcontrolledchaos.
Wewereconnoisseursofdryshampoobrands.IttookusfourdaystowatchacompleteepisodeofTheBacheloronourDVRs.Wefellasleepwiththeheatoflaptopsburningourthighs.Wetooktwo-hourbreakstoreadbedtimestoriestotoddlersandtriednottocalculatethetotalnumberofhoursspentworkingasmothersandemployees,confusedastowhichcamefirst.Wewereoverqualifiedandunderutilized,bossyandalwaysright.Wehadfirmhandshakesandheftycreditcardbalances.Weforgotourlunchesonkitchencountertops.
Eachdaythesame.Untilitwasn’t.ThemorningthatourCEOdied,welookedupsuddenlytorealizetherollercoasterhadafaultywheelandwewereabouttobethrownofftherails.
ArdieValdez—apatient,stoicalperson,withpractical,well-madeItalianshoes—wasthefirsttohaveaninklingofthecrashahead.Sheheardthenewsanddecidedtotakecover.“Grace?”Shestoodinthehallway—sterile,butwithunaffordableart—andknockedonaplainclosetdoorwithacowmagnetstucktoitsfront.“It’sme,Ardie.CanIcomein?”
Shewaited,listening,untilsheheardarustlingbehindthedoor.Thelegallymandatedlockflippedoutofplace.
Ardieduckedintothesmallroomandlatchedthedoorbehindher.Gracewasalreadysettlingbackontotheleathersofa,hersilkblousehitchedcockeyedovertwoplasticconesfastenedtoherbreasts.
Ardiesurveyedtheroom.Amini-fridge.Thebeat-upsofaonwhichGracesat.AsmalltelevisionsetplayingEllen.Outside,shecouldhearvoices,quicksteps,phonesbeingansweredandcopiesbeingmade.Shefrowned,approvingly.“It’slikeyourownlittlehideoutinhere.”
Gracereachedforthedialofthebreastpumpanditbeganitsmethodical,mechanicwhir.“Orlikemyownlittletomb,”shesaidlightly.
Grace’sdarksenseofhumoralwaysmanagedtocatchArdieoffguard.Fromtheoutside,Graceseemedsouncomplicated.Shehadteased,bleachedblondehair,wasanactivememberoftheTriDeltaAlumniClub,andattendedchurchatPrestonHollowPresbyterianwithhertall,dark,andcheckeredshirt–wearinghusband,Liam.They’dbeenonthepersonalinvitelisttotheopeningoftheGeorgeW.BushPresidentialLibraryandidentifiedas“compassionateconservatives,”whichArdietooktomeanthattheywantedgaypeopletogetmarried,butpreferredtopayaslittleintaxesaspossible.Also,theyownedatleastonehandguninalocksafethattheykeptonagarmentshelfinGrace’swalk-incloset,andthefactthatArdielikedGraceinspiteofallthatsaidsomething.
“Howmuchshouldbabieseat,anyway?Iamalwayspumping.Imean,fuck,Ardie,lookatme,I’mwatchingEllenduringtheday.”
Gracedidn’tusuallysay“fuck.”
Ardierememberedhowlongthedaysfeltwhenherson,Michael,hadsleptonlyafewhoursatatime.Herentirebodyhadfeltheavyanddirty,asifshehadathinlayerofgrimeoverherwholebody,likeunbrushedteeth.
SherummagedthroughhertotebagandpulledouttwosweatycansofLaCroix.ShehandedonetoGraceanddroppeddownonthefloorinfrontofthecouch.Ardiecoulddothingslikesitonfloorsatworkbecause—andshe’dbethefirstonetoadmitthis—shehadoptedout.Yearsago,actually.Shesleptininsteadofspendinganextrahourinthemorningonhairandmakeup.Shewentshoppingalmostnever.Shedidn’tspendaminuteofherprecioustimeinPilates.Itwasthemostliberatingthingshe’deverdone.
Sheglanceddownatherphone.Stillnothing.
“Soapparently,”Ardiesaid,“Bankoledied.Athomethismorningwhenhewasgettingreadyforwork.”Shedeliveredthenewsmatter-of-factly.Ardiedidn’tknowanotherwaytodelivernews.Itwasalways,MymotherhascancerorTonyandIaregettingadivorce
“What?How?”Gracedroppedthetubesshe’dbeenbusytryingtoreinsertintothefunnel-likecontraptionspokingoutofhernursingbra.
“Hehadaheartattack.Hiswifefoundhiminthebathroom.”Ardieproppedherelbowsonherknees,staringupatGrace.“Ijustfoundout.”
Ardiehadmetthecompany’sCEO,DesmondBankole,onlyonce,ahandshakeintheelevatorbecausehe’dmadeapointtomeeteverypersonwhoworkedinhisbuilding,downtothecleaningstaff,atleastonce.Histeethwereverywhite.Hewassmallerthanshethoughthe’dbe,withbirdlikewristspeekingoutunderneathhissuitjacket.
“I’mhiding,bytheway,”Ardiesaid—andbeforeGracecouldask—“fromAmes.HekeepsaskingwhereSloaneis.Itoldhimshewasprobablyoutforlunch.Hesaidthathehadn’tapprovedherleavingforlunchtoday.Isaidshe’stheSeniorVicePresidentofNorthAmericanLegalAffairsandshedoesn’tneedhisapprovaltogotolunchand—”
“Yousaidthattohim?”Gracesatup.Sloanewastheirfriend,butalsotechnicallytheirboss,whichmadeAmestheirboss’sboss.
“Ofcourse,Ididn’treallysaythattohim.Areyoucrazy?”
“Oh,”Gracesaid,blinking.Shetoyedwiththesmalldiamondcrossdanglingfromhernecklace.Theelectricwhirofherpumpcountedofftimebetweenthem.
“SoI’mhidinginherelikeacoward,”Ardiecontinued.“WaitingforSloanetocallmeback.”Asarule,menlikeAmesdidn’tcareforArdie.Hehatedhavingtolistentosomeonehedidn’tenjoylookingat.WhenheaskedherwhereSloanewas,hiseyesskirtedoverandaroundherandhemovedonassoonashecould.Shedidn’tmentionthisparttoGrace.
Ardiecringed.Grace’sbreastscouldnotbeignoredinthissmallroom.“Itjustsucksthemupsothattheylookedliketorpedoes.Doesn’tthathurt?”Ardie’sson,Michael,wasadoptedalmostfouryearsago,ahappyendtoyearsofinfertilitystruggles.She’dneverdoneanybreastfeedingherself,butshe’dalwaysimaginedserenesuckling,covetedskin-to-skincontact,alooselydrapedhandwovenscarftoconcealthosewhoweretoomodest.Notthisviolentyankingthatshewasnowwitnessingupclose.
“NotasmuchasEmmaKate’smouth,tobehonest.”(Breastfeedingwassupposedtobepainlesstheytoldus.Breastfeedingwasbeautiful,theysaid.Well,wewouldliketodragtheirnipplesoverasphaltandseehowpainlessandbeautifultheythoughtitwas.)
“God,wecaninventsmarttoothbrushes,”saidArdie.“Myroboticvacuumcanfinditshomeandputitselftobedattheendofthenightandwecan’tinventathingamajigtosuckoutmilkthatworksalittlebetterthanthat?”Themachinewassortofgrotesquelymesmerizing.
“Menhaveteeth.”Graceraisedhereyebrows.“Andfloors.”
Ardietookalongswigofgrapefruit-flavoredsparklingwateras,onscreen,EllenDeGenereswelcomedayoungmanonstage.HelookedlikeateenagerandArdiedidn’thavetheslightestcluewhohewas.Shetappedherphonescreenagain:nothingnew.
“Ijusthadascarythought,”shesaid,afterabeat.“AmescouldbethenextCEO.”
“No.Youthink?”
“HelookslikeaCEO.He’stall.Peopleliketall.”Ardieclenchedandunclenchedherfist,stretchingoutthecarpaltunnelthatwasaconstantthreattoherwrist.“I’mtellingyou,”shesaid.“Thatsonofabitchcouldrunthiscompanyandthenwherewillwebe?”
Itwasn’tjusttherumorsinvolvinganintern.OrwhathadhappenedwithhisexecutiveassistanttwoyearsearlierattheByronNelsongolftournament,afterwhichguesswhohadbeenfired?Spoileralert:notAmes.Itwasn’teventheideathatcorporateculturestartedatthetopandaTruvivwithAmesatitshelmwouldbelikeannouncingopenseason.
ItwasthatAmesGarretthatedArdie.
“Idon’tknow,”saidGrace.“He’salwaysbeennicetome.”
Ardielettheissuesit.GracewasafewyearsyoungerthanArdieandSloaneandstillclungtothenotionthatsomeonecouldbea“goodperson”despitetheiractions,asthoughactionsweren’ttheveryindicatorofone’sperson.AndArdiehadseenAmesGarrettinaction.
Still,therewereissuesonedidn’tdiscuss,evenamongfriends—religion,money,and,perhaps,Ames.
Graceturnedthedialonherpumptoincreasetheintensity.Oneofthetubespoppedoutofplaceandquiveredalongthefloor.AwhitedropspilledontoGrace’sskirt.Sheclosedhereyesandtiltedherheadback,hernostrilscaving.Whensheopenedthem,hereyesshone.Sherubbedherwristintohernoseandpickeduptheerranttubewithpurposefulcalm.Shemissedtheholetwicewhensheattemptedtoreconnecttheattachments.Thethirdtrywasasuccess.Shegingerlysatbackintothecouch.“ThatreallyisdepressingaboutBankole,though.”ShetrainedherglassygazeontheTVscreen.“Isitwrongthatwe’renotmoresad?”
Ardiedidn’treplybecauseGraceactuallydidseemverysad.
Ardiecheckedherphoneagain.Asinglebarofservice.
WherethehellwasSloane?
CHAPTERTWO
20-MAR
Sloanestaredattheceilingofanelevator,willingittomovefasteruntiltheverysecondthedoorssplitapartonfloorfifteen,atwhichpointshedashedthroughthemlikearacehorse.
“They’reallintheconferenceroom—”Hersecretary,Beatrice,leanedoverhervestibule,hercoiledphonecordstretchedfromwhereshehadthehandsetpressedtoherear.
“Iknow,Beatrice.Iknow.”Sloanetorepastherthroughthehallway.“AndIamalreadyroyallyscrewed.”
Fortherecord,allhadbeenfineacoupleofhoursagowhenshe’dsatdownwithherhusbandandherten-year-olddaughter,Abigail’s,schoolprincipal.Shehadresponsiblytuckedherphoneinsideherlandfillofapursebecauseshewasagoodmother,whichinthatplacemeantanundistractedmother.Orthatwasthepartshe’dbeenintentonplayinginfrontofPrincipalClark,anyway.
Andnowlook!
She’dfishedouthercellpost-meetingtofindthetextmessagesfromArdie:
Desmonddroppeddeadthismorning.Heartattack.Amesislookingforyou.Ok,seriously,whereareyou??Sloane??
Shehadn’tevenhadtimetosaygoodbyetoherhusband.
Atlast,shestoodoutsidetheNorthconferenceroom,heartpoundingsohardsheworriedthatshe,too,mighthaveaheartattack.Numberonekillerofwomenoverforty!She’dheardthatsomewhere.MaybeonTheView.Shepulledthehandletoletherselfinside.
Sevenlawyersatthedirectorlevelorhighersataroundthetable.Ames—GeneralCounsel.KunalfromCommunications,MarkforEmployment,ArdiefromTax,PhilipcoveredRisk,Joe,Litigation,andGracewasDirectorofCompliance.Plusanotheryoungerwomanwithachestnut-coloredpixiecutandSnowWhitecheekswhomSloanehadnevermetbefore.EveryfaceintheroomturnedtowatchSloaneenter.
“SorryI’mlate.”SheslidintotheemptyseatbesideAmes.Thewomanwiththepixiecutsmiledpolitelyather.
Amesglancedupfromastackofpapers.Astripeofwhiteranawaveringlinethroughhisthickhair,otherwisethecolorofblackcoffee,saveforthesilveringthathadbeguntotakerootabovehisears.“Wherehaveyoubeen?”
“Iwas—”Sloanepausedforafractionofasecond,weighinghowtofinishthesentence.(Wealldidthis.Whetherindatingorattheoffice,werealizedthepowerofpretendingourchildrendidn’texist.Amancouldsayhewastakingthedaytogofishingwithhisson,whileamotherwasusuallybetteroffhidingthefactthatshetookalonglunchtorunherchildtothedoctor’soffice.Childrenturnedmenintoheroesandmothersintolesseremployees,ifwedidn’tplayourcardsright.)“Isteppedoutbriefly.”Sheclearedherthroat.
“Withoutyourcellphone?”Ameslickedhisfingertiptohelphimflipthroughthepages.Bodiesshifteduncomfortablyaroundthetable.
“Iwasmomentarilyoutofpocket,yes,”shesaid.“Poorreception.”Notagreatexcuse,inherworld.
AmesmadeanondescriptnoiseandshiftedthewadofHotTamalesinhismouth.
Shestaredathim,resistingtheurgetomeetthesevenpairsofeyestrainedonheraroundtheroom.
ThenAmeswinked.Alwayshislefteye.Thedelicatecrow’s-feetbranchingquicklyouttohistemples.Hewasoneoftheonlymensheknewwhostillreachedforthewink.Hecouldpullitoff,actually.Itsaidatonce:We’refinehere,butalso:I’mtheoneincharge
Heopenedhispalmstotherestoftheroom.“SloaneGlover,everybody.”Asifhewereintroducingacomediantothestage.Sloanebristled,thoughherfaceremainedplacid.WorkingwithAmeswaslikesittingnexttosomeonewhowasconstantlykickingyourshinunderthetable.“Sonicethatwecanfinallybegin.Shallwe?”
Awkwardnodsofacknowledgmentfollowed.Besideher,PhilipquietlypushedhislegalpadandpeninfrontofSloane’splace.Shepressedherhandtothespotbetweenherribsandblewoutabreath.Thankyou,shemouthedandPhilip,whosetiewasalwayscrooked,simplyshrugged.IfonlyallmenattheofficecouldbemorelikePhilip.
“IassumebynoweveryonehasheardabouttheunfortunatepassingofourChiefExecutiveOfficer,DesmondBankole,”Amesbegan.“Memorialserviceswillbeannouncedinthecomingdays.I’msureI’mnotoffbaseinexpectingtoseemanyofyouatthefuneral.”
AsAmestalkedaboutBankole’saccomplishments,Sloanefuriouslydownloadedfrompentopapertheactionitemsshe’dbeenformulatingasshedrovebacktotheoffice.
Amescutalooktoher.
Shesetdownherpen.
“Let’strytostayonthesamepagehere.”Hefoldedhishandsonthetable.“IaskedGracetostartusoffbydiscussinganylegalobligationsTruvivhasasapubliccompany.Grace?”
Gracestraightened.Sloaneoftenwonderedifherfaceunderwentthesametransformativeprocesswhenshehadtoputonanairofauthorityaboutasubjectatwork.Inhertwenties,sheknew,ithad.Then,shecouldfeelherselfpullingonthemaskofconfidence,loweringhervoice,removingthe“likes”fromherspeech,stillingherknee,remindingherselfthat,yes,shewasqualified.Grace’stellsweresubtler.InGraceshesawaliftofthechin.Asquaringofshoulders.Sloane—likemostofus—rarelyspottedthesetinybetrayalsofself-assuranceinmalecolleagues.Wasitbecausetheyweren’tthere?Orwerewenotintuneenoughtoseethem?
“Sure,”GracesaidandlaunchedintoadiscussionoftheSEC,about8-Kfilings,andupdatingthecompany’swebsite.InaCEO’sunexpectedabsence,transparency,Graceexplained,waskey.“I’llcirculateamemothatwillbeeasiertodigest,”shefinished.
“Andwe’reworkingonastatement.”Kunalpointedhisfinger,touchingittothetableforemphasis.“Untilthat’savailable,pleaseansweranypresscallsbysayingthatweareverysaddenedbyDesmond’slossbothpersonallyandprofessionally.”Hiswidebrowneyestooknoticeofeachfaceintheroom.“Donotrespondwiththewords‘Nocomment,’whateveryoudo.Shareholdershate‘nocomment.’Understood?We’llshootforhavingthestatementtomorrowmorning.Doesthatsoundgoodtoyou,Sloane?”
Sloanesatbackinherchair.“Soundsdoable,”shesaiddecisively.Mencouldgetawaywithhedging.Itcameacrossasthoughtful.IfSloanewaffleditwouldsoundlikeshedidn’tknowwhatthehellshewasdoing.“Weneedtoemphasizethefirm’ssuccessionplanandlookatrecentexamplesofcompaniesthathandledaCEO’sdeathorillnessparticularlywell.Acouplespringtomind,likeMc—”
“Actually,”Amesinterrupted.Sloane’stoescontractedreflexively.“IthinkweshouldbelookingatMcDonald’s.Theyhadasimilarsituation.TwoCEOsdyingintwoyears.Thefirstonewassudden.AndImation.ThosearethetwoexamplesI’dgowith,Kunal.”
Sloaneabsorbedaspikeoffrustration.She’dusedallthepotentialreactionsbythispointinhercareer.Herfavoritewasapolite:“Interesting,thatsoundsalotlikewhatIjustsaid”inherbestSouthernaccent.Buttothisshesaidsimply,“Greatidea,Ames.”
Amesrubbedhispalmstogether,satisfied.“Allright,weallhaveourmarchingorders.Myofficedoorisalwaysopenifyouneedme.”
Theystoodtogo.Sloaneclickedthepenclosed.Inkstainspepperedtheinsideofherrightmiddlefinger.ArdieandGrace,whohadbeenseatedside-by-sideacrossfromher,skirtedtheroomtopassbyontheirwayout.“Sorry,”Ardieleanedinandwhisperedwhileshakingherheadslowly.
GracepressedherlipstogetherandcaughtSloane’shandforaquicksqueeze.SloanenoticedadampstainonthefrontofGrace’ssilkblousethatsheknew,withoutthinking,wouldn’tcomeout.Itwasuselesstowearanykindofsilkwhilebreastfeeding.She’dhavetotellGrace.
“Katherine.”Amesheldupafinger,talkingtothenewwoman,whostilllingeredwhileeveryoneelsehadfilteredhisorherwayout.“Youcanwaitinhereonemoment.IjustneedtogopullthedraftannouncementfrommydeskforSloane.”HelookedatSloane.“Youdon’tmindstoppingbymyoffice,doyou?”
Ames’sofficedoorwasnotactually,ashe’dsaid,alwaysopen.Neitherliterallynorfiguratively.Sloanehadfollowedhimashewalkedtwostepsinfrontofheralongthenarrowcorridor.
HeopenedthedoortohisofficeandtogethertheysteppedinsideTheShrine—agallerywallofAmeswithfamousathletes.Truviv,Inc.,wastheworld’sforemostathleticapparelbrand,sponsoringallthecountry’sbiggestathletes.TherehewasplayinggolfwithTigerWoods.Now,herehesatcourtsidewithaninjuredKevinDurant.Then—look!—anothercandidphotoplayingcatchwithJustinVerlanderandhiswife,KateUpton.IfAmesrealizedthatthemenandwomenmemorializedonhiswallmightonlybehisfriendsbecauseTruvivwrotealargeportionoftheirsponsorshipchecks,hedidn’tcare.Eitherway,SloaneconsideredTheShrinethesemi–sociallyacceptableequivalentofadickpic.
“So,”hesaid,turningtoleanonhisdesk.Hewasamiddle-agedmanwhoworeacharcoalsuitwellandmanagedtolookbetterwithage.AtleastthiswaswhatSloaneobjectivelyknewtobetrue,thoughsheherselfhadahardtimerecognizinghisgoodlooksanymore.They’dbecomejustanotherfactaboutAmesthatshedidn’tquitebelieve.“Desmond’sgone.”Hestuckhisthumbsdeepintohiseyesocketsandkneadedhiseyes.“ThatwassomethingIdidn’tseecoming.”
“I’m…yes,I’msosorry.”Sloaneallowedherselftodriftfartherinpastthethreshold.Sincehearingthenews,itwasthefirsttimeshe’dmentallyframedtheCEO’sdeatharoundcondolences.Itwasterrible.Hehadchildren,twoshethought,eachonlyalittlebitolderthanAbigail.Sheplannedtoprocesshispassingtonightwithherhusband,Derek,overaglassofwine—thefinestchardonnaytheirrefrigeratorhadtooffer.ShewouldrememberDesmondforhislively,attentivefaceashesatinthefirstchairontheleftsideoftheconferencetable,listeningasshegavequarterlypresentationstothecompany’sexecutives.
“RememberhowhealwayscalledyouMissSloane?”Amesfoldedhisarms.Hisshouldersshookwithaquiet,good-naturedlaugh.“Likeyouwereapreschoolteacher?”
Thememorytriggeredafaintsmile.“Yes,god.Itdidn’tactuallybotherme.Comingfromhim.”
“Helikedyou.”Amespushedhisweightoffthedeskandwentaroundtotheotherside,wherehebegantypingonthekeyboardwithoutcommittingtosittingdown.Shewaitedforafewmoments,unsureofhowmuchattentionwasrequiredforwhateverhewasdoingbehindthecomputer.
“I’msorrytochangethesubject,butwhowasthatwoman?”Sloaneasked.“Katherine,wasit?”
Heslidopenadrawer,shookoutacoupleHotTamales—anoralfixationtocurbhissmokinghabit—andpoppedtheminhismouth.“ThatwasKatherineBell.I’llintroduceyou.Slippedmymindwitheverythinggoingon.Onesecond,please.”HestruckafewmorekeysandthenlookedupatSloaneagain.
ShehadtheideathatAmessometimeshadatouchofselectiveamnesiaabouttheirearlyyearsatthefirm.Othertimes,itwastheonlythingheseemedtorememberaboutheratall.Today,hewasclearlyinthemoodtopretendhistorydidn’texist.“She’sournewhire,”hesaid.“Lotsofcorporateexperience.She’llbeworkinginyoursection.Ithinkyou’regoingtofindhertobeareallyvaluableasset.”
SloanecockedhereartowardAmes,asthoughshe’dmisheardhim.“Mysection?”Sherepeateditasaquestion.
“That’sright.”
“Andyoudidn’tthinktoconsultmeabouthiringsomeonenewformysection?”Hervoicesoundedtoohigh-pitched.Shrill,hemightcallit.“I’mSVPofthatsection.”
IthadbeenyearssinceAmeshadpulledsomethinglikethisonher—years!AndSloanenearlyundidallofthem,allthosemonthsuponmonthsofkeepinghercool,ofdealingwithAmesandhisGrade-Abullshit,withasuddenoutburstofunadulteratedanger.
Amesstoopedtolookathiscomputerscreenagain.“AndI’mtheGeneralCounsel,”hesaid.“Shouldweswapresumes?”
Sloanecouldalreadyfeelherselfgoingoverthisconversationtonightinthemirrorwhilebrushingherteeth,wishingithadgonedifferently.
“WhereisKatherine’soffice?”Shechangedtacks.
“Ifiguredyoucouldtakecareofallthat.Afterall”—heflashedadisarmingsmileandhischindimpled—“youareSeniorVicePresident.”
“Right.”Shetookadeepbreathandcompartmentalized.Itwasn’tasthoughtheycouldleaveanattorney,evenoneSloanehadn’taskedfor,idlingintheconferenceroomforever.SherestedherlegalpadonherforearmandaddedFindKatherineanofficetothelistofactionitems,rightatthetop.Whataninauspiciousdaytobegin.Andhadn’tshelookedyoung,herskinsowellhydrated?Theword“ingénue”hadcometomind,thoughthatwasridiculous.Shehadtobeatleastthirty,olderthanSloanewaswhenshestartedhere.
Sloaneturnedtoleave,forgettingforamomentthereasonshe’dcomeinthefirstplace.
“Sloane.Thedraft.”Ameshadfinallymadeadecisiontositandwasclickingthroughsomethingshecouldn’tseebecausehisscreenwastilted.Henoddedtowardthelegalpadonhisdesk.“Itookafirststab.Iwanttoseeitbeforeitgoesout.”
Sloanewalkedbacktohisdesk.Apairofscissorslayopenatopthelegalpad.TheirsilverbladesleftaviolentXagainsttheyellowpages.Shefeltlackofsleepandstacksofunopenedbillsandanger.Herfingerslingeredoverthecoolmetal.SometimeswhenSloanestoodinveryhighplaces,sheworriedanurgetojumpwouldseizeherandshe’dfindherselftumblingoffthesideofabuilding.Weallunderstoodthisfeeling,howwithjustatwitchoffingers,Sloane—oranyoneofus—couldsnatchupthescissorsandsnipthearteryinAmes’sneck.
Shepulledthelegalpad,herfingertipsstickingtothepageswithfaintperspiration.“I’llhavethisbacktoyouinanhour,”shesaid,afalsenotecreepingintohervoiceassheescapedAmesGarrett’soffice,notforthefirsttime
DepositionTranscript
26-APR
Ms.Sharpe:
Stateyourname,please.
Respondent1:
SloaneGlover.
Ms.Sharpe:
Whatisyouroccupation,Ms.Glover?
Respondent1:
IworkatTruvivasalawyer.MyformaltitleisSeniorVicePresidentofNorthAmericanLegalAffairs.
Ms.Sharpe:
HowlonghaveyouworkedatTruviv?
Respondent1:
Aboutthirteenyears.
Ms.Sharpe:
That’sarespectablelengthoftime.Longerthanmostpeoplestayattheirjobs,Iimagine.WhathaskeptyouatTruvivforsomanyyears?
Respondent1:
Iholdahighlycovetedposition.In-housejobs,especiallyonesthatpaywell,arehardtocomeby.Truvivisahouseholdname.Manypeoplewouldhavekilled—sorry,Ididn’tmean—therewerelotsofpeoplewhowouldwantmyjob.
Ms.Sharpe:
AndhowdidyoucometoknowAmesGarrett?
Respondent1:
AmeswaspartofthegroupIinterviewedwithbeforemakingthemoveoverfromJaxonBrockwell,soIsupposewefirstmetthen.
Ms.Sharpe:
DidyouworkcloselywithMr.Garrett?
Respondent1:
Notuntilweworkedonadivestitureofanaffiliatebrand,Iguess.Hehadbeenwiththecompanyaboutfiveyearsatthatpoint,Ibelieve.HewascoordinatingthediligencematerialstobesenttoopposingcounselandIwasassistinghim.
Ms.Sharpe:
Andhowwouldyoucharacterizeyourrelationshipbackthen?
Respondent1:
Itwasfine.
Ms.Sharpe:
Whatdoyoumeanby“fine,”Ms.Glover?
Respondent1:
IthoughtAmeswassmartandambitious.Hetaughtmealotaboutrunningasalesprocess.Wegotalong.
Ms.Sharpe:
Isee.Andwhendidyouraffairbegin?
CHAPTERTHREE
20-MAR
WereadLeanIn.Takeitfromus;thebookwasallbutmandatoryinourcity’sfemaleprofessionalset.Ifourfriendsneededadviceitwasourhonorbounddutytotellthemearnestly,wisely,imploringly,Friend,whatyouneedtodoisleanin
Sowereadit,alltwohundredandfortypagesofit,whilewegotourhighlightsdoneorlistenedtotheaudiobookaswedrovetheturnpikeinourLandRovers.Weneededsomeonetotelluswhatweweredoingwrongandhowtofixit.Toremindusthatweweren’tmakingenoughmoneyorrisinguptheranksquicklyenoughorbustingenoughballs.Wefantasizedaboutourcareers,weattendedwomen’snetworkingevents,welookedforcareerriskswecouldtake.Wefollowedtherecipeandsetthetimerforeighteenmonthsandfiguredbythen,theglassceilingwouldhaveshatteredundertheweightofalltheworld’sleaningwomen.
Whenexactlydidwerealizeitwasn’tworking?Wasittheelection?Beforethen?It’shardtoregisterdifferencesinthestatusquo.Liketryingtomeasureslightdropsintemperaturewithoutathermometer.ButMs.Sandbergwasrightaboutsomething.Wehadtoleanin.
Itwastheonlywaytohearthewhispers.
Everythreeminutes,anautomaticairfreshenersprayedcitrus-scenteddisinfectant,startlingGracebackintohersurroundings.Inapublicrestroom.Onthetoilet.ScrollingmindlesslythroughherInstagramfeed.Herunderwearaslingbetweenherankles.
Thiswaswhatnewmotherhoodhadreducedherto.Itwasthelackofsleep.Everyonepromiseditwouldpass.Thatsomedaysoonshewouldstarttofeellikeheroldselfagain.
Shewishedheroldselfwouldhurrythefuckup.
Thedoortotherestroomswungopenandtwopairsofheelsentered.
Gracemighthaveannouncedherselfbyunfurlingawadoftoiletpaperorstandingupsothattheautomaticflushtriggered,butbeforeshecouldmove,onepairofheelsstoppedinfrontofthemirrorandsaid,“Danielleforwardedmethatspreadsheetthingy.God,whoknewthereweresomanysleazyguysinDallas?”
Gracelookedwarilyupfromherphone.Squinted.Tiltedherheadtomakeouttheshoesstandingatthemirror:pink,pretty,butnotterriblyfancy.SteveMadden,maybe.
Theyoungwomaninthepinkheelsmustbedoingsomemiddayfacialmaintenanceatthemirror.Theothergirl,inleatherheels,enteredoneofthestallsandslidthelockintoplace.“Youshouldhavetoldme.Igotit,like,threedaysago.”
Gracewashavingtroubleplacingthevoice.(Ourvoiceswerehardlymorethananartifice.Wewerelivinginthedaysofvocalfryandverbalupticks.Andwehatedourselvesforit.)Talkingintherestroomcombinedtwoactivitiesthathadnobusinesstakingplacewithinthesamemoment,butGracerememberedbeingyounger,whenitwasasymbolofclosenesstotraipseintoasinglebathroomtogether,chattingandtakingturnssquattingoveradisgustingtoiletseat.Shefeltafaintthroboflongingforthosedays.
“Thecrazythingis,”LeatherHeelscontinued,“oneoftheguysonthereismydad’sbestfriend.”
Atthesink,PinkHeelssaid,“Whoa.”Graceheardthesnapofacompact.“Andhewasnever,youknow,creepywithyou?”
Gracefeltconsciousofherownbow-tiedFerragamos,whichshewassurecouldbeseenbelowthestallsifeitherofthegirlscaredtolook.Shouldshepickthemup?Orwasthatgoingasteptoofar?
Shecouldn’tdecidewhattodoto,andsoshedidnothing.
“No,he’salwaysbeenreallynice.Anormalversionofnice,I’mprettysure.Myfamilyhaddinnerwithhimlastmonth.”
“Canyouimagineifitwasyourdad,though?”PinkHeelsasked.“Because,that’sthething.Theyare.Somebody’sdads,Imean.Thinkofgettingthisinyourinboxandyouseeyourdad’snameand‘askedmetoputafingerinhisass’nexttoit.Couldyoueverlookathimthesameagain?”GracethoughtPinkHeelswasthelegalintern,afirstyearlawstudent,spendingacoupledaysaweekworkingatTruviv.Notfromoneofthebetterschools,ifsheremembered.WashernameOlivia?Sophia?Oneofthose.
“Okay,excuseyou,”saidLeatherHeels.“MarkSoulsisanhonorableman.Andthat’snotanimageIneed.”Right,thatvoicebelongedtoAlexandraSouls,oneoftheyoungtransactionalattorneysSloanehadhiredlastyear.GracelikedAlexandra.AndAlexandraandOlivia-or-Sophiawerefriendsfromcollege,weren’tthey?
Theinterestingthingwas:Gracehadn’theardanyonetalkaboutanythingbutBankoledyingtoday.Maybethesegirlsweretooyoungortoofardowntheladdertocare.
Ormaybetheyjustthoughtthiswasbiggernews.
Theyreallyshouldcheckbeneaththestalls.
“Doyouthinkthatoneiseventrue?Thethingaboutthe…ass?”askedOlivia-Sophia,soundingmoretitillatedthanscandalized.
Alexandrajustlaughed.
ThepointsofOlivia-Sophia’sshoesturnedtofacethestalls.“Didyouaddanyone’sname?”sheasked.
Graceheardthetoiletflush.“No…I—no…”Alexandrawassaying.Theresponsefeltlikealoadedgun.ThehingessqueakedasAlexandraexitedthestall.“You?”
ButthenAlexandramusthavewashedherhands,becausethefaucetwasblastingovertheirvoices.Thentheairdryer.
Gracekneadedhertemple.Shewastryingtoputthepiecestogether.TherewasaspreadsheetthatAlexandraandOlivia-Sophiahadreceived.Anditmustcontainalistofsorts.Alistofsleazymen,they’dsaid.Andtheywerepassingitbetweenthemselves.Discussingit.(Gracewascatchingup,butanumberofushadalreadyseenthislist.Addingtoit,too.Wewereusingdummyemailaddresses,fakeusernames,andblindcopyliketheyweregoingoutofstylefasterthanfull-bodyrompersandsplitsleeves.)
Thesinksuddenlyshutoff.
“Itdoesn’tmatter,”Alexandrawassaying.“Thatguyobviouslydidsomethingtopisssomeoneoff.So,I’msurehedeservesit.Theyshouldalllosetheirjobs.”
Graceflinched.Whataboutdueprocess,shethought,thoughsheinstantlyfeltlikealawschoolgoody-two-shoes,whichshesupposedshehadactuallybeen.
AlexandraandOlivia-SophiawereleavingandGracecouldn’theartherestoftheirexchange,onlythemurmurofvoicesslicedoffbytheclosingdoorbehindthem,leavingGracewithonlyasenseofuneasetokeephercompany.
Though,onsecondthought,perhapsshe’dhadthatalready.
CHAPTERFOUR
20-MAR
Noneofushadtime.Foranything,itseemed.Iftimewascurrency,wewereallgoingbroke.Sometimes,we’dseeabookhittheNewYorkTimesbestsellerlistwithapromisingtitlelikeIKnowHowSheDoesItorOverwhelmed.Forafewweeks,we’dpassitbetweenus,tryingtousetheadvicelikeatrendynewdietplan.Butforallofus,therewere—howdothepunditsputit?—institutionalroadblocks.
First,wewereworkingwithlesstimethanthemeninouroffice.Thatwasjustafact.Thirtyminutestoblow-dryourhairinthemorning.Tenminutestostraightenandcurlit.Fifteenformakeup.Threeminutesforjewelry.Sixteenminutestopickoutanoutfit.Forty-fiveminutesofcardiointheevening,followedbytheoccasionalfifteenminutesofabdominalwork.Ifyouthinkwe’remakingthisup,wesuggestaquicksearchthroughthestaffprofilepicturesonthecompanywebsitetoseewhatwemean.
Therewereeconomiesofscale,too.Timewasafiniteresource,sowhoshouldgetthemostofit?Thoseofuswhoweremomshadthemostcompellingargument:considerthechildren!Butwhatabouttherest?Wesatinourofficeslisteningtothetickofourbiologicalclocksastheycountedouteverymisseddate,missedchanceencounter,missedopportunitytomeetsomeonewithwhomwemightactuallywanttobecomeamother.Andthen—thebait-and-switch.Ifwedidbecomewivesandmothers,thevalueonourtimeincreasedastheamountplummeted.
Thesewerenotfixedcostdeductions.Maybewe’ddecidetoforgotheChristmascardphotosoftartan-cladchildrenandnothavekidsatall.Buttoooftenthatfeltlikeachoiceforcareer,andcareeronly.Atacitdecisiontoforfeitourfreetimeatthedoor,pleaseandthankyou.Someoneshouldteachagraduatecourseontheintricaciesofourtime.Wewonderif,perhaps,ShondaRhimesisavailable?
Sloanehadbeenstaringathercomputerscreenfortoolong.Outside,thesunhadgonedown.TheDallasskyline—itsglitteringorbandglowingsuspensionbridges—graduallygavewaytothegaudyelectronicbillboard,spanningcement-to-sky,ofthecity’sOmniHotel.
Sherubbedhereyes,nolongercaringwhethersheleftblacksmudgesatthecorners.Whenshewasjustoutoflawschool,workingatafirm,shewouldhaveknownpreciselyhowlongshe’dbeenreviewingtheform8-Kforfiling.Lawfirmsforcedtheirattorneystomeasuretheirtimeinsix-minuteincrements.Butthatwaswelloveradecadeandtwoofficesago.NowSloanestillsometimesfoundherselfsilentlykeepingarunninglogofhertime:
.1hours,eatingpho.2hours,textingwithDerekandAbigail.1hours,readingtrashtabloidwebsites4.5hours,revisingpressreleaseexhibitsanddatatableexhibitstoSECfilings
Herphonevibratedonhercomputerstand.ItwasDerek.Shepickeduponthesecondbuzz.
“Shelives!”Sloanelovedthesoundofherhusband’svoice.Shepicturedhim,leaningovertheislandintheirkitchen,hiscopperhairabittoolongaroundtheears,athreadbareNirvanaT-shirt—thesameonehe’dbeenwearingthedaytheymetandwhichshestilllikedtostealatleastonceaweektoweartobed—stretchedoverhisshoulders.
Shehadfourmissedcalls.“I’msorry,I’msorry.I’mtheworst.Haveyouconsideredgettinganewwife?”
Yearsago,DerekhadimposedarulethatSloanenotbeallowedtoapologizefordoingherjobanymore.Butshefiguredtherulewasherstobreak.
“Noworries,”hesaid,inhiseasymanner.Notthathisjobwasn’tstressful.Derekwasamiddle-schoolteacherandpreteenboyswereanightmare.Butitwasadifferentkindofstressandtheirsneverneededtocompete.“Justcallingtocheckonyou.Oh,IsentinAbigail’sformsforthewalkathonnextweekandturnedinthecheckforherpianorecital,soyoucancrossthosetwoitemsoffyourlist.”
“YouknowhowIlovetocross,”shesaid,scanningalineinthefilingthatshe’dalreadytriedtoreadthreetimes.She’dforgottenabouttheformsentirely.“Thankyou.”
Therewasashortsilence,justenoughspaceforthembothtorecallthatthey’darguedlastnight.Thelongertheyweremarried,theeasieritwastopush“pause”onanintensedisagreementandpickitupatalatertime—preferablyonethatwasn’tpastSloane’sbedtime.Butthereitwasagain.Likealittlesharedbruisethatshe’donlyjustrememberedhowshe’dgotten.
“Howisshe?”askedSloaneatthesametimethatDereksaid,“Sheseemsfine.I’vebeenwatchinghersinceshegothome.”
ThefighthadbeenaboutAbigail.ItwasalwaysaboutAbigailthesedays.ShecouldalmosthearDerekinherheadtellingher,Itwasn’tafight,itwasadisagreement.Fine,butSloanelikedhyperboleand,whenitcametoherdaughter,shefeltentitledtoit.
Itbeganacoupleofmonthsago.Abigailhadgrownsulky.Shestoppedplayingwithherdolls.SloanehadaskedherratherinnocuouslytopleasecleanthemupandAbigailhadyelledthat—andSloanewasparaphrasinghere—perhapseveryonewouldbehappierifAbigailweredead.
DerekthoughtSloanewasoverreacting.HetaughtseventhgradeEnglish,which,ifyouaskedhim,meantthathehadthemarketcorneredonearlychildhooddevelopmentexpertise.ButSloanehadthemarketcorneredonAbigail.Shetookhertoapsychologist,whoassuredhera“deathanddying”phasewasaperfectlynormalpartofchildhooddevelopment.“Itoldyou,Sloane.Perfectlynormal,”Derekhadrepeatedonthewayhomeasifhe,too,hadadoctorateinpsychology.
Butthenafewdayslater,SloanespottedthetextmessagespoppinguponthescreenofAbigail’sphone.Slut.Bitch.Cunt.Eachonefeltlikeabullettothechest.Nobodytoldherthisbeforeshebecameamother.Thatsuddenlyyourdiligentlybuilt-upimmunitytowardallthesethings,likename-callingandpopularitycontests,wouldupandleavethesecondsomeonetookaimatyourchild.
ShehadshakenAbigail’sphoneinDerek’sfaceandscreamed,“Isthisnormal?Isthispeeeerfectlynormal,Derek?”
Ofcourse,thathadn’tbeenfairtoDerek,thedadwhoknewthenamesofallAbigail’sclassmatesandbroughtdonutsforthehomeroomteachers.Whenhereadthosemessages,he’dbeensoterrifyinglydad-like,ithadactuallybeenabitofaturnon.
Sloanewantedtosuetheschooldistrictforwhathadhappened.Remedialaction.Adequateprotection.Legalconsequences,iftheyweren’tgoingtotakeherseriously.ButtheschooldistrictwasalsoDerek’semployer,whichmeantthathewantedherto“playnice.”He’dusedthosewordsspecifically.
They’dpresentedaunitedfrontatthemeetingandSloaneletDerektakepointjustashe’dasked.Insisted,really.Ithadnotfeltgreat.
Overthephone,sheheardhimscratchtheroughnessofhischin.Sloanetypedthroughthepausebecauseshecouldn’taffordnotto.“Sloane,I’msorry,I—”
Atthesoundofasoftknockatthedoor,shetwistedherchairaround.Ardieleanedonthedoorframe,herblackblazerandpantsmorewrinkledthanusual.
“Derek,I’msorry,butIhavetogo.”Sheheardhimsighandfeltawaveofguilt.“Loveyou.”
“Don’tworktoohard,”hesaidbeforehangingupandSloaneknewthathereallydidmeanitinanaltruistic,please-don’t-have-amental-breakdowntypeway,thewayheoftenconfiscatedherlaptopafterelevenbecausehe’dreadthatambientbluelightwasbadforhersleep.
Sloanemovedherphonetotheothersideofherkeyboard.“Haveyoubeenstandingtherelong?”
ArdieinvitedherselfinandrestedherhandsonthebackofSloane’sguestchair.“Longenoughtoseethatyouneedtogohome.”ShepassedSloaneabrownaccordionfolder.“HerearethetaxappealsfortheWacofactorysite.Sorry,anotherthingforyoutoreview,Iknow.Butifitmakesyoufeelbetter,Ihaven’tevenstartedreviewingthetaxmodelsforthesubscriptionboxacquisition.”
Sloanedroppedthefolderontoherdesk.Thunk.ShehadbeenmeaningtotalktoArdieforacoupleofweeksnow,eversinceithadbecomeclearthatthetinylittlesecretshewaskeepingfromherfriend—itwasnothing—wasbecomingmoreofalastingissue.But,well,todaytrulywasn’tthedayforopeningupacanofworms.Ofcourse,thisdidsoundvaguelylikeanexcuse,butitwasn’t.Moreofastrategy.
“IheardSalestooktherestofthedayofftomournBankole’spassing,canyoubelievethat?”Sloanesaidinstead.
Ardiewidenedhereyesdramatically.“Listen,Sloane,youmustn’tmakelight.Thosetwentysomethings’feelingsarevalid.”Shepressedherpalmstogetherasifinmeditation.“Theycan’tbeexpectedtoworkandfeelthingsatthesametime.Leadwithempathy,okay?”
OneofthebestthingsaboutArdiewasthatshecouldbejustalittlebitmeanexactlywhenSloaneneededhertobe.Sloane’smostcloselyheldtenetwasthatwomencouldnotberealfriendsunlesstheywerewillingtotalkshittogether.Itwastheclosestthingsheknewtoabloodpactthatdidn’tinvolveknives.
“I,like,so,sosincerelyapologize.”Sloanerestedherpalmoverherheartandgaveherbestpoutyfrown,oratleastshehopedshedid.She’djustrecentlystartedaBotoxregimen—shewasever-so-slightlyontheothersideofforty,afterall—andshewasn’tentirelysurewhatherfacelookedlikeatanygivenmomentanymore.“Iftheyweresmart,they’dbetryingtofigureoutwhothenextCEO’sgoingtobe.”
“Iftheyweresmartthey’dbeworryingaboutthepriceoftheirstockoptions.”
“Doyouthinkthey’llbringinanoutsider?”Sloaneasked.
“Yourguessisasgoodasmine,butmybet?Bringinginsomeonenewwouldtaketoolong.Anyway,”shesighed,“Michael’sdaycarechargesadollarforeveryminuteI’mlatetopickhimup,whichmeansI’malreadygoingtoowe…”Sheglancedatherwatch.“Onegajilliondollars.”
“Ithoughtwepaidyoutobegoodatmath.”
“Oh,youdo.That’sanaccuratefigure,Iassureyou—”
Theystoppedshort.
Inthedoorway,Katherinehadhersweaterfoldedoveronearm.Sheglancedbetweenthetwoofthem.“Sloane,ifit’sallrightwithyou,IthoughtImightstepoutforthenight.”
Shemadeademuremotiontotuckalockofhairbehindherear.Odd,Sloanethought,becauseKatherine’shairwasfartooshorttobetuckedanywhere.Itwaslikereachingforaphantomlimb.
Despiteallofherrighteousindignation,SloanehadnearlyforgottenaboutKatherine.Shehadn’tknownwhattodowithheronherfirstday.KatherinewasprettyinthewaythatmeantSloanehadtoremindherselftolikeher.Theoldershegot,themoreshefoundherselfwantingtodislikeyoung,prettywomen.Itwasaterribleimpulse,butonethatSloanecurbeddiligently.
Sloanegaveanexhaustedsmile.“Oh,yes,please,gohome,reportbacktomorrowandremindmewhathomesarelike.Aretheynice?Dotheyhavebeds?Downpillows?Isthatwherepeoplekeeptheirpaj—?”Shestopped.She’dseensomething,alongshadowinthehall.ShestooduponherbarefeetandtiptoedclosertothedoorwaytopeeraroundKatherine.“Issomeonelurkingbehindyou?”sheasked.
Amespokedhisheadinandclearedhisthroat.“No,no,justme.”HewavedatArdieandnoddedtowardSloane.“IpromisedKatherineI’dtakeheroutforadrink,welcomehertotheoffice,pickherbrainaboutherexperience,thatsortofthing.”
Promised.ThewordranginSloane’sbrain.ItsoundedsopaternalcomingfromAmes.
Sloaneknewsheshouldhavebeensayingsomething.Hermindwasmovingslowly.Somuchhadhappenedtoday.Desmondhaddiedtoday.Lessthantwelvehoursearlier,infact.HisbodymighthardlybecoldandyetnowAmeswastakingthisnewwoman—Katherine—outfordrinks.Thatcouldn’tberight,couldit?Buttheywerestandingtherelookingather,waiting,andyes,shehadheardAmescorrectly.Shewassureofit.AmeswastakingKatherineoutfordrinks.Tonight.
Thememorysurfacedunbidden.
AquietwarningSloanereceivedfromhermentor,ElizabethMoretti,backatJaxonBrockwellthedayshe’dannouncedshewastakingthejobatTruviv.OverthetwoyearsshespentatJaxon,Elizabethhadpulledherasideexactlytwicewiththatlookonherface,theappraisingonewiththesubtextthatread,“Iamolderthanyou,Iamwiser,andIhaveseenthings.”Thatday,shelookedatSloaneandsaid:WatchoutforAmesGarrett,andshehadleftitatthat.
Right.Well,fatamountofgoodithaddoneher,asSloanehadconfidentlyshakenAmes’shandondayoneatTruviv,andsixmonthslater,theywerescrewing.
NowAmeswaswatchingher.Ardiewaswatchingher.AndKatherinewaslookingbackandforthbetweenallofthem,asifstilltryingtopuzzleitthrough.Sloanestaredatherdesk.Callssheneededtoreturn.Emailssheneededtowrite.Shepinchedhereyesshut,asignthatshewasabouttodosomethingcolossallystupid.
“Greatidea,”shesaid.“I’llgrabmypurse.”
AmesandKatherinestaredather.Itwasn’tasifshe’dsaidshewasgoingtojointhecircus,forfuck’ssake.
Ameslookedamused.“Ithoughtyouwereburied?”
“TheholewillstillbeherewhenIreturn.”She,too,couldenjoytemporaryamnesia.
Ames’sheadbobbedslowly.“Great,”hesaid.“We’llmeetyouattheelevator,then.”Heslappedthedoorframetwiceonhiswaypast,asheandKatherinewalkedout.
ArdiespunonSloane.“Areyousureaboutthis?”
Sloanelookedupattheceiling,palmsturnedup.“No,ofcourseI’mnotsureaboutthis,Ardie.”
“Thendoyouwanttotellmewhy—?”
“Youknowexactlywhy.”
Ardiecrossedherarmsandraisedhereyebrowexpectantly.
“Idon’tknow,”saidSloane,exasperated.Shepointedatthedoorandloweredhervoice.“IguessmaybeI’dliketopreventtheslaughterofthesacrificiallambthistime.Youmighthaveseenherscamperingabout.Five-five-ish.Pixiecut.Dollface.Happy?”Shescoopedupherpurseandslungitoverherrightshoulder.“It’sonedrink.”SheheldupafingertoArdie’sskepticalface.
“One,”Ardieconceded.“AndI’mgoingtocallkarmaandputinagoodword.”
Sloaneclosedhereyes,exhausted.Shefeltthephantomcreaseswantingtoburrowintothebridgeofhernose.Sheknewthatifsheasked,evenhinted,Ardiewouldgowithher,daycarepickuporno.Sloanewasluckythatway.
“Comingfromyou,”shesaid,“thatwouldmeanalot.”Sheclaspedherfriend’swristforasplitsecond,wantingtolinger.Theystillkeptahalf-drunkbottleofgininthefilecabinetfromthelasttimethey’dhadtosaveawomanfromAmesGarrett.Onlylasttime,thatwomanhadbeenSloane.
TruvivInstantMessenger21/04—4:31PMRecipient:SloaneGloverSender:[Blocked]Slut.Bitch.Cunt.CHAPTERFIVE
20-MAR
Howfewwordswesaidtoeachotherintheelevator.We’dstepin,smellingfreshlyofshampooandmouthwash.Thesmoothheaveagainstourfeet,pullingusupintotheair,courieringustoourfloors.Eachtimethedoorsopened,asmallportalintoanotherworldappeared.
Wegotproficientatsortingeachotherbyourrespectivefloorsbeforethebuttonwasevenpushed.Marketing?Welcometotheeighthfloorgraveyardofformercheerleadersinlimboastheydecidedwhethertoattendgradschool.Salesaccountleadontwelve?Wecouldspotherfreshmanicuretappingatherphonescreen,thedesignerpursehookedoveroneshoulderbroadcastingthatshemustbehavingareallygoodyear.WemightquietlyaskaProductDevelopmentCoordinatorwhereshegotthenewglasses.Orgivespacetothewomanintheblacksuitwhoenteredbehindusandresolutelypressedthebuttonforfifteen.
Butwhatdidwereallyknowabouteachother?Wewereseparatedbysteelandscaffolding.Ouruniversesseemeddisconnected,occasionallybumpingupagainsteachotherbecauseofproximityalone.Orsowethought.
Weneededonlytohaveknockedatthedoortooneanother’sworldstofindouthowourhistoriesknittedthemselvestogether,weavingsharedthreadsintoanooseofourownmaking.
ThiswasverynearlywhathappenedwhenRosalitaandCrystal,thenewgirl,stoodoutsideafifteenthflooroffice.Withalarm,Crystalhissed,“There’ssomeoneinthere.”Shejerkedbackfromthedoorasthoughithadburnedher.Rosalitaletoutaslowbreaththatdidnothingtoconcealherannoyance,whichwasthepoint.
Itwasnine-thirtyatnight.Together,RosalitaandCrystalhadbeenworkingthroughthedarkenedfloors,vacuumingandemptyingouttrashcans,wipingdowncountertops,andreplacingtoiletpaper.Theofficewindowswereflatblackholesstaringoutintospace.Inside,theautomatichalllightsilluminatedthesquareofofficespaceinwhichthepairofwomenworked.Aftertheymovedon,thelightswouldflickeroff.
ThelightsusedtobotherRosalita.Theymadeherfeellikeshewasinaspotlight,beingobserved.Evenworse,sometimesasetoflightswouldflickeronattheendofacorridorandshewouldfreeze,heartbeatingfast,waitingforsomeonetoappear.Whennoonedid,shestillhadtofinishherround,butneverwithoutcheckingoverhershouldereveryfewminutes.
“Moths,”hersupervisoroncetoldher.Thathadbeenyearsago,whenRosalitafirstbegancleaning,afewmonthsafterherunclehaddrivenherandhersisterinasweatyvanupfromtheValley.Atsomepoint,sheletotherworriesreplacethelights.
“It’sfine,”RosalitatoldCrystal,placingneatcheckmarksonthepaperattachedtotheclipboard,notingtheofficesthey’dcompleted.Attheshiftmeeting,she’dbeengladtobeassignedagaintoherusualfloors.Oneoftheexecutiveshaddiedandsoonthere’dbethebusinessofcleaningouthisoffice.Rosalitawantednopartofthat.
“ShouldIknock?”Crystalasked.
RosalitaswishedpastCrystal,rappedtwiceontheopendoor,and,withoutwaitingforananswer,tookefficientstepsintotheoccupiedfifteenth-flooroffice.Shesnappedupthetrashandrecyclingbins,carryingthembackintothehallway.
Thiswashowthenewgirlwouldbetaught.
Rosalitahadlearnedthatthesecrettobeinginvisiblewasn’ttotiptoearoundtheperimeters.Thatonlydrewattentionandmadeeveryoneelseuneasyintheprocess.No,thesecrettoinvisibilitywasspeedandpurpose.Thosequalitiesallowedotherstorelaxandgoabouttheirjobsasifyouweren’teventhere.
Rosalitaemptiedthebinsintotherollingdumpster.Shereplacedtheplasticliningandreenteredtheoffice.Theblondewomanlookedupfromhercomputerscreen.“How’syournightgoing?”sheaskedRosalitaamicably.
Rosalitareplacedthecansinthecornerandbrushedoffherglovedhands.
Sherecognizedthisspringy,blondewoman.SloaneGlover,thewoman’snameappearedonthesilverplateoutsideherdoor.SheremindedRosalitaofatalkshowhost,polishedandsparkly.Shewastheexactrighttypeofwhitewomantocauseaninternationalmediafirestormifsheeverwentmissing.
“Fine,miss,”Rosalitaanswered.“Andyou?”
Thewomansighedandtiltedbackinherchair.“Howdoyousay‘shitty’inSpanish?”
Rosalitasnortedaharshlaugh,thekindbornfromcommonmisery.
AbruptlySloaneliftedherhead.“Sorry.God.”Sheshookherheadandpushedherfingersintohertemples.Shedidn’tseemsospringyorsparklytoday.Hereyes,Rosalitanoticed,werered.Notwork,butashoppingwebsiteoccupiedherscreen.“I—didn’tmean.I’msuchanidiot.Thatwassucharudethingtosay.Toassume,Imean.”SloanelookedRosalitadirectlyintheeyes.“It’sbeenalongnight.Notanexcuse.”Sheheldupahandasiftostopsomeonefromstrikingher.
RosalitawaitedpatientlyuntiltheSloanewomanwasdone.Shehadalotofwordsandtheyallseemedtoneedtocomeoutatonce.“Demierda,”Rosalitasaid.
“What?”
“Shitty.Demierda.”Rosalitafrowned,considering.“Or…novalemierdaDepuramierda.Takeyourpick.”Sheshrugged.IfRosalitashouldhavebeenoffendedoverSloane’sassumption,shedidn’tknowwhy.Shehaddark,wavyhairandbronzeskin.Shespokewithathickaccent.Andbesides,she’dlivedinGuanajuatountilshewastwelve.Sure,thereweretimeswhenRosalitadidnotliketobeaskedtospeakSpanish—mostlywhentherequestcamefrommen(afetish).Butotherwise,shedidn’tgetsooffended,likesomeoftheyoungergirls.Ittooktoomuchenergy.
Sloanesmiledgratefully.“Demierda,indeed.Thanks.”Impulsively,Sloane’seyesflittedbacktoherscreenandthen,remembering,toRosalita.Hersmilefaltered.“I’msorry,”sheapologizedforthesecondtimeinfewerthanfiveminutes.
Rosalitaknewshe’dbeendismissed.Shedidn’tholditagainstSloane,wholookedasifsheshouldhavegonehomehoursago.
Returningtothehall,shetickedtheboxnexttoSloaneGlover’sofficeonherclipboard.“GogetabottledwaterforMrs.Gloverfromthefridge,”shetoldCrystal.“I’lltakecareofthenextone.”Crystalobeyed.Shewasyoungandpossiblypregnant,Rosalitaguessed,thoughshehadbeenhidingitwellbeneaththebaggy,company-issuedpolo.
Rosalitapushedthesupplycart,slowly,methodicallyoverthecarpet.Whatsheknewwiththecertaintyofsomeonewho’dseenittoomanytimesbeforewasthat,tonight,SloaneGloverwasdrunk.
ArdieValdezSo…howdiditgo?Whatdidyoulearn?What’sherstory?GraceStantonHowdidwhatgo?Whatarewetalkingabout?Who?ArdieValdezSloanehaddrinkswithAmesandKatherinelastnight.Katherineisthatwomanthatsatinonthemeetingyesterday.She’snew,apparently.Startedintheofficeyesterday.AmeshiredherwithouttalkingtoSloane.Classic.GraceStantonSorry,outoftheloop.Drinks…withAmes?Really?SloaneGloverSorry!Sorry!I’mhere.Justnowgettingtotheoffice.Anyway…Yes,drinkswithAmes.Uneventful.Wasonhisbestbehavior.Katherine.Is.Pedigree.Think:Westminsterdogshow.HarvardLaw.AssociateatFrostKlein.HailsfromBoston.(Hencetheshoes?)Notalotof“Southernwarmth”ifyouknowwhatImean.Maytakesometimetothaw.Fuckthough,I’mdrowning.ThankTinaFeyshe’ssmart.ArdieValdezHey,whatareallthesecretariesdoinggatheredaroundBeatrice’sscreen?Somethingaboutaspreadsheet.DoessomeonehaveabigExcelprojectgoingon?GraceStantonIdon’tknow,butIheardthefirst-yearstalkingaboutaspreadsheetyesterday.SomethingaboutsleazybusinessmeninDallas.Forgottotellyou.DoesanyonehaveaClifBar?I’mstarving.ArdieValdezNo,sorry.IhaveSunChipsinmydesk,though.Helpyourself.CHAPTERSIX
21-MAR
Wewerealwayslookingfortheperfectman.Eventhoseofuswhowerenotsignedupforthetraditional,heteronormativeexperiencewereneverthelessfascinatedwiththeanthropological,unicorn-likesearchforone.Marriedorsingle,wewereeithersearchingforhimortryingtomoldhimfromonewealreadyhad.Thisperfectspecimenwouldconsistofthefollowingessentialattributes:
Hesharedhisfoodandalwaysordereddessert.Whenwerecommendedabook,heboughtitwithoutneedingafriendtosecondoursuggestionfirst.Heknewhowtopackadiaperbagwithoutbeingtold.HewasaSoutherngentlemanwithamotherfromtheEastCoastwhofosteredhisquietlyprogressivesensibilities.Hesaid“Iloveyou”after2.5months.Hedidn’tgetdrunk.Heknewhowtodotaxes.Heneverquestionedourfeministidealswhenwerefusedtosquishbugsorchangeoil.Hedidn’tsitdowntoputonhisshoes.Hehadenoughmoneyforretirement.Hewishedvehementlyformale-hormonalbirthcontrol.Hehadaslightuneasewiththeconceptofwomen’sshavedvaginas,butnotenoughtotakeastanceonewayoranother.HethoughtMindyKalingwasfunny.Helikedthrowpillows.Hedidn’tcareifwemademoremoneythanhim.Helikedwomenhisownage.
Wewerereasonableandirrational,cynicalandna?ve,butalways,alwaysonthehunt.
Ofcourse,thisstoryisn’taboutperfectmen,butArdieValdezunfortunatelydidn’tknowthatyetwhen,thedayafterDesmond’suntimelydeath,Ardie’sphonelitup:anotificationfromherdatingapp.
Jesus,thethingstillstartledher.Herphonespentsomuchtimevibratingshewishedshehadsavedthemoneyonthatpost-divorcesextoyandwaitedforherphonetobuzz.
Ardielookedatherscreen:
You’reonfire.You’vegot1newmessage.
Therewasevena“fire”iconnexttothetext,asiftheappseemedpreciselydesignedtoremindArdieshewastoooldtobedating.Itwasanemojiworldnow,andArdiewasjustlivinginit.
ArdiehadstartedatTruviveighteenmonthsbeforeSloane.Sameskeptical,noteasilyimpressedArdie,butwithmuchbetterclothes.Sloanelikedtotellpeoplethatifitweren’tforSloane’srippedpencilskirtandArdie’semergencysewingkit,theymightneverhavebecomefriends.ButArdieknewthatwasn’ttrue.SloanewasactuallyverygoodatpickingfriendsandArdiediscoveredshortlythereafterthatSloanealwayskeptanemergencysewingkitinherowndeskdraweranyway.Ardiehadnevertoldherthatsheknew.
Lifewasmuchbrighterthen,she’dadmitthatmuch.Fullofpossibilitiesandsillyanecdotes.BeforeshebecamethisnewArdie,aforty-two-year-olddivorcée.
Lastyear,inthepickuplineatStarbucks,ArdiefinallyworkedupthecouragetotellSloaneshewasleavingherhusband,Tony.Anotherwomanhasbeensleepingwithmyhusband,she’dsaid,inhertypicallysardonicfashion.SoIguesshe’shersnow.
Sloanehadflownintoafuryonherbehalf.All:HowcouldTonydothis?WhataboutMichael?Whataboutthehouse?
Ardiehadjustturnedtoher,handedheravanillalatte,andsaidoneword:“Don’t.”
Thesubtextwasclear:no,notyou,don’tyoustart.
Thingsweredelicatebetweenthemforabriefwhileafterthat.
She’dknownforyearsaboutSloaneandAmes.Shewasn’tlikeSloane.Bestfriendwasaperson,notatier,forArdie.Shedidn’thaveahighschoolbestfriend,acollegebestfriend,alawschoolbestfriend,apreschoolmombestfriend,andaworkbestfriend,whichwasArdie’sassignedmonikerwhenSloanespoketoherotherbestfriends.Andsowithonesyllable—“don’t”—Ardiehadtoldheronlybestfriendthat,no,shehadtostop,no,theywouldnottalkaboutit,no,shewouldn’tbeallowedtocommiserateoverthemiserablehumanbeingArdie’shusbandturnedouttobe.
Because,astheybothknew,Sloanehadbeentheotherwomantoo.Withanotherman,sure,butwhatdidthatmatter?Thatwasacategory.Atier,infact.Andtherewasguiltbyassociation.
Itwasamazinghow,evennow,evenintheprivacyofherownhead,Ardieglossedoverherroleinthestory.Thesecretthatwasburiedsodeepthatitregisteredonlythesmallestspikeinherpulseassheskippedthroughthememory.Ablankspace.Alie.
Butwhatdiditmatternow?Theywereoverit.Ginunderthebridge,asitwere.Infact,sixweeksago,SloaneinsistedArdiesignupforMatch.comandArdie,aswastypical,indulgedher.She’devenletSloanetypeupArdie’sprofileonenightafterworkand,inthemorning,Sloanepresentedittoherasifshewereunveilinganewcarinthedriveway.“DerektoldmeIwasbeingtoopushy.”Sloanehadbeentalkingtoofast,describinghowshe’dfilledouttheprofilenexttoherhusbandinbed.“Butwhatdoesheknow?He’ssuchaman.”(Andwhatdidmenknowaboutmatchmaking,bytheway?Forus,itwasanOlympicsport,whiletheyhoardedsinglefriendsliketheywerestockpilingthemfortheapocalypse.)
Ardiedidn’thavethehearttotellSloanethatnooneusedMatch.comanymoreandshe’dbeenusingthreedatingappsregularlyatthatpoint.ButsheappreciatedSloane’sintrusionintohernew—itstillfeltnew,evenfourteenmonthsafterthedivorce—datinglifemuchmorethansheleton.Itwasgoodtogetafriend’sopinion.
Ardiemaderoomforherphoneonherdesk.Thethumbnailofthemanwhoemailedlookedpromising.Herheartcrepttowardherthroat.Shelikedthispart.Itwaslikeopeningupalittlepresent.
Hello.MynameisColby.Iamasimpleguy.Ilikefishingandonlyownjeans,butIswearIhaveajob.Isellgranite,stone,andothersortsofresidentialremodelingsupplies.ItsoundssuperboringsoyouknowthatIcan’tbemakingthatpartup.Ontheweekends,ItakemydogwalkingaroundWhiteRockLakeandI’menjoyingsomedifferentshowsonNetflix.I’vebeenmarriedonce.Nokids,unfortunately.Letmeknowifyouwouldliketomeetup.Best,ColbyP.S.:W/E,FFA
Ardiereadtheemailtwicethrough.Shewasn’tusuallydrawnto“countryguys,”butsheappreciatedColby’sstraightforwardtone.Andcouldn’tshepictureherselflearningtofish?Wouldn’tMichaellovethat?
Shedidn’tknowwhatthepost-scriptmeant.Thesedays,onlinedatingwaspracticallyitsownlanguage.Shetypedthefirstacronymintohersearchbar.W/E.
Theanswercameswiftly:well-endowed.
Ardieletherheaddroop.Soclose,Colby,soclose.Thesenseofdisappointmentwasalltooacute.MuchassheandSloanelikedtomakefunofmillennials,onlinedatingtaughtArdiethatyoungerpeoplehadanoddkindofresilience:impervioustosomethings,butcompletelyopenandvulnerabletovirtuallyeverythingelse.
Sheenteredthesecondacronymintoherbrowseranyway.FFA.
FatFemaleAdmirer.
Ardiepressedherlipstogether.Shelookeddownatthecurlofskinescapingoverthewaistofherslacksandthen,forreference,atherownprofilepicture.
Shewasn’tbotheredbytheideathatshewasfat.Shewasbotheredthatshedidn’tknowit,asifherownbodymighthavesnuckupandchangedwithouthernoticingbecauseshewas,onthewhole,alone,withnobodytotrackthosetypesofchangesasidefromher.Andwhatdidn’tseemfair,whatfelthorriblycruel,wasthatArdiehadalreadygonethrougheveryagonizingdatingritualinhertwenties,whittledherwaydownthroughthepileofmenthatcameandwent.Shehadselectedherpersonandhehadselectedherandthatwassupposedtomeanshewouldneveragainhavetoworryabouttherightnessorwrongnessofthingslikebeingfat,becauseforsomeone,forthatoneperson,theywereokay.Shewasokay.Untilshewasn’t.
Ardieclosedhereyes.Triedtoshutitout.Butthethoughtswerealreadythere,filteringinlikemistthroughawindowscreen.
Shemissedherhusband.Orshemissedbeingmarried.Shewasn’tsuresheknewthedifferenceanymore.Ardiemissedtalkingtohimwhilehetookashower.Shemissedwatchingtelevisiontogether.Shemissedregalingtheonlypersonintheworldwhocaredasmuchasshedidwithapainstakinglydetailedaccountofallthesmall,funny,andamazingthingsMichaelhaddonethatday.Shemissedwakingupinthemiddleofthenightbesidealumpinherbed.
Shejustmissed.
Theofficekitchenhadastylishfinish,recentlyremodeledwithmattegreenwallsandstonebacksplashes,sleekstainless-steelappliancesArdiewouldn’thavesplurgedforinherownhome.Asacompany,Truvivhadabitofapsychologicalcomplex.Itwas,bylocalaccounts,acoolcompany,butonethatwouldhavebeencoolerin,say,AustinorPortland.Ithadalovelybutnotostentatiousgymwithahealthyassortmentofgroupclasses.Itwasasportsapparelbrand,afterall.Itcultivatedaquietsenseofhealthandrefinementbydisallowingsmokingoutsidethebuilding(smokershadtogouptooneofthebalconies—therewasanimagetouphold)andencouragingmentowearthesignaturedry-fitdressshirtsundertheirsuits.Sporty,butdignified,inDallas,wherenoonehadevergonegagaforthefoosball-table-and-cereal-barcrazeofopen-concepttechcompanies.
Ardiechoseaceramicmugfromthecabinets.Lastyear,thecompanyhadalsoupgradedtoKeurigmachines,sosheselectedapodthatpromisedapecanaromaandclampeditin.(Oh,howwelovedfreethingslikeK-Cupsandhandsanitizersandthankedgodforpursesinwhichtostuffthem.)Athome,MichaellovedtooperatetheKeurig.Hewouldbefourinacoupleofweeksandshe’dbeen“pinning”imagesofsuperherobirthdaypartiesandwonderingifshewasthesortofmomwhomadefakecitiesoutofcardboardboxes.Herex-husband’snewwife,Braylee,wasexactlythatkindofperson.
WhatkindofanamewasBraylee,anyway?Shewasn’teventhatyoung.Thirty-nine.Asthescornedwife,Ardiefeltentitledtomockherex-husband’sdumbbunnyofanewwife.ButBrayleeworkedinprivateequityandshewasn’tyoungordumb,whichmadeitallthemoreirritating.
Brayleewouldbeatthebirthdayparty.
Ardiehadbeenmaintainingavaguesenseofhopeshe’dfindadatetoMichael’spartybeforethedayarrived.Adate!Toherson’sbirthday!
AstheKeuriggroanedtolife,ArdiesawKatherinecomingintothekitchen.Shehadimpeccableposture.Wasimpeccablepostureaprerequisitetochoosingapixiecut?Ardieusedherpoliteofficesmileandwaved.“Howareyousettlingin?”
Theblue-whitelightoftherefrigeratorilluminatedKatherine’scheeksandnose.
“Oh,um,fine.Thanks.”KatherinereachedinandselectedaCokeZero.“It’sdifferent,Iguess,”shesaid.
“I’msure.”Ardiecouldhardlythinkbacktoatimethatshehadn’tworkedatTruviv.Eveninlawschool,she’dknownshewantedtomaketheswitchfromafirmtoin-houseasquicklyaspossible.Billablehoursweren’tforher.“Changecanbegood,”shesaid.“IfonlyfortheTexMex.”
“Maybe.”
“So,doyouhaveanykids?”Ardieasked.Peoplecouldbetotalcurmudgeonsatwork,butgetthemtalkingabouttheirchildrenandthey’dbecomesuddenlyhuman.
Katherinebeganopeningdrawersinthekitchen,searchingforwhat,Ardiehadnoidea.Shepaused.“Areyouallowedtoaskmethat?”
“I…thinkso,yes.”
“Oh,thenno.Idon’t.”Katherinefoundapapernapkin,wrappeditaroundheraluminumcan,andhip-checkedthedrawerbackintoplace.“I’mnotmarried,either.”Thefaintesthintofasmile.
Ardieclearedherthroat.“Meneither,”shesaid.“SoIguessthatleavesonlyreligionandsexualorientationtocover,then?”
Katherinesquintedhereyesshutandgaveadelicatelaugh,thenpushedherthumbstoherhead.“Ow.Sorry.”Sheshookherheadasthoughembarrassed.
Thedooropenedbehindher,followedbythesoundofmen’sshoes,ahiss-swishagainsttile,punctuatedeveryfewstepsbythelighttapofaheel.
“Ladies.”AmesbreezedpastArdie,headingforthefamily-sizedjugofanimalcrackersonthefarcounter.ArdiewaspronetonoticingthemosttriviallyhumanaspectsofAmesGarrett.Likethetuftsofgrayhairsproutingonthebacksofhishands.Orthefoldoflooseskinbetweenhisjawandneck.
“How’dyoulikeSavor?Coolplace,right?”heaskedKatherine,tiltinghisheadbacktopoponeofthetiger,elephant,orlioncookiesintohisopenmouth.“Ardie,”hesaidbywayofacknowledgment.“Iactuallyknowtheowner.”Hechewed,lookingagainatKatherine.
“Yes,thanksforarrangingit,”Katherinereplied.“Itwasniceofyoutotakethetime.”
ThenoiseofAmeschewingwastooloudbetweenthethreeofthem.
“Idon’tknowanyofthecoolplacesyet,”shefinishedwithadeferentialnod.Sloanewasright,ofcourse.Katherinewasn’tnaturallywarmorbubbly.Sheseemedlikeawomantryingtobetakenseriously.Thiswasaproblemdistincttopretty,youngwomen,Ardiehadfound,thiscarvingoutofaplaceoutsideoftheirgoodlooks,whilestillwantingtotakeadvantageofthem.
“Stickwithme,kid.”AstarburstofwrinklesspreadcongeniallyfromthecornersofAmes’seyes.“Feelfreetostopbymyofficethisafternoon.Wecandiscussnextsteps.Wecaneventalkaboutthatacquisitionteamyouwantedtojoin,howaboutthat?”Then—“Yourcoffee’sfinished,”hesaidtoArdie,grabbingaCokefromthefridge.Hehiss-swishedagainpasther,pausingforafractionofasecond.“Onlybelievethenicethingsthisonetellsyouaboutme,Katherine.”Andhislaugh,itlingeredforasplitsecondafterthedoorclosedbehindhim.
Ardieglancedbackatthecoffeemaker,usingherconsiderableexpertiseintheartoflookingunfazed.AmesleftinvisiblepricksonthesurfaceofArdie’sskinandavacuumofsilenceinhiswake.“Well,”shesaid,makingtheconsciousefforttofillitandregainthesenseofequilibrium.“Ifyouneedanything,don’thesitate.”
Ardieturnedtoleave,trailingaribbonofsteamfromhercoffeecupbehindher.Asshewasreachingthedoor,Katherinestoppedher.
“Actually,Advil?”Katherineasked.“Sorry,IthinkIhaveabitofamigrainecomingon.Igetthemoccasionally.Doyou…happentoknowifthereareanypainkillersaroundhere?”
Ardiesoftened.Sheusedtogetmigrainesasateenager.Nightmarishexperiences.Shecouldhardlyfunction.Thoughwasitpossible,nowthatshethoughtaboutit,thattherewasmorethantheonedrinklastnight?Sloanehadn’ttextedherwhenshegotbacktotheofficeandArdiehadfallenasleepbeforesherememberedtocheck.
Sloanehadpromiseditwouldbeonlyone.
ShestudiedKatherine.
“Thecabinetonthetopleft.”ShepointedandKatherinepressedherfingerstoherforeheadandtookadeep,relievedbreath.
Ardiewatchedherforamoment,apainedexpressionasshetwistedthechildprooftopoffabottleofAdvil.“Katherine,”shesaid,havingthesudden,pressingurgetolayclaimtoherbeforeAmesdid.“I’mhavingabirthdaypartyformyfour-year-oldnextweekend.SloaneandGracewillbethere.Doyouwanttocome?”
DepositionTranscript
26-APR
Ms.Sharpe:
Pleasestateyourname.
Respondent2:
AdrianaValdez.
Ms.Sharpe:
Andhowlonghaveyoubeenwiththecompany,Ms.Valdez?
Respondent2:
I’veworkedatTruvivalittlelessthantwelveyears.
Ms.Sharpe:
Impressive.HowlongdidyouknowKatherineBellbeforetheincident?
Respondent2:
Aboutamonth,Ithink.
Ms.Sharpe:
WhatwasyourimpressionofMissBellatthetimeyoumet?
Respondent2:
Shewaspleasantenough.Sheseemedbright,young,driven.Shewasn’tthesuperwarmandbubblytype,butneitheramI.IthoughtIunderstoodher.
Ms.Sharpe:
Wouldyousaythatoverthatmonth,youbecamefriendswithMissBell?
Respondent2:
I’mnotsurewhetherIwouldsaythatornot.
Ms.Sharpe:
Canyouelaborate?
Respondent2:
Ibelievedthatwedevelopedafriendshipatthetime.However,certainthingshavecometolightsince.
Ms.Sharpe:
Canyoubemorespecific?
Respondent2:
Okay.Katherinelied.
CHAPTERSEVEN
21-MAR
ItwaslunchtimeandSloanewasveryclosetorunninglatetoherpersonaltrainingsessionwithOksanadownstairs.Sheswungbyherofficetopickuphergymbagandcollectthefilesshe’dbeenintendingtogivetoKatherineallmorning.Atdrinks,Katherinehadseemedeager,asthoughshecouldthinkofalmostnothingbutwork.Shewantedtoparsethenitty-grittydetailsofdealsonwhichSloanehadworked,howSloanehadstartedhercareer,thelayoutofthecorporatelegalstructure.KatherineaskedthesameofAmesandhebaskedinthechancetotellwarstoriesoflongshottransactionsthatclosedatthebottomoftheninthinning
Iwanttobelikeyou.HadKatherinereallysaidthat,asSloanesnatchedacoupleofmintsfromthehostessstandontheirwayout?They’dhadtwo,maybethreedrinks.Whyhadsheagreedtohavesomany?Ameshadthateffectonher.AndthenKatherine’sfacehadbeenclosetohers,expectant.Sloanemighthavemisheard;shedidn’twanttoaskhertorepeatthecompliment.And,well…
Katherine’sofficewasemptynowandSloane’sbrainfelttender.
ShestoppedattheglassfrontwallofGrace’soffice.Theglass,fromwhichthecorner-officetypeswereconvenientlyexempt,wasdesignedtomakethebuildingfeelmoreopen-concept,butwasactuallyintendedtoreducetheirprivacy.Grace’sdoorsatonlyafewpacesdownfromKatherine’s.
Sloanetappedonit.“HaveyouseenKatherine?”sheasked.
Gracelookedup.“Oh.”
Grace’sskinlookedalittlegrayeversinceshe’dreturnedfrommaternityleave,likeshe’dbeenillorlivinginanundergroundbunker.NotthatSloanewouldevermentionit.She’doncehadtoexplaintoDerekthattellingawomanshelooked“tired”wasthesamethingastellinghershelookedawful.Justdon’t.
“She’sinwithAmes.”Gracewentbacktotyping.“How’sAbigaildoing?”
SloanestareddownthecorridoratAmes’scloseddoor,Katherinebehindit.
Doingwhat?Sheshookherhead,frustrated.Itwasnothing.Ameswastheirboss.Their.Allofthelawyersinthelegaldepartment.But,then,SloaneknewwhatcouldhappenwithAmesbehindcloseddoors.
SheduckedbackintoGrace’soffice.“Sorry,what’dyousay?”Sloaneturnedback.
“IaskedhowAbigailwasdoing.”
SloanehadbeenateensybitcageyaboutAbigailrecently.Well,Grace,Sloaneimaginedsaying,sherolledhereyesatmeforthefirsttimethismorning.Overabowlofoatmeal,noless.Atme,ifyoucanbelieveit.Hersupercool,superfunmother.AndGracewouldlaughgood-naturedlyandsay,Oh,god,theygrowupfast,don’tthey?Onlythatwasn’tit,becauseAbigaildidnotgrowupfast.Shegrewupslowly.Painfullysoattimes,ithadseemed.Shedidn’twalkuntilshewaseighteenmonths.Atten,shestillenjoyedwatchingtheDisneyChannelandweavingcolorfulpotholdersonaloom.Shetendedtobedreamyandlikedtofoldherselfclosetothegroundtopushpillbugsaroundwithsticks.AndSloanewasjustsupposedtobelievethatthisnew,sulkyAbigailchosetoemergedirectlyaftertheschoolIncidents,thosenasty,uglytextmessages,by—what?—coincidence?
Shewasoverreacting,thatwaswhatpeoplewantedtosaytoherface.Maybeshewas.Thatwastheproblemwithbeingaparent,wasn’tit?Alltheschoolsofthoughtfloatingaround—Stopbullying!Prepareyourchildforthebullies!Highfructosecornsyrupwillliterallykillyourinnocentchildrenintheirsleep!—andapparentlyyouwerejustexpectedtopluckonefromtheskyandgowithit
ShemighthavetoldallthistoGrace,butstoppedshort.GraceStantonhadneverbeenpickedon.She’dbeenaliteralpageantqueenbackinmiddleschool.AndthoughGracewaskind,tellingGrace,ofallpeople,aboutAbigailfeltlikeabetrayalofherdaughter.Shecouldn’tbearthethoughtthat,evenforthemostfleetingofmoments,evenjustinherownmind,GracemightthinkalittlelessofAbigail.
“She’sdoinggreat.She’splayingBach’sMarchinDMajorforherpianorecitalnextweek.”OrmaybeitwasBeethoven’sinGMajor.“Anyway,I’vegotanappointment.”Sheturnedtogoandhesitated.“Ohyeah,didyouevergetthatspreadsheet?”
Gracepressedherknuckleintothecornerofhereyeandblinked.“Nothing’sshownupinmyinbox.”Sheyawned.“ButIforgottoaskaround.”
“Mine,either.”
“Maybewe’renotcoolenough.Maybewe’retooold.”
“Biteyourtongue,”Sloanesaid.“TellKatherineIwaslookingforher,allright?Papersonherdesk.Pleasereviewwithcomments.”
Gracepressedherlipsintoathinlineandsaluted,butevenherarmatattentionlookedwilted.SloanesetamentalremindertocheckinonGrace,justasafriend.SloanewasEmmaKate’sgodmother,afterall.SheshouldtellGraceshewasdyingtosmellEmmaKate’sbreathagain.Beforethebabygottoooldandsproutedteeth.Orrolledhereyes.
ButSloaneknewshewasterribleatkeepingupwithmentalreminders.Herlifewasemptywaterbottlesrollingaroundonthefloorboardsofherexpensivecar.Unopenedmailonkitchencountertops.Thankyoucardswrittenbutneversent.Inthebackofhermind,shewasalreadymovingon,addingthismentalremindertothedetritusofunfinishedtaskstoberecycledintobackgroundstress,whereitwouldserveasfuelforherspottyandunexplainedboutsofinsomnia,chinacne,andstomachbloating.
Truviv’scorporategym,ayawningspaceofindoortrack,state-of-the-artmachinery,andbrightly-coloredmats,waslocatedonthebuilding’seighthfloor,whereitcouldmockusaswepasseditontheelevator.Wehatedthegym.Welovedit.Weescapedtoit.Weavoidedit.Wehadcomplicatedrelationshipswithourbodies,whileatthesametimeinsistingthatwelovedthemunconditionally.Weweresurewehadbetter,moreimportantthingstodothanworryaboutthem,buttheslenderyogabodiesofmomsinLululemonatschoolpickuptauntedus.Theirfigureshintedatwheatgrassshots,tennisclubs,andvaginasteamingtreatments.Wefoundthemaspirational.
Sowesweatedontheellipticalandliftedten-poundweights,inchingclosertothebodieswetoldourselvesweweretooevolvedtowant.Weknewthemenwatchedusinouryogapants,knewtheybelievedthiswaswhyweworeyogapantsinthefirstplace.Wepretendednottonoticethefeelingofeyesslidingoverus.Ifweheard“Ilikeyourform”fromonemoremaleco-workerwhofiddledwithhisplaylistsfortenminutesinbetweensets,well,wemightbashhisbraininwithadumbbell.
Sloaneswipedherfobonthekeypadandthedoortothelockerroomclickedopen.AnendlessloopofKeepingUpwiththeKardashiansrerunsplayedontheflat-screentelevisionabovethesinks.
Sloaneslippedoutofherblack,lace-trimmedskirtandhungitinsideatoplocker.Derekhadcomplimentedheronitthismorning,runninghishandsoverherhipswhileshebrushedherteeth.Thenthey’dhadnice,marriedpeoplesex—quick,satisfying,andtothepoint—becausetheywereeachhalf-listeningforAbigail.SloanehadanorgasmanddroppedAbigailoffforbandpracticeallbefore8A.M.
“Sloane!”
Sheturnedatthesoundofhername.
Thewomaninthetowelandflip-flopswalkingtowardherwasAmes’swife,BobbiGarrett.BobbihadathroatyvoiceandtheauthenticSoutherndrawlofsomeonefromOklahomainsteadofTexas.Shewasastay-at-homemomoftwins,twoboys,whofilledhertimewithdo-goodertaskswheresheraisedindisputablylargesumsofcashforworthycausesandmadepeoplelikeSloanefeelterribleforsnarkingontheannoyingspectacleofcharitablesocialevents.BobbiGarrettwasaperfectlypleasantpersontobearoundforanyonebutSloaneGlover.
“IjustcametomeetAmesforlunchandheletmesneakaquickworkout.”Herskinhadthered,blotchyqualityofsomeonewhohastakenacoolshowerafterahardworkout.“Howareyou,doll?”Bobbigentlypushedherarm.
“Oh,youknow,hanginginthere.”Sloanesoundedlikearobot.Adullrobot.Butshedidn’tknowhowelsetospeaktoBobbi;everytimeSloanesawBobbi,shewastransportedbackintimetoanimageofashirtlessAmes,hoveringoverher,hishipspressedintohers.Andshewasfilledwithinstantshamefollowedbysomethingsubtler.ShefelttheliesstackedbetweenherandBobbiwrestlingtogetout.
“Ismyhusbandworkingyoutoohard?”BobbiwaswatchingSloanewithconcernedeyes.“Iswear,Iwillgetonthatman.Youhaveahusbandandkids,and,lord,well,youknowhowmencanbe.Theyhavetobereminded.”
Therewereotherwomeninthelockerroom.Womenpaddingbarefootaroundthem,weighingthemselves,pokingearringsbackthroughtheirlobes.ButBobbididn’tintuittheunspokenprotocolofsharedworkspaces.SloanegaveasilentthankyoutothosedamnKardashiansbabblinginthebackground.
“No,no,justacrazytime,”saidSloane,pullingonherTruviv-brandedrunningshorts.“NofaultofAmes,Ipromise.”
ItwasneverthefaultofAmes.Iftherewereeveranissueatwork,Sloanewas,accordingtohim,“irrational,”“hypersensitive,”“ridiculous,”andeven,once,“hormonal.”Funnyhowthosewordshadnevercomeupbeforeshe’dsleptwithhim.
Bobbi’shandflewtohermouth.Thefingernailswereperfectlymanicuredincherryred.“Desmond,”shesaid,takingholdofSloane’sforearm.Bobbiclosedhereyesandshookherheadwithutterdismay.“Ican’tbelievehe’sgone.Areyoudoingokay?”
“Yes,Ireallyam.”
“Good.MyBiblestudymetlastnight,purelybycoincidence,andweprayedoverthatman’ssweetfamily.”
SloanewastryingtoholdontothememoryofDerekthismorning.Thesmellofhissandalwoodshavingcreamlingeringonhisface.ShewishedthatGracewerehere.Gracewassomuchbetteratthis.Sheactuallywenttochurch,forone,whileSloaneenjoyedherfamily’sSundayritualofbacon,eggs,andlounginginfrontofthetelevision.Buteverysooften,Sloanewasconfrontedwiththeparticularvocabularyoftheupper-middle-classChristianwomenintown.Peoplewerealwaysbeing“called”orhavingthings“laidupontheirheart”orwere“prayingover”onethingoranother.Sloanelearnedyearsagotointegrateworkvocabularyintoherownvernacular:shewould“liaisedirectly”withsomeoneor“reachout”or“providecolor”or“digest”areport.Easy.Butshe’dnevergrownfluentinBobbi’slanguage.Nowshefeltputatasmalldisadvantage.
“Iwantedtoask,”Bobbicontinued.“Haveyouheardanythingaboutamealtrain?”
“Ihaven’theardanything.But…”Sloanesaid,uncertainly,“I’msureDesmond’sfamilywouldappreciateit.”
Bobbiheldupherhand.“Consideritdone.Listen.”ShepulledSloaneofftoalesspopulatedareaofthelockerroom,whereclean,foldedtowelswerestuffedintocubbyholes.BobbipressedherfaceinclosertoSloane,asthoughtheywereusedtosharingsecrets.“I’msureAmeshasalreadytoldyou,probablyevenbeforeme.Iknowhowcloselyyoutwoworktogether.”SheimaginedrelayingthistoArdielateron,howArdiewouldhootwithdarkappreciation.“ButAmesisontheshortlist,apparently,forpotentialreplacementsforDesmond.Hewasnotifiedbytheboardlatelastnight.IjustknowAmeswouldmakeawonderfulCEO.”
Ames.CEO.Sloanefelthermindwadingthroughquicksand;shefocusedallherenergyonkeepingherfacestill,atalentshe’dhonedatimeortwowhen,forexample,themanwhosewifeshewasspeakingtohadonceremindedhershewasstillabetterlaythanshewasalawyer,thisdespitethefactthatshehad,atthetime,closedatwenty-million-dollardealalmostsinglehandedlyonaone-monthdeadline.Forhereffortsthatyear,shehadreceivedonlyafrozenhamandacrystalcoasterwiththecompanylogoemblazonedonit.Later,shelearnedthatAmeshad“forgotten”tosubmittheletterapprovingheryear-enddiscretionaryincome.Whenconfronted,heremindedherthatshehad—hiswords—usedhimtosleepherwayintoahigh-payingpositionandconsideredthebonussnafuakarmicefforttoeventhescore.
Ifonlythathadbeentheendofit.
“Honestly,”Bobbiwassaying,“itfeelslikeeverythinghasbeenleadinguptothisforus.Butifthere’sanythingyouthinkwe,orhe,shouldbedoingtobetterhisodds?Iknowhe’dappreciateyourcounsel,evenifhe’stooproudtoaskforit.He’sjustunderalotofpressure.”
“Right,well.”Sloaneleanedbackonherheels,tryingtocreatephysicaldistance.Shefelthot.“It’sabitabovemypaygrade,”shesaid.
Bobbi’sexpressionfrozeeversoslightly.
“Butyes,”Sloaneaddedinarush,“ofcourse,I’llbesuretoreachout.”Shesawtheneedforanexitplanandshetookit.“Bobbi,Ihaveto—Ihavetogetbacktotheofficesoon,soIbettergettoit.”
Bobbismiledherbig,chemicallywhitenedsmile.“Ofcourse,ofcourse.Youlookfantastic,bytheway,”shesaid,whichwasablatantlie.Sloanedidnotlookfantastic,orevengood.AlieforBobbi,Sloanethought.Anotherthousandandmaybetheycouldeventhescore.
Sloanesnatchedhergymbagandshutherselfinoneoftheprivacychangingrooms,heatcrawlinguphernecklikeafever.Shesankdown,backtothewall,crouched,breathingheavily.Ames,asthefreakingCEOofTruviv—whyhadn’tsheseenitcoming?Shebitherteethintoherknuckles.Itshouldn’tmattertoher,shouldit?Shetoldherselfitshouldn’tmatter.Butitfeltsounfair.Shesoundedlikeapreschooler:butthat’snotfair!But…itwasn’t.Badbehaviorrewardedandwhatnot.Ofcourse,whosefaultwasthat?Hers,wasit?CertainlyshehadneverbeenanythingbutasilentwitnessonAmes’sbehalf.Certainlyshehadmadeadecisiontolethimgetawaywithactinghoweverthehellhewantedtoact.Though,itoccurredtoher,shemightnotbetheonlyone.Shewasn’ttheonlyone.Surely.Definitely.ShehadbeenabouttocallDerekwhen—betteridea—shedialedElizabethMoretti’snumber.Elizabethansweredonthefirstring.“Whatdoyouhaveforme,Glover?”
BackatJaxonBrockwell,Elizabethhadapieceoftheentirefirm’sgossipandSloanelearnedquicklytotemperwhatshetoldElizabeth,whowasn’tnearlyasdiscreetasshepretendedtobe.
Sloaneclosedhereyesandtookadeepbreathbeforeanswering.“Nothingbillable,I’mafraid.”Shestoodup,turnedherbacktothelockeddoorbehindher,andhunchedhershouldersprotectivelyaroundherphone.“Elizabeth,”shesaid,voicelow.“Whatdoyouknowaboutaspreadsheet?”
“IknownothingaboutspreadsheetsotherthanIwenttolawschoolspecificallytoavoidthem.”SloanecouldhearElizabethtypingontheotherendoftheline.
“Somethingaboutaspreadsheetofmen—sleazymenmaybe—inDallas.Doesthat…”Sloane’sphonevibratedandshelifteditfromhereartofindanotificationthatherbatterywasabouttodie.Shit.
“Oh.Yes.TheBADMenList.”
“Badmen?”
“BewareofAssholeDallasMen.BADMen!Imayhaveseenitfloatingaround.”
“Where’dyougetitfrom?”Sloanetappedthescreentosilencethemessagethatfeltlikeanadmonishment:getyourlifetogether!
“YouknowIneverdisclosemysources.”Sloanedidnotactuallyknowthatatall.
Shesqueezedoneeyeshut,chewingonanail,whichwasgettingjaggedbetweenherteeth.Shejustwantedtoseeit,shetoldherself.Aquickcheck.Thenshe’dknow.
SheheardElizabethstoptochewsomethingontheotherendofthelineandimaginedherformermentor’shorseteethgrindingthroughherhandfulofafternoonpretzels.“Sloane,doyouwantmetogetitforyou?Thislist?”
“Onlyifit’snottoomuchtrouble.”
“Consideritdone.Butdon’ttellanyoneyougotitfromme.”Theywerebothquiet.ThenElizabethstartedtypingagain.“Hey,”sheasked,“isittrueBankolediedinhisshower?”
AsSloaneleftthelockerroomtomeethertrainer,Amesstoodattheentranceofthegym,leaningagainstthewall,withhisarmsfoldedoverhistie,waitingforhiswife.Theireyesmet.Heflattenedhislipstogetherintowhatcouldpassasasmileofacknowledgementwithoutactuallybeingone.Andagain,likeyesterday,Sloanefelttheoldfurystirringatthesightofhim,likeasodabottleshakenup,thecapstillsecured.
ThethingthathaddoneitwereboxseatsataMavericksgame.Ameshadscoredthemfromhisbossbecause,backthen,hewasn’tquitethebosshewasnow.Theybothhatedthecrabcakesandcanapésservedupstairsandhadwandereddowntothebreezewayamidaheateddebateovertheappropriatehotdogcondiments.Sloaneshouldhaveknownshewasintroublerightatthatmoment.Notwopeopleoftheoppositesexargueoversubjectsasmundaneascondimentsunlesstheywanttosleeptogether.
Downstairswiththemasses,theypurchasedrealbasketballgamefareandfeltprouderofthemselvesthantheyshouldhave.Amesusedtobefunny.Thatwassomethingpeopleforgot.Hehadbeenhandsome,too.ThekindthatcouldmakeSloane’sstomachflip.Theyhadreturnedtotheboxseats,Amesclutchingtheneckofachampagnebottlethey’dtalkedthebartenderintosellingthem.Sloane’ssideshadachedwithlaughter.Sheworeashinynewengagementring,giventoherbyamanwholovedher,trustedher,andwouldneedherfinanciallyfromnowuntileternity.Shefeltpowerful.Shefeltlikeshewantedtoblowshitup.
Shewasanidiot,ofcourse.Shehadn’tbeenthefirst,shewouldlearn.Womenwhosenamesshecouldn’tevenrememberifshetried.She’djustbeensmartenoughtokeephermouthshut.Mostly,anyway.Thedamagehadbeenmaintained.Sloaneplayedbytherulesofthegame.Andsoshegottostay.Shegottokeepherseatatthetable.
Butnow,itwaslikeherbodywasrehashingadecade’sworthofexperienceswithAmes,rightuptothecloseddoorshe’dwitnessedthisafternoon,withKatherinesomewherebehindit.Katherinewhowantedtobejustlikeher.Upuntilthispoint,whenAmeshadsteppedoutofline,Sloanecouldbringhimbacktoheelwiththesubtlesuggestionthatshecould,ifsheweresoinclined,speaktoDesmond.Shewouldn’t,but…shecould.NowDesmondnolongerexisted.Andnothingfeltfair.AndyetSloanefeltshe’dactuallyearned,andthereforedeserved,thiseventuality:Amesrisingtherankshigherand,now,highest,whileshewatchedon.Sayingnothing.
Overthenextforty-fiveminutes,Sloanechanneleditallintosumosquats,deadlifts,burpees,andwalkinglungesuntilhertimehadrunoutandhertrainer,Oksana,wascongratulatingherononeofherbestworkoutstodate.
Sloanedidfeelbetter.Emptier.Cleaner,even.Thiswasthethingwealllovedaboutexercising,thewayitcouldpusheverythingelseoutexceptfortheonepressing,presentmatter—thehurt.
ItwasonlyafterSloanechuggedabottleofwater,cooledherselfdownundertheshower,andhadgottendressedagainthatshepulledherphoneoutofherbagandcheckedforemails.Thereitwas,atthetopofherinbox,inboldtype,anemailfromElizabethMoretti.Emailchain,blindcopy.
B.A.D.MEN:BEWAREOFASSHOLES.ASSHOLES,BEWARE
TruvivEmployeeStatements
13-APR
LucyDavies:
Ofcourseitstartedwiththespreadsheet.Thatthingwasadisasterfromdayone.Honestly,Itoldanyonewhowouldlisten.Isaidthatitwasaterribleidea.Idid!Vigilantejustice,andallthat.Butdidanyonelistentome?No.Andnowlook!
KeithTran:
Idon’tknow.Maybe.Ifitwasthespreadsheet,thenIguessthetakeawayisthatwhathappenedcouldhavehappenedtoanyoneofus.That’swhatscaresme.
AngieMann:
Yes,wewereawareofthespreadsheetthathadbeencirculatingandwetooktheallegationsregardingthosenamedseriously.However,I’lladdthatwetooktherightsofouremployeeswhosenamesappearedonthelistequallyseriously.Therearetwosidestoeverycoin.
SophiaVentura:
Yeah,wewereallgoingalittlecrazy.Whowouldn’tbe?Itwaslike,okay,here’sthisguy’snameonthelistandhedidGodknowswhatand,ohwait,nowIhavetogointohisofficealonemindyouandaskhimifhe’dlikehispagescollated?But,also,Imean,thinkofitthisway:itwasn’tlikethiswasgoingoninjustouroffice.Men’snameswerepoppingupfromalloverthecity,butIbetyou’renotgoingaroundaskingquestionsatallthoseoffices,amIright?
AlexandraSouls:
IthinkeveryoneneedstostarttakingresponsibilityfortheiractionsandstopblaminganExcelfileforthisentirefiasco.Imean,we’reallsupposedlyadultshere.
CHAPTEREIGHT
23-MAR
Thereweremenintheoffice.Theyworkedatdesksalongsideus.Theypopulatedthehumanresourcesdepartment,accounting,compliance,andinformationtechnology,theyworkedaboveusandbelowus.Buttherewasaninvisibleseparationbetweenthemenandus.Sowefoundeachother.Iftheworkplacewasthetraditionalpurviewoftheoldboys’club,werespondedbyformingasecretsorority.Werecognizedthesecrethandshake.Wesaweachotherassistersinarms.
Ofcourse,let’snotforgetthegoodmen:theoneswholaughedatourjokesandaskedourdraftingadvice,whodidn’tthinkofmotherhoodasahandicap,whohadwivesthatworkedhour-intensivejobs,whohandledtheirhalfofthehousework,whowerehappilymarriedorgay.Theydidn’topenmeetingsbycomplainingaboutfemale-castmovierebootsoraskustotakejust-one-callduringourmaternityleaves.Buteventhegoodones—especiallythegoodones?—pretendednottonoticethelines:howmuchmoredeferencetheyearnedonthephoneforhavingamalevoice.Orhowtheirheightandstatureandmorningstubblegaveanauthoritativeweighttotheirideasthatoursneverhad.Ifbroughttotheirattention,thegoodoneswouldwaveoffsuchobservationswithhumbleembarrassmentandtellushowmuchsmarterandbetterwewerethanthem.Theywereourcolleaguesandsomewereevenourfriends.
Buttheselinesdidexist.Andnotonlyinourheads.Nomatterhowexpertlywepretendedtobecoolwithdirtyjokes,howconvincinglyweprovedtobecomfortablewithconfrontationwithoutbeingconfrontational,nomatterhowadeptourimpersonationsofourmalecolleagues,therewasoftensomethinginourperformanceofcompetencyandbelongingthatthemeninourofficesdidn’tquitebuyinto.Theythoughttheycouldseerightthroughus.Theythoughttheyknewus.Theythoughttheycouldpredictus.EspeciallysomeonelikeGrace,whoseheartsooftenseemedwrittenclearlyacrossherface.
Gracecouldn’trememberthelasttimeshe’dtoldalie.Areal,bonafidelie.Untilnow.
“I’mworkinglate,Liam,anall-nighter,I’msorry.There’sbreastmilkinthefridge,”Gracehadsaid.Ofcourse,herhusbandhadbeenproperlyincensedonherbehalf.Howcouldtheyexpectthisofher?Itwascompletelyunreasonable.Hadn’tsheexplainedtothemthatshewasanewmother?
PeoplewerealwaysremindingGracethatshewasanewmother.
Threeweeksago,whensheconfessedtoLiamthat,actually,no,shedidnotthinkshecouldgetupanymoretofeedEmmaKate,thatshewouldratherlistentothebabycry,he’dsqueezedhershoulderandsaid,“You’retired.It’sokaytofeelthisway.”Andshehadthought,alongwiththerestofus:howconvenienttoalwayshaveamannearbytoexplainourpeskyemotions!Hekissedhertemple,andtoldhershewasanamazingmommy.
ThensheandLiamtookEmmaKatetoherfour-monthcheckup—weekslate—andDr.TanakahadhandedLiamaglossy,routinepamphletlistingthewarningsignsforpostpartumdepression:Prolongedsadness,helplessness,unexplainedepisodesofcrying.Anincreaseordecreaseinappetite.Inabilitytosleepwhentired.Concernsthatthemotherwillharmthebaby,herself,orothers.Itwasallquiteinteresting,Gracethought.Veryinformative.But…notGrace.“You’remakingmotherhoodlookeasy.Yourdaughterisrightontrack,”thedoctorhadsaid.Sothatwasit.Everythingwasasitshouldbebecauseifitweren’t,surelyDr.Tanakawouldhavenoticed.HewasthebestpediatricianinDallas.She’dmadesureofit.
Theideacametoheraweekearlier,whenLiamhadcasuallyinquiredastowhenthey’dstartthinkingabouthavinganotherbaby.Gracewasnospringchicken,he’dsaid,thoughhe’dusednicerwordsbecause,ofcourse,Liamwasagoodperson.Throughoutherentirepregnancy,he’dbeenfastidiousinassuringherhowbeautifulshewas.He’dbeentheexpectantfatherwhowentoutatteno’clockandcamebackwithmilkshakeslikehewasearningameritbadgeforhisefforts.ThoselatenightfoodrunsmeantLiam’sownguthadgrownduringthenearlytenmonthsshe’dcarriedEmmaKate,andforaCrossFitdevoteelikeLiam,itwas,Gracethought,thenicestthinghe’deverdoneforher.
Butthetalkofasecondbabyalarmedher.Theyhadn’tevenhadsexsinceEmmaKate’sbirth.Thedoctorclearedherfor“sexualactivity”severalweeksago,butshehadn’ttoldLiamyet.Maybeshewasmoreofaliarthanshethought.
Gracerealizedtheresimplywasn’taclinicaldiagnosisforselfishness.Andsincethatwasapparentlyheraffliction,shedecidedtofuckingtreatitherself.
Thehotelroomcostawhoppingsixhundredandfiftydollarsforthenight.Afewdaysago,she’dsnatchedoneofthecreditcardoffersfromthemailbox,onemarked“Pre-Approved”inobnoxiousletters.Shefilleditoutduringoneofherpumpingbreaksattheoffice,thenslidthecardintoherwallet.Atthatmomentofcrucialbetrayal,herbabyhadwokenupsixtimesthepreviousnight,seventheonebeforethat.ShereadinaPostarticlethatitwassleepdeprivationnotwaterboardingthatultimatelygotAlQaedamemberstotalk.Thepromiseofanap.Sheunderstood.Shegaveup.Herbabyhadbrokenher.
Herbrainhadfeltlikecottonandachedbetweenhertemples.SoexhaustedwasshethatGracehadbeenqueasy,thecontentsofherhalf-eatenbreakfastswimminginthepitofherstomach.Coffeeonlysparkedanuncomfortablebuzzcoursingbeneaththethick,milkycoatoffatigue.Shenowcravedsleepmorethansheeverhadcupcakes.
Itwasagorgeoushotel,withaninfinitypool,acelebrity-chefrestaurant,andfreechampagneinthelobby.Shehadn’tseenapointindoingithalfway.IfGraceStantonweregoingtohell,itwouldn’tbeoveranightataHolidayInn.
Lastnight,Gracepaddedaroundinthedownyhotelslippersandthought:sothisishowpeoplebeginaffairs.Atfirstshe’dpromisedherselfitwouldbeaone-nightstand.Butbythetimeshe’dopenedabottleofchardonnay(shedidn’tskimphereeither,leapingstraightforthe$75sectionoftheroomservicemenu),shefullyintendedtocontinuethissordidtrystwithherself.
Iwillleavemyhusbandforyou,she’dtoldthearomatherapytreatedbathtub.We’llrunawaytogether.We’resoulmatesThere’sjustthisoneissueofmybreastskeepingmychildalive,but,justgivemeacouplemonthstosortthingsout.You’llsee.Ipromise.Iloveyou.
Thismorning,shewokeupasthesuncurledaroundtheedgesoftheblackoutcurtains.Shepulledthesheetsuptohernose.Theywerestore-boughtwhiteandsmelledlikeexpensiveFrenchparfum.AshiverofsatisfactioncurledhertoesasshethoughtofhowmuchLiammusthavemissedherwhenhewaschangingdiapersandfeedingbottlesattwo,thenthree-thirty,thenfiveA.M.
Atlast,shesatupandorderedroomservice—acroissantwithbutterandapricotjellyandacappuccino.Herbreastsached.Smallknotshadformedinthetissue.Shepressedonthemgentlyandwinced.
Shewouldbelatetowork,verylate.Burnitalltotheground,she’dthoughtlastnightwhenshehadn’tsetanalarm.Butasshegotoutofbed,shewasfeelinglessrebellious.Andasshegotdressed,acleanblacksheathandpearls,shefeltfreshdarknessspreadinginsideherstomach,likeoil.
GracetriedtopictureEmmaKate.
Herchild’seyeswerestillstrangetoher.Twomarblesencasedinawrinklyalienhead.Constantlystaring,constantlyexpectingthelovetowhichsheoughttobeentitled.Areasonableexpectation,Graceconceded,forachildwhohadbeenbornintoastablefamilywithahealthymotherinhermid-thirties.Itwasn’tasthoughEmmaKatehadbeenasurprise.Gracekepthercalendarmeticulously.Evenhavingagirlwaspreordained.Liamhadlaughed,butGracelearnedallthetricks:shecommittedtoanungodlyamountofCrystalLightandyogurtduringthosefertiledays.AndSloane,whoofcoursehadAbigail,advisedhertoorgasmafterLiam,whichhadtakensomedoing.Afteroneultrasound,whenthedoctordeliveredanenvelopetoGrace,shealreadyknewit’dbeagirl.Liamhaddreamedofalittlegirl,too,andhehadactuallytearedupwhenshetoldhimthenews.AndwhenGracehadslidtheultrasoundenvelopeoverSloane’sdeskforherandArdietosee,theyhadliterallyshrieked.Well,Sloanehad,anyway.Andtherewereimmediateplanstoraisegirlstogether,useAbigailasababysitter,andforMichaelandEmmaKatetogetmarriedsomeday.Ithadallbeenperfectlylovely.Exactlyasshe’dalwaysplanned.
Allthisandstill,sometimesshewantedtostarebackatEmmaKateandcautionher:don’tgetcarriedaway.Againstallindications,EmmaKatehadmostsurelynotwontheparentallottery.
Ifitwasanyconsolation,nothinghadexactlybeenasadvertisedtoGrace,either.Incollege,she’dbeentreasurerofhercampus’sTriDeltchapterand,eversince,she’dmissedthenaturalconnectionsharedwithalargegroupofwomen.Whenshe’dgivenbirthtoEmmaKate,shewepthappilyalongwithLiam,andevensecretlyrejoiced.Finally.She’dbeadmittedintothebiggest,mostimportantsororityofthemall—motherhood.SheimaginedstrollerexerciseclassesandMommy&Meyoga.EasteregghuntsinApril.AgorgeouschristeninggownandGracestandingatthefrontofthechurch,cradlingherbaby’sbonnetedhead.Theperfectfamily.
ButGraceinsteadfeltseparated,cutoff,fromvirtuallyallothermothers.Shestaredatthehappy,lovingmothersatchurch,holdingtheiradorablechildren’shands,sweetlittlegirlsinstockingsandpatentleathershoes,andtriedtofigureoutwhatthehellshewasmissing.
Whatwassoworthit?BecausefromwhereGracewasstanding,shecouldn’tsquareherbig,saggyboobs,pudgystomach,leakyurinarytract,darkcircles,sporadicmastitis,andcrackingnipples,coupledwiththefactthatitnowtookherlegitimatelytwohourstogetoutofthehousewithherbabyintow,andshehadtolistentoscreechingcrieswhenevershestoleintotheshower,andshewasnolongerwelcomeinrestaurantswithtablecloths,withthebabywhowasskinny,eczemariddled;shedribbledcloudyliquidfromthecornersofhermouthandbarelyevensmiled.Shewantedtofeelthatconnection,buttheclosestshe’dcomewasthefirsttimeEmmaKatehadgrippedherfingerandithadlastedonlythatlong.Gracefeltlikeanidiotforbelievingthattherewassomemagictothemath.Somealchemythatmadethisall,aseveryonehadtoldher,worthit.
IfGracefeltakinshipwithanymothersatallsinceEmmaKate’sbirth,itwaswiththeonesthatdrovetheirminivansintoalake.
Graceonlyhadacanvastotebagstuffedwithyesterday’sclothes,alongwithmakeupandtoiletriesandhermanualpump.Shegaveafinalglancetothefluffybed,theclean,foldedtowels,andtheassortmentofLavazzacoffeeinserts,dreadingthereturntoherownhousewheredirtydiaperscloggedthegenieandspit-upstainedthethrowpillows.
Attheendofthehall,shepressedthebuttonattheelevatorbank,walkedintotherovingglasscase,andwasstartledtorecognizetheotherwomanintheelevator.
“Katherine?”Gracefeltahintofdelight,asifshe’drunintoanacquaintanceattheairportoratafar-offvacationorinTarget.Anamusinglifejuxtaposition.
Katherinestoodwithherbacktotheglass,lookingstiff.Asparkofrecognitionflashedinhereyes.“Hi,”shesaid.
“Grace,”shefilledintheblankforher.“Sorry,I’msureyou’vemetathousandpeopleinthelastfewdays.”
“Oh,no,Iwasn’t—”Katherinewavedtheendofthesentenceaway.Herskinwasface-wash-commercialfresh,herhairpartedneatlytotheside.Sheworeonlystudsforearrings,whichseemeddaringlysparseandeditorialamidtheseaofswingingKendraScottjewelry,invogueamongDallaswomenthesedays.
Theelevatordingedatthelobbyfloor.Atame,babblingstreamranfromamarbledbuttressandtrickledwaterintoaglimmeringbluepoolfilledwithkoifish.TheatriumsmelledlikeanupscaleVegascasino,allrecycledairandmanufacturedfragrance.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Katherineasked.
Graceconsideredanotherlie,butnonecamereadilytoher.“Ineededanightoff,”sheadmitted.“Ihaveababywhohastakenuparmsagainstsleep.”AcouplesleeplessnightsbackathomewithEmmaKateandGraceknewshe’dagainbelostinthequagmireofexhaustion,tryingtobumpandfeelherwaythroughherdays.
ThecornersofKatherine’smouthcurledup.“What’sherweaponofchoice?”
“Lungsofsteel.It’sobviousbutruthlesslyeffective.”Gracepausedbeforetheslidingglassdoorsthatledouttothevaletandthecitybeyond.Outside,thesunblazed.“SometimesIjustcan’twithher.It’slikeI—”Graceshuddered.
“Hateher?”
“Isoundhorrible.”Andshedidfeelhorrible—likeahorrible,horriblemother—butsheprobablydidn’tfeelhorribleenough,andthatmadeherfeelevenworse,thoughagain,notasbadlyassheshouldfeel.Shehadthethoughtthatifshedidn’tlikebeingamother—andshecouldnearlyadmitthattoherselfnow—atleastshecouldexcelathowawfulshe’dfeelaboutit.ShecouldcompeteintheGuiltOlympics.Maybeevenmedal.But,intruth,shewasusuallytootiredeventoattemptthat.“Ididn’texactlytellmyhusband,”sheadded,sheepishly.
Katherinelookedimpressed.“Thatyouweren’tcominghome?”
Graceflattenedherhandagainsthercheek,partiallyembarrassed,partiallynot.“No,Itoldhimthatpart.But”—shesquintedoneeyeclosed.“ImighthavesaidIhadtopullanall-nighteratwork.”Whichwassofarfromthetruthitwasalmostcomical.Eversinceherreturn,shefeltlikeSloaneandArdietreatedherwithkidgloves,sparedfromanyworkofurgencyorinterest,asifshemustbedesperatetoreturnhometohernewborn.Herprecious,aliennewborn.
“Ah.”Katherinenodded,hermouthquirkingmischievously.“Yoursecret’ssafewithme.”
Gracefeltapathetictugatherheartstrings,enjoyingthetasteofasecret,which,whenshared,inherexperience,almostalwaysportendednewfriendship.
“Andyou?”Graceasked.
“ThecondothatI’mmovingintoisn’treadyyet.It’sanewbuilding.Ihaveafriendwhohookedmeup.I’mcrashinghereuntilIcanmovein.”
“ThePrescott?Swanky.”
“Yeah.Itis.Butthey’veputmeinaroomwayupatthetop.”Shetiltedherchin.ThecenterofthePrescottwasagapingholethatshotstraighttothesky-lightedceiling.“I’mterrifiedofheights.Thoseglasselevators?It’slikeI’mplummetingtomydeath.”
“Wanttoswitchplaceswithme?”Graceasked.“I’llgladlytakeoveryourhotelroomandyoucanstaywithmyhusbandwhileyoutrytonegotiateatreatybetweenmydaughterandbedtime.Sloanementionedyou’reabitofanexpert.”Gracehopedthatshedidn’tcomeacrossastryingtoohard.Complimentscouldbetrickytooearlyinarelationshipanditwasnodifferentwithfriendship.
“Atnegotiation,maybe,”Katherinesaid.“Atchildren,definitelynot.ChildrenandIdon’tgetalong,actually.”
Gracelookedoutagain,distractedly,towheretherealworldwaswaiting.Shealreadyfeltthetightnessforminginherchest.
“Well,”shesaidafterashortpause.“Weshouldprobablygetgoing.Sloanemayhavealreadyreportedmemissingbynow.Afewmoreminutesandshe’llhavecalledouttheNationalGuard.”
Katherinereachedintoherpurseandpulledoutapinkvaletticket.“Wecan’thavethat,”shesaid.“Thatwouldblowyourcover.”
“Mycover?”Gracetwistedtheclaspofhernecklacearoundtositontheknotsofboneatthebackofherneck.
“Withyourhusband?”Katherinewrinkledhernoselikeabunny’s.Itwasadecidedlycuteexpressionforawomaninherthirties.“Youtoldhimyouwereatwork.”
Gracepressedtheheelofherhandtoherforehead.“God,you’reright.”
Therewasanedgeoflaughterinboththeirvoicesnow.Gracefeltasmallspark.Asthoughhercordhadfinallyreachedanoutletthathadbeentoofaraway.ShewasalreadylookingforwardtoaskingKatherineoutforaglassofwineortogoshoppinginHighlandParkVillage.Thiswaswhyshe’dalwaysbeenagirl’sgirl—shewasgoodatit.Itoccurredtoher,inamomentofclarity,thatmaybewhatshe’dbeenlookingforwasn’ttoconnectwithothermothersatall.
Katherineledthemouttothevaletstand.ThebreezewasunseasonablywarmforFebruary.Thesmellofgreaseforeshadowedclientlunches,whichalwaystookplaceatacivilizedeleven-thirtyinthemorning.AgunmetalJaguaridledintheportecochere.Anunspokenadvertisementforthehotel.
Asthetwoyoungmensprintedoffinthedirectionoftheparkinglot,Katherinefoldedherarmsandlookedoutatthestreet.“You’vebeenatTruvivawhile?”
Gracehuntedabsentlyforhercarkeysbeforerealizingtheywerewiththevalet.“Sixyears.”
“So,iseveryonealwaysthisnice?”
Gracelaughed.“Forthemostpart,yes.It’sagoodgroup.”SouthernpeoplewerealmostcompetitivelyniceandGraceandherfamilywereconsideredtop-flight.“Notsomuchatyouroldjob?”
Katherinelooked,foramoment,likeshedidn’tknowhowtoanswerthequestion.“It’snotthat,exactly.Justlookingforafreshstart.”Shebegantosaysomethingelse,butthevaletpulledupinGrace’scarwithascreech.Bothwomenjumpedback,Grace’sarmstretchingprotectivelyoutinfrontofKatherine’schest.
“Sorry.”Grace’scheekspinked.Thereactionhadclearlybeenthatofacarpoolingmotherandshe’dmanagedtotreatKatherine—HarvardLawKatherine—asachildincapableoflookingbothwaysbeforecrossingtheroad.
“It’sfine,”Katherinesaid,smoothingherdress.“Ifyou’dbeenacolleagueatmyoldjob,you’dhavepushed.”
AndGracelaughedbecausetheideawasridiculous.Ofcourse.
SUBPOENADOCUMENT
21-JanuaryMs.KatherineBell2337WindsorStreetBoston,MA02101Ms.Bell:YouremploymentwithFrostKlein&Roget(“FrostKlein”)willofficiallybeterminatedasoftoday’sdate.Youareherebynotifiedthatyouhavebeenterminatedforcause.Youwillnotreceivepaymentfortheremainingbalanceofleavepayyouhaveaccumulated.Yourhealthcarebenefitswillremainineffectfor0days.Pleasereviewthenondisclosureagreementyousigneduponhiring.Accordingtothisagreement,youarenottodiscloseanyfirmtradesecrets,practices,ormethodsofoperation.FrostKleinisentitledtotakelegalactionifitisrevealedthatyoudiscussedtradesecretsduringorafteremployment.Sincerely,AlanZieglerManagingPartnerFrostKlein&RogetCHAPTERNINE
23-MAR
Noproductivedaybeganwithamorningappointmentoutsideoftheoffice.Sloaneknewthis.Shehadmadepeacewithit.
Oratleastshethoughtshehad,beforeshe’dbegunwatchingtheunreademailsstackupinherinbox,reproducinglikefruitflies.Thatherdaywouldbetrashedwasalreadyaforegoneconclusionanditwasn’tevenelevenA.M.yet.Probablysomekindofrecord.
Fromwhereshesat,theschoolofficesmelledofcheese.Thechairsweretoosmallandtoosquareanditwasimpossiblenottogetthesensethatdrovesofcrumbslurkedinthecarpeting.Ahorseshoelinoleumcounterseparatedthewaitingareafromtheofficestaff,whowereverybusystaplingandignoringringingtelephones.
Sloanesatwithherpursesquashedinherlap,alreadyfeelingchastened.“Remember,Abigail,”shetoldherdaughter,whowaspokingathersmartphone.“Youdon’thavetosayanything.Ifyouhaveaquestion,whisperittomeorMs.Ardie.”ThiswouldbethefirstmeetingwithAbigailactuallyinattendanceand,whileitwasonethingtotakeupSloane’stime,itwasquiteanotherthatherdaughtershouldbeexpectedtospendhers.
AbigailpeeredaroundhermothertolookatArdie.“MomsaysIcantellyouanythingandyoucan’ttell,noteventoher,becauseyou’remylawyer.”
“Ididn’tsayexactlythat.”
Abigailwasaperfectlynormallookingten-year-oldgirl:crookedteeth,pinkpopsiclelips,andasmatteringoffrecklesonhernosethatSloaneguessedfromexperiencewouldfadeduringcollege.Shewaskickinghershoesoutwithnervousenergy.TheywerenewConverses,ungodlyexpensiveforaten-year-old’ssneakers,andtheymightaswellhavebeenincludedonthemandatoryschoolsupplylist,rightnextto“compositionnotebook”and“LillyPulitzerthermos.”Whenshewasonatear,SloanesworetoDerekthattheyweregoingtofleetheParkCitiesandescapetothecountryside.Butthentherewasthematterofthemortgage—secured,thankstoSloane,atacompetitiverate—andherjob,threecellphoneplans,carpayments,and,then,DerekandSloanetrulydidlovethesteelheadtroutatFearing’s…soshesupposedthatConversesweren’tsuchabigdeal,really.
“That’sexactlyright,Abigail.”ArdieignoredSloane.“I’msurewecanthinkoflotsofsecretstoshare.”
“LikehowMomandDadhavesecretsthattheycan’ttellme!”Abigail’sshoeskickedharder.“Onlywe’llbetheoneswhocan’ttell.”
Ardiegrinnedandsatback.“I’mgoingtoneedsomefollow-uponthose.Soundsjuicy.”
“Onlyifyou’reinterestedinwhereMomandDadhidethevodka.”Sloaneextractedlipstickfromherpurseandapplieditwithoutusingamirror.“HowdoIlook?”SheturnedtoArdieandpuckeredherlips.Recently,Sloanenoticedshehadtokeepherlipstickfresh,orthecolorseepedoutintothetinywrinklesstartingtoformaroundherlips.
Ardie,whoworealmostnomakeupanddidn’tevendyethegraysinherhair,gaveherbestnot-impressedface.Oneofhersignatures.“Youdoknowwe’reatyourdaughter’sschool,right?IthinkJudgeJudytookthedayoff.”
Sloanecockedherhead.“Idon’tusuallytoleratethissortofattitudefromoutsidecounsel,youknow.”
Shewasjoking,butnotconvincingly.ThisthingwithAbigailwasaseriousmatterandSloanewastakingitseriously.Deadlyseriously.
Attheirfirstmeetingwiththeprincipal,they’dlearnedAbigailwasn’ttheonlyrecipientofthemessages.Thegirlsinherclasswereexperimentingwithnewwords,apparently.ThatwassmallconsolationforSloane.Othergirlsmayhavebeenabletohandlethatbrandoftwenty-first-centuryplaygroundcruelty,buthersensitiveAbigail?“Eggshellskullsyndrome,”hertortsprofessorhadcalleditinlawschool.Theideathatifyoustruckapersonintheheadanditbroketheirskull,itdidn’tmatterthatthesameblowwouldn’thavecrackedmostotherpeople’sskulls.Theinjuredperson’sunexpectedfrailtywasn’tavaliddefensetotheseriousnessofanyinjurycausedtothem.Abigailhadtheeggshellskull.
Todaywasthefollow-up,andwhenDerekfoundouthecouldn’tbehere—aconflictwiththemiddleschool’sstatetesting—hesuggestedtheperfectsolution:“BringArdie.”ArdiewassomuchsteadierthanSloane,sheagreed.LikehowArdieworetheperfumeofamucholderwoman,driedrosesandspice,whileSloanehadavagueself-awarenessthatshesometimesgaveoffanunintendedairoffrivolity,downtothecarelesslychosensample-sizedperfumechoicesthatshecycledthrougheverydayoftheweek.
Thedoortotheirleftswungopen.
“SloaneGlover?Theprincipal’sreadyforyou.”
Sloanestoodupsoquicklyshefeltdizzy.
“Easy,”Ardiemurmuredbesideher.
Sloanetookadeep,steadyingbreathandthethreeofthemfiledintoasmall,grayofficethatoverlookedtheplayground.
Sloanespokefirst.Shenearlyalwaysdid.“PrincipalClark,”shesaid.“Thisisourattorney,ArdieValdez.”
PrincipalClarkstood,adjustedhistie,andextendedahandtoArdie.Hewasblackandtall,purposefullybald,butwithstrandsofwhitefleckinghistrimmedbeard.Sloanefoundherselfinexplicablycheckinghisringfinger:unoccupied.He’dbesuchacutematchforArdie.IfSloaneweren’tsoangrywithhimandthreateningtosue,ofcourse.
“I’msureherpresenceisn’tnecessary,”Clarksaid.“ThisisonlyanopportunityforustomeettodiscussAbigail’sprogress.”
TheyallstaredatAbigail,whoseankleswerecrossedunderherchair.Shelookednervousanduncomfortable,likeacatdousedinwater.
Ardiepulledupaseat.“Andtheschool’sprogress.Wecan’tforgetthatpart.”
Sloanebeamed.PointforArdierightatthestartofthematch.NotthatSloanewascompetitive.
“Correct.”Heclearedhisthroatandstareddownatastackofpapersonhisdesk.Sloaneherselfsometimesusedthesamestallingtactic.Staredown,shuffle,shuffle,and,ah,hereweare,finallylet’sbegin.“I’llstart,then,”hesaid.“Theschoolhasrecentlysentoutflyerstargetedatbothparentsandstudentstodiscusstheparametersonstudents’expectedsocialmediaconduct.Parentsarebeingaskedtomonitoraccountsandmaintainpasswords.”
AlegalpadhadappearedonArdie’slap.“Andwhataboutenforcement?”
Henoddedasthoughhe’dbeenabouttogetthere.“Fortheolderstudents,misconductonsocialmediawillresultinsuspensionofsocialactivityprivileges,suchasdancesorbasketballgames.”
“ButAbigailisn’toneoftheolderstudents,”Sloanebuttedin.“She’sinfourthgrade.Shedoesn’tevenhavesocialmedia.”
“IhaveYouTube,”Abigailadded,givingadecisiveandadult-likenodtoPrincipalClark.
“That’sdifferent,sweetie,”Sloanesaidautomatically.Andthenfoundherselfthinking:Wasit?SheshouldcheckAbigail’saccount.Reviewwhatshe’dbeenwatching.Shewishedshe,too,hadbroughtalegalpad.Thathadbeensloppyofher.
PrincipalClarkignoredAbigail.“Right.Idorealizethat.Tothatend,haveyouconsideredchangingAbigail’sphonenumber?”
Sloaneletoutacontemptuousguffaw.“That’syouranswer?Whyshouldtheonusbeonher?Onus?Whathappenswhenthosekidsgethernewnumber?Theyshouldn’tevenhavephones.”
“There’sasafetyconsiderationthere.Parentsthesedaysfeelsaferiftheirchildrenhavephonesonthem.”
Sloanedidn’tthinkshe’dmindifoneofthosepunkkidsgotkidnappedonceortwice.
BehindPrincipalClark,kidsranwithlunchboxesandaluminumwaterbottlesandscaledthemonkeybars.“Hasanythingnewhappened,Abigail?”heasked.
Abigailstuffedherhandsunderneathherthighs,swayingbackandforth.“Idon’tknow.Maybe,”shesaid,hervoicesmallandguileless.“Acoupleboys.Theyaskedmetogobehindthegymtogettheirshoes.Iwent,but,Iguesstherewerenoshoes.”Sheshrugged.Hereyeswerewideandblue.“Icameback,buttheywerealllaughingatme.Ididn’tgetthejoke.IscreamedatthemtogoawayinmyloudestvoicelikeMomtaughtme.ThentheysaidIwascrazy.”
Sloaneclosedhereyesandswallowedhard.SometimeswhensheandAbigailwereleavingTargetoramovietheatertogetherandtheparkinglotwasmostlyempty,shemadeAbigailpracticeherscreaming.Derekthoughttheexercisewouldonlyscareher.Butwhatdidheknow?Derekhadneverbeenagirl.Sloanehad,andiftheirdaughterwereeverindanger,Abigailknewexactlywhattodo:screambloodymurder.
Andnowheretheywere.
“Idon’tgetit,”Sloanesaid.“Shoes?Whyarekidslaughingatmydaughteraboutshoes?”
PrincipalClarkseemedtobehiding—what?—asmilebehindhisclaspedfists,hiselbowsproppedcasuallyonhisdesk.
“Issomethingamusinghere,PrincipalClark?Whatarewemissing?”Ardiescootedtotheedgeofherseat,penpoised.
Heunlockedhisfingersandshrugged.“Kids,”hesaid.“It’ssilly,really.”HiseyesdartedbetweenArdieandSloane.Theywaited.
“SloaneandIlovesilly.”
Clarkscratchedthebackofhisneck.“It’snotsupposedtomakesense.It’sthisthingtheboyshavebeendoing.It’slikeflirting.Itmeanstheythinkyou’repretty.Aritualtheyhave,Iguessyoucouldcallit.Theyaskthegirltheythinkisprettytogobackbehindthegymandthen,well,nothing.They’rechildren.”HepressedhislipstogetherandraisedhiseyebrowstoAbigail.
“I’msorry,whatnow?”SloanefeltherselfdoingtheexaggeratedblinkythingthatDerekhatedsomuch.Butsheonlydiditwhenshewasright.Andwhenthepersontowhomshewasspeakingwasstupidlywrong.“You’retellingmemydaughterhasbeensubjecttosometweenhazingthing?”
Ardie’sstare,too,hadhardenedintojudgmentalcuriosity.(Becauseweknewthislogic:wewerealwayssupposedtobethankfulwhenanyonethoughtwewerepretty.)
Theireyesmet—Sloane’sandArdie’s.Whatmorethanadecadeofsharedworkexperienceboughtyouwasthesamebullshitmeter.Ardie’smovementwassosubtle.Anearlyimperceptibleflashofhereyes,followedbytheslightesttiltofherhead.I’msureashellnotgoingtostopyou,itsaid.
“Humiliatingher,”SloanesaidtoPrincipalClark.“That’sacompliment?Allingoodfun,Isuppose.”
“Mom.”Abigailbouncedinherseat.
“Iunderstandwhatyou’rethinking.ButIassureyou,it’sharmless.”
“Oh!Oh!Youassureme?”Sloane’sfacewentwhitewithanger.
Ardiewassteadybesideher.Sheleanedforward.“IthinkpartofwhatmyclientsarerespondingtoisthefactthattheseboyspurposefullyembarrassedAbigail.Theythencalledhercrazy.Doyouknowwhythat’sproblematic,PrincipalClark?”Shedidn’twaitforananswer.“It’sproblematicbecausewhenweallowyoungboystosocasuallycallayounggirl‘crazy,’well,itofferseveryoneelsepermissionnottobelieveher.Wereanyoftheseboyscalledcrazyforinventingthismade-upstoryaboutshoes,ofallthings?”
PrincipalClark’sresidueofasmiledisappeared.
Ardiecontinued.“Ididn’tthinkso.Whatmakesitmoreproblematicisthattheadministrationhereseemstothinkthatallofthisbehavior—theboys,thegirls—iscute.Whenreallywhatitseemstobedoingisfosteringadangerousbehavior.It’snotcute,PrincipalClark.Andmyclient,here,islegitimatelyconcernedaboutthesafetyandwellbeingofherchild.”
“Iunderstandthat,”PrincipalClarksaid,hisfacenowgrave.
Sloanemanagedtofindhervoiceandherpurseatthesamemoment.Shestood.“Iagreedwiththeschoolboardtodothesemeetingsinhopesrealprogresswouldbemade,andnofurtherlegalactionrequired.”SheheldherhandouttohersideandAbigailslidoffherchairandtookit.“Butthismeetingwasacompletewasteofmytime.Let’shopeyoutakethenextonemoreseriously.”
Oncue,Ardie,Abigail,andSloaneleftPrincipalClark’sofficewithoutlookingback.Sloanefelttheveininherforeheadpulsating.
“Mom.”Abigailtuggedonherarmwhentheywereoutsideinthehazysunlight.“YouyelledatPrincipalClark.”
“Ididn’tyellathim.”Theywerenowontheelementaryschool’sbrightconcretesidewalksleadingouttothevisitorparking.Distantshriekspiercedtheair,whichsmelleddampwithhumidityandsweatychildren.“Ispokeup.There’sadifference.”
ItwaspossibleSloanehadbeenclosertoyelling.Thefogofself-righteousnesscouldbeapowerfuldrug.ShewouldtellDerekshe’dbeenverystoicandletArdiedomostoftheheavylifting.Ardiehadbeenamazing,thatmuchcouldn’tbearguedwith.
“So…”SloaneturnedtoAbigailandArdie.“Canwetreatyoutolunch?”
“Actually”—Ardiesquintedagainstthelightreflectedoffthepavement—“I’mjustgoingtoUberbacktotheoffice.I’vegottofinishthosereportsandit’smydayforpickupagain.”Shewasalreadypullinguptheapponherphone.
Sloane’sshouldersdrooped.“Fine,”sheconceded.“Butonlyunderprotest.LettherecordshowthatIattemptedtopayyouwiththebestmealbetweenfiveand”—shethumbedthroughthecrumpledbillsinherwallet—“fifteendollarscouldoffer.”ShepulledArdieintoahug.“Ifyouwouldn’tmind,though,I’dliketokeepthisthingwithAbigailbetweenus.It’sdelicate,”shesaid,withaslighttwingeofstress.ThedepositofanothersecretintoherandArdie’sfriendshipaccount.Anotherblendingoftheirworkandpersonallives.Shewatchedherdaughterstudyanearbyplantandplucktwotinybudsfrombetweenitsleaves.Shelovedherdaughtersomuch,butshehad,inherheart,imaginedthatshewouldhavemorefriends.Wasthatanawfulthingtothink?WasSloaneaterriblemother?“And,youknow,companypolicyandwhatnot,itcouldget—youquote-unquoterepresentingus—well,itcouldgetalittlemuddy.”Strictlyspeaking,Truvivlawyersweren’tmeanttorepresentanyoneotherthanTruviv.Itwas,iftheyweregoingtobesticklersaboutit,aviolationofthecompany’smalpracticeinsurancepolicyanditcould,technically,openupawholehostofissues.Though,ofcourse,itwouldn’t.Asillyrule.Likejaywalking.“Youunderstand,right?”
Ardiegavehershouldersasqueeze.“Justbetweenus.”
TherewasabriefmomentwhereSloanethoughtitmightbethetimetomakehersmall,littlenothingconfession,butthenArdie’sphonebuzzedandherridewaspullingintothebend,andhonestly,itwasthetiniestbetrayal.Hardlyworthmentioning.Afterall,itwasn’texactlyamatterofnationalsecurity.Thislittlesocialaffairshewashaving.No,god,wait,itwasn’tanaffair.Coulditbeanaffairifitwasjustplatonic?Probablynot.Anditwasn’tasthoughArdieandSloanewereinacommitted,monogamousrelationship.Theyhadotherfriends.Theywereadults.Anyway,shecouldalwaystellherlater.Orbetteryet,notatall.
CHAPTERTEN
23-MAR
Rosalitaplacedtheenvelopeaddressedto“Ms.Valdez”onArdie’skeyboard.ShewasgladthatArdiewasn’tinheroffice.Itwassimplerthisway.
ArdiehadofferedherservicestoRosalita“probono.”Atthetime,Rosalitahadn’tknownwhatthatmeant,notexactly,butherson,Salomon,helpedhertolookituponGoogleandwhatithadmeantwas“free.”Rosalitadidn’tlikefree.Orrather,shedidn’ttrustit.Evenafreesesamechickensampleatthemallwasaninvitationtobuyameal.Thefreesampleactedasbait.AndRosalitahadnodesiretogetluredin.HerfirstinstincthadbeentorefuseArdie’shelpoutright.Shewouldhave,wereitnotforthenaggingsightofherlittleboy,leavinghernochoicebuttoaccept.Soshescrapedtogethersavingsfromthemeagermoneyshemadeoffthisjobandstuffedtheenvelopewithdollarbills.
Thebiggestproblemhadbeenfiguringoutexactlyhowmuchsheshouldpay.This,too,she’dsearchedforontheInternetandthehourlyrateseemedtorangefromtheexpensivetotheexorbitant.Rosalitacouldpayneither,sosheputtogetherwhatshethoughtwasfair.Astackofwrinkledcashthinlydisguisedinamailingenvelope.Therecklessnessofabandoningthatamountofmoneyscrambledherinsideslikeanegg.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Rosalita’sentirebodyhitchedatthesoundofaman’svoicebehindher.Sheturnedandtherehewas,themanfromthecorneroffice,thewhitestreakofhairrunningawayfromhisforehead.GoosebumpsroseonthebacksofRosalita’sarms.
“Nothing.”Rosalitalacedherfingerstogetherandheldherhandsinfrontofherwaist.Shestoodforinspection,hiseyescoveringthelengthofher.“Cleaning,”shecorrected.Hehadn’tenteredtheoffice,buttheweightofhisbodyblockedherexit.Herpulsethrummedathereardrum.Shecouldtellhimthetruth,butonprinciple,itwasnoneofhisbusiness.Ormaybeitwas,but,ineithercase,shehadalreadybegunthelieandsonowshewasstuckwithit.
Shethoughtoftheenvelopebehindherandhowitwouldlookifhestudiedmorecloselywhatwasonthedesk,howridiculousitwouldsoundtosaythatshewasleavingthemoneyinsteadoftakingit.Hewouldn’tbelieveher.
“Nosupplies?”Hescratchedbehindhisear,asthoughthequestionmeantnothingtohimwhenclearlyitdid,orelsehewouldn’tbeaskingit.
Rosalitadrewherselftogether,mentallywrappingatourniquetaroundtheangerandhumiliationthatthreatenedtobleedintohervoice.Amanpassedinthehall,castingasidewayslook.Shewasfamiliarwiththebuilt-inassumptionthatsheandtherestofthecleaningstaffweredyingtogettheirplastic-glovedhandsonwhateverspareshoesandnoisybraceletspeopleleftonorundertheirdesks.Herlastcleaningpartner,LaTisha,toldheraboutamemothathadbeenpassedaroundtheupstairsofficesencouragingeveryonetolocktheirbelongingsinasafeplaceandlogofftheircomputerstoavoidtheft.Reducetemptationbyhidingbelongingsoutofplainview!
JesusChrist.Temptation
“Idon’tneedsuppliestoemptythetrashcans.Theothercleaningwillbedoneduringnightshift.”Shethoughttoexplainfurtherbutdoubtedwhetherhecouldpayattentionforthatlong.Onceortwiceeverymonth,Rosalitawouldpickupadayshift,duringwhichtherewasonlyaskeletoncrew,keptontheclocktoattendtolighthousekeepingandtheinevitablespillofanentirecup’sworthofcoffeethatoccurredatleastonceamorning.Shewishedonlytoendthisinteractionasquicklyaspossible.
HiseyestraveledfromthetrashcaninthecornertowhereRosalitastood,directlyinfrontofArdie’sdesk.Shewaslyingand,probably,theybothknewit.Shewaited,likeacockedpistol,tolearnwhatwasgoingtohappennext.Onesecond.Twoseconds.
Ifshehadbeensomeoneelsewouldhehave—
“Everythingallright?”ArdieappearedbehindthemanandRosalitashouldhavebeenrelievedtoseeher.
“Everything’sfine.”Hishandslidoverhischeeks.“Justcheckinginonthings.”
“Inmyoffice?”Ardieaskedwithwide-eyedinnocence.Shesqueezedpasthim,heroversizedpursepushingagainsthimsothathewasforced,outofpoliteness,tomovetotheside.Hisfacereadvisiblyannoyed.Buthe’dcededtheground.
HestoodforamomentandthenliftedanopenhandtoRosalitaandsaid,“Haveagoodafternoon,”beforestridingaway.
ArdiepushedthedoorclosedwithoutdebatingthematterwithRosalita.“Whatwasthatabout?”sheasked,foistingherbagontooneofthetwoguestchairs.
Rosalitatwistedtheuglyyellowfabricofherpoloshirtbetweenherfingers.Itwasroughonherskin.Herthickponytailfellacrossherback.“Nothing.”Shefeltsmallandinconsequential,likeachildwatchingtheadultswork.
“Itdidn’tlooklikenothing.”Ardieplunkedherrearendintotherollingchair.“Sorry.Wereyoulookingforme?”Butnow,ontheothersideofthedesk,Ardiesawtheenveloperestingonthekeyboard.Shehelditup.“What’sthis?’
Rosalitadidn’treply.
Ardiefoldedherhandsoverherstomach.Sheletoutalongexhaleasshethumbedthroughthecontentsoftheenvelope.Then,oncefinished,shetappedtheedgeoftheenvelopeonheropenpalmandstaredoutthewindow.
Thefactthatthetwowomenhadstruckupafriendlyacquaintancewasn’tasweirdasitseemed.Ithadhappenednaturally,overmanymonths.Years,bynow.ThefirsttimethatArdiehadspokentoherinSpanish,Rosalitaworriedthatmaybethewomanwasalesbian.Butshehadalittleboyandahusbandwholaterbecameanex-husbandandthenRosalitafeltlikeabitch.?Dedóndeesusted?ArdiehadfirstaskedandithadturnedoutthatArdie,thedaughteroftwodoctors,wasfromMcAllenwhileRosalitawenttohighschoolinneighboringRioGrandeCity.Theirconversationsneverlastedmorethanfiveminutes,buttherewassomethinglovelyaboutgettingtospeaktoanotheradultpersoninSpanish,whichwasusuallydiscouragedatworkforfearthatthebuilding’stenantswouldthinkthecleaningstaffweregossipingaboutthem(theywere).Itwasthecomfortofnothavingtofunnelthroughtheextralayeroftranslation,tofeelthatshewasbeingunderstoodandsoundedintelligentandlikeherselfaroundapersonlikeArdiethatfilledherwithasenseofself-confidencethatescapedherthroughoutmostofherinteractionsatwork,atthegrocerystore,atthebank,withthecablerepairman.
Ardiesighedagain.“Rosalita,Iwillacceptthismoneyononecondition,”shesaid.“IwouldliketohireSalomontohelpatmyson’sbirthdayparty.”
RosalitametArdie’seyes.“Howmuch?”
“Onehundreddollars,”saidArdie.
Thiswasmorethantheamountintheenvelope.Rosalitafrowned,nearlyforgettingtheman.“Onehundredandfifty,”shecountered.Itwashermotherwhohadtaughthernevertobegratefulforsomeone’sfirstoffer.Hermotherhadbeenatinywomanwithanastyboutofearly-onsetdementiacausedbyaheadinjurysufferedduringaminorcaraccident.Fortheyearsleadinguptoherdeath,hermother’slovehadfelttoRosalitalikebarbedwire.But,asaresult,Rosalitahadgrowncalluses.Andlookingback,shewasoftensurprisedtofindthatsomeofthemostimportantskillsshe’dlearnedinherlifehadcomefromthatverysamecrazy,no-sensemother.
Ardiepaused.“Onehundredandtwenty-five.Dowehaveadeal?”
“Yes.”Rosalitanodded.“Wehaveadeal.”
ArdieextendedherhandandRosalitatoldherselfthatthisdealwassimpleenough.Thatwaswhatshe’dtoldherselfthen,too.Ofcourse,backthenithadbeenabouthersurvivalandshehadforcedherselftoboilwhatthatmeantdownintofactsandfigures.Andyetitremained,tothisday,theworstthingshe’deverdone.AsimpletransactionthatforeverprovedtoRosalitathatshewas,athercore,cold-blooded.Thatshewouldchooseherselfandhersonovereverythingandeveryone.
It’sonlymoney,shethoughttoday.But…hadn’titbeen“onlymoney”thelasttimethatshe’dmadeadeal?
CHAPTERELEVEN
27-MAR
DesmondBankole’smemorialservicetookplacesevendaysafterhisdeath.Thosedaysinbetweenhadpassedintheusualblurofwork,car,home,punctuatedbytheoccasionalurgentphonecall,quicklydrawnmemo,andperfunctorymeeting.SloanearrivedtoaveritableWho’sWho,whereeveryonemilledaboutinblackdresses,recognizablethoughslightlyoutofcontext.Herheelshadsunkintothemanicuredlawnwhenshe’dtakenashortcuttothechurchentrance.Shehadavisceralhatredoffunerals.Atfifteenyearsold,she’dattendedthreeinthesameyear.Hermaternalgrandmother,followedbybothofhergrandfathers.She’ddislikedshakingthehandsofelderlypeople,thetouchoftheirwadded-uptissueshiddenintheirpaperypalms.Thesenseofuncontrollabletears,aswellofintimateemotionondisplay—andworse,expected.
AfterAbigailwasborn,sheandDerekhaddrawnupawillandSloaneleftinstructions:cremation,please,thenpourherremainsinthebackyardwhilesayingaprayertoTinaFey.Andokay,yes,shemayhaveincludedaslightlyoverbearingsuggestionforDerekthatheconsidermarryingArdie,whoSloanewascertainwouldcaredeeplyaboutAbigail’seducation,remembertopackherlunch,and,abitcruellyonSloane’spart,notovershadowherinthelooksdepartment.Butotherthanthat—theTinaFeyprayersandthemarryingofoneofherclosestfriends—Sloaneplannedtobealow-maintenancedeadwifeandmother.Honestly.
Asshesatinthepew,herbackachingfromthehardwood,shekeptherarmloopedthroughGrace’sandanAltoidpinchedtotheroofofhermouth.
“Lastsong.”Ardiepointedtooneofthefinallinesontheprogram.
“Hallelujah.”Sloaneliftedhereyesskyward.
Graceglaredatthem.“IsthishowyoutwowouldactifIdied?”shewhisper-scoldedthem.Shedabbedhereyeswithawaddedtissueandsniffledloudly.Thetipofhernosehadturnedanunattractiveshadeofred.Sloanerubbedherfriend’sshoulder.Graceworeabeautifulblackcashmereshawlaroundhershoulders.HerfrostedhairwaspulledupintoaprimFrenchtwist.Perfectlyputtogether,asalways.Butgoodness,shewassensitivelately.
“Thatdepends,”Ardiewhisperedback.“Woulditbebeforeorafteryoufinishedtheregulatoryanalysisonthesubscriptionboxacquisition?”Shecheckedherwatch.“Andtobefair,we’vebeenhereoveranhouralready.”
“She’steasing,Grace.We’dbedevastated.”
GraceuntangledherarmfromSloane’sandfoldeditacrossherbody.
Gracekepthereyestrainedaheadatthepastor,whowasofferingclosingremarks,andbowedherheadtojointherestofthecongregationinsomesortofprayer.
“We’dwearblackforayear,”Sloanemurmured.“Weswearit.”SheplacedherhandononeoftheBiblesinthepew.Itwasquiteconvenient.
Graceliftedherchin.“I’mnotbeingridiculous,youknow.Itcouldhappen.”ShemetArdie’seyes,too.“Toanyofus.”
“Sure,”Sloanesaidsoftly,watchingherfriend.Natural,shetoldherself,toconfrontyourownmortalityafterthebirthofyourfirstchild.“Butitwon’t.”
TheorganboomedthroughthechapelandSloanerosetoherfeetwiththetideofmourners.Herringcaughtonthesheerblackhoseunderneathherdress.Ashort,severerunracedtothetopofherkneecap.“Shit,”shewhispered.Louderthanshethought.
“Areyouokay?”ArdieturnedtoSloane.
“I’mfine.”Therewasnosavingthehose.She’dsimplyhavetolivewithituntilshecouldremovetheminthebathroomandhopeshe’drememberedtolotionhercalvesthismorning.ShewishedDerekcouldhavebeenhere,hishandrestingonherback.Hehadnicehands.Basketball-palminghands.“Ijustwanttogetoutofhere.”
Outdoors,thedaywasglorious.Thegrasssmelledfreshlymowed.Therewereactualbutterfliesflappingaboutbetweentheassortmentsofplantsdecoratingthechurch’sexterior.
Asthecrowdfilteredoutofthechurchlikeaherdofcattle,Sloaneoverheardcollegialgreetings,sawhandshakes,heardlunchdatesbeingset.Sheshouldbemingling,too.Seizethemoment.Tablesofrefreshmentsweresetuponthelawnandpeoplewerepickingupplasticglassesoforangejuiceorwater.
“Doyouwantanything?”Ardieasked,headingforthetable.Ardiecouldneverresistafreespread.
“I’mallright,thanks.”Sloane’sstomachfeltunsettled.Gracehadvanished,maybetotouchuphermakeup,whichwasamessaftertheservice.Gracemustbeabetterpersonthanshewas,thoughtSloane,whohadmanagednottocryatall.
TherewasataponhershoulderandSloaneturnedtoseeElizabethMoretti,herarmsalreadyoutstretchedtoenvelopherinahug.Elizabethhadbigbrownhairandasmilethatshowedofftoomuchofhergums.Butshehadbeautifulclothesandtodayworeanexpensive-looking,scallop-trimmedshiftdressthatSloaneimaginedstillhadthetagsfixedtoitonlyafewhoursbefore.“IthoughtI’dseeyouhere.”
Naturally,SloanehadthoughtthesamethingofElizabeth.Thoughitmadelesssense,giventhatshedidn’tworkforTruviv.
Elizabethlookedaround,cluckinghertongue.Shewassonoisy.“Tragic,”saidElizabeth.“Lovelyceremony,though.Flowerarrangementstodiefor,pardontheunfortunatepun.Doyouseethatguyoverthere?”
Sloanesubtlylookedacrossaplanterfilledwithpurpleandorangepansiestowardtwomentalkingbeneaththeshadeofanoaktree.Bothearlyforties,luckybecausetheystillhadtheirhair,butthetelltalealleywaysofshinypeachfleshhadbeguntostretch,makinginroadspasttheoriginalhairline.
“Theshorterone,”Elizabethcontinued.“Hecameinasalateral,soIdon’tthinkyouknewhim.JacobShor.HemadepartneratJaxonBrockwellacoupleyearsago.HewasontheBADMenList.IthoughtIkneweverything.Butnope,rightnexttohisnameitsaid,‘triedtosolicitsexinhisofficewithasummerassociate.’Inearlydied.Sorry.God.”Shecrossedherself,staringupatthesteeple.“Butcanyoubelieveit?”
Couldshe?Sloanelookedattheman,whoseemedgenialenough.Afriendlyface.ShecouldimaginehimasabelovedPEteacher.Apredator?Notaseasily.
“So.”Elizabethdrewoutacompact,checkingherreflection.Casual.“Washeonthelist?”
Sloanewasmadatherselfforforgettinghersunglasses.Thedaywasheatingup,andshehadaterriblepokerface.“WhosaidIwaslookingforsomeone?”Anedgeinhervoice.
“Aneducatedguess.”
Sloanewassweatingunderneaththehotmid-morningsun.
Shecouldhaveaddedhimherself.Itwasanonymous.AshareddocumentfloatinginthenebulouscloudoftheInternet.Anyonecouldaddoreditandshehadstartedto.But,then,shehadn’t.Why?
“Fine,fine,youdon’thavetotellme.Noneofmybusiness.”EverythingwasElizabeth’sbusiness.Shesnappedthecompactclosed.“Butyoushouldaddhim.Mighthelpsomeone.Takethebullbythetesticles.”Shecuppedherhandtodemonstrate.“KnowwhatImean?”
Sloanedidn’twanttotalkaboutthisrightnow,notwithher.Hadn’tElizabethbeenherownsortoflist,backintheday?
WatchoutforAmesGarrett.
“I’msorry,Elizabeth.Ihaveaterribleruninmyhose.Ineedtoexcusemyselftotherestroom.”Sloanesoundedtooformal.Whatwaswrongwithher?ShehadofficiallylosttrackofbothArdieandGracenow.Sheneededtopullittogether,thoughshereallydidhatefunerals.
ShehuggedElizabeth.Sloanerarelylikedhuggingotherwomensheknewprofessionally,butshestillrememberedElizabethwasthesortofpersonthatenjoyedhugs.
“Clearnailpolish,”Elizabethcalledafterher.
Sloaneturnedherheadback.“What?”
Elizabethlookedatherappraisingly.Shecuppedherhandsaroundhermouthlikeamegaphone.“Willstoptherun.”
Sloaneliftedahandingratitude.
Inside,thechurchwasmuchemptierthanbefore,thankgoodness,withonlystragglersmillingandtalkinginlowvoices.Herfootstepsechoedalongthehallasshefollowedsignstothebathroom,whichshe’dbeentoldwaslocatedsomewhereintheEastWing.
Shewasroundingthecornerwhenshesawit.Thatskunkstreakofwhitethroughdarkbrownhairalwaysstoppedhershort.Herheartratequickened.Ames’sheadwaslowered,asthoughinprayer.ButhewastalkingtoKatherineBell,herslenderbackpressedupagainstthewall.Sloane’sfirstinstinctwastointerrupt,butaswasoftenthecaseinwork-relatedscenarios,hermindimmediatelybegancyclingthroughaslewoftrickypossibilities.Sheretreatedaroundthecornertowatchfromadistancewhilepricksofwarningshotupherarms.
Whatwashesaying?
Andthen—didshereallyneedtoknowexactly?Sloanecouldlikelytransposehertwenty-eight-year-oldselfintoKatherine’sshoesandtakean“educatedguess.”Sloanehadnoideahowlongthetwoofthemhadbeentalking,butittooklessthanaminutefortheconversationtoend.AthintrickleofsweathadpooledinSloane’sbra.Shefelthernostrilsflaringinthatrepulsivewayshecouldneverquitecontrolwhenshewasacertainversionofangry.
Shewaited.Katherine’sfacewasimpassiveasshewalkedtowardherdownthecorridorandSloanereadiedherselfsothatwhenKatherineroundedthecorner,shefeignedalarm.
“Sosorry,”theybothsaidatthesametime.ThoughSloanewastryingtoreadhereyes.HadAmesbeenanasshole?OrwastheconversationaperfectlynormaloccasionandSloanewasmakingtoomuchofit?
Thatdamnedlist.Heshouldbeonit.Peopleshouldbewarned.CEO.Mygod.
Katherinesweptawayahaircaughtinhereyelashes.Sloanesmiled,takingastepbacksotheycouldregaintheirpersonalboundaries.Katherineseemedtobesomeonewholikedpersonalspace.
SloanehadbeencollectingfirstimpressionsofKatherine.Sartorialchoicesthatwere,atleasttoSloane’stastes,ahalfstepoff,whichSloanebelievedhelpedhertodeducesomethingaboutKatherine.Probablythatshedidn’tliketoaskforothers’opinions.Actually,sheremindedSloaneatouchofAbigail—thesocialawkwardnesscomplicatedbyprettiness.Nooneexpectedthosetwoattributestogotogetherandthatcreatedaproblemforpeople,becauseprettypeople—forinstance,blonde,blue-eyedgirlslikeherdaughter—weren’tallowedtobereservedunlesstheywantedtobecalledsnobbish.PrettypeoplewerepreferablysupposedtoactlikeSloane,whowaspretty,butmostlybecauseshe’daskedforlotsofpeople’sopinionsovertheyearsandreally,reallylovedNeiman’s.“Istherestroomthisway?”Sloaneasked,pointing.
“Yes,”saidKatherine,aflushvisibleonherapplecheeks.
“Iruinedmyhose,”Sloaneexplained,asthoughsheneededtoofferupareason.“Ilooklikeatwodollarhooker.”
Katherine’smouthformedasmall“o”ofsurprise.“Iactuallykeepanotherpairinmypurseifyouneedone.”ShewaspullingherbagtoherhipwhenSloanelightlytouchedherforearm.
“That’sokay.IthinkI’lljustchucktheseinthetrashcan.Mydaughtersayshosemakemelooklikeanoldladyanyway.”
Katherinewaswearingopaqueblacktights.Theydidn’tmakeherlooklikeanoldlady.Theyturnedherlegsintoanappealingsilhouette.
“Letmeknowifyouchangeyourmind,”Katherinesaid,movingpast,herexpressionpolitelyblankandclosedoff.
“Thanks.Yes,Iwill.”ButshewasalreadylookingpastKatherine,watchingAmesaloneintheemptyhalloftheEastWing.ItwasarelieftohearKatherine’sfootstepsdriftaway.Amesranhisfingersthroughhishair,rockingbackononeheel.Thenhepushedthedoortothemen’srestroomopen.
Temporaryinsanity.Sloanemighthavebeensufferingfromthatrareafflictionandknewitwasadefensewithslimchancesofholdingupincourt.Butthiswouldneverwindupincourt.
SloanefollowedAmesintothemen’sroom.
“Hello?”shecalled,incaseitwasoccupiedbyanyoneotherthanAmes.
“Someone’sinhere.”ItwasAmes’svoice.ThesinglestalltothelefthungopenandthelineofurinalswasemptyasidefromAmes,whohadhisbacktoher.
Heturned,hiseyebrowsjackingupinsurprise.Thecreasesinhisforeheadhaddeepenedovertheyears.(Whileweneedednipsandtucksandfillerinjectionstostayrelevant,theyneededonlytoagetobecomemoredignified.Don’tthinkwedidn’tnotice.)
“Sloane?”Sheheardthemetalzipofhisflyshootingbackup.“Whatareyoudoinginhere?”
Goodquestion.Whatwasshedoinginhere?Actingonimpulse,shesupposed.Derekdidsayshehadanimpulsivestreak.Likewhenshecamehomewithashelterkittenshe’dseeninapenoutsidethegrocerystoreonlytorememberlaterthatDerekwasallergic.Orwasitmaternalresponsibility?Orwasshejusttoooldtodealwithbullshit?Shewasconfrontingherboss—shit,herboss—inthebathroom.
Calmly,shesaid,“Iheardyou’reontheshortlistforCEO.Congratulations.”Shealmostsoundedasthoughshemeantit.BeforeAmescouldtalk,Sloaneadded,“IranintoBobbi,afewdaysago,bytheway.”
Watergurgledthroughpipesembeddedinthewall.Butotherwiseitwastoo,tooquiet.Hervoiceechoed.
Amesadjustedhisbelt.Shehatedwhenhedidthatbecauseitcouldn’thelpbutcallattentiontohiscrotch.Maybethatwasexactlyhisintent.
“Shetoldme.”Therewasasubtext.Itsaid:Yes,mywifeandItalkandI’mnotamonster,thanks.Heshrugged.“Alotofthingswouldneedtofallintoplacebeforeanythinghappened.”
“Butyoufeelyouroddsaregood.Icantell.”Sherefusedtolethereyeswandertoherownreflectioninthemirror.
Ahalfsmile.Asingledimplebuttoninghiscleanlyshavencheek.“I’vealwayshadgoodluckinVegas.”
“WhatareyoudoingwithKatherine?”sheasked,becausethiswasthepoint.Hiswasthenamemissingonthatlist,forbetterorforworse.
“Ah,comeon,Sloane.”Herolledhiseyesnow,tippedhisheadbackabit,likehewasateenagerandshewasremindinghimtopickuphisroom.“I’mnotdoinganything.Whatmakesyouthinkthat?”
SloanerealizedshehadbeenthinkingofAmesalltheseyearslikeadormantvolcanowithalowchanceoferuption.
“Ihaveeyes,forstarters.Andears.And…somerelevantexperience.”Sheleveledhergaze.Youknowwhattheysayabouthistory,shethought.
“Notthisagain.”Thereitwas.Theboyishannoyance.Inconvenienced.“Whenareyougoingtogetoverit?It’sbeenyears.”Ithadn’t.Theaffairhadbeenyearsago,butshe’dbeenpayingforiteversinceandheknewit.BecauseeverytimeshethoughttheproblemofAmesGarretthadgoneintohibernation,heprovedherwrong.Likethreeyearsaftertheaffair,Ameshandedahigh-leveltransactionassignmentSloanehadbeenchampioningtoDavidKellybecauseAmes“couldn’ttrusthernottosleepwithopposingcounselonthisone.”FiveyearsaftershehadAbigail,Amescasuallytoldherthatherassstilllookeddecentinasuit.Atsevenyears,hegotdrunkandaskedtosleepwithheragain“foroldtimes’sake.”Dozensoftheseinstancespepperedhercareer.Andnowshesawthesymptomsofanotherflareup.Anewcycle.AndwithoutDesmond,sheworriedthather—their—immunityhadbeencompromised.
“YourwifeaskedifIhadanyadviceforyoutohelpyourchances,”shesaid,slowly.“IpromisedherthatifIdid,Iwouldoffertoshareit.”Hiseyesdancedwithamusementandshehatedhimforit.“Sohereitis:Ifyouwanttostayontheshortlist,Ames,Iwouldadviseyoutokeepyourhandsandanyotherbodypartyoumightbetemptedtouseclean.Okay?”
Hescoffedandshovedhishandsintohispockets.“You’reunbelievable,Sloane,youknowthat?”Shethoughtaboutthatword.“Unbelievable.”Wasittrue?He’dhitupontheexactrightwordchoice,evenifhehadn’tmeantto.Theconcernthatplaguedher,asshesufferedthrougheveryinjustice,everyslight,everyentitlementtoherspaceandhermindthathetookfulladvantageof:thatnoonewouldbelieveher.Allbecauseofthatshort,stupidaffair.
“Mycondolences,Ames.”Sheturnedtoleave.Shehadsaidsomething.She’ddonesomething.Itwasn’tthe“BAD”list,butitwasherownversion,justmoredirect.
“Ifyouwanttohearmycounsel,Sloane.”Herhearttrippedasshehesitated,handsflattenedagainstthedoor.“It’sthis.Risingwaterliftsallboats.IfIwasofferedtheposition,andI’mnotsayingIwouldbe,butifIwas,thenitstandstoreasonthattherewouldbeavacancyintheGeneralCounselpositionandyoudohavesome—asyousaid,Ithink—relevantexperience.”
Herbodystiffened.PartiallybecausewhatAmeshadsaidsoundedsuspiciouslylikeabribe.Partiallybecausehewasright.
Sloanehadreachedanagewhereangernolongermeantslammingdoorsorbreakingglasses.Instead,herragecarriedoninthevibrationsofherorgans.Sheexitedwithoutanothersound,hermindlingeringinthebathroom,needlingoverthewordsexchangedwithAmes.
Whichiswhyshedidn’timmediatelynoticeBobbiGarrettstandinginthehallway,aglassofwaterineachhand,staringather.
Sloaneregisteredherwithastart.Anobviousflinch.“Wentinthewrongone,”shetoldBobbi,reachinguptosmoothherhair.OfcourseAmeshadbroughthiswife.AlreadyplayingatbeingthefirstfamilyofTruviv,Inc.
Bobbi’slaughwasanoctavetoohighandthewatersloshedintheplasticcups,dribblingoverherfingers.“Iwasjustlookingformyhusband.”Herhusband.NotAmes.Herhusband.
Sloane’sboss.
“Ithinkhemayhavebeeninthere,”saidSloane.“I’msure,ifhewas,he’llberightout.”
Sheshouldhavecoveredhertracksbyenteringtheladies’room.Sheknewthat,butshe’dalreadyhadasmuchoftodayasshecouldstomachandAmes’smarriagewasn’therresponsibility.Shewalkedbacktowardtheradiantchurchyard.Carshadbeguntopulloutoftheparkinglot,theirheadlightsflashingoninbroaddaylight.Theruninherhosehadincheditswaydownsothatitlookedlikeanuglyscarrunningoverherkneecap.
Sloanehatedfuneralsandshesworetoherselfthatneveragainwouldsheattendanotherone.Unless,shethought.…UnlessitwasforAmes.
DepositionTranscript
26-APR
Ms.Sharpe:
Ms.Glover,areyouawareofhowandwhentheseunsubstantiatedrumorsaboutAmesGarrettfirststarted?
Respondent1:
Itakeissuewiththewords“unsubstantiated”and“rumors.”
Ms.Sharpe:
Okay,then.DidyouandyourfriendseverdiscussAmesGarrettsocially?
Respondent1:
I’msurewedid,yes.
Ms.Sharpe:
Inwhatcontext?
Respondent1:
Hewasourboss.Wesawhimdaily.I’msurehecameupinavarietyofdifferentcontexts.
Ms.Sharpe:
Didyoucomplainabouthim?
Respondent1:
TherewereplentyofthingsaboutAmestocomplainabout,soI’msurewedid.
Ms.Sharpe:
HowoftenwouldyousaythatyoucomplainedaboutAmes?
Respondent1:
Idon’tknow.Ididn’tkeepalog.
Ms.Sharpe:
Monthly?Weekly?Daily?
Respondent1:
Idon’tknow.
Ms.Sharpe:
Aspartofthisinvestigation,wehavespokentodozensofAmesGarrett’sfriendsandcolleagueswhocategoricallysupportAmes,whosaythathehasasterlingreputation,whohaveknownhimforyearsandknowhimtobeafamilyman,agoodguy.Womenheknewincollege,inlawschool,professionally,whosaydefinitivelythattheyneverfeltuncomfortablearoundAmes.
Respondent1:
Thatlogicmakesnosense,Cosette.Ifsomeoneisamurderer,youdon’tpointtoallthepeopleinhislifethatarestillaliveandsay,hecan’tbeamurderer,lookatallthesepeoplehedidn’tkill!
Ms.Sharpe:
AreyoucomparingAmesGarretttoamurderer?
Respondent1:
No.
Ms.Sharpe:
Becausewhilewe’reonthesubject…Isittruethatyou’verecentlybeenquestionedaspartofapossiblehomicideinvestigation?
HelenYeh:
Objection.MovetostrikeCounsel’slastquestionfromtherecord.
Ms.Sharpe:
Therespondentbroachedthesubject.
Respondent1:
Asyouknow,theentireofficehasbeenquestioned.Andnoonesaidanythingaboutkillinganyone,didthey?
CHAPTERTWELVE
28-MAR
ThoughitwasonlyMarch,thespreadsheetturnedusallintoSantaClauses.Weweremakingthelist,checkingittwice,tryingtofigureoutwhowasnaughtyornice.
Wehit“refresh.”Wewaitedfornamestoappearthatneverdid.Wewerethrownoffguardwhennameswehadn’texpectedpoppedup.Duringthoseweekswestoodinelevators,scanneddocumentsinthecopier,andsatinsalesmeetings,watchingasthoughwithX-rayvision.Wesawthroughthecloseddoorsandpastthezippeddresspants.
Wedismissedsomebehavior—wecouldtakeadirtyjoke.Others—themenwhomadepointstotellusabouttheiropenmarriages,whofollowedusintorestrooms,whosentexplicittextmessagesandthenclaimedtobetoodrunktoremember,whodidn’theartheword“no,”whoretaliatedwhentheydid,whogropedourasses—wecouldn’t.WethankedGoditwasn’tus.Andwhenitwas,wefeltasicksenseofcomfortthatitwasn’tonlyus,arelieflikehavingjustvomitedafterahangover.
Weleanedacrosstreadmills,theorizingwithoneanotheraboutwhatmadethemenonthatlisttickandinthis,wefailedinherentlybecausewewastedmoretimefocusingonthosemen’semotionallivesthantheyhadeverspentonours.
Thequestionwasneverwhy.Itwas—
“WhatarewegoingtodoaboutKatherine?”
Sloanebreezedinwithoutknocking,shutthedoortoArdie’soffice,andpressedherbacktoitasifshe’dbeenchasedthere.Ardiewasproofreadinganemailtoathird-yearassociateatNorman,Steele&Sandovalregardingapropertytaxdispute,apractice—proofreading—towhichtheyoungerattorneysintheofficeseemedallergic.Everyonewasinsuchahurry.
Sloanesniffedtheair.“ItsmellslikeMcDonald’sinhere,Ardie.PleasetellmeyoudidnotgotoMcDonald’s.”
“Okay,Ididn’tgotoMcDonald’s.”
Sloanewalkedovertothetrashbinandpinchedafastfoodbagbetweenherfingers,theremnantsofasausage,egg,andcheesebiscuitthatArdiehadgrabbedonherwayintowork.Ithadbeendelicious.“Iwillneverunderstandyou.”SloanedumpedthecrumbledbagintothebinandtooktheguestchairoppositeArdie’sdesk.
“Goodmorningtoyou.Please,haveaseat,”saidArdie,unperturbed.Likeeveryotherwomanontheplanet,she’dseentheKateMossmemeswiththeassertion,“Nothingtastesasgoodasskinnyfeels”andthoughttoherself,Pardonme,buthaveyoutriedcheesecake?ThoughArdiesuspectedtherealrubwithrespecttohereatinghabitswasn’tthatshelikedfoodthatwasbadforher,butthatshelikedfoodthatwascheap.Ardiecouldaffordorganic,free-range,andfarm-raised,shejustdidn’tusuallywantto.
“I’mhavingamoraldilemma.”Sloanepulledherchairclosertothedesk.
Ardiefinishedrereadingheremailandpressed“send.”“Iwasundertheimpressionthatyourmoralswerefairlyflexible.”Ardienoticedthathersuitwasshinyandwornattheelbows.Itwasthekindofthingthatsheshouldbemoreattentiveto,sheknew.Buthermotherhadalwaystoldherthattherewasnomoreimportantphysicalattributeforawomanthangoodskin,andArdiehadverygoodskin,sothatoughttocountforsomething.
“Mymoralsarecomplicated.There’sadifference.”Sloanefoldedherhandsonherknees,sittingpinstraight,likeshewasapupiltryingtoimpressateacher.Ardiepushedherlipstogetherandrestedhertempleontwofingers.“IsawAmes…hoveringwithheratthememorialservice,fromwhichyouabandonedme,bytheway.”
Ardiehadtakenherfingersandwichestogoandescapedtohercar.Shewasn’tcutoutforthatmanypeople.Shetookwalksinherneighborhoodand,whenshedid,shewouldcrossthestreet,avoidawholecul-de-sac,simplytododgethenecessityofhavingtowaveatanotherhumanbeing.ItwasawondershehadafriendlikeSloane.
“IalreadyinvitedhertoMichael’sparty.”Ardiedeflectedthebuilt-inquestionastoherwhereabouts.
Sloanefrownedandcockedherhead.“Thatwasuncharacteristicallykindofyou.”
“Iresentthat.”
“Anyway.”Sloanepressedherfingertipstogetherasshetalked,toofast,asalways.“IconfrontedAmesand—”
“Youwhat?”
“IconfrontedAmes,”sherepeated.“AndhetoldmeinnouncertaintermsthatifhebecameCEOthenI’dbeupforGeneralCounsel.”Sloanesatbackinthechair,palmsopenlikejazzhands.Thebigreveal.
Ardiefurrowedherbrow,aslightshakeofherhead.“Obviously.”
Sloane,notamused.“Buthewas…”
“Hovering.”Ardiehadthefeelingthatshe’dbeenherebefore.Look!Theartworkonherofficewallshadn’tevenchanged.Thesamepurpleorchidarchedlazilyoverherdeskandasmallrubberfigstillgrewinthecorner,bothofwhichshewateredandcaredfordiligently.ThepictureofTonyhaddisappearedsincethelasttime.Likemagic.Inthatinstance—thecaseofthemissingTonyphotograph—ArdieactuallysuspectedGrace,thoughshe’dneverexplicitlyconfirmedit.
“Yes.”Shesatforwardagain.“Ireallywantthatjob.”
“Youdeservethatjob.”
Sloanedidn’targue.(Falsemodestywasonitswayout,likeabadfashiontrend.Butwewerestillslowadoptersofprofessionalconfidence—likewhenskinnyjeanswerecomingintofashionandwewereall:Butcanweeven?Yes,yeswecould.)“SoasIseeit,”Sloanecontinued,“myoptionsare:Gethimfired,warnher,orkillhim.Whichwouldyouchoose?”Ardiedidn’tparticularlywanttoletherselfanswerthat.“I’mkidding.Obviously.”Sloanebulldozedapaththroughtheconversation,workingherselfup.Ardiewonderedifthesheeractoftalkingmadeherfriendsweat.“Thesecondoptionseemstheleastcomplicated,whatwiththelackofalibisand/ormaniacalschemingrequired.ButIfigureifwecangettoherbeforehegetstoher,thenproblemsolved.”Shedustedherhandstodemonstrate.
Ardiewassilentforamoment.Shefoldedherknucklesunderherchin.“Itriedwarningyou.”Thiswasmostlytrue,thoughithadbeenhalf-hearted.Theyweren’t,atthatpoint,thekindoffriendsthatpickedeachotherupfromoutpatientsurgeryforbreast-cystremovals.
Sloanescoffed.“Youwerealittlelate.”
Sloanedidn’tmeanforthosewordstohurt,buttheydidallthesame.Notbadly.Morethekindofdulledphantompainonemightexperienceyearsafterasurgery.Real,butnotreal.
“Andwhatifyou’realittlelate?”Ardieasked.“Rememberthatanythingyousaycouldgetbacktohim.Areyoupreparedforthat?”
Atthis,Sloanedidn’tscoff,becauseArdiewasremindingherofatruthweallhadtolearntovariousdegrees.Theofficewasanenvironmentperfectlyengineeredtobreeddistrust.Everyconfidence,everyrequestforadvicewasaleapoffaithandweallhadhorrorstoriesoftimeswhenwe’dmisplacedit.
Sloanetippedherheadbackandmassagedthetightmusclesatthebackofherneck.Theyallhadterribleposturefromstaringatacomputerthewholeday.“Wecanfeelherout,”shesaid,hervoicecroakyfromhavingherthroatarched.“Wecanmakeheroneofus.”Shefinishedherstretch.“Youdon’treallythinkshe’sinvolvedwithAmes,doyou?”
Ardieconsideredthis.“No.Idon’t.Notyet,anyway.”She’dknownpracticallytheminutethatSloanehadstartedsleepingwithAmes.Peopleweresoobviouswhentheyweretryingtobesubtle.ThoughitwaspossiblethatKatherinewassimplymorediscreet.
Sloanetightenedhermouth,determined.“There’sthelist.”
Sloanehadforwardedthe“BADMen”listrightaway.Sincethen,sohadacolleaguefromherfirstlawfirmandevenTony’snewwife,Braylee.Ardiehadthoughtlittleaboutthespreadsheetlist.She’ddismisseditasgossip.Likeaslamnotebookkidsmadebackinthenineties.She’dalwayssortoflikedtheideaofeveryonemindingtheirownbusiness.Butshehadtoconsiderthatshe’dbecomepainfullyclosed-mindedinhermiddle-agedyears.MaybeherfeelingstowardthelistwereasimilarfeelingtothosethatkeptherfromdownloadingthelatestsoftwareupdateforheriPhone.But,then,sometimesthelatestsoftwareupdateswerecrap,soshewasn’ttotallywrongonthatfront.“He’snotonit,”Ardiesaidasevenlyasshecould.
“Thatcouldbefixed.”AsifthiswereanideaSloanewasfloatingatameeting:fixingtheproblemofAmes.
“Sloane.”Ardiesighed.Itshouldprobablyconcernherthatshewasalwaysthesigherinarelationship.ItwasasthoughherGod-givenroleweretolistentoeveryonearoundherspoutoffideasandonlyshecouldforeseethemillionsofthingsthatcouldgowrong.Itwouldmakeanyonesigh.Thoughsheworriedthatitdidn’tmakeherseemveryfun.MaybethatwaswhyTonyleftherforBraylee.Sheseemedlikeawomanwhosebreathswerealwaysdeep,calm,andeven.
“It’sagoodidea.Youhavetoadmit.”
Ardiebobbedherheadnoncommittallybackandforthasshementallyassessedtherisk.TheentrycouldgettracedbacktoSloane.Shedidn’tknowhow.Sloanecouldgetsuedforlibel,thoughnotifwhatshesaidwastrue.Sloanecouldgetfired.Butnotunlesstheothertwoitemscametruefirst.ItcouldruinAmes’slife.“It’snottheworstidea.”
“Ithasn’tjustbeenme.Therewereotherwomenbeforeme.Thatintern.Andhisassistant,right?Andithasn’tjustbeenoneortwothings.Youhavetorememberwhen—”
“Iremember.”
“Okay.Thenyouknowhisnameshouldbeonthatlist,”Sloanesaid.“Allthecoolkidsaredoingit.”
“Ifallthecoolkidsjumpedoffabuildingwouldyou?”sheasked.
OnecornerofSloane’smouthtuggedsideways.“Godno.I’dprobablygivethemashove.Believeitornot,Iwasn’tthatpopularinhighschool.”
Ardierolledhereyes.“Iabsolutelydon’tbelievethat.”
“Well.”Sloanelookedbetweenthetwoofthem.“Relativelyspeaking.”
Rightatthatmoment,behindSloane’shead,Amespassedthepaneofglassatthefrontofheroffice.Atwistofbrownandgrayandastreakofwhite.Adarkgraysuit.Stubblegrowingalonghisneck.Agingearlobes.Creasesonthebackofhiscoat.Fingertipspressedtotheheelsofhishands.
Shecouldn’trememberthelasttimehe’dlookedherintheeyeorthelasttimehe’dglancedinherdirectionandhadn’tmadeanexpressionthatmadeclearherentirebodywaspersonallyoffensivetohim.
Fuckit,Ardiethought.Addhim.
DepositionTranscript
26-APR
Ms.Sharpe:
Whatcanyoutellusaboutthelist,Ms.Glover?
Respondent1:
Whichlist?
Ms.Sharpe:
TheBewareofAssholeDallasMenList.Ibelieveyou’refamiliarwithit.
Respondent1:
Ididn’tinventthelist.
Ms.Sharpe:
Ineverimpliedthatyoudid.Isimplyaskedthatyoutellusaboutit.
Respondent1:
Itwasalist.OfmenthatworkedinDallas,withshortentriesthatdetailedthosemen’ssexuallyaggressivebehaviorintheworkplace.
Ms.Sharpe:
Didyouthinkthislistwasagoodidea?
Respondent1:
Ithoughtitwasanidea.Ididn’tcometoaconclusionastowhetheritwasgoodorbad.Itwascleartomethatpeoplesawaneedandthattheyreactedtothatneed.
Ms.Sharpe:
By“people,”you’rereferringtowomen?
Respondent1:
LasttimeIchecked,womenwerepeople,too,Cosette,aretheynot?
Ms.Sharpe:
Whodecidedwhichmenwouldbeincludedonthelist?
Respondent1:
Noonepersondecided.Ifawomanhadexperiencedaman’spoorbehaviororhadbeenmadeawareofit,shecouldchoosetoincludehimonthelist.
Ms.Sharpe:
So,effectively,whatyou’resayingisthatthewomeninthiscasenotonlyactedastheaccusers,butalsoasjudgeandjury.
Respondent1:
Thiswasn’tacourtroom.Therewerenolegalramifications.
Ms.Sharpe:
ButMs.Glover,lasttimeIchecked,theseare,infact,legalramifications,aretheynot?
Ms.Sharpe:
Letmeaskyouamoredirectquestion.WhendidyoudecidetousethelisttotrytosabotageAmesGarrett?
Respondent1:
Theintentofthelistwasnevertosabotage.Theintentofthelistwasonlytowarn.
Ms.Sharpe:
Ms.Glover,wouldyoumindexplaining“proximatecause”tous,asyouunderstandit,fortherecord?
Respondent1:
“Proximatecause”meansthataneventissufficientlyrelatedtoaninjurysuchthatacourtwillconsiderthateventtobethecauseoftheinjury.
Ms.Sharpe:
Wellput.Andcouldyoutellusthetesttodeterminewhetherproximatecauseexists?
Respondent1:
Proximatecauseismeasuredbythe“sinequanon”test.Latinfor“butfor.”YwouldnothavehappenedbutforX.
Ms.Sharpe:
Inthiscase,Ms.Glover,someoneisdead.That’sthe“Y.”Myquestionissimple:Wouldsomeonebedeadbutforyouractions?
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
28-MAR
Ardiewasthefirsttoreachforthetortillachipsonthetable.TherestaurantwaskitschyMexican,vintagebootsfastenedtothewallasdécor.Coloredtwinklelightshungfromtheceiling.Groupsofmenleanedovertacoplates,tiestuckedintotheirdressshirts.
AroundthetablesatGrace,Sloane,andKatherine.Katherinedidn’tacceptSloane’sinvitationtolunchwithwhatonemightcall“robustenthusiasm.”Sheinsistedthatshe’dbroughtherown,andSloaneshotback,“Objection,irrelevant”whichelicitedagroanfromArdie,whowasfundamentallyopposedtolawyerjokesofallkinds.
“So”—Sloanecrackedopenthelaminatedmenu—“isittooearlyformargaritas?”
Gracecrossedherlegs.“TheruleinmyhousewasalwaysanythinggoesaftertenA.M.”
Sloanewavedovertheyoungwaitress.“Amargaritaforeveryone,then?”Sloaneaskedthegroup.
“Ihavetopumprightafterthis.”Graceyawned.
“I’min.”Katherinestillheldherselfwiththesameimpeccableposture,asthoughshemightneedtobalanceasetofdishesonherheadatamoment’snotice.Hermouth,Ardiehadnoticed,hadahabitoftwitchingbetweenasmallsmileandaneutralexpression—backandforth,backandforth—asifitwereaskingforpermission.Maybethedrinkwasasignshewaslooseningup.Fingerscrossed,ArdiecouldimagineSloanesingingouttooloudly;thankGod,thethoughtdidn’toccurtoher.Thewaitressscribbleddowntheorderandhurriedaway.“Yourbabyisbeingabitofabuzzkill,”KatherinesaidtoGrace.
Sloane’seyesflashedwideandsheflattenedherhandsonthetablecloth.“Ohmygod,youhavetomeetEmmaKate.She’slikethemostgorgeousbabyyou’veeverseen.ShecouldbeinPamperscommercials.She’sthatbeautiful.Youwilljusthateher.That’showbeautifulsheis.Thoughofcourseyoucan’thatebabies.”
Aswallowed-the-canarylookpassedbetweenGraceandKatherine.GraceliftedherglasseversoslightlytoKatherine.
Sloanepointedherfingerbetweenthem,leaningin.“Okay,youtwo,whatareyouguys,likeclosetBFFs?Whatarewemissing?Spill.”
Graceprimlyunfoldedtheblackclothnapkinanddrapeditoverherlap.“Idon’tknowwhatyou’retalkingabout.Doyou,Katherine?”
“Fine.”Sloaneexaminedhernails.“Wecanplaythatgame,too.ArdieandIhavesecrets,don’twe?”HerponytailsweptacrosshershoulderassheturnedtoArdie.
Ardiesetdownherwaterglass.“Andwe’reolderthanyou,sowehavemore.”
ThemargaritasarrivedandGraceraisedherwaterglass.“Cheers,y’all.”AndArdiemighthavebeenfeelingoptimistic,butshethoughtGracelookedhappierthanshehadinweeks.
Sloanelickedalineofsaltfromtherimofherglass.“God,Grace,you’reliketheperfectmom.I’mprettysureIdrankwinewhenIwaspregnant.WhenIwasbreastfeeding,which—let’sbeserious—wasfor,like,threewholemonths,Idon’teventhinkIknewnottodrink.”Shesqueezedthelimeanddroppeditintothedrink.“AndlookatAbigail!She’sfine!”
Ardierolledhereyes,breakinginhalfanotherchip.“WhatdoIalwaystellyou?Statisticsmeannothingontheindividuallevel.Andtheinverseistrue,aswell.”
Sloanereachedacrossthetabletodipatortillachipintothesalsa.“Ardieisalwaystryingtoteachmemathematicalconceptsindisguise.I’mashitpupil,though,”continuedSloane.“Let’ssee.There’sthatoneand,ohyeah,youshouldn’tconsidersunkcostswhenmakingfuturedecisions.Hey?Hey?Prettygood,amIright?”
“Hasanyoneevertoldyou,youshouldwriteforTheEconomist?”askedGrace,sweepingastrandofhairthathadescapedbackintoplace,asshespokethroughabobbypinclenchedbetweenherteeth.“Andbesides.”Sheexpertlypinnedherhairback.“ThislunchisaboutKatherine.Katherine,youhavethefloor.”GraceperformedaVannaWhitegesturewithKatherinethegoodsondisplay.“Wewanttoknoweverythingthereistoknowaboutyou.”
“Orwhateveryou’dliketotellus,”Ardiesaid,becauseitwasobvioustoArdiethat,likeherself,Katherinewasabitofa—well,notshy,exactly,Ardiewasn’tshy—aquietperson.Someonethatcouldn’tquiteoperateonthesamewavelengthasthosechatty,sociallyadeptpeople,peoplelikeGraceandSloane,whonaturallyfailedtoseethesigns.Sloanebelievedthatinsideeveryintrovertedpersonwasanextrovertwaitingforafriend.Seriously.Shehadactuallysaidthosewords.Itwaslikeconversiontherapy,onlyitsortofworked.Atleastforshortspurts.ButArdieunderstood.Itcouldallbeveryintimidating.Exhausting.Tryingtostuffyourselfintoagroupoffriendsandgiveofftheappearancethatyoufitin,whenreallyallyouwantedtodowassitandeatchipssothatallofyourenergydidn’taccidentallybleedoutyourears.
Tothisend,ArdiedidnoticethatKatherine’sstarekepttrailingoffsomewherejustnorthofSloane’sheadandthatittookasparemomentforhereyestocatchbackuptotheconversation.Katherinesmoothedherhandsoverherlap.“Oh,well.Let’ssee.IwasaneditoronLawReview.”
“AtHarvard,noless,Ihear,”Gracechimedin.
ThecornersofKatherine’smouthsnaggedeversoslightlyupward.“That’scorrect.”Katherinespokewithsuchprecision,enunciatingeachsyllable.“IreceivedascholarshiptostudyabroadinOxford.I—”
Sloanerappedherfistonthetable,impatiently.“Okay,okay,weknowallthatstuff.Nowgettothegoodparts.Wewanttoknowaboutyourfamily,whereyou’refrom.Whatyoulike.Allthat.”
“Spareyourself,”Ardiesaid.“You’llsoonlearnthatit’sbesttogiveinasquicklyaspossible.It’sthemorehumaneoption.”
Thewaitressinterruptedtotaketheirorders.Ardierealizedonlyaftershewasdoingitthatshehadbeenscanningtherestaurantforherex-husband.Heworkedintheareaanditwasapopularlunchspot.ThewaitressvanishedagainandArdiereturnedherfocustohercolleagues.
“Right,”Katherineresumed.“I’mfromBoston.I’mtheyoungestoffivekids.I’mtheonlygirl.Ididn’thavemuchtimeoutsideofworkatmylastjob.Todomuchofanything.”
“IstillhavePTSDfrommytimeatafirm.”Gracespunastrawinherwaterglass.Graceneverdrankliquidexceptoutofastrawsoastospareherlipstick.“That’snotanexaggeration,either.”
Katherine’sgazeflittedoddlyupwardagain.
Afteradisconcertinglyshortamountoftimeforfoodtosupposedlybecookedandserved,plateswereslippedinfrontofthegroupandArdiebreathedinthesmellofhotcheeseandjalape?os.
“Doyouhaveaboyfriend?”AnditwasofcourseonlySloanewhowouldaskthisquestionsobaldly.
Katherinehesitated.“No,”shesaid.
“Oragirlfriend?Orsomething?”
“No,”Katherinerepeated.
“BecauseI’mabitofanexpertwhenitcomestowritingonlinedatingprofiles.”ArdieandGracebothlookedatKatherinesimultaneouslyandgavesmallshakesoftheirheads—no.“Isawthat.”Sloanestuffedabiteofenchiladaintohermouth.Infrontofher,hermargaritawasdowntoice.
Lunchprogressedinthewaythatlunchesdo.Katherinepickedathersalad,whileGracedescribedhowshewokeeverymorningwithpainfulknotsthatshehadtomassageoutintheshower.AndSloanewastextingonherphonewhenKatherine’sforkclatteredsharplydownagainstherplate.Ardiepausedmid-bite,lookedatKatherine’sface,whichwas,foronesingleinstant,collapsedinanexpressionofbeady-eyedangerandprotrudingjawline.
“Areyouokay?”Ardieasked.AndnowsheturnedherheadtopeeroverSloanetowhereshesawatelevisionsetupbehindthebar.Abaseballgameplayedwiththevolumeoff.
ArdiesettledbackinherchairandappraisedKatherine,whoblushedandtookanothersipofhermargarita.“Sorry.Ijust—itwasabadcall.”
“IlovetheRangers.”Ardiepunctuatedherpositionwiththetongsofherfork.Ardielovedbaseballfortheleisurelypaceofthegame,fortheopportunitytoeathotdogsslatheredwithmustard,forthesocialacceptabilityofyellingatpeopleyoudidn’tevenknow.WhileSloaneandGracehadtakenthejobatTruvivbarelyknowingthedifferencebetweenatouchdownandagoal,Ardieactuallyenjoyedsports.Theymadesense.AndTruvivoftengaveticketstoitsemployeesforfree.“You’reaRedSoxfan?”Shegrinned.
Katherineblewoutaquickbreathandraisedherhand.“Guilty.”
Anditallseemedsoperfectlyinnocentandcollegialandwewouldwonderifallsuchmomentsdid—seemthatway—untillatercoloredbyeventsnolongerinanyone’scontrol.
Wewouldlookbackonthismomentmonthslaterandwondermanythings.Wewouldlookforsigns.Andwewouldfindthem.
“Finallysomebodyformetowatchgameswith!”Ardiehooted.
AndSloanewouldsay,“Let’shaveonemore”andthenleanacrossandwhisper—“Katherine,haveyouseentheBADMenList?”
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
28-MAR
“Naughty.”Thatwassuchapervyword.Apornword.AndyetitwasthefirstonethatcametoGrace’smind.Oh,Grace,you’rebeingsonaughty.Thankgoodnessherthoughtsweren’tbroadcastforpublicconsumption.
Afterlunch,Graceslippedintothepumpingroomandlockedthedoorbehindher,checkingittwicetomakesurethatitwasfirmlylatched.Sheenteredandslippedoffherhighheels.Inthecorner,shehadstowedaplastic,liddedbin,withhernamewritteninSharpieacrosstheside.Herlittlesmuggledstash.Shepatteditfondly.
Gracehadn’tstartedthewholethingintentionally.Onlyfollowingthetrystatthehotel,thatwildnightofaromatherapyandroomservice.Sheopenedthecontainerandbeganpullingouthertreasures.Asleepmask,Frenchhandcream,cashmeresocks,apairofsilkpajamas,adownpillowinafreshlinencase,andablanketmadefrommerinowool.Gracechangedintothepajamasandtuggedthesocksoverhertiredfeet.Shemoanedaudibly.Thepadsinhernursingbraweredampwithmilkbutsheleftthemin,stretchingontothecrackedleathersofaandfluffingthepillowintoamoundbeneathherhead.Meanwhile,thepartsofherelectricpumpstillfloatedinabowlfullofsoapywaterbeneaththekitchensink
TokeepupwithEmmaKate’sdemand,Graceshouldpumpatleastthreetimesaday.Then,oneafternoonshethought,Screwit,andlaydowntotakeanapinstead.Shewokewithredlinescreasinghercheekanddrooldriedintothecornerofhermouth,butforashorttimeaftershefeltsuddenlyhuman.
Hermilksupplyhadalreadybeguntodwindleandyetshecouldn’tbringherselftoquitthenowdailynap.Everyafternoon,shewaslikeawomanwho,uponembarkingonanewdiet,wasdismayedtofindherwillpowertappedoutwhenfacedwithachocolatecupcake.ThepumpingroomwasGrace’schocolatecupcake.
And,becauseGracewasaperfectionist,she’dsettoworkperfectinghercraft.Tothinkthatafewshortweeksago,shefelttrappedinsidethisverysameroom,putoutbythelackofcellphoneserviceandlossofherprecioustime.
Itwassoeasy.
Graceknewherrights,too.ForawholeyearafterEmmaKate’sbirth,Truvivwasrequiredtoprovideherwithaprivatespaceinadditiontobreakssufficientforhertoexpressmilk.Truvivwasnotrequiredtoallotheranytimetosleep,butreally,shouldn’ttheybe?Maybejustalittle?
Gracepulledthesleepmaskoverhereyesandtriedtoshuttheworldout.ThebeautyofitwasthatnoonesuspectedGraceStantonwouldlieatall,muchlessaboutfeedingherinfantdaughter.Noonesuspectedathing,whichmadeGracewonder,whatelsemightshebecapableofpullingoff?
DepositionTranscript
26-APR
Ms.Sharpe:
Inyourinitialcomplaint,youallegedadecade-longcultureofsexualharassment.Adecadeisalongtime.Whydidn’tyousaysomething?Surely,youwereaffordedtheopportunitytoreportyourconcernsatsomepointduringthattimeframe.Atleastonce.ButIwilltellyou,wedidn’tfindasingleinstanceofcomplaintonrecordfromyou.
Respondent1:
Iobviouslyfearedformyjobandthefutureofmycareer.IfearedretaliationfromTruviv.Afear,which,asyoucansee,hasturnedouttobequitevalid.
Ms.Sharpe:
Ms.Glover,inthatcase,you’venowsatonthisallegedinformationforatleasttenyears,byyourownaccount.Whynow?
Respondent1:
TobelievethatIwastheonlyincidentofsexualharassmentwouldhavebeenna?ve.ButIwasn’tcomfortablewiththesamethingthathadhappenedtomehappeningrightundermynose.Icouldnolonger,ingoodconscience,standbyandwatchwithoutspeakingup.
Ms.Sharpe:
Mr.GarrettwaspoisedtobecomeTruviv’snextCEO.Youwereawareofthis,weren’tyou?
Respondent1:
Iwas.
Ms.Sharpe:
Yourconsciencehasimpeccabletiming.
Ms.Sharpe:
WhenyousaythatyourecentlybelievedtherewasanothertargetofMr.Garrett’sallegedbehavior,towhomexactlywereyoureferring?
Respondent1:
KatherineBell.
Ms.Sharpe:
AndwhatexactlydidyouseeMr.GarrettdotoKatherineBell?
Respondent1:
Isawhimsinglingheroutforattention,attentionthatwasnotcommensuratewithhercurrentpositionwithinthecompany.Isawhimusheringherintoclosed-doormeetingsinhisoffice.
Ms.Sharpe:
Doesthecompanyhaveapolicyagainstclosed-doormeetings?
Respondent1:
Ofcoursenot,but—
Ms.Sharpe:
Soinsum,youareallegingthatAmesGarrettpaidattentiontooneofhisemployeesandhadmeetingsinhisoffice.
Respondent1:
No,Cosette.Itgotworse.Much.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
29-MAR
Thefollowingday,outsideofAmes’soffice,Sloanecradledastackofaccordionfoldersagainstherhip.Sheknockedgently,leaninginclosetothedoortolistenforsignsthathewasonthephone.
Butinmoments,Ames’smuffledvoicesiftedthroughthewood.“Comein.”Sloaneturnedtheknob,themetalinsidesofthelocktwistingoutofplace.Theshadesweredrawnoverthefloor-to-ceilingwindows,maskingtheviewoftheMargaretHuntHillBridgeandturningthenaturallightgray.
KatherinestoodbehindAmes’sdesk,herweightleaningontothehandrestingagainstthehardsurface.Sloanewasmoresurprisedtorealizethatshewasn’tallthatsurprisedtofindKatherinethere.KatherinehadbeenfollowingalongwithwhateverwashappeningonAmes’sscreen.Sloanehadbeentrainedinasimilarfashionbehindcountlesspartners’deskswhenshewasayoungassociate,enoughseparatepointsofreferencethatthisparticularoneshouldn’tturntheswitchonanyalarmbells.Whichjustwenttoshowhowcontextmattered.
Katherinelookedup.“Hi,Sloane.”AndSloanetriedtoreadthehiddenmessagesthatmightbewrittenthere.ButshefoundthatKatherine’sownshadesweredrawn,theviewmasked.
Sloanemadenohurryasshewalkedovertothechairoppositethedeskandtookaseat.Shecrossedherlegs.“Ibroughtthedisclosurerequestsforthesubscriptionboxacquisition,”shetoldAmes.“IhighlightedwhatIthoughtweshouldpushbackon.Youwanttotakealookordoyouwantmetopullthetrigger?”
Ames’sforeheadcreased,hiseyesfollowingherwithoutmovinghishead.AstashofHotTamalesprotrudedfromwithinhischeek.Thescentofcinnamonclungtotheair.
Who’safraidofthebigbadwolf?Sloanethought.
BecausewhileKatherine’sexpressionwasablank,Ames’ssaidonething:power
“Icancomeback,”Katherinesaid,straightening.SheglancedbetweenAmesandSloane.Sloanecouldn’tquitegetusedtothewayKatherine’sshorthairleftherentireneckexposed.
SloanewatchedAmes,butdidn’tbudge.WhenAmesnodded,Katherinecollectedalegalpadandpenpreviouslystrandedonthedeskandleft.
Thephotographsofadozenfamousathletessmileddownatthemfromthewalls.Sloanetappedherheelonthethinlayerofcarpet.Thechairinwhichshesatwasn’tcompany-issued.Itwasmid-century.Navyleather.Comfortable.Probablypricey.
Sloane,whohadanaturalaversiontosilences,letthisonestretch.
Amesclearedhisthroat.“I’lltakealookatthembeforetheygoout.”
Sloanekepttheaccordionfoldersonherlap.“What’sKatherineworkingon?”sheasked.
Amesleanedbackinhischair,rubbedhismiddlefingerandthumbacrosshisbrowline.“IwasteachinghertouseEdgar,”hesaid,asifsuddenlytired.“LookingatsomeoftheSECfilingsandregulatorymatters.”Heranhisfingersoverthelengthofhistie,straighteningitontopofthebuttonsofhisshirt.
“Howveryhandsonofyou.”Shedrummedhernailsacrossthefolder.Theywereshortandunkempt.Shecouldn’trememberthelasttimeshe’dhadamanicureotherthanwhatsheandAbigailmanagedinanemptybathtub,theirlimbshikedupoverthesidesastheytookturnsswipingpolishovertheirfingersandtoes.
Heintertwinedhisfingersonhisstomach,whichboreonlythesubtlesthintofageintheformofapocketoffatsittingrightabovehisbelt.“She’swritingamemoformeontheSEClawsofdisclosuresurroundingcybersecuritybreaches.”
“Shouldn’tGracebedoingthat?”
Hetappedhisfingerstogether.“Gracewon’tmind.She’sjustbackfrommaternityleave.YoumightsayI’mbeingconsiderate.”Helookedpleasedwithhimself.
Sloanesatforward,restingherelbowonthefolderinherlap.Herchinonherfist.“Because,funnyenough,Ithoughtshewassupposedtoworkunderme?”
Hetiltedhisheadtostareupattheceiling.Yes,Ames,thankyou,it’splentyobviousthatyou’reannoyedwithme,butI’mnotgoingaway.“I’mdelegatingtowherethere’saneed,Sloane.”
Shenarrowedhereyes.“Youcan’tkeepyourhandsoffthenewmerchandise.”
Hebroughthischairbacktostraight.“Lookwho’sobjectifyingnow.”
“YouknowwhatImean.”
“GotakeaMidol,Sloane.”
Sheclenchedherteeth,herlowerjawjuttingforwardintoanunderbite.Sheactuallywasonherperiod,sothisirkedhermorethanitshouldhave.Iftherewasonemonthlyobligationwedreaded,itwasn’tthebackingupofoperationaldatabasesorthehandinginofauditcollectionsheetsorthecheckingofupdatestothemanagementpacks—itwasourperiods.Nonumberofcommercialsinwhichwomendoveintopoolswearingwhiteswimsuitscouldconvinceusthatourperiodswereathingofswanlikebeauty.Onourbestdays,wemaintainedagrudgingallegiancewithourbodies.Weknewweshouldn’tbeashamed.Weweren’tashamed.Weweregrown-asswomen—whichisobviouslywhyweparadedtotherestroomswithtamponssecretlystuffedintoourcardigansleevesasthoughwewerespiesdeliveringencryptedinformation.Othertimes,wehadtofishquartersoutofthebottomofourpurses,searchingforchangetofeedthefemininehygienedispensersthathadyettobeupdatedinthepasttwenty-fiveyears.Wetookbirthcontrolinanattempttoassertamodicumofcontroloverouruncontrollablehormones.Weunbuttonedourpantsatourdesks.WerattledthekitchenTylenolbottleintoourhands.Weatechocolate.Wepretendedthatallofthiswasamyth.Thatwehadneitherfallopiantubes,normenstrualcycles,norbreasts,normoods,norchildren.Andthenwetookitasacomplimentwhenoneofthemenintheofficetolduswehadballs.So,tellusagainhowthiswasn’taman’sworld.
“Butwhilewe’reonthesubject.”Amespushedhissleevesuphisforearms.“IguessIshouldletyouknowthatBobbiwantedyougone.AfterthelittlestuntyoupulledatDesmond’smemorial.”
“Itwasn’tastunt.”
Heshrugged.“Thinkswe’rehavinganaffair,tryingtohaveanaffair,Idon’tknowwhatthefuck.”Hisjawworked.“Pointis,shedoesn’ttrustyouanymore.”
Sloanelaughedmirthlessly.“Iwouldthinkit’syousheshouldn’ttrust.”
“Women.”Helacedhisfingersbehindhisheadandleanedallthewayback.“Anyway.Look,thedeal’salwaysbeenthatI’dhaveyourbackaslongasyoudidn’tmakethingshardforme.Ithoughtyouunderstoodthat.I’mdoingthisoutofthekindnessofmyheart,Glover.Wehavehistory.Igetthat.Itrytorespectit,reallyIdo.Butyoupullstufflikethatagainand,well…I’mnotgoingtoprotectyou.”Idly,hepulledagolfballfromhisdeskdrawerandtosseditupintheairandcaughtit.“I’llfeedyoutothewolvesanditwon’tfuckingbotherme.Weclear?”
Sloanesurveyedhersurroundings,tooknoteofwhereshewas,oftheenvironmentshe’dchosentoinhabit.Ofthemansittingbehindthedesk.Ofherposition.“Iwasn’tawarewehadadeal.”Shereachedaconclusion.“Inthatcase,Iwantabiggeroffice.”
Heletthechaircomecrashingbacktoupright.BalancedtheballontopofastackofPost-its.“What?”Hischeektightenedwith,notasmile,butsomewhereinthatfamily.Asthoughhe’djustheardaridiculouspunchline.
“AndIwantjobsecurity,”shesaid.“Acontractedtimeperiodwithabuyoutclause.”
Hecrossedhisarms.Whatwerethethingsshehadlikedabouthimagain?Sloanecouldn’tremember.
“Haveyoulostyourmind?”
Sheignoredhim.“Iwantalarger401(k)contribution.Double.”
Herolledhischairsothathislegswerehiddenunderneaththedeskandhisarmsrestedontopofit.Good.Hewascomingtothetable.Sheknewhimtoowelland,ithadsuddenlyoccurredtoher,thathemight,beforelong,considerSloanetobealiability.
“IfIdidn’tknowyoubetter,Imightthinkyouwereblackmailingme.”
“I’mnegotiating.Isn’tthiswhatyoutaughtmetodo?”
Helookedtohisside,buttherewasnoonetheretobuyhisCan-you-believe-this-womanschtick.
“Ialreadytoldyou,”hesaid.“IfI’mappointedCEO,thenIwillbesuretorecommendthatyousucceedmeasGeneralCounsel.”Hesteepledhisfingers.
“AndIamtellingyouthatI’mheretoprotectmyself.Plainandsimple.”
Hescoffed.“Fromwhat,Sloane?YousuddenlythinkI’mtheboogey-man?”Heelicitedafauxshiver.Shewasn’tamused.“We’veworkedtogetherfor,what,twelveyears?Ithinkwe’vedoneallright.”
Shewonderedifthatweretrue.Ifinthenovelofhisownlife,ashisveryownpoint-of-viewcharacter,AmesGarrettbelievedthatheandshehaddone“allright.”Hewasn’twrong.Notentirely.Weeks,evenmonths,couldgobyinwhichAmesdidn’tmakeherbloodboilorundermineherauthorityormakeaninappropriatecommentorholdoverherheadthatthey’dslepttogether.Shefeltaweirdsenseofloyaltytothemanwithwhomshe’dworkedformostofherprofessionallife.Hethoughtthey’ddoneallright.Allright
Sheoftenfoundherselfsaying:Hedoesn’tknowanybetter.ItwasthisthoughtthathadflashedthroughhermindthemomentsheaddedhisnametotheBADMenList.Issueswithphysicalandinterpersonalboundariesattheoffice;pursuedsexualrelationshipswithsubordinateco-workers;sexist.Thatwaswhatshe’dwrittenbesidehisname.Sheworriedshe’dbeenunfairtohiminsomeway.Leavinghimunabletodefendhimself.Thatwhetherornotheknewbettermattered.Anditwasasthoughshe’djustwokenupandrealizedthatitwasshewhohadbeenallowingherselftobethedefenselessoneandthatofcourseAmesknewbetter.Hewasfiftyyearsold.She’daddedhimtothelistashermeaculpatootherwomenoutthere.ButnowSloaneneededtomakesurethatifAmesbecameCEO,shedidn’tfindherselfcutoutofajobandreplacedwithanewermodel.Andsoheneededtounderstandthatshecouldmakethingsdifficultforhimatatimewhenhedidn’twantthemtobedifficult.
“Abiggeroffice,Ames.Jobsecurity.A401(k)andyourpaystub.”
“Mypaystub?”Heshookhisheadincredulously.
“That’sright.Whatyouweremakingwhenyouwereinmyposition.Iwantthatimmediately.Andwhatyou’remakingnow.SothatIknowwhattoaskforwhenI’mmadeGeneralCounsel.”
Heranhishandthroughhishair.Sherememberedwhenshethoughtthewhitestreakthroughit—asymptomofsomethingcalledWaardenburgsyndrome—wassointeresting.Haircouldn’tmakesomeoneinteresting.Andneithercouldanofficeandfamousfriends.Amesfuckedmissionary-style,likeajackrabbit.“Youwomenallthinkthesystemisouttoscrewyou.”
“Youarethesystem,Ames.”Shestood,stareddownathim,thoughtabouthowherstilettoscouldpokecleanlythroughhiseyesocketsifshewantedthemto.“Andincaseyou’veforgotten,wescrewed.”
ThedecisionhadhadnothingtodowithDerek,andSloaneshouldhavefeltbadaboutthat.ItwasjustthatshehadwantedtosleepwithAmesandnowshedidn’t.WhatshewantedwastomarryDerek,she’ddecided,asthoughAmeswereafluvirusshe’dneededtogetoutofhersystem.Shewasoverit.Andshewantedtostop.Adecisionthatshe’dsharedwithAmesearlierintheweek.
Theresponsehadbeenchilly,atbest.Angry,atworst.
“Oh,sure,nowyouwantout,”he’dsaidinoneoftheirtalkssince.“Youopenedupyourlegsandusedmetogetaheadinyourjob,butnowyouwantout.”
“That’snotfair.”
“Oh,really?YouweretheyoungestattorneyontheTreadOpsdeal,Sloane.You’retellingmeyouthinkthatwasallyou?Enjoyyourbonusforthat.You’rewelcome.”
“We’rebothadultshere,”she’dsaid,likethathadanythingtodowithit.
They’dbeenhavingthesameconversationforaweek.Acontinuousloop.Intheinterim,shefocusedonwhatshewasgoodat—work—becausetwenty-nine-year-oldSloanehadn’tyetdecidedhowtopunishherselffortheaffairwithAmes,nowthatshe’dhadhercake,nowthatitwasbeingshoveddownherfuckingthroat.
Don’tmakethisweird,she’dsaidtohim,repeatingwordsshe’donceheardfromacollegeboyfriend.
Atfive-thirty,herofficelineranganditwasAmes’svoiceontheotherend.“Canyoucomedownhere?”
Onceshe’dreplacedthereceiver,Sloanehadstaredatherdesk.Itwasonlyabreakup.Breakupsweresupposedtobeawkward.Thatdidn’tchangewhetheryouweresixteenornearlythirty.SoSloanecarriedalegalpadtoAmes’soffice,wherehegreetedhergood-naturedly.
“Shutthedoor,please,”hesaid,wavinghishandtodemonstrate.
Shetookaseatinthechairinfrontofhim.Itwasmid-century.Navyleather.Comfortable.Expensive.
Amesmovedaroundtohersideofthedeskandsatontopofit,kneessplayedsothatshewaseyelevelwithhiscrotch.Herestedhiselbowsonhisknees.“We’refine,right?”
Sloanerelaxed.Theywereadults.“Yes,absolutely.We’refine.”
“Nohardfeelings?”Hiseyebrowsliftedboyishly.Shecouldimagine,withsomedistance,shemightfindhimcharmingagain.Justnotinawaythatmadeherwanttokisshim.
“Ofcoursenot.”Shesmiled,wantingtoputhimatease.“Ijustwantthingstogetbacktonormal.”
Hisheadbobbedupanddown,upanddown.“Me,too.Me,too.That’swhatIwant,too.”
Andthensheblinkedandhishandwasonherthigh.Hismouthonherneck.Hisfingerstangledinherhair.
Shegasped.“Imeant—”Hervoicewasbreathy—sexy?God,shehadn’tmeanttosoundsexy.“Ames,”shesaid.
Hepulledherheadback.Hislipscoveredherthroat,whereherheartpoundedatthesurface.
“Stop.”Thistimesheknewtherewasnomistakingwhatshesaidorhowshesaidit.Hisweightpresseddownonherthigh.Histietrailedherlap.Awettongueslippedintothecreviceofherear.
Thesoundthatsqueezedfromherchestwasstrangled.Inthebackofhermind,sherememberedthatshewasatwork.Attheoffice.Don’tmakeascene
Sloaneusedtheforceofherlegstoshovethechairback.Thelacetrimofherskirtrippedatthehemreleasingthesickeningnoiseofasmalllacerationinthefabricasitsplit.ButSloanefreedjustenoughdistancebetweentheirbodiestoduckbeneathhisarm.Shedidn’tlookbackassheswungopenthedoortohisoffice.Shedidn’thaveto.Shealreadyknewwhathelookedlikewithruffledhair.
ThepathfromAmes’sofficetoSloane’swasastraightshotandshewalkedthedistancebriskly,chinup,eyestrainedathertarget,asifshewerewalkingtheplankwithcarefuldignity.Tearsdrippedfromhereyes.
Fromdownthehallway,Ardieglancedupfromaprintout,andthendidadoubletake.
“Sloane?”Ardiewalkedtowardher,butSloanedidn’tstop.Shecouldn’t.“Areyouo—”Sloanelookedstraightthroughherandpassedherinthehall.
Throughsheerforceofinertia,Sloanereachedherofficeandslumpedintothefamiliardeskchair.Rageroaredinherchest,butitwasmutedbysomanyotheremotions.
Ardiewasinheroffice,aroundthedesk,crouchingbesideherchair.
“Whathappened?”Ardie’svoicewasalow,threateningrumble.
“Nothing.”Sloaneclosedhereyes.Itpushedafloodoftearsoverthehillsofhercheeks.
FootstepscamefromthehallwayandAmesGarrettappearedinthedoor.“Sloane.”Hisvoiceteeteredalongtheedgeofacommandandaplea.
ArdiestoodslowlyfrombehindSloane’sdesk.Sloanewouldrememberthelookinherfriend’seyesuntilthedayshedied.Itwasthelooknightmaresweremadeof.JustnotSloane’s.
ShewouldrememberthewaythatArdiewalkedaroundthedeskandhowAmes’sAdam’sappleleapt.ShewouldrememberhowAmesheldouthispalms.
“Ardie.Ididn’t—”
Nowordswereexchanged—orwerethey?Sloanecouldn’trememberthatpart.OnlythatAmesbegantowalkbackward.ThatsomehowtheforceofArdiewasenoughforhimtoleaveSloane’sofficeandthatonceArdiehadclosedthedoorontheirboss,therewassilenceandthequestionsthatwouldlingerformonthsthereafter:Wouldhehavelefthiswife?DidheloveSloane?Didhehateher?Whatwouldhappentoher?Hadshehurthim?
Thatevening,ArdiehadpushedastiffdrinkintoSloane’shandandSloanehadhopedthatwouldbetheendofit.
Buttherewerephasestostoppingsleepingwithamanyounolongerlikedandthefinalonecouldlastmorethanadozenyears.ButSloanewasokay.They’ddone“allright,”asAmeshadputit.
Ameswouldgiveherwhatshewanted.But,intheend,woulditreallybeenough?
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
30-MAR
Wenevercriedatwork,almostnever,althoughwhenwedidcry,onceathomeormaybebeforethat,inthecarwithoursunglassesonaswecorkscrewedslowlydownthroughtheparkinggaragefloors,itwasusuallyaboutwork.
Everythingwasaboutwork,eventhethingsthatweren’t:Wouldwecontinuetoworkafterchildren?Wouldweputourworkgoalsaheadofhavingafamily?Wereweworkingenough?Wereweworkingtoomuch?Werewebeingpaidtheamountourworkwasworth?Whatwerewedoingthisweekend,didwewanttohavebrunchordidwehavetowork?
Inescapablelow-gradethoughtspiralsthatmanifestedintheat-least-once-a-weekclammyfeelingthatspreadoutinourgutswhilewerodetheelevatordowntothelobby,theslowsenseofdreadbuilding,thatwe’dleftsomethingundone,mishandledasituation,orfuckeduproyally.Notthatwecouldquiteputourfingeronwhat,exactly,itwasthatwe’ddonewrong.Andthatmadeitworsebecauseitleft480minutesofpossibilitiestoriflethrough,searchingfortherootoftheproblemthatpoisonedthememoryofourday.
Andthenthenextmorning,wewouldstuffDr.Scholl’spadsintothebottomsofourhighheelsandsignuptochairanotherJuniorLeagueluncheonandpretendtheonlyemotionswefeltwerehappy,pleasant,andcompetent.
AndmaybethatwaswhynoneofusgraspedtheimportanceofBankole’sdeathtotheextentthatweshouldhave.Weweretoobusydoingthehappy-pleasant-competentdance,smilingwhileweprayednoonewouldnoticeifwemissedastep.
Butwecouldn’tgoonthatwayforever.What’samazingnowisthateveryoneexpectedusto.
WhenGracefinallycriedattheoffice,itwasoverspilledmilk—literally.Bythetimeshenoticedthedampspotseepingthroughthefabricofhermonogrammedtote,itwastoolate.Herpencilskirtandblousewerewet,notthatshecaredaboutthat.Shedroppedtoherkneesinthemiddleofthehallway.Thetextureoftheroughcarpetpuncturedherkneecapsasshepulledoutthestoragebagfromwhichatrickleofbreastmilkstreamedsilentlythroughaleakintheplastic
“No,no,no,no,”shemurmured.
Herbrainrifledthroughexpletives,butnonerosetothesurface.Instead,shefeltherheartbleedingoutasshecuppedherhandbeneaththebag.Shetriedcradlingittothekitchensink,gettingthereonlyintimetorealizethattherewasnothingsterileinwhichtostorethemilkasthefinalfewmillilitersofitdrippedthroughthecracksbetweenherfingers.Liquidgold
Andthatwasit.Onehourofpumping.Lost.Please,God,justripherfreakingbreastsoffandgivethemtosomeoneelsewhowasmoreresponsible.Sheblamedthemanufacturingcompany.Sheblamedherhusband.Sheevenblamedherdaughter.Andifthatwaswrong,shedidn’tcare.
Gracewouldliketooutsourcethewholething—whatwasthatcalledagain?Oh,right,“formula”—butshejustknewthatthesecondshedid,EmmaKatewoulddevelopchildhooddiabetesorterribleallergiesandthedoctorwouldturntoGraceandask:Wereyoubreastfeeding?AndLiamwouldlookatherall:Isupportyourdecisionwhilesilentlywishinghe’dhadababywithsomebodyelse.
Sherestedherelbowsontheedgeofthestainless-steelsinkandclawedherfingersthroughthebaseofherchignon.Sheknewthatifshelookedintoamirror,hereyesandnosewouldbered.Thiswasthethingaboutcryingintheoffice.Themoreyouwantednottocry,themorelikelyitwasthatyouwould.
“Excuseme,Grace?”ThevoiceofAmesGarrettcamefrombehindher.“Isthisyours?”
Sheturnedherchinbarelypasthershoulder,notingthewet,traitoroustotewithherinitialsstitchedtothefront.“Yes.Sorry.”
Thetwoofthemstoodthereforanuncomfortablemoment.Anemployeeobviouslyonthevergeofsomecompletely-inappropriate-for-workemotionalbreakdownandherboss.Congratulations,Grace,youaresinglehandedlysabotagingthecauseofyourgender
BeforesheandEmmaKateweretwoseparatepeople,she’dalwaysbeenslow-burnfuriouswhensomeonehadaskedher,“Willyoucomebacktoworkafterthebaby’sborn?”NooneaskedLiamthat,sowhyshouldtheyaskher?But,behold!HerewasExhibitA.
Amesrockedbackonhisheels.Coinsshiftedinhistrouserspocket.“Youknowwhatyouneed?”heasked.Sleep,shethought,immediately.Definitelysleep.“Asmoke,”hesupplied.
Sheturnedherbacktothesinkandranherfingernailalongherlowereyelids.“I’mbreastfeeding.Ican’t.”
“Lookstomelikeyoujustfinished.You’veprobablygot,what,anotherthreehours?You’refine.”Amesextractedapackfromtheinsideofhisjacketpocketandtappedittwiceagainsttheheelofhishand.“Trustme.I’vegottwokidswhosleptbutneveratthesametimeandawifewhosawbeinganewmotherasacompetitivesport.”Amesloweredhisvoice.“Itwasn’tpretty.”
Gracetouchedthedampspotonherskirt,wonderingwhenshe’dmanagetomakeittothedrycleaners.Probablynotbeforesheworetheskirtagain.Shecouldbuyanewoneonline,whichwouldbeeasier,evenhaveitovernighted,butGracelikedtopretend—especiallytoherself—thatshehadnormal,working-womanfinancialconcerns.BecausetheonlysociallyacceptablereasonawomancouldworkashardasGracedidwasoutofnecessity.SheblewoutaslowcalmingbreathwhileAmeswaitedpatientlyinfrontofher.
Achanceforone-on-onetimewiththeGeneralCounseldidn’tcomearoundeveryday.Andevenifitdid,Gracewouldn’thaveknownhowtoturndowntheoffer.Sosheleftthedrainedbaginthesink,collectedhertote,andfollowedAmesuptotheeighteenthfloorbalconies.
Truvivrelegatedsmokerstobalconycorrals,littlesquaresofoutdoorspacethatechoedthosenear-extinctairportloungesandsimilarlyreekedoflungcancer.
Thebuildingcastashadowoverthesquareofopenspace,leavingaslightchillintheair.Shesquintedoutatthesun-soakedcitybeyond.Shewouldkillforabitofthatsun.Shefeltsoclammysincehavingababy.Thefilmofurineandrunnyfecesandspit-upanddroolandmilkneverquitewashedfromherbody.
AmespulledoutacigaretteandhandedittoGrace.She’dneversmokedonebefore,butreasonedthatiffifteen-year-oldsloiteringinfrontofmallscoulddoit,athirty-eight-year-oldwomanwithadoctoratedegreeoughttobeabletofigureitout,too.Sheplacedthepaperytubeinthe“V”betweenherfingersandheldittoherlips,likeshe’dseendoneinmovies.Amesspunhisthumboverthelighterandaflameerupted.Sheleanedforwardtomeetitandtheendofthecigarettesmoldered.Asatisfyingcurlofsmokeslippedoutfromthetip.
Shesuckedgently,carefulnottobreatheinthesmoke,whileAmesexpertlybalancedacigaretteinhisownmouthandlitit.
Itwasremarkable,really.Onepuff,andhisbodyvisiblyrelaxed,hisshouldersretreatingfromhisneck.Heglancedsidewaysatherandraisedhiseyebrow,hismouthtoyingwiththeideaofasmile,asiftoacknowledgehisvicewithachagrined,WhatcanIsay?
Itstruckherthathedidn’tknowaboutthelistyet.Shefeltabitbadnowstandingdirectlyacrossfromhimone-on-one,knowingthathisnamewasbeingpassedaroundDallasbehindhisback.ThoughGraceknewenoughtoknownottobethemessenger.
Amesdrewanotherbreaththroughthecigaretteandletthesmokefalloutofhismouth.“MymotherwasbabysittingthetwinsonceandleftacontainerofBobbi’sbreastmilkonthecounteralldaysothatBobbihadtothrowtheentirethingaway.Ithoughtshewasgoingtopunchmymotherintheface.Instead,shejustrefusedtospeaktoherfortwoweeks.Itwasalmostasbad.”
Gracelaughed.Thesmokestungtheinsideofhernose,makinghereyeswateragain.“Iwouldhavepunchedherforsure.”Shecaughtaglimpseofthediamond—threecarats—onherleftfinger.Itwoulddefinitelydrawbloodifshepunchedsomeone.
Hefrowned.“Youprobablyfeellikeyou’relosingyourfuckingmind,don’tyou?”Hetookanotherdrag.
Gracedidn’tsayanything.Shecouldfeelthethinlayerofashonthebalconyfloor,grittybeneathherColeHaans.
“Nevermind,”hesaid.“Youdon’thavetoanswerthat.”Hetappedhiscigaretteontherailing,lettingtheashesfall.Grace,realizingthatherasheswereflakingontoherskirt,followedsuit.“Bobbicriedallthetime.Bobbinevercries.She’slikealivingHallmarkcard,thiseternalrayofsunshineandoptimism.”HesmiledandGracecouldseethathiswifemadehimhappy,whichwasrefreshing.Therewasthisweirdfadbetweenmenwithintheofficetoseewhocouldcomplainmoreabouttheirwife.Ohmyeffinggod,she’smakingmegotoDisneyWorldwiththekids,killme.IgethomefromworkandshehandsmethebabybeforeIcaneventakemywalletoutofmypants.I’llhavetoworkanextratwentyyearstopayforherBirkinbag.Thatsortofthing.Itwasliketheywerepretendingtheywerekidnappedfromtheirnativevillagesandforcedtobuytwenty-five-thousand-dollarcushion-cutsfromTiffany’sagainsttheirwill.Like,whodidtheythinktheywereconvincingandwhydidtheybelievetheillusionthatthey’dmadeshittylifechoiceswassuchabadgeofhonor?
MaybethiswastherealreasonwhyGraceinsistedonworkingdespitethefactthatLiam,asuccessfulventurecapitalist(alongwithhertrustfund),couldeasilytakecareofthem.Shedidn’twanttobeoneofthosewives.
“IthoughttheBodySnatchershadcomeinthemiddleofthenightandswitchedherout,”Amescontinued.“ItwasliketheTwilightZone.Somuchcrying.I’mnotsayingthattobemean.Thestuffyourbodiesgothrough.Icouldn’tdoit,that’sforsure.”
Gracefoldedherarmsandrestedherelbowinthecrookofherleftwristtosupporthersmokingarm.Shehadasmokingarmnow,apparently.Thenicotinewasalreadybuzzingthroughher,makingherheadfeelheavy.Agentleachehadpickedupsomewhereinthecenterofherskull.
Butastheedgedulledonherfrustrationoverthespilledmilk,shebegantoworrywhatSloanewouldthinkofherbeingupherewithAmes.
“DidyousmokewithBobbi?”sheasked,distractingherself.Shedidn’twanttothinkaboutSloane.Ameswantedtospendtime.Withher.Shefelt,sheadmitted,special.
“Ithinkthere’ssomerulethatsaysI’mnotallowedtoincriminatemywife,isn’tthere?”
“RuleofEvidenceSection504.”Gracehadamemorylikeasteeltrap.
“Shedoesn’tfindmyblue-collarrootsnearlyascharmingassheshould.”Hewinked,agesturethatshouldhavebeencheesy,butAmeshadthosesquintyeyesthatburstintowrinkleswhenhesmiled.Itwasagoodlook.
She’dknownAmesforsixyearsandshedidn’tactuallymindhim.Evenbeforethis.SheknewheandSloanedidn’texactlygetalong.Butshe’dalwaysharboredthedistincthunchthatSloaneboreatleastsomeoftheresponsibilityforblurringthelinesbetweenthem.Thatand,well,nothingAmeshaddonewasexactlyegregious.Morelikeopenforinterpretation.Therewererumors.Okay,yes,thereweredefinitelyrumors.Butweren’tthererumorsabouteveryone?Everyonehadsomeonewhodidn’tlikethem.MaybenotGrace,inparticular,butmostpeople.Hewasrougharoundtheedges,attimes,sure,butthiswasacorporateexecutivewhosmokedcigarettesandworehissleevesrolledtotheelbows.
Gracewalkedtotherailing,flattenedherforearmsonthenarrowbeam.Boxesofgrassappearedasminiatureputtinggreensdownbelow.Carsthesizeofherthumbwaitedatstoplights,swervedaroundeachother,anddisappearedintoparkinggarages.Herheartratespedasshegazedverticallydownattheconcrete.Itwasimpossibletolookdownandnotthinkaboutfalling.Momentsearlier,shemighthaveconsideredthrowingherselfoverthesideofthebuilding.
“You’regoingtobefine,”Amessaid.“Youhaveagooddoctor,right?”
“EmmaKatehasthebestpediatricianIcouldfind.Dr.Tanaka.”Asoggyflakeofpapercameoffonhertongueandsherealizedshe’dbeenchewingtheendofthecigarettelikeathumbnail.
“Foryou,Imean.”
Graceturnedherbacktotherails.“I’mfine.Justtired.”
“Ofcourse.”Heshuffledupnexttoher,arespectabledistanceaway,leanedhisownelbowsagainsttherailing.“Bobbihadpostpartumdepression.”Heshrugged.“Morecommonwithtwins,Iguess.Shehadtogoonmedication,butthankGodshedid.I’llbehonest,”hesaid.“Ithoughtitwassomemade-up,hippy-dippyshit.Aglorifiedwordfor‘tired.’ButIdidmyresearchwhenherdoctordiagnosedit.Moodswings.Anxiety.Wholebodyexhaustion.Suicide.Allthatfromhavingababy.Seemslikeaflawinthesystem.”
Aflawinthesystem.
Yes,Gracesupposeditwas.
“IhardlythinkI’mdepressed.”Shetiltedherhead.“I’mwearingRebeccaTaylor.”Thebackofhernosefeltdryfromthesmoke.Shehopedtoveerthesubjectawayfromherfragilementalstate.Sheappreciatedtheconcern,butthelastimpressionshewantedtoleaveherbosswithwasthatshewasonesleeplessnightawayfromamentalbreakdown.Shewaitedabeat.“So,”shebegan,“isthereanythingyouwishyou’ddonedifferentlyhereatTruviv?”Graceknewthatmenlovedthesekindsofquestionsand,inthiscase,theanswermightactuallybeuseful.Helookedupquicklyather.“Professionally,Imean.”
Hesettledhisweightontotherailagainanddraggedonthecigarette.“Idon’tthinkso.”Heexhaledandhitchedhisleftcheekintoapleasedhalf-grin.“IthinkI’minprettygoodshapethesedays.”
“Thenhowaboutadviceforsomeonelikeme?Whatif,say,Iwantedtoheadupalargersectionwithinthedepartment?Youwouldtellmetodo…what,exactly?”
There’dbeentimesinGrace’slifeduringwhichshe’dletherambitionshow,onlytohaveitreceivedamusedly,likeapartytrick,acuteyounggirlwhoknewallherstatecapitalsandcouldsaythemondemand.Otherswhenithadfeltlikeagustofwindhadblownupherskirt,revealingherambitionandcausingallthemenintheroomtobecomesimultaneouslyarousedandembarrassedforher.Butshenolongercared.
Henoddedthoughtfully,flickedtheremainingnubontotheground,andextractedanotherfinger-lengthcigarette.“Okay.”Hepointedtheunlitcigaretteather.“Firstthingweneedtodoistogetyousomemoreinterestingwork.Challengingassignments.Makesureyoucanrunadealnotjustfromtheregulatoryside.Icanhelpwiththat.”Gracefeltasparkofpromise.Aglimmerofunexpectedhope.MaybeshecouldbemoreoftheMarissaMayer–typemother.Chronicoverachiever.Momontheside.“Keepafileofanycomplimentyoureceiveinyourinbox.”Hesetfiretotheroll.“Anytimesomeonetellsyouinwritingthatyou’vedoneagoodjob,saveit.Sendanemailtomeonceaquarterwithwhatever’sinthatfileandthetypeofworkyou’vebeendoingforthelastfewmonths.”
“Youwantmetobrag?”
Hescratchedhishairlinewithhisthumb.“Iwantyoutobuildacase,acaseastowhyyoudeserveapromotion.Youdoallthatandinayearwe’lltalkaboutnextsteps.”
Graceswallowedasmile.Shewasproudofherself.Andjustateeny-tinybitlessexhausted.Thoughsheshouldprobablyputamoratoriumontheword“teeny-tiny,”aphrasewhichshemusthavepickedupfromEmmaKate’snanny.
Therewasashortpauseandthen—“Wanttoseeapictureofmykids?”Amesasked.
“Ithoughtyou’dneverask.”Near-strangerswerealwaysaskingGracetoproducepicturesofEmmaKateliketheyneededevidenceGracecaredenoughtotakethem.Itwasnicetobeontheotherendofit.
Ameshelduphisfingerandbalancedthecigarettebudonanearbyashtraywhilehewriggledhiswalletoutofhisbackpocket.“I’moldschool.Stillliketokeeptheminhere.”Heflippedthroughacoupleplasticinsertsandheldituptoshowtwoside-by-sideschoolphotosofhistwins.Bigsmiles.Notatallidentical.Oneoftheboyshadredhair,theotherthedarkbrownofhisfather.“Neitherofthemgotmy…”Hepointedatthisstreakinhishair.Ithadbecomelessnoticeablesincehishairhadbeguntograyinthelastcoupleofyears.“Waardenburg.Fifty-fiftyshot.”Heshrugged.
Hisfingerheldopentheleather.Ashinycardbehindoneofthepicturescaughtherattentionandsheleanedincloser,pretendingtoadmirehissons.Sheheldherhairback.
“Sohandsome,”shesaidinthetoneofacollegegirlhiredtowatchachildforfourhours.Thetopofahotelkeycardhadbeenslidintoplace.Thenameonit:ThePrescott.
Shestraightenedandsmiled.Heclappedthewalletshutandstuffeditintohisslacksagain.
“Ithinkso,too,”hesaidinreplytohercompliment.“ButhowwouldIeverreallyknow?Everyonethinksthatabouttheirkids.”
Herescuedthecigaretteandsuckedontheendonemoretime.Helaughedgently,puffingoutwhitesmokelikeadragon.“Hey,Iwasthinking.”Hedroppedthestubandcrusheditunderthesoleofhisblackleathershoe.“Couldyoudomeafavor?”
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
31-MAR
RosalitasatontheedgeofSalomon’sbed.ASpider-ManbedspreadwastuckedbeneathhisarmpitsandhesmelledliketheyellowJohnson&Johnsonsoapshe’dbeenusinginhisbathssincehewasababy.“Didyoufinishyourworkbookproblems?”RosalitaforcedherselftouseEnglishbecausehe’dneedEnglishmorethanhewouldneedSpanish.Ithurther,thisinvisiblecommunicationbarrieralreadycroppingupbetweenthem.
Henodded,histhickeyelasheslikecurtainsdrawingoverthecrownofhischeeks.Whenhewasatoddler,heruncleandhiswifelaughedandsaiditwasagoodthingthatSalomoncameoutofher,otherwiseshemightnotbelievethathewashers.ButRosalitasawherselfmarkedonSalomonindozensoftinybutimportantways.Theflatspotsontheridgesofhisears.Histoleranceforextremelyspicyfoods.Hisallergicreactiontoscentedsoaps.
Shepattedthesolidlumpofhischest.“Didyougetalltheanswersright?”
Henoddedagainandshegavehimahardlookinreturn.“Yes,”hesaid,outloud.Sometimesshehadtocoaxoutthewordsthatthehearinglosshe’dbeenbornwithhadtriedtostealfromhim,wordsthey’dfoughthardtodigupfromdeepinsidehersweetboy.
Intheend,ithadnotbeensopainfultoaskSalomon’sfatherforthemoneytopayforherson’sspeechtherapyandthenfortheexpensivehearingaid.Rosalitawasproud,butshemeasuredheractionsagainstonlyonequestion:WhatwasbestforSalomon?Andsosheaskedthenandshewouldaskagain,onceSalomongotintotheprivateschoolprogram.Whichhewould,shetoldherself.Becauseitwashergoalasmuch—ifnotmore—thanhis.
ItamazedRosalitatowatchherlittleboy’shandsscrawlingwordsquicklyacrossapage,toseethatheknewAmericanhistoryandcoulddofractions.Rosalitawasn’tstupid,butshe’dneverlearnedtoreadorwriteEnglishaswellasshewouldhaveliked.Beforetheofficebuildingjob,Rosalitahadcleanedthehousesofwomenwhotendedtosendlastminutetextmessagesaboutwherethey’dleftthebroomortoaskifshecouldletthedogoutandshewasalwaysembarrassedbythecrudemessagesshesentinreturn,knowingtheyweren’tright,butalsonotknowinghowtofixthem.She’dcompletedmiddleschoolinMexicobeforemovingacrosstheborderandnearlyfinishedhighschoolhereintheU.S.Shestilllovedtoread.Butthosehadbecomesuchsmallpiecesofherthatsheknewthepeopleintheofficebuildingwheresheworkedwouldneverbeabletoseethem,noteveniftheyhadamicroscope.
“Ihavesomethingtoshowyou.”Salomon’sbodywriggledunderneaththecoversashedugforsomeburiedtreasurehiddenathisfeet.“Ms.Ardiegavethistome.”Thenhewasgrinningandholdingouthispalmandinitrestedashinygold-and-bluepin.“ShesaidanairplanecaptainwearsitandthatIcanhaveit.”
Rosalita’scheeksflushedandsheranthebackofherhandacrossherhairline.
“Imightbeapilotoneday,”hesaid.“AndthenthegoodthingwillbethatI’llalreadyhavethisbadge.”
“Perhaps,”shesaid,placidly.She’dneverbeenonaplane.ArdieValdezhadbeenononesofrequentlyshedidn’tneedtosavethewingpinforherownson.
Andwhatdiditmatter?Thiswaswhatshetoldherselfbecauseitwassensibleandtrue.Therewasnocompetition.Thoughthemeanerpartofherconsciencecouldn’thelpbutaddthatthereasontherewasnocompetitionwasbecauseArdieValdezwasalreadysofarahead.
AndnowapieceoftheofficeandofArdielivedinherhouse.Asmallthing.Andyet,smallthingshadbrokenherbefore.
“Ormaybeevensomeonethatbuildsairplanes.”Hervoiceturnedsuddenlytired,asthoughshewerereturninghomeafterthirdshiftinsteadofleavingforit.“Butonly”—shedraggedthecoversuptohischin—“ifyoustudyhard.Givethattome,”shesaid.“Idon’twantyoupokingyourselfinyoursleep.”
Hepusheditintoherhand.Itwasonlyapieceofjunk.Weightless.Butitmadeherboysmileandthatwaswhatscaredher.
Themattresssighedwiththereleaseofherweight.Sheflippedofftheswitch,leavingonlytheglowofthemoon-shapednightlightinthecorner.Withhisgoodearpressedintothepillow,sheknewhedidn’thearherwhenshewhispered,“Teamo,Salomon.”
RosalitadrovetoworkandparkedinthelotacrossthestreetfromtheTruvivbuilding.Thecleaningstaffwasn’tallowedtoparkinsidetheofficegarage,despitethefactthatitwasnearlyemptyatthistimeofnight.Thedistancekeptthecleanersfromwalkingoutwithanythingthatwasn’tnaileddown.
Aftercollectingtheircartofcleaningsupplies,RosalitaandCrystalrodetheelevatorupthebuilding’sspineandontoanofficefloorsodevoidoflife,shefeltthatshe’dlandedonthemoon.Detectingthewomen’smovements,thelightsflickeredonwithaspittingcracklefollowedbythelow-gradehumoffluorescentbulbs.
Crystal’sbaggysockssulkedaroundheranklesasshewalkedovertotheemptyreceptionist’sdeskandfishedthroughthecandybowlwithraggedynails.Rosalitaswattedherhandaway.“What?”Crystalsnatchedherhandtoherchest.
“Thosearen’tforus,”Rosalitasaid,returningtothecartwhereherclipboardhung.
“What,liketheycountthem?”Crystaleyedthebowlhungrily.
“Theymight.”
Crystaldroppedtheissue.
Rosalitabegantoworkthefloorwithclinicalefficiency.Whenshecleanedtheeastbathroom,sheslippedherhandintoherpocketwhileCrystalbentoveratoiletbowlinsideoneofthestallsandpulledoutSalomon’swingpin,thendroppeditintothepapertowelbinbeforechangingthebag.Shetoldherselfshemeasuredheractionsbyonlyonequestion:WhatwasbestforSalomon?Shetoldherselfthat,butshealsoknewhowtolie.
Andsotheycontinuedalongthefifteenthfloor.Hourspasseddifferentlyinthemiddleofthenight.Thesimultaneousthrillanddepressionthatcamefrombeingawakewheneveryoneelsewasasleep.Thesharpnessofthelightagainstthedark.ThewaytimebecameonlyaconstructandyetalsotheonlythingthatRosalitacouldthinkabout.ItstillremindedherofthedaysafterSalomon’sbirth,whensheheldhimtoherbreastasshegazedintothetelevision,deepintothedarkness,whennothingworthwatchingwaseveron.Andinthemorning,shewouldcallhersisterandcataloguethenight’seventsinminutedetail—howmuchSalomonate,howmanyhoursheslept,howmanyhourssheslept—asifthisminutianeededtobedocumented,witnessed.Andsheknewthatthememoryofthosenightswouldneverleaveherbodyuntilthedayshedied.
ItfeltlikealifetimeagothatRosalitahadclimbedintothewebofmotherhoodandallowedittostick,toweaveitselfintoherhairinshadesofgray,tocrawlbeneathherskinwhereitturnedtoblueandpurplespiderveins,todrawashiny,tautlinejustaboveherpubicbone.Sincethen,thecobwebhadonlygrownincomplexity,theneedsofherlifeonlyenmeshingherdeeperanddeeperintothesilkstrandsuntilonedayshemightatlastbegobbledup.
Alongsideher,Crystalstillwasn’texactlyproficientbutwasimprovingandshekeptthecartorganizedenoughsothatRosalitacouldspeedthroughherrounds.Atthispoint,RosalitawassureCrystalwaspregnantbythewayherfingersrestedidlyonherstomachandwhentheydid,Rosalitacouldjustmakeoutthesmallmoundprotrudingthere.Probablyaboy,becauseCrystalwasskinandboneseverywhereexceptforherbelly.ThatwashowRosalitahadbeen,too.Andherbodyrememberedthisalsobythepearlyriverbedsthatcrawledalonghersidesandoutfromherbellybuttonlikeasun.Itremembered.
RosalitaemptiedtheshredderandthewastepaperbasketintheofficesofSloaneGloverandArdieValdezandanewemployee—KatherineBell.Whenshereachedtheendofthehall,thecornerofficewasclosed,lightsoff.Sheknockedtwiceandentered.
Themistakewasobvious.Ayelp,quicklystifled.Aroughhuffofair.Rosalitacaughtsightofawomanwithdark,shorthairstaring,openmouthed,atherinthestripoflightcastoverherfromthecracked-opendoor,eyeswideandshininginthedarklikearaccoonexposedinthebeamofaflashlight.Rosalitalostherbreathinagaspthatmadehardlyanysoundatall.Andthenthemomentsthatfollowedwerequiet,too.Soquietthattheonlynoiseswerethoseofskinagainstskinandfabricandgulpsandamancoughingandsalivaandhairand—
Rosalitabackedoutoftheoffice,jamminghershouldersopainfullyagainsttheedgeoftheframeshecouldseethecolorsofthebruisethatwouldformstampedagainsttheinsideofhereyelidsassheblinkedbacktears.Ashortcrycaughtinherchestasherbackbowedandsheclutchedatherarm.Tinglesracedelectricboltsdowntoherelbow.Hermindtiltedintoaspinofdoublevisionthatchurnedherstomach.Shehadjustenoughsensetoclosethedoor.
Crystalstoodfrombehindthecart,holdingabottleofWindexlikeagun.“Areyouokay?”
Rosalita’sinternalorgansstampededforherthroat.“We’reskippingthecornerofficetonight.”
“Why?”CrystalstaredthroughthedoorasifshemightseewhatRosalitahadseen.
Rosalitaswallowed.Hershoulderhurt.“Someone’sinthere.”
“Butyousaid—”
“Nottonight.”Rosalitahalfexpectedthedoortoflingopen,butsofar,ithadn’t.Herfacefeltfeverish.Shedidn’tlookatCrystal.“Ihavetousetherestroom,”shesaid.“Goaheadandtakecareofthislineofoffices.”
Rosalita’searsrang.Shestretchedherhandout,lettingherfingersfollowalongthewallforbalanceanddirection.Itledhertotherestroom.Thelightsbeamedoninoneclick,toobrightanddemanding.Sheleanedoverthefaucet,pushingherweightontothewhiteporcelain.Sweatglimmeredbetweenthedarkrootsofherhairandbeneaththefolliclesofhereyebrows.
Shestood,almostpanting.Herbrowneyeswerepoolsofmudreflectedbacktoher.Shesplashedherfacewithcoolwaterandlettherivuletsrundowntodripfromthetipofhernoseandherchin.Thenshesqueezedhereyesshutagainstherownreflectionandwipedthebeadsfromhereyelashes.Herbody,sheknew,hadalwayshadthebettermemory.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
31-MAR
SloanehadreturnedhomefromTarget,whereshe’dpurchasedabirthdaypresentforArdie’sson,Michael,anhourago.Thepartywastomorrow.Saturday.Ithadsnuckuponher,alltuckedinnocentlyasitwasonhercalendarrightafterahellishFridayand,well,hereitwas.Now,thenightbeforethebirthdaypartyhardlyseemedtheappropriatetimetotellArdie.Shetriedtodraftthetextmessageinherheadasifitwereaworkemail:Ardie,Ihavesomethingtotellyou,couldwehaveaquickword?
Shecouldpickupthephone.Shewasn’tateenager.Butshewasn’texactlysurethatwasagoodidea,either.Sloanereallywastheworstforprocrastinating,wasn’tshe?
ShehadaDilemmaonherhandsand,tocope,she’dbeenstandingbarefootinthekitchen,eatingherfeelings,whenthesecondmoralquandarypresenteditself.
Abigail’sphonebuzzed.Thatwashowitbegan,anyway.Andnow,well—Sloanewasn’tbeingnosy,wasshe?Shewasbeingagoodmother.Pokingaroundwasjustasmucharequirementashelpingwithhomework.Anyonewouldagreewiththat.Infact,asSloanethoughtaboutitshewassureshe’dreaditinanarticlesomewhere.SnoopingwasSloane’slovelanguage.
Maybeitdiddeservesomerebranding,though.Curiosity.There,thatsoundedbetter.JustincaseDerekeveraskedhowshecametobescrollingthroughAbigail’scellphone.Shewouldshrugandsay,Oh,Idon’tknow,Iwascurious
Derekwasintheirbedroomdoingpull-upsfromabarhe’dwedgedintothedoorframe.Shecouldhearhisbig,manlybreathsfromherspotperchedinthekitchenwherelastweekhe’dinstalledtwolightfixtures—Frenchcountrychandelierscustom-madeintheLuberon—thatnowhungostentatiouslyovertheisland,tauntingSloanewiththeknowledgeoftheaccompanyingcreditcardstatementthatwouldsoonarriveinthemailbox.Notthatshecouldtalk,havingjust“invested”inapairofCliziaMeshManoloBlahniks,thesightofwhichnearlybroughtherstraighttoclimax.Butstill.Beforeshe’dgottenmarried,hermotherhadtoldherthatforanymarriagetowork,bothpartnersneededtosharesimilarattitudestowardmoney.Consequently,SloanehadtakenherandDerek’smutuallyexpensivetastesasasignoftheircompatibility.Yearslater,herparentsweredivorcedandshe’ddiscoveredthatwhatmutuallyexpensivetastesamountedtowastwopeoplespendingherpaychecksatanalarminglyfastclipinsteadofjusttheone
Abigail’sphonevibratedfacedownonthecountertopagain,spinningaquarterinch.Itwasten-thirtyatnight.WhowastextingAbigail?
Thenitoccurredtoher:ShewasAbigail’smom,notsomejealousgirlfriend.Shedidn’thavetowonder,shecouldjustcheck.OnemoralquandarysolvedandjustlikethatherconcernoverspeakingtoArdiebeforetomorrow’spartyfadedtobackgroundstress.
ShepunchedAbigail’spasscodeintothephoneandnavigatedtothegreen-and-whitemessagingicon.Theretheywere.Threenewmessagesneatlylinedupontheleftsideofthescreen.
Sloanedevouredthemwhole:
GradyReedEveryoneknowsyouranandtoldyourmomonus.Wedidn’tevendoanything.Notcool.Wewouldn’thavetalkedtoyouifweknewyouwereatattletale.SteveLightnerYeah.Mydadsaysthatwecan’thaveyouattheboy-girlpartyatmyplacenowbecauseyoutattleandaretoosensitive.GradyReedSorryBLABIGAIL.
Sloaneslammedthephonedownonthegranitewithagruntofcarnalanger.“Youallrightinthere?”Derekcalledfromtheotherroom.
“Fine.I’mfine.Sorry.”Thedecisionnottorespondwithwhatshe’dfoundonAbigail’sphonewasswiftandinstinctive.Unfair,probably.Immoral?Maybe.Abigailwashischild,too.Equalparts.Thoughshedidfeelthat,intheeventofatiebreaker,surelyAbigailwasjustatinybitmorehers,whatwiththegestatinginsideofherforninemonthsandwhathaveyou.Derekcertainlydidn’thaveaflabbykangaroopouchunderneathhisbellybutton.Still,inaperfectworld,sheoughttobeabletoinvitehimalonginherparentalfury.
Butno.Shecouldn’triskherhusband’spropensitytowardsreasonableness.Herdaughterwasbeingharassed.Obviously.AndGradyReedhadbroughtSloaneGlover’snameintoit.He’dsaid“mom”and“mom”meantSloane.NotDerek.No,sheabsolutelycouldn’triskbeingtalkeddownfromaledge.Shewasangry.Sheshouldbeangry.Angerwasactuallytheonlyreasonablewaytofeelatthemoment.
Herdaughter’ssocialstatuswasteeteringprecariously.IslaLombardiwouldn’teventalktoAbigailanymoreandapparentlythatwasimportantbecauseIslaLombardihaddividedthegirlsintheclassintoCoolandNotandAbigailhadn’tmadethecut.Hencethosefirstnastytextmessages—bitch,cunt,slut.OnlytheNotsreceivedthem.Isla’smother—amarketingdirectorinIrving—hadbeentryingtoselltheschoolontheideathatIslaandherfriendswereexhibitingsomeformofnew-generationfeminism—girlsbeingopinionated,forceful,andoutspoken.Theysimplyweren’tfittingintothelikablefemalecharacternarrativeandthereforeshouldn’tbepunished.SloanehopedIsla’smothergotherhandcaughtinagarbagedisposal,somaybeSloanewasexhibitingsomenew-generationfeminism,too.
WhenSloaneturnedthephoneover,ahairlinecracksnakedacrosstheglassscreen.Sheclosedhereyes,breathingheavily,untilshefeltthecolorinhercheeksfade.
“Derek.”Shepaddedintotheirbedroom,whereherhusbandwascrunching,shirtless,onthePersianrug,Godblesshim.“Igotanemail.”Likeanythingelse,lyingwasaskillthatimprovedwithpracticeandSloanehadsomeexperienceindeceivingherhusband.Shewasn’tproudofit.ButthiswasforDerek’sownprotection.Savinghimfromhowthesausagegotmade,sotospeak,andso,ifanything,Sloaneshouldbeapplaudedforbearingtheburdenoftheirsharedlives.Somemightsaythatshewasevenalittleheroic.“Ihaveabitmoreworktodotonight.I’llbeupstairsintheoffice.”Hebaredhisteethashehissedairoutonanupwardcrunch.Itlookedpainful.Sloanewonderedifthetwoofthem—SloaneandDerek—wereinagameofchickentoseewhowouldletthemselvesgofirst.Sheprayedthathewould.
“Okay.I’mgoingtobedsoon.Canyoucheckthatthedoorsarelockedonyourwayup?”Shenodded.“Sureyoudon’twantto…”HemadeeyesinthedirectionoftheirCaliforniaKing–sizedmattress.“…first?”
“Quite,”shesaid.GiventhatDerekhadthebodyofatwenty-five-year-old,Sloaneshouldprobablyworryaboutherhusband’sfidelity,butforwhateverreason,shedidn’t.Howwouldyoufeel,honestly,ifyoufoundoutDerekhadbeenprowlingaround?Graceonceaskedher.Likeshit,she’dresponded.ButthenI’dgetoverit.Andinhercore,shebelievedthattobetrue.
Inanyevent,shecouldn’tfakeheavysexbreathingandmaintainhercurrentlevelofrageatthesametime.Sosheescapedupstairs,herindignationsettoboil.
Athercomputer,sheusedthebuilt-inmousetonavigatetoherremotedesktop,whereshepulledupatemplateonTruvivletterheadanddashedouttheschoolboardsuperintendent’snameintheaddressline.SloanehadbeencirclingaroundanideaeversinceAbigailhadreceivedthefirsttextmessagescallingherthosenames.
IthadbeenayearorsoagothatSloanehadseenanewsstoryaboutagirlwho’dhungherselfinherbathroombecauseherclassmateswerecyberbullyingheroveraboy.Ithadbeenasalaciousnewsstory.Thekinddesignedtomakeparentseverywherecollectivelyfreakout.Picturesofthissweet,smilinggirlwithbracesandfuzzypillowsonherbedwentviralandSloanehadthought,alongwitheveryoneelse,Oh,pleaseletthatneverbemychild.Thatwasthepoint.
Buthiddeninallofthehumaninterest,heartstrings-pullingmeatofthestory,therehadbeenanactuallegaltheorythathadsnaggedSloane’sattention.Thestudentswho’dbulliedthegirlfacedbothcriminalandcivilresponsibilityforthegirl’sdeath.Theyfacedjailtime.Andithadopenedupaconversation,too,abouthowmuchresponsibilitytheschoolshouldbearforthesuicide.Realconsequences,realcaselaw.
See!SloanewantedtowaveherlaptopoverherheadataPTAmeeting:Iamnotcrazy!
Becauseenoughwasenough.ThatwashowSloanesawit.
Onscreen,thecasesmultiplied.LaneyPresper,twelveyearsold,jumpedtoherdeathaftercomplainingaboutonlinebullyingmonthsearlier.Theconclusion:purportedbulliescouldbechargedwithcriminaloffenseswhentheirvictimscommittedsuicide.
JacksonWorrall,eighteen,killedhimselfviacarbonmonoxidepoisoningfollowingaseriesoftextmessagesfromhisgirlfriend,whowaslaterconvictedofinvoluntarymanslaughter.
MattRenard,fifteen,hunghimselftoescapecyberbullying.Theresult:legislationpassedthatallowedlawenforcementtopresstraditionalchargesagainstharasserswhosebehaviorcontributedtoanotherpersontakinghisorherownlife.
Sheransearchaftersearch,summarizingandpiecingtogetheranargumentthatmightfinallyencouragetheschooltodosomethingaboutthewayherdaughterwasbeingtreated.Sowhatifshewasexploitingthefactthatshewasanattorney.Thiswasherdaughter!
Sloanewasanexcellenttypist.Fastanddeadlyaccurate.Shelosttrackoftimeasshebangedwordsintoherkeyboarddeepintothenightuntilsheresurfacedtoaworldlitonlybythered,green,andyellowstarsofmodem,alarm,andDVRreceiverlights.
Shestaredatthefinalproduct,alegalmemorandumtotheschoolboard.Hercasecitations,sheknew,wereimpeccable.Herargument,whichcenteredaroundtheideathatbulliesandthosewhoallowedtheirbullyingcouldbeheldliableforthephysicalandpsychologicalpainoftheirvictims,feltreasonablysolid.Therewasjustonethingthatwasbotheringher:shewasAbigail’smother.
Itwasjustthat,well,wouldn’titfeelabitmoreweightyifitcamefromanattorneywhowasnotrelatedtoAbigail?Anoutsidesource.Someoneelse.Someonelike…Ardie.
Herfingershoveredoverthekeyboard.Itwasonlyabitofartisticlicense.Awhitelie,really.SloanewassurethatArdiewouldhaveagreedifshe’daskedher,buttimewasoftheessenceandtomorrowwasMichael’sbirthdayparty.Ardiedidn’thavetimetobebotheredand,really,whatshewasproposingwasn’twrong,exactly.Plagiarismwaswrong.Thiswastheopposite.SloanewasgivingArdiecreditforamemothatshe’dwrittenherself.Itwasactuallyfairlyniceofher,wasn’tit?Noharm,nofoul,andwhatnot.
Sloanemadethedecision.Shesignedthelegalmemorandum:AdrianaValdez,Attorney-at-Law.Andbeforeshestood—kneesachingfromsittingcrossed-leggedinherergonomicchair—shesearchedthewebfortheemailaddressandcopieditintothe“To”line.I’mcopyingourattorney,AdrianaValdez,shetyped,toassistinthismatter,asneeded.Pleasefindattachedalegalmemorandumshe’swrittenonthesubjectforyourreviewandconsideration.Kindregards.
DepositionTranscript
26-APR
Ms.Yeh:
Mrs.Garrett,allowmetointroducemyself.MynameisHelenYehandI’mactingascounselfortherespondents.I’llbeconductingyourformalinterview.Inyourdeposition,Iwillaskyouquestionsandyouaregoingtoanswerthemunderoath.Thecourtreporterisattemptingtotranscribeeverythingwesay.It’simportantthatwedon’tinterruptoneanotherandthatyouanswereachquestionverbally.Let’sbegin.
Ms.Yeh:
HowlonghaveyoubeenmarriedtoAmesGarrett?
Witness:
Twenty-sevenyearsthisMay.
Ms.Yeh:
Howwouldyoudescribeyourmarriage?
Witness:
Well,afterthatmanyyears,it’snotexactlyfireworksandrosepetalseveryday,butI’ddescribeitashappy.Hestillalwaysplannedaweekendtripformybirthday.Heneverforgotouranniversary.Wehadfamilydinners.Wetalked.Notjustsmalltalkaboutthekids.Wereallytalked.HetoldmeaboutworkandhetookmycareeradviceseriouslyeventhoughIhaven’thadajobinyears.Ihavealwaysappreciatedthat.Ofcourse,overthelastfewweeks,hisdemeanorcompletelychanged.Depressed,moody,stressed.
Ms.Yeh:
Wasthereareason?
Witness:
I’msureit’sbecauseoftheBADMenList.Allthoselies.
Ms.Yeh:
Okay,soyousawthelistandyouaretellingusthatMr.Garrett’snameappearedonit?
Witness:
Yes.
Ms.Yeh:
Andyoufeltthathisnamedidn’tdeservetobeincluded?
Witness:
Iknewhedidn’tbelongonthatlistfromthestart,butonceIfiguredoutSloaneGloverwastheonewhoaddedhim,well,thattoldmeeverythingIneededtoknow.
Ms.Yeh:
SteppingbackfromMs.Gloverspecifically,whatmotivewouldawomanhavetolieinmakingsexualharassmentandotherallegationsthatwerefoundonthespreadsheet?
Witness:
Attention.Careeradvancement.Financialgain.
Ms.Yeh:
Thelistwasanonymous.
Witness:
It’snotveryanonymousnow,isit?Ifitwasmeanttobesoanonymous,thenwhydidSloanesuemyhusbandandhiscompanywithhernameonthedocket?
Ms.Yeh:
That’savalidquestion.Let’ssee.Mrs.Garrett,doyouknowwhoClarenceThomasis?
Witness:
ASupremeCourtJustice.
Ms.Yeh:
DoyouknowthenameofthewomanthataccusedJusticeThomasofsexualharassment?
Witness:
IthinkImighthaveknownoncebutIcan’trecallatthemoment.
Ms.Yeh:
HowaboutanyofthewomeninvolvedinthesexualharassmentallegationsofDavidLetterman?BillCosby?Doyourecalltheirnames?
Witness:
No,Idon’t.
Ms.Yeh:
Icouldgoon,butisitfairofmetoassumethatthesemen,BillCosby,DavidLetterman,andJusticeClarenceThomas,arebetterknownthanyourhusband,AmesGarrett?
Witness:
Yes.
Ms.Yeh:
Soitdoesn’tappearthatthesewomenachievedanysortofwidespreadnotorietyasaresultoftheirsexualharassmentclaims.DoyouknowwhoTysonGrangeis?
Witness:
He’sabasketballplayer.HeplaysfortheLakers,Ibelieve.Oneofmyhusband’sfriends,actually.
Ms.Yeh:
That’sright.HeplaysfortheLakersandheissponsoredbyTruviv.Youmayalsoknowthename,ArielLopez,silver-medalOlympicgymnast.ShewasalsosponsoredbyTruviv.Sixmonthsago,MissLopezaccusedTysonGrangeofsexualassault.Doyouknowwhathappenednext?
Witness:
No.
Ms.Yeh:
I’lltellyou.NothinghappenedtoTysonGrange.MissLopez,however,losthersponsorshipwiththeverycompanyyourhusbandworkedfor.Notalotbywayoffinancialgain,youmightsay.AndTysonwas,asyoumentioned,Ames’sfriend.
Witness:
Thosearedifferentcases.Applesandoranges.Ineversaidallwomenmakesexualharassmentallegationsforfinancialgainornotoriety.Ibelievewomen.Mostwomen,anyway.Butthere’sanexceptiontoeveryrule.Wecan’tjustgiveeveryfemaleaccusercarteblanche,canwe?Look,I’mawomanandI’msayingthat.This“believeallwomennomatterwhat,”comeon,that’sludicrous.Sorryforthestrongwords,Iknowit’sanunpopularopinion,butthat’sthetruth.
Ms.Yeh:
AndsoifSloaneGlover,asyousaid,addedyourhusband’snametothelist,claimingthathehadahistoryofsexualharassment,you’resayingthatyoudonotbelieveher.Isthatright?
Witness:
Listen.Therearesomepeoplethathavetogiveeverythingalabeljusttomakethemselvesfeelbetter,tofeellikethevictim.I’mtellingyou,that’sSloane.Youshouldhearwhat’sbeengoingonatAbigail’sschooljustbecauseherlittleten-year-olddaughterwasn’tpopularenough!KidsjustbeingsillykidsandSloanehastogoonthewarpath,tellingeveryonewhowilllistenthatit’sbullying.Iknowwhathappenedanditwasn’tbullying.Andnowshedoesthesamethinghere.Allofasuddenit’s“sexualharassment.”Unfortunately,myhusband—myfamily—actuallyhasfallenvictimtomaliciousbullyingandwhodowehavetothankforthat?Sloane.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
31-MAR
Michaelstillsleptinpull-ups.Ardiecherishedfewthingsasmuchashersleepandgettingupforfrequentpottybreaksinthemiddleofthenightwouldhavebeensacrificingapieceofherselfthatshewasn’tpreparedtogiveup.Cars3roaredinthebackground,theremoteafewinchestoofarforhertobotherturningdownthevolume.She’dmadeacompellingcaseforTangled,butlostoutandfoundherselflookingupfromthestrewncarcassesofcardboardboxes,fromwhichshewasfashioningbuildingsfortomorrow’ssuperheroparty,toseewhatthetalkingcarsweregoingtogetuptonext.Michaeldartedinandoutofthelivingroominhispull-upsandaSpider-ManT-shirt,wavingorange-and-whitepom-pomsaroundandcallingthem“fire.”
Ardie’slegssplayedoutintoafloppy“V”onthefloor,anothersheetofwhitebutcherpaperlaidbetweenthem.Herbackachedasshecoloredtinyblackwindowswithmagicmarkerontoit.Shewouldn’tgettheinkoffherhandsforweeks.Butitwasworthit.Traysofpeanutbutterandjellysandwichescutintoshieldscooledintherefrigerator.Superheromaskshadbeenlaidoutonthepartytable.AndsoonArdiewouldbefinishedwiththelife-sized—oratleastchild-life-sized—city,whichherson’stinyguestswouldplowthroughandsave.SoArdiefeltalittlelikeasuperheroherself.
Ardie,likemanyofus,hadcaughtperfectionism,anillnessthatweheardwasmorecommoninwomenbyafactorofroughlytwentytoone.Tothebestofourunderstanding,itwastransferredthroughsocialmediaandthepagesofglossymagazinesthatweredisplayedface-outinthecheckoutlineand,oncecontractedattheageoftwelveorthirteen,couldbecuredbynonumberofJezebelthinkpiecesoredgyrom-comsinwhichtheleadingladyboldlyportrayedatrainwreckorabadmommy.Forourchildren,wechasedthegoldstandardofsuburbancontentmentsetbyourownstay-at-homemothers,whilesimultaneouslysteppingintotheshoesofourbreadwinningfathers.Andwemadesurethateveryoneknewwewerehandlingitallswimminglybythewaywewrotenotesonnapkinsdutifullyfoldedintoourchildren’slunchboxesandthrewHalloweenpartieswithSwisscheesecutintotheshapesofghosts.
Becausehonestly,ifthatwasn’tsuccess,whatwas?
AsforArdie,shesawnoneedtopsychoanalyzeexactlywhatshewastryingtoproveortowhombythisuncharacteristicdisplayofdomesticprowess.ShewastakingalongswigofDietCokewhenthedoorbellrang.
Ardieglancedtowardthefrontdoor,bristling.HowmanytimeshadshetoldTonynottoringthedoorbellwhenMichaelmightbesleeping?WhetherornotMichaelwassleepingwashardlyaprerequisitetoherannoyance.
“Michael,yourfather’shere,”shecalledinthedirectionofherson’sbedroom,hatingherselfforsaying“yourfather”insteadofsomethingmoreinclusive,like“Dad”or“Daddy.”
Shewasterribleatbeingdivorced.Butthenitwasn’texactlyalifeskillshe’dplannedtoneed.Likebuildingafire.Orsewing.
Herjointsfeltahundredyearsolderasshecrawledfromthefloortoherfeet.
“Coming,coming,”sheshoutedasMichaelzoomedpastandbeathertothedoor.
“Hiya,champ.”TonyruffledMichael’shair.Unsurprisingly,MichaellookednothinglikeeitherArdieorTony.Michaelhadsunburnthairandfreckles,big,adorableears,andlegsasthinasArdie’swristallthewayuptohiswaist.WhenTonyleft,sheworriedthathe’dabandonMichael.ThatheandBrayleewouldstartanicebiologicalfamily.Andthatthesonthey’dsharedbetweenthemwouldn’tbeenoughtoholdherex-husbandwithoutthepullofDNA.Butshe’dbeenwrong.Sowrong,infact,thatshealmostfeltguilty.Ifanything,TonyhaddedicatedhimselftwiceovertoMichaelandapparentlyheandBrayleedidn’tintendtohavechildrenatall.
She’dhavethoughtthathavinganadoptedchildamidadivorcewouldspareherfromthefrequentexasperatingremindersofYou’reacting-like-your-father,butalsono.MichaelwasTonyinsomanywaysanditdidsomethingtoherheartforwhichshe’dneverhavetherightwords.
“Where’sBraylee?”Ardieasked,becauseshedidn’twanttofeelthefamiliarspikeofjealousywhenMichaelaskedTonyfirst.
“Hangingathome.”Tonyworehisplaidpajamabottoms.He’ddriventenminutesandshowedupatherdoorinpajamasandArdiewassupposedtoacceptthatsheandherex-husbandweren’taperfectmatch.“Theballoonsareinthetruck.I’llgrabthem.”
“Letmehelp!Letmehelp!”Michael’slittle-boyhairfloppedatophisheadashebouncedaroundhisfather’slegs.
“Youdon’thaveshoeson,”Tonysaid.
“Orpants,”Ardiepointedout.
Butthemissionwasalreadylost.Tonysmiledapologeticallyandthepaircamebackwiththreecellophanebagsburstingwithredandwhiteballoons.
“Thanks,youcantiethemonthekitchenchairs.”
“Wow,you’vereallygoneallout.He’sgoingtolovethis.”ShewassotiredofTonybeinggenerouswithhiswordsjustbecausehe’dbeentheonetoleave.Itlefthernochoicebuttobecivil.
“Yes,hewill,”shesaid.
“Fouryearsold,howdidthathappen?”
“Changeisinevitable.”WhatshewantedtosaywasthatyesterdayMichaelhadsungtheentirerapverseof“You’reWelcome”fromMoanaanddidn’tthatmeanthattheirchildwasagenius?TheyusedtocollecttheselittleMichaelanecdotesandsharethemwitheachotherexcitedlyastheybrushedtheirteethandwashedtheirfaces,stilltalkingaboutMichaelastheyclimbedintobedsidebyside.Hadthatbeenpartoftheproblem?OrdidhenowdothiswithBraylee?
Ardiedidnothingtoeasethesilence,thoughthiswasacharacteristicthathadexistedlongbeforethedivorce.TheywatchedthelittleboybetweenthemuntilatlastTonypushedhishandsonhisthighsandhiskneesgaveafamiliarsnap-crackle-popashestood.“Well,”hesaid,whichmeantthathewasleaving.Shewasstilltryingtogetusedtothisquietrevelation.Tonywasapersonwholeft.Ardie,meanwhile,wasapersonwhostayed.
DepositionTranscript
27-APR
Ms.Sharpe:
Ms.Valdez,youmentionedapartyearlier.Whatpartywereyoureferringto?
Respondent2:
Abirthdayparty.Formyson.Hejustturnedfour.
Ms.Sharpe:
Andsomeofyourco-workersattended,isthatcorrect?
Respondent2:
That’scorrect.
Ms.Sharpe:
MayIaskwhichones?
Respondent2:
SloaneGlover,GraceStanton,andKatherineBell,thoughIthink,inretrospect,thatperhapsinvitingKatherinewasn’tsuchagreatidea.
Ms.Sharpe:
Whydoyousaythat?
Respondent2:
Well,becauseofwhathappenedafter.
CHAPTERTWENTY
1-APR
Wewillsaythis:noneofusthoughtthatmotherhoodandworkcouldexistharmoniously.Ifanything,theyweretwoforces,diametricallyopposed.Weweretheprisoners,strappedtothemedievalstretchingdevice,havingenjoyedtherareprivilegeofbothlovingandhavingchosenourtorturers.Therewasonlythesmallmatterofourjointsbeingpulledapartandourheartsspillingoutfromourribcages.
Wewokeinthenighttothesoundofsmallvoicesandtrudgedhalf-asleepdownhallstofacesthatdidn’tcarewhetherwehadadraftduebylunchtomorrow.Weheldourbreathaswecheckedforfevers,riflingthroughtheearthquakeasickkidwouldwreakonourschedule,andthenmakingurgentcallstofriendsandfamilyinalastditchefforttopiecetogetherchildcareorwhatevertheminimumrequirementsweretokeepsomeonefromcallingprotectiveservices.Wetoldourkidsto“pretendnottobesick”sothatwecouldsendthemtodaycaretogeteveryoneelse’skidssick.Wefiguredthefavorhadoftenbeenreturned.Wetoldourselves,asournosesranandourheadsachedandourstomachsrefusedfood,thatwewerefine.Because,whateverhappened,wewerethedefaults,theonesstuckwiththetaskoffiguringoutwhattodoabout,well,everything.
Wasitanywonder,then,thatoneofussnapped?Wasthatnotpreciselywhatthesystemwasdesignedtoaccomplish?
Rosalitawalkedwithhersontoahousethatrepresentedthetwodirectionsinwhichtheirliveswerealreadypullingandsheworriedhowherheartwouldtakeitifonedayhelookedbackathernotwithpride,butpity.Shesupposed,intheend,thatwasmotherhood.
“Itlooksempty.”SalomonpeeredupatthehouseonMorningsideAvenueashewalkedthebrickpathwithhismother.Rosalitahadbeenexpectinganimpersonallylargemansion,butArdie’shousehadthestyleofacottage—averynice,largecottage—withbluetrimandivygrowingupthewhitewall.Theoakinthefrontyardwasasthickasabearandshadedthelawnwhereanironbenchwaitedtobesatupon.Rosalitacouldn’tseehowanyone’slifecouldbestressfuliftheycamehometoaplacethislovely.GoodforArdie
“Youareworking,Salomon.Whenyouareworking,youarriveatleasttenminutesearly.”
Astheywalkeduptothefrontdoor,Salomontoyednervouslywiththebrimofhisbaseballcap.“Why,though?”
“Becauseyou’reheretobeuseful.Nottoparty.”ShegaveasmallwiggleofadancetoteasehimandthenpushedSalomongentlytowardthedoorbell.“Remembertokeepyourhaton,pajarito,”sheaddedquicklyashepushedthebutton.
“Doyouthinktherewillbecandy?”heturnedtoask,smashinghishandoverhiscap.
Thesoundoffootstepsapproachedfromtheothersideofthedoor.“Ibroughtyousnacks.Youareworking,”sherepeated.“Ms.Valdezispayingyou.She’snotpayingyoubecausesheneedsafood-eater.”Shepinchedthebackofhisneck.
“Shemight,”hegrumbled,swattingherhandaway.
Rosalitahadonlyasparesecondtorethinktheentireidea,toconsiderleavingbeforesheallowedhersontostepfootinsidethisbeautifulhome.Andthenitwastoolate.
ArdieappearedandshewasusheringthemacrossthethresholdandRosalitatoldherselfshewasbeingridiculous.Itwas$125.OnaSaturday.Allwaswell.Betterthanwell,even.
Onceinside,Rosalitawasmetwithmoreimmediateconcerns.Suchaswhetherornottotakeoffhershoes.Sheseemedtorecallvaguelythatthiswasathingwhitepeopledid.Heruncleworkedasanair-conditionerrepairmanandhesaidthathehadtowearfoamyfoot-coversoverhisbootsbeforeheenteredacustomer’shome.Thisfeltlikeanopportunityforimmenseembarrassmentshouldshechooseincorrectly.
SheglancedatArdie’sfeet.Shewaswearingapairofslip-onflats—loafers,Rosalitathoughttheywerecalled—anddidnotseemtobeworryingaboutRosalita’sfeetintheslightest.SoshekeptthemonandwhenArdiebeckonedherfurtherintothehousewithoutmentioningthefootwear,sherelaxed.Alittle.
“Ihaveyourcostumealllaidoutforyou.Youcanchangeintheguestroom,”ArdiesaidtoSalomon,pointinghimdownthehall.“You’regoingtomakeatremendousSpider-Man.”Salomongrinned.HeadoredSpider-Man.
“Rosalita,whatcanIgetforyou?Mimosa?Coke?Sparklingwater?Icedtea?”
ShefollowedArdieintothekitchen.HerhousewasmuchcleanerthanRosalitahadexpected.Comparedtotherestofthewomenonthefifteenthfloor,ArdieValdezwasless…contained.Likeapersonwiththreadspoppedattheseams.Herhairwasneverquitebrushedintheback.Herblazersweretoolonginthearms.Sheworewide-leggedpantsthatwrinkledwhenshesat.ButRosalitahadnoticedthatArdiemadecertaininvestments.Aprettyhandbag.Beautifulleathershoes,thoughnotthepointy-toed,dangerous-lookingonestheotherwomenwore.
Rosalitaclaspedherhandstogetheratherwaist.“I’mokay,thankyou.”
“We’reabouttohavetenchildrenundertheageoffiveinthishouse,youmayneedsomethingtotaketheedgeoff.”Ardiewipedacountertopwithapapertowel.
“I’mokay.”
Ardiepushedherthinlipstogetherandnodded.“Metoo.I’mstickingtoicedtea.Helpyourselfifyouchangeyourmind.”Shetossedthedamppapertowelintothegarbage.“Salomonisdoinggreatinourlessons,bytheway.He’llbereadyfortheentranceexam,Ihavenodoubt.”
Rosalitaperkedup.Salomonwasasubjectmattershecouldn’tresist.Thatwashowthetutoringsessionscametobe.Doyouhavekids?Ardieonceaskedherafterthey’dbeenhavingtheirsmallsnippetsofconversationformanymonths.AndRosalitahadbeenproud,proud,proudtotellArdieabouthowsmartherlittleboywasandArdiehadlistened,andtheneverytimeshesawArdiethereafter,shewouldsay:How’sSalomon?AndRosalitawouldtellherthathewaswell,untilonedayhisteacherhadsenthimhomewithanoteintricky,unreadablecursive.Timidly,she’dpresentedittoArdie,whotranslateditforher.Thegist?Salomonneededtochangeschools.Hewouldnotreachhispotentialattheirneighborhoodone.Hewas,histeacherbelieved,gifted.Gifted!
Rosalitahadcried.Nothappytears.Helplessones.Butafewdayslater,Ardiehadleftafewprintedpagesontopofherdesk,alongwithastickynotethatread:ForRosalita
Anewschoolwithanentranceexamandscholarships,andArdiewouldhelpSalomongetin.
“Doyouthinkso?”Rosalitaasked.“Isheunderstandingthemathematicsorjustmemorizingit?”Shetouchedherfingerlightlytohertemple.
Formostoftheirsessions,RosalitatookSalomontomeetArdieattheBarnes&NoblewhereArdieorderedcold“coffee”slushthatcamewithaswirlofwhippedcream.Rosalitawanderedtheaisles,pullingouttravelbooksandimaginingtripstolocationsshewouldn’tvisit.Manytimessince,RosalitahadwantedtoaskwhyArdiewashelpingher,butsheguessedithadsomethingtodowithnotwantingtobehomealonewhenherownsonwasathisfather’shouse.Rosalitawasn’taluckyperson,butshewasluckythatshedidn’thavetoshare.
“Oh,heunderstandsit.Hejustgetslazyaboutapplyingallthestepsoccasionally.Ikeeptellinghim:mathisasubjectforwhichyouhavetoshowyourwork.”
Rosalitabobbedherhead.“Iwillworkwithhimathome.Iwillkeeptellinghim.”ShethencheckedoverhershoulderforSalomontoappear,asthoughthebeautifulhousemighthavegobbledhimwhole.Buthereturned,inafull-bodySpider-Mansuit.Hestruckaposeandstuckhisforearmout,fingerssplayedtocastanimaginaryweb.
Ardieclappedherhands.“Perfect.Salomon,canyoupleasehelpmecarrythesetraysouttothebackyard?”
RosalitawouldhavelikedtoaskArdiemoreaboutSalomon’sprogress.Shewouldhavelikedtofishforcompliments,really.Thoseforhersonwerethebestkind.Ifhisfatherwasnothingelse,hewassmart.ItwasoneofRosalita’ssolesourcesofcomfortwhenitcametoSalomon’spaternalheritage.
Soonenough,thehousewasfilling.Overthenextthirtyminutes,kidsstampededintothehouse,trailingmomsanddadsintheirwake.Rosalitastoodpatientlyinthecornerofthekitchen,herpursehookedoverherwrist.Shetriedneithertohideherselfnortominglewiththeotherguests.ShehadwornajeandressfromOldNavywithslip-onsandalsandwasgladtoseethatshe’dchosenwellfortheparty.
Throughthewindows,shecouldseeSalomonpassingoutsuperheromasksandcapestotheyoungerchildren.Heintroducedhimselftogrown-ups.Heshowedthetoddlershowtoflextheirmuscles.Hefitin.Shewantedthis.Shedid.Butitwasn’twithoutdiscomfort.
Evenfromherplaceinthekitchen,therewasnomissingtheSloanewoman’sentrance.Sheworeafittedblue-and-whitestripedtee,skinnyjeans,andsling-backwedgeswithacutesy-checkeredpattern.Herhairwaspulledintoashiny,blondeponytailthatbouncedagainstthebackofherneck.Shewasspeakingloudly,asifnarratingtheentranceforherfamily.Herhandsrestedonalittlegirl’sshoulders.Theman—herhusband—closedthedoorbehindthem.“Lookatthis!”Sloaneexclaimedtotheroomingeneral.“Ardiewentallout.”
Sloane’sdaughterlookedupandwhisperedsomethinginhermother’searandthenskippedoutside.Rosalita’seyesfollowedand,inmoments,thelittlegirlhadfoundSalomonandthetwoolderkidstookontheroleofchieforganizerstogether.
“Isheyours?”Sloanecrossedthekitchenandhelpedherselftooneofthechampagneglasses.“Wantanything,honey?”sheaskedoverhershoulder.Butherhusbandwasalreadysteppingoutsidetowherethekidsandotheradultsweregathered.
“Yes.HisnameisSalomon.”
Sloanepouredamostlyfullglassofchampagne,thefoambubblingupsoprecariouslyclosetotherimthatRosalitafeltcertainitwouldspillover.Butitdidn’tandSloanetoppeditwithasplashoforangejuice.“Theylooklikethey’realmostthesameage,myAbigailandSal—Salomon.”Shestumbledoverhisname.
“I’mSloane,bytheway.Idon’tthinkwe’veformallymet.Irecognizeyoufrom…from…”Shetwirledherfingerintheairlikeshewastryingtocatchthewordandthensnappedherfingers.“Theoffice!”
“Rosalita.”Sheextendedherrighthand.
ButjustthenthefrontdoorchimedwithnewguestsandSloane’shand,coolandsmoothinherown,slidfreeasshelookedbacktotheentryway.
“Grace!Katherine!Excuseme.”Shehelduponeapologeticfinger.“Justonemoment.”Sheteeteredoffinherwedges,champagneglassinhand.“Y’allmadeit!Didyoudriveovertogether?Lookatyoutwo.”
Therewasalotofhugging.Thatparticularlean-from-the-waist,straight-backed,neck-archinghugofwomenlikeSloane.AndRosalitasawthatKatherinewasawomanwithshorthair—thatwomanfromtheoffice—andquicklyangledherfaceaway.
Rosalitaavoidedlookingdownthehallandinsteadlethereyestraveltheroomtothecat-shapedcookiejar,toanemptyfruitbowl,toachild’sbackpackhookedontoaminiaturetable-and-chairset.
Andnowthewomenwereclompingacrossthewoodfloors.
“Wine!”SloanesaidtoKatherine,whoclaspedtheneckofabottle.“Toachildren’sbirthdayparty!Ilikeyourstyle.”
Sloanetookthebottleasthoughitwereherhouseandsetitonthekitchencounter.“Comein,comein,IwasjustchattingwithRosalita,here.”ShepronouncedRosalita’snameasthoughitwereafiesta.
“Grace.”Anotherblondewoman,slightlyyoungerandverypretty,heldoutherhandforRosalita.
“Hello,”saidRosalita.“Mysonishelpingwiththeparty.”ShepointedoutsidetowhereSalomonwasgivingapiggybackridetoArdie’sson,Michael.Hewasahit.
“Ijusthadababy.AndI’musingthisasanexcusetosneakawayforacoupleteenytinyhours.Ifeelguilty,but…”Sheshrugged.Shedidn’tactuallyseemlikeshefeltallthatguilty.Rosalitaalreadyknewaboutthebabyfromthepumpingequipmentstowedunderneathherdesk,butshepretendedshedidn’t.
WhenSalomonhadbeenborn,shehadn’twantedtoleavehimevenforanhour.Butshehadto.Sometimessheoverheardthewomenintheofficecomplainthattheycouldn’twaittoreturntoworkafterhavingababy.ButRosalitaknewthattheycouldwait.Becausetheydid.
KatherinehadseenRosalita.Shewassureofthatmuch.Katherinehaddoneasimilaranglingawayofherfacethemomenttheireyeshadglintedoffoneanother’s,likearicochet.Katherinewentstraightovertowherethebeveragesweresetup.“Wantanything,Grace?”sheasked,withoutglancingagaininRosalita’sdirection.Nooneelseseemedtonotice.Katherineskippedtheorangejuicealtogetherandwhenshefinishedpouring,shesuggestedtheygooutside.ThesuggestionmanagednottoincludeRosalita.ButRosalitasaw.Rosalitaalwayssaweverything.Thequestioninthiscasehadbeen:inAmes’sofficethatnight,whatexactlyhadsheseen?
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
1-APR
ThechampagnebubbleshadgonestraighttoSloane’shead.ShewasconsideringaskingRosalitatoarrangeaplaydatewithherson—whatwashisname?Sal—Sal—Sal-something.Yes,sheshoulddothat.Sheputtheglasstoherlipsagain,onehandonherhip,thinking.But…wouldthatbeopen-mindedorcondescending?AskingRosalita’ssontoplaywithAbigail,shemeant.
And,actually,waswonderingwhetheritwasopen-mindedinitselfevidenceofalackofopen-mindedness?Thiswasaconundrum.Sloanehatedtheseethicaljigsawpuzzles.Wasn’titenoughthatshelikedeveryone?She’dnevermetapersonthatshecouldn’ttalktoproperly.Butno,thatwasapparentlyna?veofher.Or,anuglierwordshe’dlearned—privileged
InArdie’sbackyard,thesunshinedwithjusttherightfervor.BranchesswayedoverheadandtheshrieksofchildrenknockingovercardboardbuildingsfeltlikeasnapshotoutofaPotteryBarnKidscatalogue.Shewouldworryaboutthepoliticsofaplaydatelater.
Shereallydidenjoythesensationofbubblesswimminguptoherhead.
Foranothermoment,shestoodatypicallyofftothesideoftheparty,watchingherdaughterplaysuperherowithRosalita’sson.Twosmallchildrenwhoserelativeagesmadethemrelativelyimportantinthisoneparticularcontext.
She’ddeletedthetextmessagesonAbigail’sphone.Poof!Gone!Andnowlook!HerdaughterwasplayinghappilyoutsideandSloanehadmadethathappen.Abigail’smeddlingmother.
Maybetheemailedmemorandumwasabitmuchinthelightofday,buttheschoolneededtobetaughtalessonandwhocouldblameher?Shewasamother
Shesmiledtheeasysmileofsomeoneone-and-a-halfdrinksin,thenreturnedtothepatio,whereGrace,Ardie,andKatherinestoodaroundherhusband.
“Areyouswimminginestrogenyet?”Sheloopedherarmthroughhiselbow.Hissoft,worn-inpolobrushedagainsthercheek.Hewasadadwholookedgreatinbackyards.Tailor-madefortossingafootballandcarryingchildrenonhisshoulders.Shewasstilldebatingwhethertotellhimabouthermissivetotheschoolboard.Shewasleaningtowardno.Itwas,afterall,aformalcomplainttohisemployer,butthatwaspreciselywhyshe’dhadtotakematterssofirmlyintoherownhands.Itwasbetterforhimtobekeptinthedark.Innocent.Andanyway,alegalmemorandumwasn’thispurview.
Hebowedhishead,hisstubblecatchingherhair.“IrememberedtoholdmybreathbeforeIdovein.”
Shegrinnedatthegroup.“Excellent,thenwhat’dImiss?”
Graceheldabottleofchampagnebytheneck.SheworeachambrayshirttuckedintoanA-linefloralskirt.Sloanehadneverlookedthatput-togetherafterAbigailhadbeenborn.She’dlostthebabyweightrelativelyquicklydespitehavinggainedafullforty-fivepounds,buthershapewasanotherstory.Ithadbeenlikeherbodyhadshiftedhalfaninchtotheleftanddidn’tsettlebackinuntilalmostayearpostpartum.“IwasjusttoppingoffKatherine’sglass,here.”Shegaveasmallcurtsy.“Itappearsherrootsarebeginningtoshow.”Gracewaggledhereyebrowsmischievously.
KatherinetookanaggressivelylongswigofchampagneandSloanesquintedather.Shewastooyoungtobeshowinggray.
“Shewasjustcomplimentingmeonmypottyplatta.”Ardieheldupafruitandcheesetraystabbedthroughwithtoothpicks.
Sloanehesitatedandthenhereyeswidened,whichwasprobablyoverdoingit,butshedidn’tcare.“HaveyoubeenhidingaBostonaccent?”
Thethoughttickledherrightalongwiththechampagnebubbles.PerfectlyproperKatherineBell.Masterenunciator.Sloanehelpedherselftooneofthetoothpickswithwatermelonattachedandpoppeditintohermouth.“Ithoughtyouwereaboardingschoolgirlorsomesuch?”Sloanemunched.
“Notexactly,”shesaid,takinganothersip.“SouthBoston.Publicschool.”
“You’vecomealongwayfromhome,Dorothy,”Gracesaid.
“Dah-thy,”Katherinequipped.
“Oh!Oh!Saysomethingelse!”Sloaneclappedherhands.Andsheonlyrolledhereyesslightlywhen,afterthat,Derekwhiskedherglassaway.Suchateacher.Butshecouldalwayslocateanother.
KatherineheldoutherglasstoGrace,whoobligedwithasoft,complicitlaugh.“IguessI’mdrivingnow.”
KatherinepointedafingeratSloane.Hernailswerechildishlyshort.Chewednearlytothequick.“SloaneGlovah,youahwickedsmaht.”
Maybeitwasthelovelyweatherorthesmelloffreshcutgrass,butSloanemadeanimpulsiveandirreversibledecisiontolikeKatherine.Katherinewasn’taningénue.Shewasawomanwho’dfashionedherselfoutofscrapsintoamosaicofaHarvardLawgraduateandBigLawassociate.Shehadgumption.
Iwanttobelikeyou.ThewordsthatKatherinehadsaid—maybesaid—bubbledtothesurfacealongwiththebubbles.Or—wait—didshesay,Iwanttobeyou?Diditmatter?Sloanefelttheslurpy,slushyfeelingofguiltmuckingabout,weighingherdownsomewhereinherconscience.Goodness,shehopedshewouldn’thaveahangover.
“Okay,”Dereksaid,settingSloane’shalf-fullglassontheoutdoordiningtable.“Betterquestion:Who’smoreofanA-hole,JerryJonesorBillBelichick?”
“Well,Iknowwho’smoreofawinner.”Katherineliftedoneeyebrow.
“Ohhh,burn.”Derekshookhishandout,laughing.ThoughhereallydidlovetheCowboys.Everyyearforhisbirthday,SloanescoredtwoofTruviv’sfield-levelseats.“So,whatbroughtyouherefromBeantown?”heasked.
Sloanesighedandslylyretrievedherglassfromthetable.“Lookatmyhusbandtryingtobecool,”sheteased.
Katherinetippedherownglassbackanddrainedit.“Oh,Iwasfiredfrommyjob.”
Gracewipedhermouthwithafoldednapkin.
Ardie’sforeheadcreased.“Youwerefired?FromFrostKlein?”
“Yep.”
AsKatherine’sboss,Sloanewasn’tsuresheshouldbehearingthis.Butasanincorrigiblynosyperson,shecouldn’tresist.
“Itwasanightmare,actually,”Katherinesaid,staringintothebottomofherglass.“What’sinthesethings?”
Ardiecockedherhead.“Champagne,”sheanswered,slowly.
“Thatexplainsit.”Katherinenodded,solemnly.
“So,whathappened?”Graceasked.
Sloanerememberedvaguelywheretheywere,whichwasachildren’sbirthdayparty,sometimejustafternoon.DerekexcusedhimselftocheckonAbigail.Thegoodparent,Sloaneregisteredwithmildannoyance.Morewithherselfthanhim.
Ardieslippedhershoesoffandstretchedherfeetonthepatiotilesforamomentasshelistened.
“TheyearbeforeIwasfired,”Katherinesaid,“thefirmhaddonesomestatisticalanalysisforthispubliccompanyonequalemploymentthatmadeitlookliketheclientwasmuchbetteroffthanitwasbecausethepartner,whowasthesectionhead,bytheway”—shemovedthestemofherglassinaspiral—“hadusedthewrongstatistics.Theopinionletterwiththatanalysishadbeenused,disclosed,andreliedupontocompleteahigh-profilemerger,whichourfirmhelmed.”
ArdiecoveredhermouthwithherhandandGracesmoothedherlipstogether.
Katherinelookeddownathershoes,andthenbackup.Somethingunreadableplayedonherfeatures.“I’ddoneworkforthecompanyinothercapacities,butwasbroughtonthatyeartohelpputtogetherthenewfinancialsofthecombinedentity.Inoticedadiscrepancyinthestatisticalanalysisandbroughtittothepartner’sattention.”
Sloanehadlostherownshoesandshecrossedherlegs,baretoesbobbingfromthelegonwhichherelbowdugacrater.“Sure,ofcourse.”
Shefeltthevicarioussenseofdreadswellingunderthenarrativeofaproperlyterrifyingghoststory.AtJaxonBrockwell,asecond-yearassociatehadoncelefttheword“not”outofacrucialsentenceinacompany’sretirementplanandthemistakehadresultedinmillionsofdollarsofadditionalpayouts.Sloanehadabsolutelynothingtodowithitandstillhadn’tbeenabletosleepforweeks.
“Hesaidtoruntheanalysisthisyearontherightstatistics,”Katherinecontinued.“Noonewouldreadthem,andiftheydid,they’dtellthemabouttheerroratthatpoint.Iwasn’tcomfortablewiththearrangement.”Shepunctuatedthesewords.“Butitwasthesectionhead.AtFrostKlein.And,thepartnersaidthatifthecompanyasked,we’ddisclosethemistake.”Katherineranherhandthroughherhair.“Butthesurvivingcompanywithwhichtheoriginalonehadmergeddidreadthenewreport,theydidnoticethediscrepancy,andtheysuedforfraud.Ithought,fine,thepartnerisgoingtotakeresponsibility.Itmademesick,butthebuckstoppedwithhim.”
Grace’sexpressionhaddropped.Shelightlyheldherhandscuppedoverherears.Itwasdisasterporn,titillatingandhorrifying,fortheattorneyset.
“Hehadameetingwiththecompany,towhichIwasn’tinvited.Iwenttolunch.WhenIcameback,themanagingpartner,thesectionhead,andtheheadofHRweregatheredinaconferenceroomwaitingforme.Iwasterminatedimmediately.Theclienthaddemandedthefirmtakeactionagainstme,thoughI’msurethepartnersuggestedit.Iwasconfused.”Sheblinkednow,relivingthemoment.ItmadeSloane’sownstomachchurn.“Iwaspreparedtoarguemycase.”Hereyesstayedunfocused.“Butthepartnerlookedmestraightintheeyeandpusheddocumentsacrossthetable,documentstheysaidthey’dfoundinmyofficeregardingtheanalysisfromtheyearbefore,whichIhadn’tevenworkedon,Iswear.Theywerethosestatistics.ThepartnersaidIwastheoneresponsible.Hesaidhe’dpresscriminalchargesformyfraudulenceonworkforapubliccompanyundersecuritieslaw.Andtheotherattorneysthere,Icouldtellthatthiswaswhattheywanted.SoIleft.TherewasnothingIcoulddo.Theywerethreateningtodisbarme.”Hervoicebecamehusky.“Itwasscary.Ialmostcan’tbelieveIgotoutoftherealive.”
“Christ,”Ardiesaid,finallysettingdownthepartyplatteranddustingoffherhands.“Youcouldhavemade,what,sevenhundredandfiftythousanddollarsayearifyou’dstayedandmadepartneratFrostKlein.”
Thatwasmilesfromwhatanattorneyworkingin-housecouldtypicallymake.Hundredsofthousandsofmiles,tobeprecise.
“Yep.”Katherine’sskinlookeddewy,fromsweatoralcoholorsun,Sloanewasn’tsure.ButKatherinedidn’ttrytocouchtheissuebysayingthatitwasn’taboutthemoney.(Wehadstoppedbuyingthesuccess-isn’t-synonymous-with-moneylineyearsagowhenwerealizedhowmuchlessmoneyweweremakingand,byextension,howmuchlesssuccess.We’dlearnedthehardwaythatmoneypredicatedsuccess,nottheotherwayaround.Moneywasoptions.Moneywastheabilitytotakerisks.Tojumptothenextlevel.Moneycan’tbuyeverything,we’dalwaysbeentold.Moneycan’tbuytime.TowhichwecalledB.S.WehadtheCare.comandInstacartaccountstoproveitMoneywaswhatwewereafter.)
Gracepulledherchinbackindisgust.“Whowasthepartner?”
“JonathanFielding,”Katherineanswered,withouthesitation.
“Wow.”Sloanesmackedherlips.“Youmusthavewantedtokillhim.”
“Sloane,”Ardiewarned.
Katherine’seyes,though,flashedinrecognition.“IfI’dhadthechance,IthinkIwouldhave.”
“Shoot.”Ardielookedoutatthebackyard,wherethechildhalfofthepartywasdevolvingintoriotterritoryaslittlehandsandfeetpulledandstompedoverthecardboardcity.Scrapshadbeguntolitterthefencedarea.“Ihavetogetthecake.”
“I’llhelp!”SloaneraisedherglassandfollowedArdieintothekitchen.Thescreendoorclangedshutbehindthem.
ArdieopenedtherefrigeratordoorandSloane,whowasn’tactuallyparticularlyhelpfulatsocialgatherings,leanedhertorsoontothekitchenisland.
“Katherineseemsalittleungluedtoday,doesn’tshe?”Sloanewhispered,peeringbackoverhershoulderthroughthewindow.“Doyouthinkthat’sreallywhathappened?”
“Yes.”Ardieslidared,white,andbluecakefromthemiddleshelf.Shecradleditinherarms,placingitdowncarefullybesidewhereSloanestood.
“Shewhoisalwayssoskeptical.That’sit?”
Ardieopenedthedrawerandbegansinkingcandlesthroughtheicingaroundthecake’sperimeter.“That’sit.”
“What’sitcalledwhenmenfail?Failingup?”Sloaneeyedthefrostinganddebatedaquickswipeofherfingerthroughtheblueswirls.
Shestruckamatchonthesideofthebox.Anorangeflamejumpedfromitshead.Sloanetippedittomeetthewicksandwatchedwaxbegintodripontothecake,untiltheflameburnedjustasecondawayfromthetipsofherfingersandshepuffeditout.Abreathofgraysmokecurledanddissolved.
“I’llsayonething,”Sloanesaid.“Thisisthebooziestkid’sbirthdayI’veeverattended.Well,exceptforAbigail’sfirst,”shemused.
SheheldthedoorforArdie,whobalancedthecake.Theguestseruptedinto“HappyBirthday,”whichSloanesangwithconviction.ShenoticedRosalitamissingfromtheringoffaces,butonlyinpassing.
Whenthesingingfinished,slicesofcakewerecutandserved.Thesunhadjustbeguntotiptheday’sscalesoverintouncomfortablywarm.Thoughthatcouldhavebeenduetothefactthatshe’dmisplacedherchampagnefluteinthekitchen.Theadultsmingled,restlessmillingaseveryonetriedtoextractthemselvesfromthepartyintimetorunerrands,orgetreadyforasitterthatnight,ortotakenaps.
ItwaswithhermindonherownhomeandapairofsweatpantsthatSloanelocatedDerekandthenstartedguidinghimtowardArdietosaytheirgoodbyes.Gracewasalreadycollectingpaperplatesandshovingthemintoanopentrashbag.AndSloanewasconsideringhowmaybeit’dbeeasieriftheyalljustchippedinforacleaningservice.Wouldn’tthatbeequallynice?Ifnotnicer,sheadded.
Abigailcametoshowheradandelionshe’dfoundinthegrassbeforeshemadeawish.AnditwasallsuchablurthatshehardlynoticedwhoitwasthathadsaidtoArdie,“Thiswassuchawonderfulparty.Thankyou,”untilBrayleeandTonyappearedinfrontofthemandTonywassayingtoDerek,“There’sascotchandchocolatetastingnextmonthatourclub,ifyou’reinterestedinmakingitafoursome.BrayleecangetwithSloaneforthedetails.”
And,well,Sloanehadhappenedtobecravingchocolatethatverymomentandsonoddedenthusiasticallyandpromisedtospeaksoon.
WhensheturneditwastofindArdie’sfaceatpoint-blankrange,theexpressionwashedcleanoffit.“You’regoingtogetwithBrayleeforthedetails.”Noquestionasked.
Sloanewasabouttopressherhandtoherforeheadanddecrytheeffectsoftoomuchbloodychampagne.ButshewouldhavetodothatathomewithDerek.BecauseArdieValdez,shecouldsee,wantedtohearnoneofit.
“Itwasjustoneortwotimes.”Orthreeorfour,Sloanethought.Orfive.“DerekranintoTonyatthegrocerystoreonetime.”Shetriedtoimbuehertonewithasenseofwonder,awhat-are-the-oddstypestory.“AndTonyaskedhimtoplaytennisattheclub.DerekisalwayswantingtoplaytennisandyouknowI’mneverlettinghimjoinaclub.”Actually,therewasamembershippacketonthecounterandSloanehadbeenveryseriouslyconsideringit.
Ardielistened,passingoutpartyfavorbagswithoutaword.
Sloanehadbeguntotalkwithherhands.“Onethingledtoanotherand—I’vebeenmeaningtomentionit.”
Ardie’smouthwasaneedle-sharpline.“Butyouranoutoftimeintheten-oddhoursthatweworktogether,fivedaysaweek.”
Doyouknowwhatisworsethanatextmessage?This.Thisisworse!
Sloanesighed,herposturewiltinginstantly.“Don’tbelikethat.IknowyouhateTony.”ArdieglancedsharplyatSloane.“ButDerekhardlyhasanyguyfriends.Heworkswithabunchofwomen.Andhewasalittlebitthrilledtobeinvited,Ithink.”Derekstoodatthefencegate,hishandrestingonthebackofAbigail’sneck.Sheswungapartyfavorbagatknee-level.Comeon,hebeckoned.“Iwasjusttryingtobe—Idon’tknow—supportive.”
“Ofwhom?”
SloaneheldupherfingertoDerek.Onesecond
“Ardie,pleasedon’tbemad.”Sloanehadbeenundertheimpressionthatmiddle-agedpeoplewerenolongerallowedtogetmadateachother.Sotheslightchillintheaircameasanunpleasantsurprise.
“I’mnotmad.”
“Ididn’tintendforittobesomesecret.”Afterthat,Sloanewasn’tquitesurewhatelsecouldbesaid.Becausetheyweretoooldforpettygrudges—weren’tthey?Andthey’dbeenfriendsandcolleaguesfortoolong.Andtheywere,mostimportantly,careerwomen.Theyweren’tsupposedtohavetimefordrama
“Sloane!”Derekbarked.
“Ihavetogo.We’lltalkaboutitonMonday.OrbeforeMonday.Wheneveryouwant.”SloanefollowedDerekandAbigailoutofthegate,assuringherselfthattheinteractionhadbeennothing,thatallwaswell,thatArdiedidn’tblameherforwhatshe’ddone,butSloanecouldn’tswallowherownlie.Ardiewasangrywithher.Shefeltrotten,andinprettyshoes,noless.Herbuzzflattened.SheclimbedintotheseatofDerek’sSUV,theideaofaheadachebeginningtoplayinthecenterofherforehead.Shestaredoutthewindow—theweathersuddenlytoohot,thebirdstooloud,thechuggingsprinklerswasteful.Shehadothersecrets.Lyingdormantbeneaththesurface,safefromtheonessheloved.Shealwaysbelievedthatshekeptthemsecrettoavoidhurtinganyone.Butmaybe,justmaybe,thatwasanotherliethatwouldsomedayblowupinherface.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
3-APR
Mondaysarrivedforusbearingmixedfeelings—guilt,dread,stress,fatigue,andrelief.Bytheendoftheweekend,wejonesedfortheInternet.Salivatedoverachancetoperuseonlineshoppingwebsitesandsipcompany-sponsoredcoffeewithoutinterruption.WeknewweshouldhaverunmoreerrandsonSunday.Thatweshouldhavechangedthebathroomlightbulbsandpaidthedoctorbillthathadbeensittingonthekitchencountersincelastmonth.OnMondays,wewerebitterlyawarethatwehadlongsinceoutgrownsummervacation,thatthemonotonyofworkflowedstraightthroughthefourseasonswithoutstopping,thataweekendwas,atitscore,onlyonerealdayofffollowedbyadayofsteelingourselvesforthecomingonslaughtoftheweekahead,becausewehadn’tusedourfreehourstocatchuponexpensebriefslikewe’dplanned.WehadaccidentallymarathonedepisodesofJanetheVirgininstead.MondaysarrivedwiththesamepromiseofNewYear’sResolutions—wewouldeathealthier,exercisemore,procrastinateless,notletourchildrenwatchsomuchtelevision.Theyarrivedwiththegut-level,self-effacinginstinctthatbyFridaywewouldhavefailedonatleasthalfthosecounts.
OnthisparticularMonday,wepressedthebuttonsonourmonitors,listenedtoourvoicemails,checkedouremails,filledourstaplers,scribbledoverPost-its,numbtothecracksfanningoutintheglassbeneathourfeet.ThisMondayarrivedwithnomorefanfarethanusual,nothingtoindicatethatitwasthelastMondayonwhicheverythingwouldbenormal.
GraceStantonhadexcellentpenmanship.She’dmadeherhighschoolvarsityteamsinbothsoccerandtennis.Shecookedwellenough.ShehadattendedtheUniversityofTexasSchoolofLawandgraduatednottopofherclass,buttop25percent,forsure.Shecleanedoutherrefrigeratorontime.Shereadabookaweek.ShespokeFrench.
ThepointwasthatGraceStantonwasgoodatnearlyeverything.
SowhydidshearrivetoherdeskonMondaymorningfeelinglikeafailure?
Shesimplycouldn’texplainit.Shetriedtalkingtoherselfasshewouldtoafriend:You’rebeingtoohardonyourself.Youarewonderful.Stopbeatingyourselfupovertinythings.Nooneevennotices
Theproblemwasthat,whenshesaidthosethingstoagirlfriend,sheactuallymeantthem.
GraceclickedoutofTheSkimm,afemale-centricnewsletterthatexplainedtheday’smostimportantnewsstories,thenpoppedovertoaninteriordesignblogshefollowedbeforeshecouldavoidherdaynolonger.
AcontrabandspaceheaterhummedbyherfeetassheturnedtoasummaryofrecentregulatoryupdatesandbeganscanningthefilesforanyproposedchangesthatmightimpactTruviv.SheaddednotestoaWorddocumentofissuestoraisewithoutsidecounselwhowouldruntheproperWestlawsearchesforher.
Shewasfinallysinkingintoherworkflowwhentherewasaloudthwackonherdoor.ShelookeduptoseeAmes’shandgrippingtheinsideofthedoorframe,asthoughhe’dbeenwalkingbyandcaughthimselfbeforehemissedhisexit.
Hereeledhimselfbackintoview.“Oh,hey.”Hesnappedhisfingersinrhythmbeforepunchinghisfistintohishand,aone-two-threerhythm.Herfatheroftendidthesamething.“Didyouhappentohaveachancetotakecareofthatthingwetalkedaboutlastweek?”Hescratchedhischeekwheresilverspeckledtheweekendstubblestilllingeringthere.
Gracewasusedtomenpoppinginandknewthatithappenedmorefrequentlytoherthanitdidto,say,Ardie.Andifthathadcausedhermorethanmildannoyance,shemighthaveconsideredchangingherlook.ButshecamefromafamilyofSouthernwomenwhoworehighheelstothegrocerystore.Oldhabitsdidn’tdiehard.Theydidn’tdieatall.
“Actually,notyet.”ShestrivedtomatchAmes’soffhandedtone.
Heranhishandthroughhishair,causingthewhitestreakathisforelocktodisappearforamoment.“Isee.”
Grace’sfingersstillhoveredonthekeyboard.“Butit’sonmyto-dolist.”Itwasn’tasthoughshe’dforgottenaboutAmes’sfavor.Anditwasn’tasthoughshedidn’twanttodoit.
Whyshouldn’tshe?Suchasmallthing.ShelikedAmesandhesawsomethinginher.ShewasallowedtolikeAmes.Wasn’tshe?
Shesmiledbackatherboss,allowingherselftorememberhowtoputamanatease.Itwassimple,really.Awarmsmileandaneasylaughand—boom—whatevermanshewasspeakingtoinstantlyfelthappier.Look,itwasalreadyworking.
Hefoldedhisarmsandleanedhisshoulderonthedoorframe.“YouknowI’dneverwanttoaskyoutodoanythingyouwereuncomfortablewith.”Herestedaknuckleonhismouth,studyingher.
“Right.”Sheremovedherhandsfromthekeyboardandpressedthemintoherlap.“Ofcoursenot.”And,shethought,hewouldprobablyneverwanthertodoanythingtomakehimuncomfortable,either.
Shecouldlie.Thatwasanoption.Butagoodone?Notlikely.
“Anyway,Ihavetogetgoing.Compcommitteemeeting.”Foracynicalmomentshewonderedwhetherhismentionofcompensationwasacoincidenceorasuggestion.Thensherecalledagainhowkindhe’dbeenupthereonthebalcony,abouttheirplantoadvanceGrace’scareerinsidethecompany,andshefeltsorry.“Buthey.”Hesnappedandpointedup.“Maybeafteryou’refinishedwecouldhitthebalconyforaquick…”Hemimedsmoking.“Ihaveafewprojectscomingdownthepikethatyoumaywanttocalldibson.AndI’dlovetogetyourinputonafewregulatoryconcerns.”
“Well,”shesaid,“youknowhowIlove…regulatoryconcerns.”Inaneofficetalk.Sheindulged.
“IknewIlikedyou,Grace.”Hewinked.“I’lltouchbaselater.”Andonhiswayout,hetappedthedoorframetwice.
Herscreenhadgonetosleepinfrontofher.Shenudgedthemousetobringitbacktolife.Sheconsideredtheinteraction,considereditandsawlittlechoicebuttodoasAmeshadasked.Butwasthatwrong?Wasn’tthepointofbusinesstogetasmuchasyouthoughtyoucouldgetawaywith?
Sheconsidereditfromanotherangleandaskedherself,ifshedidhaveachoice,achoicewithoutconsequence,whatwouldshedothen?
Perhapstheanswerdidn’tchange.Andifthatweretrulythecase,thenthatoughttobeacomfort.Ameswasafatherandahusband,onewithacomplicatedpastwithSloane,butthatdidn’tmakehimamonster.
Hecouldbeanasshole,shehadnodoubt.Nottoher,buthewas,sheagreed,capable.ButshedoubtedwhetherSloaneandArdie,forinstance,hadasmuchexperiencewithmenofacertainilkasshedid.BecauseGracehadgrownupinCotillion,beenadebutante,joinedasorority,andateachstop,she’dunderstoodthediscreetunderpinningattheheartofthesemen’sbehavior.Itwasentitlement.
Anyway,entitlementwasn’tsuchadirtyword,notunlessyouallowedittobe.Itjustmeantthatyouthoughtyoudeservedsomethingvaluable.
Gracethoughtshedeservedmoremoneyandmorerecognition.Infact,shebelievedshewasentitledtoit.Shewonderedifthisthingwaswhatsheneededtodotogetit.Inordertobesomethingotherthan“newmommy”Grace.
Sheopenedupablankdocument,typedoutthedateintheupperlefthandcorner.Shehesitated.Hercanineschewedthepinkfleshinsidehercheek.Shecheckedthetime.Thecursorblinked.
Therewasjusttheonedanglingthreadthatsheneededtotieup.
“Katherine?”GracepokedherheadintoKatherine’soffice.Insideitwerestillthreeblankwalls,alabasterwhite,withoutaphotoordiplomatobreakupthesterilemonotonyoftheplace.Notunlikeamentalinstitution.
“Howyoufeeling?”Graceinvitedherselfin.
“Physically?Fine.”Katherinesqueezedhereyesshutforasecond.“Emotionally?Abitmortified.Afour-year-old’sbirthdayparty.”Shepinchedthebridgeofhernose.
Gracewavedheraway.“Don’tbe.I’mcountingthedaysuntilmybreastsarefreeagentsandIcanconsumeallthealcoholIwantatwill.”Shestareddownatherboobs,whichwerealreadybeginningtoswellwithmilk.Thecountdowntothedreadedprocessoftrappingherselfinsidethetinycellofaroomandstrappingherchestbackintothelaboratory-likeequipmentstartedtoticksilentlyinherhead.Eventhoughshe’dreplacedasessionwithanap,shewasstilltryingtostaycommittedtopumping.Committedtoeverything,really.Toperfection.Itwasoneminorslip-up.Itwasn’tasifGracehadgivenEmmaKateapacifieroranything.
“Hashtag-Free-Grace’s-Breasts,”Katherinesaid.“ThatshouldgoonaT-shirt.”
“Hey.”Gracesnappedherfingers.Sheactuallysnapped.JustlikeAmes.Sheclaspedherhandstogether,controllingherself.“Imeanttoask:AreyoustillstayingatThePrescott?”
“No.”Katherinejostledthemouseandthenleanedbackintheergonomicchair.WhereKatherinewaslivingsomehowhadn’tcomeupthisweekendanditseemedstrange,nowthatGracethoughtofit.“Ijustmovedintomynewplaceuptown.You…youshouldcomeoversometime.”GracenoticedthatKatherinedidn’tlookatherwhenshesaidthis,notuntilshefinishedaskingthequestionandthen,Gracecouldhavebeenmistaken,butshebelievedKatherinewasholdingherbreath.
“I’dlovethat,”saidGracequicklyandmeantit.Katherine’ssmilewasquickandfleeting.“Actually,though,Iwaswondering,who’dyousayhookedyouupwithyourroomagain?At…atThePrescott.”Shewasbeingobvious,wasn’tshe?Shefeltobvious.Butthen,obviousaboutwhat?Nothingwouldbeobviousiftherewasnothingtheretohide.Gracerelaxed.
Katherinereturnedherattentiontothescreen,slidingherchairbackclosertothedesk.“Justafriend.Why?”AquickflitofhereyesuptoGraceandthenbacktothescreen.
“Oh,um,noreason.”Graceneverlikedstandinginsomeoneelse’soffice,herbackcompletelyexposedtothegapingglasspanebehindher.“Iwasjustcurious.Lookingforahookup,too,possibly.Nothingfree,ofcourse.Whatwashername?”
Katherine’seyesdriftedacrossthescreen.Hermouthmovedeversoslightly,silentlyreadingwhateverwasthere.“Alice,”shesaid.AnotherglanceGrace’sway.“AliceBaxter.”
“Alice,”Gracerepeated.
“ButIdon’tknowifshestillhasaconnection,youknow.”KatherinestoppedGraceassheturnedtoleave.“Icancheckforyou.”
“That’dbegreat.Thanks.”
Gracesawherghostlyoutlineintheglassasshewalkedtothedoorand,momentslater,shewasbackinheroffice—homebase—whereshecouldhidebehindherowncomputerscreen.
AliceBaxter.HadKatherinebeentellingthetruth?ShouldGracesimplyhaveaskedKatherinepoint-blank:WasAmesGarrettpayingforyourroomatThePrescott?No,thatwouldhavebeenrude.
ShethoughtbacktoherownlietoLiam,howeasyithadbeentosaythatshe’dhadtoworkallnight.Maybewomenwerejustgoodatlying.
Gracesat,thoughtforamoment.FacebookwasablockedsiteontheTruvivcomputers,butshepulledoutherphoneandnavigatedtotheapp.ShetypedinKatherine’sname,searchedforthecorrectlistingandsentherafriendrequest.Shewasabletoreturnherfocustoworkuntilfifteenminuteslater,whenherphonealertedhertothefactthatshewasnowconnectedwithKatherineBell.Theirfriendshipwasofficial.
GraceswipedherindexfingeracrossthescreenandpulledupKatherine’sfriendlist.Itwasshort.Veryshort,forawomanherage.Butthere,atthetopofit,wasthename:AliceBaxter.
Gracesetdownthephone.There.Itcheckedout.Shefeltbetternow.Conscienceclean.GraceopeneduptheWorddocument,enteredthedateatthetopofthescreen,andsoonbegantotype.
DepositionTranscript
27-APR
Ms.Sharpe:
Stateyourname,please.
Respondent3:
GraceStanton.
Ms.Sharpe:
What’syouroccupation,Mrs.Stanton?
Respondent3:
I’manattorney,partofthein-houseteamatTruviv.Ihandleregulatorymatters,mainlySECissues.
Ms.Sharpe:
HowlonghaveyouworkedatTruviv?
Respondent3:
Aboutsixyears.
Ms.Sharpe:
Andtowhomdoyoureport?
Respondent3:
IreportedtoSloaneGlover,SVPofNorthAmericanLegal.
Ms.Sharpe:
WhataboutAmesGarrett?
Respondent3:
Yes,hewasinmysupervisorchain.Thecompany’sGeneralCounsel.EveryoneinthelegaldepartmenttechnicallyreportedtoMr.Garrett.
Ms.Sharpe:
DidyouknowMr.Garrettwell?
Respondent3:
Iknewhimprofessionally.
Ms.Sharpe:
DidMr.Garretteversexuallyharassyou,Mrs.Stanton?
Respondent3:
Notmepersonally,no.MyclaimwasunderTitleVII,basedonanunsafeworkenvironment.
Ms.Sharpe:
Yes,I’mawareofthelegalbasisofyourclaim.WhatI’mstrugglingwithisthefactualone.Mrs.Stanton,canyoupleasecastyoureyesoverExhibit13,whichI’venowplacedinfrontofyou?I’llwait.
Ms.Sharpe:
Didyouwritethisletter?
Respondent3:
Idid.
Ms.Sharpe:
Canyou,forthebenefitoftherecord,describethislettertous?
Respondent3:
It’sacharacterletter,Iguessyoucouldsay.Arecommendationtotheboardofdirectors.
Ms.Sharpe:
Arecommendationinfavorofwhom?
Respondent3:
Ames.
Ms.Sharpe:
Arecommendation—orcharacterletter—infavorofAmesGarrettforthepositionofCEOofTruviv,isthataccurate?
Respondent3:
Yes,itis.
Ms.Sharpe:
Youwrote,andIquote,“AmesGarretthasbeenamentor.HeisbrightandambitiousandhisdoorisandalwayshasbeenopentomeeachandeverytimeI’vehadaproblem,whetherpersonalorprofessional.IvaluemyrelationshipwithAmesandlookforwardtocontinuingitatTruvivinwhateverrolehemayoccupyinthefuture.”Thoseareratherglowingwordsforamanyousuednotmorethan—what?—twoweekslater.
Respondent3:
Idon’tbelievethenumberofdaysorweeksmattersasmuchaswhathappenedduringthem,aswellaswhyIwrotetheletterinthefirstplace,doyou?
Ms.Sharpe:
Whydidyouwritetheletter?
Respondent3:
Ifeltpressuredto.Ithoughtitwouldbegoodformycareertohelphimwiththisfavorthathehadasked.
Ms.Sharpe:
Whatexactlydidhedotopressureyou?
Respondent3:
Heasked.Becausehewasmysuperior,IfelttheimplicationwasthatIneededtodoashe’dasked.Hehadpoweroverthetrajectoryofmycareerandmycompensation.
Ms.Sharpe:
Areyouinthehabitoflyingwhenunderpressure?
Respondent3:
No.
Ms.Sharpe:
Howabouttohelpyourcareer?
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
3-APR
Ardiehadvowedtofocusonworktoday.Thismorning,sheleftherhousestilllookingasthoughatornadohadblownthroughit.Michaelhadspentthenightwithhisfather,soshehadn’tevenhadhimasanexcuse.Ithadrainedandtheremainsofthecardboardcityweredissolvingintopulpinherbackyard.She’dthoughtshemightsavethem.She’dbeensoproudofthepartyonSaturdaymorning
Andthenitwasover.Tonyhadleft,takingMichaelwithhimto“givehertimetorecuperate.”TherehadbeennoonewithwhomtorecapthesuccessofthepartyortotalkaboutwhatMichaelhaddoneandsaid,whathisfavoritepartswere,tolaughatthepicturesofhimshovingchocolate“cakecake”intohismouth,becausehestillcalleditthat;hadsincehewasatoddler.Saturdaynightshe’dcurledontoherking-sizedmattress(Sellthatbed,friendshadtoldherafterthedivorce;sheneverhad)andshehadn’tbotheredtogetdresseduntilthismorning.ItwasadrearyMondaybackatwork.
NowtherewerenewIRSopinionstoreview.Therewaslanguagetointerpret.Solvableproblemstosortthrough.Ardielikedhavinghermindproductivelyoccupied
Aveilofgrayhungoutsideherofficewindowandspatrainontotheglass.Whenthewindblew,itsoundedlikebirdshotpepperingthepane.Theofficehadadifferentenergywhenitrainedandtodayitwassubdued.Coopedup.Quietenergy.Vibrationsshudderedthroughthefloorswitheachrollofthunder.
Ateleveno’clock,thelandlinerangwithalocalnumberandArdiepickedupthehandreceiver.“AdrianaValdezspeaking.”
“Ms.Valdez,”cameawarmvoiceontheotherend,“thisisTonyaLoughlincallingfromtheHighlandParkIndependentSchoolDistrict.I’mcallingtosetupaformalinterviewwithyourclient,AbigailGlover,regardingtherecentharassmentcomplaintyoufiled.”Fantastic,justthethingthatArdiewastryingnottothinkabout.Lovelytiming.Ardiesatbackandtuckedherhandinthecrookofherelbowassheheldthephone.“Yousee,schoolpolicyrequiresthatwearrangeforformalinterviewsbetweenallpartiesinvolvedintheallegedmisconduct.Asthefamily’sattorney,you,ofcourse,havetherighttobepresent.Couldyouletmeknowofafewtimesthatmightworkforyourschedule?”ThequestiondangledwithexpectationasArdiemovedtoriflethroughherdeskforanotepad.Shefoundoneandflippedthesheet.
Ardiepunctuatedherresentmentwithapunchofthepentop,theinkytipknifingoutontothepage.“Thankyou,Tonya.I’llspeaktoAbigail’smotherandgetbackwithyouontiming.CanIgetyourcontactinformation,please?”
TonyaobligedandwhenArdiehadreturnedthephonetoitscradle,sherippedthepaperfromitsstickyseamandfoldeditwithonesharpcrease.
Overtheweekend,SloanehadfilledArdie’sphonewithanabundanceoftextsandvoicemails,whichArdiehaddiligentlyignored.ItwasexactlywhatArdieexpectedfromSloane.Rushinghertogetoverit,toforgetaboutthisplatonicflingthatSloaneandDerekhadapparentlybeencarryingonwithherex-husband.Andnow,Sloane’simpatiencetokiss-and-make-uphadrelegatedArdietothepositionofgrudge-holder.Sloanewantedtotalkaboutit.Butreally,whatdidsheexpecthertosay?Sloane,youhurtmyfeelings.Theyweren’tinkindergarten.Tonywasanadult.DerekandSloanewereadults.Theycouldassociatewithwhomevertheyliked.
But,whataloadofhorseshitthatwas.SloaneshouldneverhavehungoutwithTonyandsheknewit.Sloaneshouldfeelbad.Rotten,preferably.
Thoughsheprobablyalreadydid.
“Here,thisisforyou,”ArdiesaidwhenshehadwalkedherselfdowntoSloane’sendofthehallandhandedherthesheetofpaperonwhichshe’dneatlytranscribedTonya’scallbackdetails.“It’sforAbigail.I’mnotyoursecretary,bytheway.Oryouractuallawyer.”Ohyes,inadditiontoTony,Sloaneapparentlyalsofeltentitledtoauthoralegalmemorandum…In.Ardie’s.Name
Itwasn’tevengood.
Itwasmaybealittlegood.
Thatwasbesidethepoint.ArdiehadnotevenbeengiventhecourtesyofvettingitandArdiedidn’tplayfastandloose.Sloaneknewthat.
Sloanestoodandgingerlytookthecontactinformation.“Ohfuck,Ardie.I’msorry,youdidn’thaveto—”
“Well,you’retheboss.”Ardiehadn’tactuallywantedtosaythatoutloud.Itwasmean.Damn.Shedidn’twanttosoundmean.ItmadeArdielooksmallandpetty.Thatwaswhyshe’dneversaidanythingawfultoTony.Thebettershewas,theworsehe’dfeel.“YouknowIloveAbigail,”sheadded,pressingthepadsofherthumbstogether.Itwasatruething,atleast.ShewouldhavedoneanythingforAbigail.HowSloaneandDerekhadraisedsuchabeautifullyoddkid,Ardiehadn’ttheslightestidea,butAbigailwasabsolutelywonderfulandArdiewouldjustassoonflattenanyboy—orgirl—whomessedwithherasSloanewould
“Ardie,I’msorry.”Sloaneleanedonherdesk,lookingperfectinageometric-patternedsilkblousethatwasmostcertainlydesigner.“Ifraternizedwiththeenemy,”shesaid,solemnly.
“Ineversaidhewastheenemy.Itwasthatyouliedaboutit.”
Sloaneheldupafinger.“Nottechnically.”Ardieliftedhereyebrows.“No.You’reright.Iwasn’thonest.Ikeptmeaningtofindthetimetotellyou,but…”
“Youdidn’t,”Ardiecompletedthesentence.
“Ididn’t,”Sloaneagreed.“ButIalsohaven’tgottenmycarwashedinninemonths,so.”Sloanewasagoodnegotiator.Alwayshadbeen.Shehadthat“attractmorebeeswithhoney”qualitythatmadepeoplewanttoagreewithher.GracehadonceaskedArdieifitbotheredherthatSloanewaspromotedaheadofher,butitneverhad.Sloane’spositionrequiredhertobegoodwithpeople,whileArdiewantedtoavoidthematallcosts.Ardiewonderedifsomethingwaswrongwithher.Someactualdiagnosis.Apersonalitydisorder.Somethingmoreconcretethanjust:naturalintrovert.But,well,tofindout,she’dactuallyhavetotalktosomeoneshehardlyknewforanextendedtimeperiod,whichwasoutofthequestion.
Sloanepressedherhandstothedesk,asthoughlayingoutherpoints.“Brayleeistheworst,though.”
“No,she’snot,”Ardiesaid.Noemotion.
Sloane’smouthtwisted.“You’reright,she’snot.Notinthetraditionalsense.Butstill.”
Butstill,what?Ardiewantedtoknow.ItwasatypicallyirritatingSloanewayoffinishingathought.Wasit,SloanewantedtocontinueseeingBraylee,butstillshewasn’tgoingtobecauseofArdie?Orperhaps,SloanethoughtArdiewasbeingunreasonable,butstillshewouldrespectherfriend’sfeelings?Or,Ardie’shusbandhadleftherforthatwoman,butstillArdielovedhim.
ThatonewasArdie’s.
Lastnight,she’dpressed*67anddialedTony’snumber.Shehadlaininbedwiththephonepressedtoherear,listeningtohimsay,“Hello?Hello?”assheheldherbreath.She’dhungupandcalledoncemore,thenfallenasleepwiththesoundofherex-husband’svoicefreshlyringinginherears.
“It’sfine.”Ardieliftedherfingers.Fine.
“It’snot.”
Okay,soitwasn’t,butArdiecouldn’tseethepointinhashingitalloutwithSloane.Ardiecouldeitherchoosetogetoveritornotand,logically,shewouldhavetochoosetheformer.SheandSloanewouldbefine.Eventually.Mostly.Thoughsherememberedthere’dbeenatimewhenshe’dthoughtthesameaboutherrelationshipwithTony.
Sloanesighed.“Haven’tyoueverdoneanythingthatyouregret?”
Yes,Ardiethoughtatonce.No.Hadshe?Yes.Once.
Ineithercase,itwasn’tsomethingshewould—orcould—sharewithSloane.
Onthewaybacktoheroffice,shesawKatherineworkingbehindtheglass,headbowedoverherkeyboard.Shealmostwalkedby,butatthelastmoment,paused,rememberingsomethinginonebigswallow.SherappedherknucklessoftlyontheopendoorandKatherinesmiledupather.ApairofreadingglassesthatArdiehadn’tknownKatherineworereflectedtwinglowingscreens.
“Katherine.”Shetriedtosoundnonchalant.NotexactlyArdie’sstrongsuit.“Iwasjustthinking.”Sheshovedherhandsintothecopiouspocketsthatherwide-leggedtrousersprovided.Shoot,whatallhadshesaidtoKatherineonSaturday?Gracehadgoneofftopumpand,god,ArdiewassomadatSloane.BlindsidedbyBrayleeandshe’donlyjustseentheemailwiththememothatshe’dsupposedlywrittenandshe’djustsortofsnapped
Shefaltered,awkwardly.“WouldyoumindkeepingwhatwediscussedafterMichael’sbirthdayparty—youknow,aboutSloane—toyourself?”Katherine’ssmileslipped.“It’sjustthat…Iwasonlyventing.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
3-APR
Shewasflirting.Shewastryingtosleepherwayupthecorporateladder.Wehadknownsomeoneincollegewhohadknownherinlawschoolwhohadsaidshe’ddonethissortofthingbefore.Whattypeofthingwasshedoing,again?
Shewasinoverherhead.Shewasbeingpreyedupon.Shewasalambinalion’sden.Shewasafemmefatale.Affairswereafactoflife.Weshouldn’tbesomoralistic.Wewerebeingna?ve.Plentyoflegitimaterelationshipsstartedatwork.Couldn’twehavefriendsoftheoppositesex?Shewastalented.Shewascompensatingforalackoftalent.Shewasaslut.Shewasatease.Welikedher.Welikedherprofessionally.Probablywouldn’tbefriendswithherpersonally.Shewasoneofus.
Throughallthis,we’dheardthatthosewholivedinglasshousesshouldn’tthrowstones.Butnoonehadtoldusanythingabouthowtoconductourselveswithinthedisplaycasesofcrystalconferenceroomsandbuildingsconstructedoutofthousandsofsoullessglasseyes.Poisedbetweenourfingertips,notrocks,butthesleekweightofabrick-shapedsmartphone.Seeandbeseen.Thatwasthenatureofourparticularglasshouse.Andsoaccustomedwerewetotheglasscagesthatwedistrustedanythingthathappenedbeyondthescopeofourperipheralvision.Perhapsnosinesswasabiologicaladaptation.Survivalofthemostinformed.
Whowerewetojudge?Morelike,whowerewenotto?
SloanejudgedherappearanceinthefoggymetaloftheelevatordoorsonherwaytoherpersonaltrainingappointmentwithOksana.She’dthoughttocancelmorethanonce.ButOksanadidn’texactlydocancellationsandtherewasachancetheworkoutwouldhelp.Shefeltterrible.MainlybecauseofthethingwithArdie,butthatwasn’tall.
Themovementofthechambereasedtoastop.ThesteelmouthopenedandinwalkedChrissyLadner,asenioraccountantatTruviv,holdingacompany-issuedwaterbottle.Theygreetedeachothergood-naturedlyandChrissytookherspotnexttoSloane,shoulder-to-shoulder.
“HowarethingsinAccounting?”
Chrissy,smallofstature,largeofchutzpah,shrugged.“Same.Legal?”
Sloaneshiftedherweight.“Same.”Whichwastrueonlyinalltheworstways.
Chrissygaveasoftsnort.“Idon’tknowhowyouworkforthatguy,”shesaid,glancingupatthered,digitalnumbersreconfiguringatthetopoftheelevator.
“Who?”askedSloane,alreadyknowing.Howdoyouworkforthatguy?Itfeltmorelikeaccusationthancommiseration.
“Ames.Wewereallwonderingwhenyouweregoingtoaddhimtothatlist.”
ThecornersofSloane’smouthpulleddown.“WhosaidthatIdid?”
Chrissyraisedherbottleasthoughinsurrender.She’dalwaysbeennobullshitandSloanelikedrunningintoheratTruvivevents.Iftheyworkedinthesamesection,Sloaneimagined,they’dbegoodfriends.“Anyway,Iguessweallmightbeworkingforhimsoonenough.”
“Youbelievethat?”
Chrissyliftedherpenciledeyebrowsandsipped.“IwishthatIdidn’t.Buthaven’tyouheard?Theboardmetthismorning.Apparentlyhe’sasgoodasin.”
Chrissydisembarkedonthenextfloor,leavingSloanetoabsorbthisnewsalone.
TherealitywasthatSloane,whowasaccustomedtooperatingattheveryedgeofchaos,suddenlyfeltherselfstartingtoloseherbalance,toskidoverthecliffintoreal,honest-to-Godturmoil.Sure,she’dfeltthestringspullingforsometimenow,butshe’dbelievedshehadaholdofthem,rightthereattheends,whereshecouldreelthembackintoplaceifneedbe.Chrissy’snewsshouldhardlyhavecomeasabigsurprise.Butshestillfoundherselfunpreparedforit.
Shebelievedshewasseeing,forthefirsttime,thericketytoweronwhichherlifewasconstructed.Sloaneworriedoverhercuticle.Shefeltasthoughitall—herlife—mightshatter.Ardie,Abigail,theschoolboard,Ames,herjob,hercreditcardbalance,herto-dolist,andevenKatherine.Katherine,whorepresentedsomethingtoSloane,somethinguncomfortable:Iwanttobelikeyou.
Pressanyand—Jenga!
Ontheeighthfloor,sheswipedherfobonthekeypadandtheglassdoortothegymclicked.Herpersonaltrainer,Oksana,wasalreadywaitingatthereceptionist’sdeskandshedidn’tlookpleased.Sloanehadcompletelyforgottenthatshewasrunninglate.
“Ifithelps,”Sloanesaid,swipingherhairintoaponytail,“I’veonlyhadaL?rabartoday.”ThoughSloanehadactuallyhadtwo,oneforbreakfastandoneforlunch,andwhiletheywerehealthy,theyprobablyweren’tintendedtosustainanentirehumanbeing.
OksanausedtobeanMMAfighter.Thatwaswhenthewomenfoughtinacageandtriedtobreakeachother’sarmsandnosesandrolledaroundonthefloorwhilekickingeachother’sribstodeath.
“Twentypush-ups.”Oksanapointedtothegroundinfrontofher.Sloanehadn’tmadeitintothelockerroomandwasstillwearinghernarrowlytailoredsuitandDolce&Gabbanaheels.ShehesitateduntilOksanasnappedherfingersand,dutifully,Sloaneletgoofherbaganddroppedtoherknees,whereshebeganhuffingandpuffingthroughaseriesofpush-ups,likeshewasinmilitaryschoolinsteadofpayingOksanaanexorbitantamountperhourtobechastisedfortardiness.
Forthelastthreepush-ups,Oksanaplacedafootonherback,makingtheexerciseexponentiallyharder.Sloanewaschagrinedtofindshewassweatingintowool
“Twenty,”Sloaneannouncedbreathlessly.Andatlast,shewaspermittedtohurryintothelockerroomandchangeintoproperworkoutattire.Solongasittooknomorethan120seconds.
Sloanetendedtolikepeoplewhotooktheirjobstooseriously.Likehereyebrowlady,whoclaimedtobeavisualartist.Itshowedgumption.Andso,fortheirhour-longsessions,Sloanewaswillingtosurrenderherself,fully,totheworldofOksana.
Whenshereturned,Oksanainformedheritwouldbea“legday”andSloaneknewshewasinforit.Doublepulsejumplungesfollowedbybarbellsquatsontopofweightedreverselunges.Bytheendofthefirstrotation,lacticacidtorethroughSloane’sthighmuscleslikesnakevenom.
“Forhowmuchithurts,Ireallydon’tunderstandwhymylegsdon’tlooklikeCarrieUnderwood’s.”Shepanted.
Oksana’sbubblegumpoppedoverherlips.
“What?”Sloanelookedoffended.“You’retellingmethatCarrieUnderwood’slegshurtmorethanmine?Iamsuffering,Oksana.Donotmakelightoftruesuffering.It’sverypassé.”
“Youthinkyou’rethefirstclienttotrytodistractmefrommakingyouworkhardwithconversation?”
“No,ofcoursenot.IjustthinkI’mthebestatit.”Itwastrue.SloanediduseherchattinessasashieldagainstOksana’ssadomasochism.Thatwasprobablywhyshetoldherpersonaltrainermorethanshe’devertoldhertherapist.Thatandthefactthatsheonlywenttohertherapistonce,anditwasfiveyearsago.Sheassumedtrainerswerelikehairdressersinthatyoucouldtellthemanything.Butatthemoment,Sloanewantedtodistractherselfasmuchasanyoneelse.ShewasstillthinkingaboutChrissy.AboutAmes.
“Sumosquats.Go.”Oksanasetatimeronherwatch.Sloanewasneverprivytohowmuchtimewasonitanditdrovehermad.
“ButIdidwanttoaskyouonething.”
Oksanatookadeep,exasperatedbreath.
“Sorry,squattingandtalking.”Sloanewidenedherlegsandtriedtoblockouttheburnassheimitatedballerinapliés.Oksanastudiedherwatch.“Okay.”Sloane’svoicewasstrained.“Somyquestionforyouisthis.”Sheloweredhervoice,consciousofthesweatymenpullingcablesandgivingthemselvesherniasnearby.“Doanyofthemenhereever,youknow,tryanything?”
Oksanasnorted.
Sloanewrappedherhandsaroundherwaistasshesquatted.Shewasbeginningtogetastitchinherside.“Isthata‘yes’snortora‘no’snort?”
“Whatdoyouthink?”
“Yes.”
Oksanatookmercyonherandallowedhertoquitsumosquatting,butthenshehadtotransitioninsteadtowalkinglunges.Oksanakeptpacealongsideher.
“Therearetherelativelyharmlessones,”shebegan.“TheonesthatwalkbyandshilloutadvicewhileI’mworkingout,likeI’msupposedtocareaboutsomeguy’sopinionwhowenttoCrossFitonetime.”ThatwasthenumberoftimesSloanehadbeentoCrossFittoo.Shewheezedherappreciation.“Butthentherearetheotherones.”SheglancedsidelongatSloane.“Theyhear‘no’andreframeitasanopportunityfor‘persistence’or‘relentlessness’orwhateverothercorporatebuzzwordthey’vejustlearnedfromthemostrecentTedTalktheywatchedonYouTube.Thosearethetypesyouhavetowatchoutfor.Sobuttonedup.Established.Anddon’tevengetmestartedonmyInstagramDMs.”
“Dirty?”Sloaneasked,legstrembling.
“Filthierthantheinsideofaport-o-pottyatCoachella.”
“Okay,then,”Sloanesaid.“Doyoujustputupwithit?”
Oksanalaughed.“No.It’sallfairlyorganized,really.Thefemaletrainershere,wehavethissystem.First,wehirefemalereceptionists.Onlyfemalereceptionists.That’skey.”Sloaneglancedattheyoung,redheadedwomanstandingbehindthefrontdesk.“Ifaclientbecomesaproblem,”Oksanacontinued,“weaskthereceptionisttohighlighthisnamewithyellowinthecomputerfile.Ifthatclientrequestseveningorearlymorningtraining,thereceptionisttellshimthatthefemaletrainersarebookeduporhaveoff.Ifaproblemclientgetstoooutofhand,wecodehimred.Andifthat’sthecase,allthefemaletrainersbecometoobusytoworkwithhimatall.”
“That’skindofbrilliant.”
“Why,issomeonegivingyoutrouble?”
“Nomorethanthestandardfare.Codeyellow,Iguessyoucouldsay.”Shehopedthatwastrue.Shefeltshe’dcommittedtoitbeingtrue.ShehadtriedtoputtheofficeconversationwithAmes,duringwhichshe’dostensiblyagreedtoignorewhateveritwasthatwasorwasnothappeningwithKatherine,behindher.AndwhateverdefinitelyhadhappenedintheyearsbeforeKatherine.Butitwaslikethelaundryhampersathome:nomatterhowmanytimessheshovedtheclothesdown,eventuallytheyoverflowedthetopagain.Shewasbetter,however,atignoringthelaundry.
Biggeroffice.Morepay.Betterbenefits.
ShetriedtolookatitthewayArdiewould.Dollarsandcents.Orwasthephraseactuallydollarsandsense?Shedidn’tknow.Shethoughtitmightmakeadifference.
“Right.Well,justremember,handsontheshoulders.Frontfootplanted.Aimhigherthanyouthinkisright.”Oksanademonstratedintheair:kneetotesticles.
“Stilllookingforsomethingabitmoresubtle,Ithink,butthanks.”Andshemeantit.
Aftershehadrinsedherbodyandchangedbackintoherofficeattire,Sloanereturnedtoheroffice.Thephoneswereringing.Theprinterswerechugging.Secretariesweretyping.Everythingwasnormal.Exceptforonething:AmesGarrettwasabouttobecomethecompany’snextCEO.
EmployeeStatements
13-APR
MarvinJefferson:
Ameswasastand-upguy.Anyonewhohadevermethimknewthat.Hehadabeautifulfamily.Heworkedhisrearendoffforthiscompany.Everysingleemployeeinthiscompanywithstockoptionsshouldbebowingdowntothatmaningratitude.That’sthetruth.WhenIheardhisnamehadbeenaddedtothatstupidlistcirculatingthen,well,thatwasimmediateprooftomethatthewholedarnthingwasaloadofcrap.Nogooddeedgoesunpunished,I’lltellyouthatforsure.Ameslearnedthatthehardway.
BobRogers:
WhatIwanttoknowis,where’sthelistofwomen?SomewomanfromaccountingaskedmetogogetadrinkandIdidn’tcallthepoliceonher.She’ssevenyearsolderthanme.Youthinkthatwaswantedattention?Idon’tthinkso.
ZaneSpivey:
Ithinkyou’dhavetobeprettyna?venottoknowthatthetypesofthingsdetailedontheBADlistweregoingon.Imean,I’vefoundacondomandlady’sunderwearinthemen’sroom.DidIknowaboutAmes’sbehaviorinparticular?I’drathernotsay.
JosiahSwift:
YouknowwhatIthink?Ithinksomeone—someonehighupwhodidn’twantAmestobeCEO—paidthosewomentoaddhisnametothelist.Thatlistisalife-ruiner.Ibetthatsortofthinghappensmorethanwethink.Corporateespionageandbackstabbingandallthat.Thesearehigh-dollarpositions.Isitreallysocrazytothinkthattheverypurposeforthelist’screationwastobringpeopledownprofessionally?Ithinkit’sworthlookinginto.Areyouwritingthatdown?
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
3-APR
Thethingwewouldarticulate,fartoolate,asitturnedout,wasthatwhenabuilding’sburning,noonejustwhispers,“Fire!”Noonesitsquietlyattheirdesk,diligentlycompletingtheirworkandcheckingfortyposwhilethesmokepoursinoverhead.Noonecriesfor“help”softly,undertheirbreath,soasnottodisturbtheirneighbors.
Sowhydidwe?
Shhh,don’ttellanyonebut…Keepthisquiet,please,but…Wehaven’ttoldanyoneelse,but…Thisstaysbetweenus,but…
Perhapsthepeopleclosesttouswouldmanagetoevacuateandthepeopleclosesttothemandtothemandtothem,butwhisperscouldonlycarrysofar.Suchwasthepurposeofwhispering—toensurethatnoteveryoneheard.
Hush,butthebuildingisinflames.
Rosalitahadneverunderstoodwhyhersoncouldn’thearoutofoneofhisears.Sheoftenthoughtaboutitasshepushedavacuumdownthecarpetedfloors,tryingtoimaginewhatitmustbelikeinsideherlittleboy’shead.Quiet-loud,he’doncetoldher.
Shehatedvacuumingdayswhereshehadtobeatworkafulltwohoursearly,eventhoughshewasonlyworkingthirdshift.Thepay,however,wasbetter.
Theclockonherphoneread:7:01P.M.whenshefinishedgoingoverthelobby.Sheflippedtheswitchandtheroarofthevacuumdied.Shewrappedthecordaroundthecrookofherthumbandelbow,pleasedatthetightwadofmusclebulgingfromherbiceps.ShehadbeenfollowingexercisevideosonYouTube.
Shepushedthevacuumovertothenextoutlet,pluggeditin.Crystalhadn’tshoweduptoworktoday.ItwasafactthatRosalitafoundbothersome,mostlybecauseRosalitawouldn’tgetpaiddoublefordoingCrystal’shalfofthework.IfshewassupposedtoworryaboutCrystal,young,pregnant,andexpectedtobeatworkrightnow,shewasdeliberatelytryingnotto.Shewasn’tthegirl’smother.
Thehallsweremostlyempty,thesecretariesandrunnershavingalreadyleftfortheevening.Rosalitahummedatunelesssongassheworked,notbecauseshewasfeelinghappy,butbecauseshewasboredandfrustrated.Thehappy,sitcomversionofherwouldbegratefulforthisjob.Rosalitadidn’tknowhowtobethankfulforajobthatrequiredhertoturnoffherbrainforeighttotenhoursatatime,tobeamachine.Notevenamachine,becauseallshehadtodowaspushone,backandforth,backandforth,untilshe’dlulledherselfintoastuporfinallybrokenbythesoundofaman’svoice,clipped,talkingintoaphone.
Whensheheardhimcoming—thesealofthelobbydoorsslicingapart,slacksbrushingtogetherattheinseam—Rosalitahadduelingurges:benddownandpretendtofiddlewiththecordordon’t.Theresultlandedsomewhereinbetween.
Shestoodinthecrosshairs.Thevoice,somethingfaintlyWestTexasinthewaythathepronouncedhis“e”sas“a”s,aquirksherecognizedfromheruncle’swife,whowasborninRule,cutinandoutwiththerhythmoftheconversation,surfacingclosereachtime.
AmesGarrett.Shecommittedhisfullnametomemoryonlyafter.
Hesnatchedthephonefromhisear,transitionedimmediatelytotappingathisscreen.Thewaveofwhitesnakedthroughhisdarkhair.Therewerepatchesofrazorburn,driedpricksofbloodleftbehindonhisneck.
Peopleontheupperfloorswalkedwithspeedindirectproportiontohowimportanttheybelievedthemselvestobe.WhenAmeswalked,loosepapersflutteredonthesecretarialstationsashepassed.
Hewouldgobywithoutnoticing,shehoped.Butthentherewasachanceglanceup,instinctivesoasnottocollidewithwhatever—whoever—wasinhisway.Shesidesteppedandshrankintothewall,whichhadthetextureofcoolfingerprintspressedtothebacksofherarms.
Amesstoppeddirectlyinfrontofher.Thecuffsofhissuitpantsbrokeattheankle.“Oh,um,”hesnapped.Twice.Itremindedherofathumbpressedoverthesparkwheelofalighter.“GladIcaughtyou.Youmindcomingintoemptymybinnow?”Hemadea“followme”gesturewithhiswholearm.“UberEatsforlunch.TiredofsmellinglikeKoreanbarbecue.”
Doyoumind?
Itwasaformality.Itcreatedtheillusionofchoiceanddecency.Shehadbeensurprisedwhenhe’dspokentoherthatdayinArdie’soffice.Haditonlybeenawarmupforthis,whateverthiswas?
Shefollowedwithoutcommentandwentstraighttothecornerbehindthedesk,whereAmes’strashbinwaslocated.Herbodylistenedfortheclickofthedoorshuttingbehindher.
ButAmeshadmovedbeyonditwithoutbotheringtocloseherin.HepulledacanofCoca-Colafromacoasteronhisdeskandpoppedthetab.Hetippedhisheadbackandletoutasmackofsatisfactionwhenhe’dtakenalargegulp.Hewasinagoodmood.
“Howlonghaveyoubeencleaninghere?”heasked,asthoughtheywereoldfriendswho’dbumpedintooneanotherafteralongwhile.
Shestood,feethip-widthapart,thefullpailheldatherwaist.Thepowerdifferentialloomedmassive.Shedidn’tknowenoughaboutKoreanfoodtoknowwhethertherewasanyleftinside.
“Nineyears,giveortake.”She’dalwayslikedthatphrase,asshedidmostidiomsshelearned.Getthehangofit.Beforeyouknowit.Blowoffsteam
Thecornersofhismouthturneddown,asthoughhewereimpressed.HeliftedtheCokecantohismouthagain.“YoumayhaveheardthatI’mpoisedtobepromotedtoCEOofthecompany.ChiefExecutiveOfficer,”heexplained.
Shewascarefulnottoletherfacemove.“Thewallsarethick,”shesaid.Shehadn’theard.Forallsheknew,thejobsofthemenandwomenwhoworkedonthesefloorsweretotapnonsenseintotheirkeyboards,yellintospeakerphones,andshufflepapers.Insubstance,itwasablackholetoRosalita,assheassumedherworldwastothem.
“Desmondwasaloss,nodoubt.”Amesshovedahandinhispocket.“Trulysaddenedme.We’dbeenthroughalottogether.”HewatchedRosalita,whoatonceunderstoodthattherewasascripttothismeetingthatshehadn’tbeenprovided.Shesaidnothing.“Idon’texpectanyproblemsfromthecleaningstaff.Isthatright?”
Sheshiftedthewastebintotheotherhand.“Ican’timaginewhytherewouldbeanymorethantherewouldbeproblemsfrommanagement,”shesaid,pleasedbythesteadinessinhervoice.
Andwiththis,sheknewshewaspermittedtotakeherleave.Thedismissalwasimplied.He’dsaidwhatheneededtosay.Butshehadn’t.
Shelookedtohisdesk,wheresterlingframesheldpicturesoftwosmallchildren.“Yours?”sheasked,pickinguponeofthephotographs.OneoftheboyslookedmorelikeAmes,butwithouttheoddstreakinhishair.
Thechugofaprinterspittingoutpapersoundedfromdownthehall.Heloweredthecanfromhislips,thistimewithouttakingasip.
“Yes.”
“Stillmarried?”
Hiseyessharpened.“Yes.Iam.”
Shenodded.Theystoodacrossfromoneanother.RosalitaandAmes.Hestillworethesamewatch—silverandgoldlink—theonethathadonceleftascratchonherarmthelengthofherhand.
“Good,”shesaid.“That’sverygood.”
TranscriptofInterviewofAdrianaValdezPartI
18-APR
APPEARANCES:
DetectiveMalikaMartin
DetectiveOscarDiaz
PROCEEDINGS
DET.DIAZ:
ThisinterviewisinreferencetoafatalityreferencedunderDallasCountyPoliceReportNumber14-83584.ThepersonbeinginterviewedisAdrianaValdez.Okay,um,Ms.Valdez,wespokepriortothisrecordingabouttheeventsofApril12th.Canyoutellusinyourownwordswhatyouremember?
MS.VALDEZ:
Itwasanormalday.Iarrivedatworkaroundeight-thirtyA.M.afterdroppingoffmysonatdaycare.
DET.DIAZ:
Wheredoesyoursonattenddaycare?
MS.VALDEZ:
Children’sCourtyardofPrestonCenter.
DET.DIAZ:
Continue,please.
MS.VALDEZ:
Isatdownatmydeskandworkedonsomeongoingpropertytaxprotests,whichtookupnearlytheentiremorning.Ipickedupasaladandacroissantfromthecoffeeshopdownstairs—Al’s—andbroughtitbacktomydesktoeat.
DET.DIAZ:
Andwhattimewasthat?
MS.VALDEZ:
Idon’tknow,probablyaroundeleven-thirtyoreleven-forty-fiveA.M.That’swhenInormallyeat.
DET.DIAZ:
Anddoyouhavethereceiptforthatlunchifrequired?
MS.VALDEZ:
I’msureitcanbeobtained.IswipedmycardintooneofthoseiPadthings,theonesthatpromptyoutotipforeverylittleover-the-counterthing.
DET.DIAZ:
Thankyou,we’llfollowuponthat.Goahead.
MS.VALDEZ:
Iworkedthroughlunch.Thistimeofyearisbusyforus.Justenoughtimebeforethesummerlulltoreallymakesomeheadway.
DET.DIAZ:
Wherewereyouaroundone-thirtyP.M.onthatday?
MS.VALDEZ:
Aroundthattime,Ihadgonetogogetapayrollformsigned.
DET.DIAZ:
Anyonethatsawyouthere?
MS.VALDEZ:
Thepayrollofficer.Afterthat,Icamebacktomydesk.
DET.DIAZ:
Atwhattime?
MS.VALDEZ:
Idon’trememberexactly.
DET.DIAZ:
Anyonethatcouldverify?
MS.VALDEZ:
GraceStantonorSloaneGlover,maybe.
DET.MARTIN:
Anyoneelse?
MS.VALDEZ:
Idon’tknow.Maybemysecretary,AnnaCorlione.
DET.DIAZ:
Ms.Valdez,whenwasthelasttimeyousawthevictim?
MS.VALDEZ:
DetectiveDiaz,whoexactlyareyoureferringtoasthevictimhere?
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
3-APR
Ardieusedtothinkitwasaphase.Thisdesiretoretreatintoherself,toclawinsideherownskinlikeahermitcrab.Ithadalwaysbeenthisway.Backinhighschool,shewouldarriveearlytoherclassroomandwaitoutsidethedoorforherteachertoinviteherin.Whenherclassmatesbegantoarrive,she’dpretendtoreadabookor,worse,makehereyesgostrangelyunfocusedlikeshewasdaydreamingjusttoavoidconversation.Notallthetime,butthemoodanddesirestruckherunexpectedly,likeagastrointestinalvirus,andshewasforcedtoheeditscall.Bycollege,she’ddiscoveredthatthisparticularafflictionwasn’taphase,buthadinsteaddecideditmustbeadiseasepasseddownbyherfather.Somethingonlysemi-debilitating,butwithnocureorhopeformarkedimprovement.
SowhenArdieboardedanemptyelevatorandmomentslaterheardfootstepsbeforeahandshotouttocatchthesplitdoors,frustrationjoltedthroughher.She’dlongsincegivenuponthe“close”buttondoinganythingmorethanofferingapsychologicalcomfort.
Amesshoulderedhiswaythroughtheopeningandsawherstandingthere.Theirtwinlooksofdisappointmenthadtobetheonlythingthetwoofthemhadincommon.Hedidthissortofhalf-openingofhismouthandhalf-hardsighbywayofgreetingandthennearlyimperceptiblyshookhisheadasheturnedtofacetheclosingdoors.Ardiepicturedoneofthosepoliceblacklightsthatshowedbloodsplatterandthoughtthatiftherewereonethatshowedmutualdisdain,theelevatorwouldlightupwithit.
ArdiestaredatthebackofAmesGarrett’shead.Heremovedhishandfromhisrightpocket.Foramoment,hispointerfingerhoveredovertheemergency“stop”button.Thentraceduptoalowernumber.Hesitation.Thenhandbackintohispocket.Anothersigh.
Agitationrolledoffhiminwaves.Handsoutofpocketsnow.Bowedhead,clutchinghisleftwrist.Shiftingweightfromonefoottotheother.Hewaitedinthecenter,soclosetothedoorsthatthetipsofhisshoesalmosttouchedthem.Ardieglancedattheuppercorneroftheelevator.Cameraswatching.
SmalltestamenttoAmes:Hewasbetteratmaskinghistempernow.BackbeforeeitherGraceorSloanestartedatTruviv,she’dwitnessedhimthrowingastapleratawallafterapurchaseagreementcallandlaterheardayoungerassociaterelatethestoryinreverent,impressedtones,thetakeawayhavingmorphedintosomethingabouthowseriouslyAmestookhisjob.
Butthesedays,shecoulddetectthatbelow-surfaceaggression,likeholdingherpalmtothesurfaceofwateronthevergeofaboil.Theelevatormoved,rusheddown,andneitherofthemsaidanythingtotheother.Last-minutedecision,hepunchedthebuttonfortheeighthfloorandwaitedforthedoorstoopen.
“You’reallfuckingcrazy.Youknowthat?”hesaidjustbeforethedoorsshudderedbackintoplace.
Fifteenminuteslater,ArdiereturnedtotheofficekitchenwithagyrotofindKatherinescavengingforLaCroix.Katherinestutter-steppedatthesoundofthedoorbehindher.
“Whoa,sorry.”Ardieslowedhersteps.“Didn’tmeantoscareyou.”
Katherinereleasedherbreath,herhandpressedhardtoherchest.
“Areyouokay?”Ardiesquinted,examining.
Katherinepressedoneofthecoldcanstothebackofherneckandthenhercheeks,lookingrueful,butnotcompletelyrecovered.“I’mfine.”Hervoicehadahuskyqualitytoit.“Ijustthoughtmaybeyouwere—”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
3-APR
“—Ames.”
TheforcesbywhichfourwomengatheredinapumpingroomtodiscussamanwhosemarkedpresenceseemedtofesterandflareamongthemlikeanunmedicatedcaseofherpeswerebeyondArdie’scomprehension.Sheknewonlythat,afewshortweeksago,she’dbeenseatedinnearlytheexactsameposition,talkingabouttheexactsameman,andshethoughtitmustbesomesortofgravitationalpull.Evenblackholeshadthem.
Sloaneclosedhereyesasshepacedandpinchedherforefingertoherthumb.“Wait,wait,tellmeexactlywhathappened,”shesaid.
Breathe,ArdiewantedtotellKatherine.Youcan’tforgettobreathe.
ArdiehadneededasafeplacetobringKatherineandshe’dneededsafesecondopinions.Thepumpingroomnowfeltlikeanuclearfalloutshelter,darkanddankandsecludedfromwhatevercalamitieswentonoutside.(“IsthatanAnthropologiecandle?”SloanehadaskedGracewhenshe’darrived.)Forthetimebeingatleast,Gracekeptherbreastsstoredaway.Easiertolistenthatway,probably.AndArdiehadstoredawayherownhurtfeelingslongenoughtoletSloanein,havingrecognizedhershortcomingsinthisdepartment—thecomfortingofKatherine—instantly.
Andsothefourwomenconvenedtodiscusshowtosolveanunsolvableproblem.
“I…upsethim.”AnunmistakablenoteofbitternesssaturatedKatherine’swords.Butthey’dalreadyheardthispart.“Ithinkwehaddifferentideasaboutthenatureofourrelationshipandwhereitwasgoing.”Therewasanautomatedqualitytowhatshewastellingthem,asifshe’dexplainedthewholethingtoherselfmultipletimes.
“Well,lookslikenooneinhereisgoingtobepassingtheBechdeltestanytimesoon.”Gracehadremovedherheelsandwasballerina-stretchingherbaretoesonthetiles.
“Isawhimintheelevatorearlier,”Ardieconfessed.“Hesaid,‘You’reallcrazy,youknowthat?’”Sheturnedhervoicelowandgrufftomimichim.
Ofcourse,Ardieshouldhaveknownrightthenandtherethatthecommentwasapreemptivestrike.Thetemptation,nurturedbypeoplelikeAmes,hadalwaysbeentoconjureupanimageofboredhousewivesinbusinessformalattire,playingagameoftelephoneontheofficelines.Wehadtohavebeenoverreacting,behavinghysterically,awordwhichwasquiteliterallyderivedfromtheLatin“hystericus”—or—“fromthewomb.”Actually,agreatdealoftimeandwordshadgoneintotheartofnotquitebelievingus.Adjectiveslike“bossy”and“feisty”and“pushy”and“intense”becamesubtleexcusesmeanttohelpjustifyselectivehearingloss.
WhenArdiehadfoundKatherineinthekitchen,shehadseenthesameexpressionshe’dfoundonSloane’sfacesomanyyearsago.WhatthehellamIgoingtodonow?ithadsaid.Andnowitwasstartingalloveragain.Itwaslikesuddenlyrealizingthat,thoughyoubelievedyou’dbeenrunninginarace,you’djustbeenonatreadmillthewholetime.
“But…didn’tyoureadthelist?”Sloaneventured.
They’dallbeenclingingtothepromiseoftheBADMenListasalittleliferaftbobbingontheseasoftheInternet.Ithadbeenthedisclaimerwrittenonthesignnailedtotheamusementparkride.Enteratyourownrisk.Oncethewarninghadbeenissued,they’dfulfilledtheirlegalliability.Butnotuntilnowdidtheysuddenlyrealizehowuntruethatwas.
“Ireadit.”Katherine’scheekspuffedoutfromwhereshesatonthecouch.Shetuckedherfeetunderneathher.“Whenyousentit.Ididn’tknowwhatIwassupposedtodowithit,though.Amesgotmethisjob.I’mnotanidiot.”Sheglancedaroundtheroom,daringeachofthewomentodisagreewithher.“Youweren’ttellingmeanythingIdidn’tsortofknowonsomelevel.IknewIwasalreadywalkingafineline.Yeah,I’mqualified.”Asifthefactsthatshe’dgonetoHarvardandworkedonLawReviewwerelessimportantdatapointsabouther.“ButIcamewithoutanyrecommendations.Worse,mypastemployeractivelyhatedme.ImetAmesinabarinBoston.Isortedoutthathewas,youknow,attractedtome,probably.ButIworkedreallyhardtogetwhereIam.And,Ineededafreshstart.Somewherethatdidn’tfeelliketakingastepbackward.Thatsoundsbad.”Shepushedhershouldersintothesofacushions.“Butwhatwomandoesn’tdothatalittle?Yourunoutofgasonthesideofaroadand,okay,wellsuddenlyit’snotsobadtoplayalittle…youknow,cute,togetsomehelp.Don’tlookatmethatway,”shesaidtoallofthem.“Wealldoit.”
Sloanenodded.“Thisisajudgment-freezone.You’reoneofus.”
“Anyway.”Katherinesighed.“Ireasonedthat,onceIgotmyfootinthedoor,Icouldgraduallycreatesomedistanceanditwouldbecomeanon-issue.Hewastakinganinterest,but,honestly,ithadseemedinagoodway.Hewashelpingmeandhehadn’taskedforanythinginreturn.Itwasundercontrol.”
Gracedroppedherheelstothefloorandstared.“AndThePrescott?”sheasked
KatherinelookedupatGrace,whostoodneartheTV.TheblackscreenheldaminiaturepictureofSloaneandKatherineinsideit.“Amespaidforit,”sheansweredslowly.“Heaskedmenottomentionittoanyone.I’msorry.Hesaidthatthecompanydidn’tusuallycovermovingexpenses,butthatIshouldconsiderhishelppartofmyhiringpackage.Hewasusingacompanycreditcardandeverything.ItoldhimIranintoyouandthatwasthefirsttimeheseemedalittle,Idon’tknow,dodgyaboutit.”TheskinaroundGrace’seyestightened.Shecrossedherarmsprotectivelyoverherchest.“ButIswearnothinghappenedatThePrescott.”
“Okay,sonothinghappenedatThePrescott.”Sloanerolledherhandsinmidair:goon.“Sowhatdidhappen?”
Katherine’sthroattightenedinaswallow.“Heaskedmetostaylatetohelpwith—Idon’tevenremember,honestly—andIwenttohisofficeandwestartedtalkingandhegotkindof…”Shetiltedherheadsidewaysasifexaminingitinhermind’seye.“…closer,Iguess,and…Thisisgoingtosoundweird,butitwasdarkbecausehesaidthatitwaseasieronhiseyeswiththecomputerscreenatnight.Andthenitjustkept—Ithoughtsomethingelse—buthewas…Hekissedme.Andthen.”Hermouthflickeredwithanunpleasantmemory.“And,initially,Iwasjustkindofsurprised.Notinaniceway.But.Iwastryingtoremovemyself,youknow,gracefully.He’spersistent,though.Hetried—hekept,youknow—soItried—anyway,hetookmyhandandheplaceditonhis…”Shemadeeyessothattheyallunderstood.ThereweresomanywordsmissingfromKatherine’ssentencesandyetArdieunderstoodthemeaningperfectly.“Someonewalkedinonus,actually.Thecleaninglady.”
Ardieblinked.“Rosalita?”
“I’mnotsure.Ithinkso.Idon’tknow.”Katherinebentoverherknees,cuppingherforehead.“Isaidsomethingrelativelyinnocuoustohim,Ithought.Somethinglike,‘Oh,I’msosorry,Idon’twanttogetinvolvedwithanyoneattheoffice.’HethrewapenonthegroundandsaidIhadtobefuckingkiddinghim.Ileft.Ifiguredwecouldsmooththingsoverlaterwhencoolerheadsprevailed.”
“Maybeyouweregivingoffsignals?Couldhehavemisinterpreted—”Tohercredit,Gracedidn’tsoundjudgmental,exactly.Thoughshedidn’tsoundsupportive,either.“Officeaffairsareathing,aren’tthey?”Shedidn’tlooktoSloane,butshemightaswellhave.
“Grace.”Sloanewheeled.“Sheis—Idon’tknow,howoldareyou,Katherine?Itdoesn’tmatter—don’tyouthinksheknows?”
Gracegavenoresponse.
BecauseSloanewasvoicingsomethingweallbelieved,whichwasthatweknewthedifference.Howdidweknowwhenbehaviorwasinappropriate?Wejustdid.Anywomanovertheageoffourteenprobablydid.Believeitornot,wedidn’twanttobeoffended.Weweren’tsittingaroundtwiddlingourthumbswaitingforsomeonetoshowupandoffendussothatwewouldhavesomethingtodothatday.Infact,wemadedozensofexcusesnottobe.Wegavethebenefitofthedoubt.Wetookaman’scommentaboutthewayourhighheelsmadeourcalveslookaswellintentioned.Weunderstoodthedesireforustodrawalineinthesand—thiswasokay,thiswasnotokay.Nosuchlineexisted,oratleastnotonethatwecouldpaint.Buttrustthatbythetimewewereworking,ourmetershadbeentesteddozensoftimesover.Wewereexpertsinourfield.
“That’swhatIthought.”
“I’msorry,Katherine,”Gracesaid,softly.“I’mjusttryingtofullyunderstand.Ijust—Idon’tknowthatsideofAmes,that’sall.”
“So?”Ardieasked.
“SoAmesisn’ttakingtherejectionwell,”Sloanejumpedin.
“Atfirst,Ithoughthewas.Itseemedlike…okay,thishappened.Thatwasunfortunate,butyouknow,maybeIwasgivingoffsignals.”ShecastalooktoGrace.“Orsomething,andwecouldallbereasonableadults.Thenhefoundoutaboutthelist.”
“Wait,what?”Sloane’seyesbugged.
Hello,lede,thoughtArdie.Gladyou’vefinallybeendugup
“Today,actually.AndhethinksIaddedhim,”saidKatherine.
Sloanepinchedherwaist,suckingthebottomofherribcageconcaveasshepacedtheroom.“Oh,fuck,”shesaid.“Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck.”Shewalkedincirclesnow.Little,tiny,sadcircles.Ardiewonderedexactlywhatpercentageofthismightbeconsideredherfault.
“Youdidn’taddhim,”Sloanesaid.“Didyoutellhimthat?Didyoutellhimthatyoudidn’taddhim?”
“OfcourseItoldhimthat.”
“Andhesaidwhat?”Ardieasked,hertonesmooth.Theyweregatheringthefacts.Thatwasall.Theywereonafact-findingmission.Research.Thiswasaroomfulloflawyers.Theyhadthirty-twoyearsofadvancedschoolingbetweenthem.Theobjective:tosortoutwhatwaswhatandtohelptheirpeernavigatethroughastickysituationwithherjobintact.
Perhaps“sticky”wasn’tthebestwordchoice.
Katherinefoldedherarmsandcrossedherlegs.Itgaveherterribleposture.Ardiehadneverseenherwithanythinglessthanperfectphysicaldeportmentanditfeltlikeaparticularlyobvious,alarmingsymptomtoobserve.
“Hedidn’tbelieveme,”shesaid,speakingmoretoherkneesthantothem.“HetoldmeIwasfullofit.HesaidthathehadworkedwithallofthepeopleinthisofficeforyearsandyearsandthatI’dstartedandI’d,Idon’tknow,yeah,senthimmixedmessages.”Sheusedairquoteshere.“Andthen,allofasudden,it’ssupposedtobehisfaultandthere’sthislistgoingaroundwithhisnameonitandthatit’sclearlynocoincidence.Hiswordsnotmine.”
Sloane’sandArdie’slooksfoundeachother.Cutrightinlinetooneanother.Yesterday,Sloanehadshoweduptoherofficedeclaring,Idon’thaveanolivebranchsoIbroughtOliveGarden.Andthoughitwouldhavehappenedanyway,thebreadstickscertainlyexpeditedthehealingprocess.Theywere,ofcourse,alliesagain.Andtheywereoldones.Practiced.Whichweretheabsolutebestkind.AndSloanewasherbestfriend.Shefeltaroundinherheartforwhetherthatwasstilltrueandhopedverymuchthatitwas.
Ames’sreasoningwasactuallyfairlysound.SloaneandArdiehadworkedwithAmesforoveradecade.Whywouldthey,allatonce,decidetoupandouthim,especiallywhenSloane’sownpromotioninthecompanywasontheline?
Heunderestimatedthem.
“Well,”Gracesaid.“That’sdefinitelyapickle.”
“God.Ishouldhavewarnedyoumoredirectly,Katherine,”Sloanesaid,stoppinginhertracks.“I’msorry.Ijustthought…”Sheshookherhead.“Idon’tknowwhatIthought.IshouldhavetoldyouaboutAmesmyself.”
Katherineliftedherchin.“DidyouaddAmes’snametothelist?”Theroomstilledforabeat.ArippleofangerpassedoverKatherine’sface.
“Yes,”Sloanesaid.Shedidn’timplicateArdieatall.Ardiehadbeenthere.Ardiehadn’tstoppedSloanefromaddingAmes’sname.Morethanthat,she’dagreedtoit.
“I’vebeenthere,”Sloanesaid.KatherinesizedSloaneup,oratleastthatwashowArdieinterpretedit.Takingintheagedifferenceandthedisparitiesinaesthetic.Onedidnotlookliketheother.But,werethesethingseveraboutlooks?“Ohgod,yearsago.Eons,really.”Sloanewavedherhand.“Wewereinvolvedonce,asamatteroffact.”SloaneGlover’sworst-keptsecretstendedtobeherown.“Butwestillhaveour…misunderstandings.”
“Itwasn’texactlythesame,”Gracepointedout,buttheotherthreeignoredher.
Katherinetiltedherheadbackandstaredattheceiling.“Then,whatnow?”sheasked.“I’mprettysuremycareerdoesn’thaveninelives.Itmightnotevenhavetwo.”
WhatmustitbeliketobuildyourselffromSouthBostontoHarvardandthenfindthatwasn’teventhehardpart?
“Doyouwanttofileacomplaint?”Sloaneasked.“Becausewe’llsupportyou.Noquestionthere.”
Katherinesatup,startled.“What?No.No.Youcan’ttellanyone.Youhavetosweartome.I’vealreadylostonejob.”
TherewassomethingweightysittinginthepitofArdie’sstomach.
“Thatwasdifferent.”SloanespoketoKatherinelikeArdiehadsometimesheardherspeaktoAbigail.
Gracewatchedon.“Acomplaintsoundslikeagoodoption.Ithinkthere’sevenahotline.”
“It’smywordagainsthis.Doesn’tseemthatdifferenttome.”
“Okay…”ArdiewatchedSloane’shead,theneatlycutlineofblondehair.“Ardie?”Sloaneturnedtoherforideas.
“Idon’tknowwhatnow.Whatever?”Ardiesaid.“DoyourememberwhenDebrawaswiththecompany?Y’allprobablyweren’tevenhereyet.Maybeyouwere,Sloane.Differentfloor.ShefiledaharassmentcomplaintwithHRaboutoneofhersupervisors.Therewasarandomroundofdownsizingafewmonthslater,whichwassmall.Laughablysmall.Shewasout.Flatonherass.Justlikethat.”
Therewereotherexamplesshewasleavingout.
“Thatcouldhavebeenacoincidence,”Gracesaid.“Weshouldn’tjump—”
“He’sgoingtobeCEO,”Sloanesaid,cuttinghershort.“Theboardmet.Iheardit’sasgoodasdone.Onceit’sannounced,therewillbeevenfeweroptions.Maybenone.”
“Youshouldhaveseenhisface.”Katherinepushedherhairfromherforehead.“I’msodumb.”Shehadmovedontothestageinwhichshescoldedherself.Sloanehadfollowedthesametrajectory.“Thisdidn’texactlycomeoutoftheblue.”
Nooneaskedwhatthatmeant.Ifsomeonewereto,itshouldhavebeenSloane,butsheletithang.Howmuchinformationdidtheyreallyneed,anyway?TheyeitherbelievedKatherineortheydidn’t.ShouldKatherinehavetodetaileveryinteractionjustsotheycoulddecideforthemselveshowproblematiccertainbehaviortrulywas?Ormaybeeven:whoseproblemwasit?
ArdieandSloanelookedateachother.Themorethingschanged,themoretheystayedthesame—wheredidthatcomefrom?Asong?Ardiethoughtthelyricswerewrong.Moreaccurately:themorethingsdidn’tchange,themoretheystayedthesame
Sloanecuppedherhandtothebackofherneck,herfingerskneadingthere.“Well.”Inthepause,Ardiecouldfeelthatinamomentthey’dhavetodisperse,toreentertheworldwhereallofthiswashappeningandmattered.Itwasgoingon,Amesexisted,justontheothersideofthatlockeddoor.“Idon’tthinkwecankeepsittingaroundandprayinghegetshitbyabus,”shesaid.
But,God,thoughtArdie,wouldn’tthatbeanicecoincidence?
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
3-APR
“Youwanttosueyourboss.”DerekignoredthetwofingersofScotchSloanehadpouredforhimpriortostartingthisconversation.TheysatontheirCaliforniaKingbed.Forsomereason,alloftheirimportantconversationstookplaceonthisbed.Itwasmultipurpose.Asadvertised.
“AndTruviv,”shereiterated.Shewastoeingthelinebetweenproperlyexplaining,becauseDerekhadnolegalbackground,andneedingtoremainthissideofcondescension.
HetippedhisheadbackontoaEurosham.“Oh,thatmakesitsomuchbetter.”
“Sarcasmisn’tagoodlookonyou.”Sloanehuggedapillow.Shebalancedonherhip,legscurledtooneside.Derekworehisundershirtandboxers.Anhourearlier,shehadrequesteda“familymeeting,”eventhoughAbigailhadalreadygonetosleep,becauseDereklikedthatterm.He’dhearditinaparentingaudiobook,whichwasathingshewouldhavelistenedtoinordertoseemlikeabetterparent,butthathewouldlistentoinordertoactuallybeone.
Heliftedhishead.Hehadgreathairforamanoverforty.Shecouldonlyimaginewhatthemiddle-schoolgirlssaidabouthim.“Lookatthishouse,Sloane.”Heheldouthisarms.Truthfully,thishouseshewassupposedtobelookingatwasn’tparticularlymassive,but“location,location,location,”astheysaid.“HowmuchmoneydoyouthinkImake?”
Sloanesmelledatrap.Shehadmarriedamanwhodidn’tmindifhiswifemademorethantriplewhathedid,solongasnoonementionedit.
“I’mserious,Sloane.Whatdoyouthinkhappens,exactly,ifthisgoessouth?Ifyou,Idon’tknow,loseyourjoboverAmes?Incaseyouhaven’tnoticed,moneyisn’tgrowingontreesaroundhere.”Hepinchedthebackofhisneckandrubbed.
“Onlybecausewespenditlikeitdoes,”shesaid.“Wedon’tneedtohavethebathroomremodeledwithAnnSackstiles.”Shewouldneverhaveguessedthatherhusband’smostexpensivehabitwouldbehisclosetedloveforinteriordesign,butheretheywere.
“Andwedon’tneedtohavefivepairsofLouboutins.”Whichwasn’texactlyfair,inheropinion,becauseshemadethemoneytopayforthoseLouboutinsandshedidn’tcareiftheirbathroomwastiledfromHomeDepot.Shewouldn’tsaythis,becausesheknewthatifitwereaworkingmanwhotoldhiswifethat,shewouldhavethoughtitwasahideousindecency,andsosheheldherselftothesamestandard.Themoneywastheirs.AndDerekwasright,ifshelostherjob,there’dbeadominoeffect—acarfirst,thenmaybeavacation,theneventually,thehouse.Unlessshefoundawaytostaunchthebleeding.
Still,ajobwassupposedtopayanemployee,notcosther.Therealityofhersituationwasthat,ifshewantedtodosomethingaboutAmes,itwasnowornever
Shehuggedthepillowmoretightly.“WhatkindofexamplearewesettingforAbigail?”
Hetossedthenearesttwo-hundred-dollar,hand-paintedthrowpillowoffthebedthoughtlessly.“None.Becauseshedoesn’tknowthisisgoingon.You’retheonethrustingitintothelimelight.”Shestaredathim.“Settleitoutofcourt,”hesaid.
“Imight.ButtheonlywayforthattohappenisifIfilethelawsuitfirst.Nosuit,nosettlement.”Itfeltgoodbeingthecalm,reasonableone.Sheshouldtryitmoreoften.Hisheadhunglimplyonhisshoulders.“IfIfilealawsuitforsexualharassment,theyactuallycan’tfireme.”Fireher,no.Reduceherresponsibilities?Failtopromoteher?Saddleherwithpoorreviews?Makeherlifemiserable?Drivehertowanttoquit?Yes,butitdidn’tseemprudenttogetintodetail.“That’swhyit’sbetterthansimplycomplaining.DidIevertellyouaboutthetimeAmestoldopposingcounselthatIwastooemotionaltobeagoodnegotiator?‘Moveover,wecanhandleclosingthedeal.’”Sloaneperformedsomeold-fashionedMid-Atlanticaccent,thesortofthingthatusuallygotasmilefromherhusband.“Mydeal,Derek,”shesaid,moreearnestly.
“You…havementionedit,asamatteroffact.”
“Wemightactuallymakemoneyoffofthis.”Shedidn’tknowatwhatpointtheideahadtransformedfrombeinganideatobeinganideathatsheactuallywantedtomaterialize.ProbablyduringthecourseofconvincingDerek.Shewasthatpersuasive,honestly.“IwasgoingalongwithAmesbecomingCEObecauseIthought—okay—AmesbecomesCEO,IbecomeGeneralCounsel,Isuckitup,Igetabigraise,hopefullyeverythingisfine.But…but…whatifitisn’t?Thisway,Amesdoesn’tbecomeCEO.Thereisstillavacancyformetonegotiate.Thereareanti–employmentretaliationlaws.ButmainlyIstopwatchingthatmanhavethesamepoweroverotherwomenthathehastriedtohaveoverme.Wecancontrolthissituationifwetakecontroloverit.Rightnow,hehasthecontrol.Allofit.Youunderstandthat,right?ThatwillincreasetenfoldifhebecomesCEO,whichhewillunlessI—unlesswe—dosomethingaboutitbeforeit’sannounced.”Shescootedacrossthemattress,closertoherhusband.“YouthinkthatI’magoodlawyer,right,thatIdeservethis?”
“You’reinmytopfive,forsure.”
Hershouldersrelaxedbyhalfaninch.“Youhaveatopfive?”
Hescoffed.“OfcourseIhaveatopfive.Areyoukiddingme?Let’ssee.”Hecountedoff.“JohnnieCochran.JohnAdams.RobertKardashian.SloaneGlover.RuthBaderGinsburg.”
Shecrackedasmile.“Huh.SoIcomebeforeRBGbutafterRobertKardashian.”Thingscouldstillbefunny.Herhusbandwasoneofthem.Sheneededthat.Neededhim,really.
“Hey,it’smylist.”Derekwaspickingfeathersoutofthedowncomforter,extractingthembythestem.Itwasneverafairfight.Sloanegotherwayinnearlyeveryrelationshipshewasapartof.Itwasn’tthatDerekdidn’thaveopinions;itwasjustthatDereklovedher.Hewasthebetterpersonandshewasfineconcedingthatgroundtohimaslongasitwasonlythatground.
Hedimpledthecornersofhismouthintodeepparentheses.“Okay,”hesaid.“Okay.Ifthisiswhatweneedtodotomoveforward,thenthisiswhatweneedtodotomoveforward.You’retheboss.”
Andshetriedveryhardnottotakethatasadig.
“Thankyou,Derek.”Sloaneslidfromthebed.Itwaslateandshewasstillwearingherworkclothes,rumpledandpartiallyunzipped.Shefeltmostlyrelieved.Ifapartofherworriedthatshewasfollowingapatternofimpulsivity,shereasonedthatacaseagainstAmeswasyearsandyearsinthemaking.SheknewthatshewasintherightandSloanelovedbeingintherightalmostmorethananythingelse.Itwasoneofthereasonsshe’ddecidedtobecomealawyer.
ShepulledopenherdrawerandselectedapairofThaisilkpajamas.Derekreadonhisphoneassheundressed.
Shetookadeepbreath.“ThereisjustthisonethingthatIfeellikeIneedtotellyou,incaseitcomesout,”shesaidassheputabluelineoftoothpasteontoherbrush.Fiveyearsago,shewouldn’thaveevenconsideredtellinghimbecauseitwouldhavebeentoosoon.Butnow,withdoubledigits,itfeltlikealifetimeago.She’dfoundherselfwonderingthingslike,whendidDerekpropose,March,orwasitNovember?
“Hm?”Hedidn’tlookupfromhisphone.
Thiswashermomenttoturnback.Butshewatchedherhusband,hisfamiliarbarefeet,hislong,crookedtoes.They’dsooftenwatchedcrimedramasinwhichachildhadbeenabductedandoneoftheparentswasbusyhidingtheiraffairandthey’dsaidtoeachother,Forfuck’ssake,ifyou’rehavinganaffair,whensomethingmoreimportantisgoingon,justsayso!
Sloanewasamodernwomanwithamodernhusband.Shenegotiatedatcardealerships.Shemademoneyanddecisions.Shepushedoffhalfherhouseholdduties.Shedidn’tcook.She’dhadsex.Heraffairwasn’tareasontoletotherwomenbetakenadvantageof,tobeassaultedfor,wasit?
“AmesandIwereinvolvedonce.”Hejerkedtoattention.Sheheldupherhand.“Beforeweweremarried.”
Heeasedbyadegree.“Whenbeforeweweremarried?”Itwasalmostasifhe’dbeenmarriedtoalawyer.
Shestuckthetoothbrushinhermouth.“Afewmonthsbefore.”
“Soweweredating.”Hesetdownhisphonesothatshehadhisfullattention.Shecouldhavelivedwithoutit.Justthisonce.
“Engaged.Technically.Ithink,”shesaid.
“Engaged,”herepeated.Shespatintothesink,rinsedhermouthoutwithwater.“Andhewasmarried?”
“Hewasdefinitelymarried.
“Itwasrightafteryouproposed.Iwasn’tsurewhatIwanted.Iwasgoingthroughacrisisofconscience.”Shethoughtitwasgoodtoputalabelonit.Itwaslikeadiagnosis.Everyonehadtosupportyouonceyougotoneofthoseorelseriskbeingaghastly,selfishpersonwithabiasagainstmentalhealthissues.AndDerekdefinitelywasn’tthat.
“Well,that’scomfortingtohear.”DerekfinallyliftedtheScotchfromthenightstand,sniffedit,andtookaswig.ItwasverygoodScotch.Shethoughtthatshouldmatter.
“I’msorry,whatexactlydoyouwantmetosay?”Andtherewasadefinitesnarltohistone.
Okay,then,shethought,lethim.Shedeservedthat.
Sloaneholsteredhertoothbrush.Shestartedtoanswerandthencreasedherbrow,onlyofcourseherbrowdidn’tcreaseatall.“I’mthinking,”shesaid.“Youjustcan’ttellbecauseI’vechosentopoisonmyfaceduetounfairsocietalbeautystandards.”Shefingeredherforeheadgingerly.“Thisiswhatitmustfeelliketobeparalyzed.”
Sloanewastalkingtoomuch.ItwasherprimarystallingtacticandDerekknewthis.Itturnedoutthat,inhermind,shehadn’texactlyarticulatedwhatshethoughtDerekwouldsaytoherconfession.Shehadvaguelyimaginedherhusbandexpressingthedisappointmentofastrictparenthavingheardthathisforty-year-olddaughterusedtosneakoutanddrinkbeerbackwhenshewasinhighschool.Derek’sfacetoldadifferentstory,hurtandangerlockedinaneck-and-neckbattlefordominance.
“Doesitreallycountbeforeweweremarried?Thinkaboutit.That’stheentirepointofsaying‘Ido.’”Shewasafraidtosaysonowbutshe’dalwaysfeltthatanythingbeforemarriagewassortof,shedidn’tknow,fairgame?Practice?Ormaybeshehadonlybeentellingherselfthatbecausethatwashowshe’dtreatedherrelationshipspre-Derek.“NothingeverhappenedafterIsaidthosevows.”
“Howfuckinghonorable,Sloane.”
Theybothcursed.Neverateachother,though.Andittookafeatofself-restraintnottoallowherselftoassumetheroleoftheoffended.Shewassomuchbetteratthat.
“Derek.”Shereturnedfromtheirsharedbathroom,adollopofnightcreampoisedonherfingertip.“Itwastwelveyearsago.Igetit.Iwasyoungandhorribleandstupid.But.”Themattressspringssqueaked.Derekgathereduphistwopillowsandtoreoneofthethrowblanketsoffthebed.Hehadtotwistitaroundhisforearmtocarryitall.“Derek?Derek,whereareyougoing?”Shefollowedhimintothelivingroomasheheadedupthestairsinthedirectionoftheguestroom.“Ithoughtyouagreedweweregoingtobeonthesameteamhere.”Shesmearedthenightcreamonherleg.Anounceofitcostforty-threedollarsandshecouldn’tbelieveshe’djustwastedit.Herfeetpoundedtooloudlyonthesteps.She’dwakeAbigailifsheweren’tcareful.
Dereklookeddownatherfromthetopofthestairs.“Yeah,Ithinkthatisactuallythepointofsaying‘Ido.’”Andhedisappearedintotheguestroom,wheresheheardthelocksnapintoplace.
Sloane’sfootstepsweresofteronthewaydown.ShecurledontoDerek’ssideofthebedandpickeduphismostlyfullglassofScotch.Itwasgoingtobefine,shetoldherself.Intheirearlythirties,asimilarfightwouldhaveelicitedslammingdoors,longtextmessagessentrapid-fire,oneofthemdrivingoff—probablyher—thenreturningtoignoretheotherpersonbeforeyellingagain.
Nowthehousebuzzedwithsilence.ShetippedtheremainderoftheScotchintohermouth.Theearthyflavorofpeatfilledhernose.Youhavecertainlymadeyourbed,shethought.
SheandDerekweresupposedtowatchtheseriesfinaleofOrphanBlacktonight.Instead,shewenttothekitchentorefillherglass.
DepositionTranscript
27-APR
Ms.Sharpe:
HowmuchdoyoumakeatTruvivperyear?
Respondent1:
Whyisthatrelevant?
Ms.Sharpe:
Ifanobjectionstands,yourattorneycanargueitbeforethecourt.HowmuchdoyoumakeatTruvivperyear?
Respondent1:
Mybasesalaryis$310,000annually,plusadiscretionarybonus.
Ms.Sharpe:
Areyouawarethatthissalaryiswithinthetoponepercentofsalariesinthecountry?
Respondent1:
Again,Idon’tseehowthat’srelevant.Itisbynomeansanexorbitantamountforapersonatmylevelofexperiencetomake.
Ms.Sharpe:
Wereyouabletolivecomfortablyonthisincome,Ms.Glover?
Respondent1:
I’msurethat’srelative.Forinstance,comparedtoyou,Cosette?Probablynot.But,morebroadlyspeaking,yes,wedojustfine.
Ms.Sharpe:
So,thesoleconsiderationwhenfilingsuitagainstTruvivandMr.Garrettwastotakeupthecauseagainstsexualharassment.Isthatright?Thiswasinnowayamoney-makingscheme?
Respondent1:
Ofcoursenot.BywhichImean,ofcourseitwasnotintendedasameanstomakemoneyexceptinsofarasforcingacorporationtopaymoneyisoneofthemostsurefirewaystoencourageacorporation,andpeople,forthatmatter,tochangebehavior.
Ms.Sharpe:
Wereyoufacinganyunduefinancialpressurethatmayhavealteredyourownbehavioratthetimeofthesuit,Ms.Glover?
Respondent1:
Nothingoutoftheordinary.
Ms.Sharpe:
Interesting.Yousee,Ihaveacreditreporthere.Ittellsmethatyouareprettyheavilyleveraged.
Respondent1:
Ithinkthat’sfairlynatural.Sevenyears’worthofschoolloans.Amortgage.Creditcards.Twocars.Itaddsup.
Ms.Sharpe:
Soyoudidn’twantanymoremoney?Moremoneywouldn’thavebeenhelpfultoyou?
Respondent1:
I’msorry,Cosette,Truvivispayingyouhowmuchtoaskhard-hittingquestionslike:Wouldmoremoneybehelpful?Cosette,IwanttokeepworkingatTruviv.Asyousaid,Imake$310,000peryearandmyfamilyandI,weenjoyacertainqualityoflife.Ididn’texactlythinkI’dberetiringearlytotheFrenchRivieraonwhateverpayoutIgotfromalawsuithere.But,please,writemeapostcardfromwhichevervacationhomethisproceedinghelpsyoutopaythedownpaymenton,won’tyou?
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
3-APR
Gracereturnedearlythatnightanddroppedherpurseonthekitchentable.Liamwasalreadyhome,loadingthedishwasher.Themicrowavehummed,thesterilizerturninginsideit.Bottles—beadedwaterstucktotheinsides—stoodatattentionintheplasticgrassmatsthatsatnexttothesink.GracehadatheorythatthemainreasonLiamwassohelpfularoundthehousewasactuallybecausehemadesomuchmoney.Allthesecareerwomensheknewgripingabouthowtheywerethebreadwinnersbuttheirhusbandsstilldidn’tdothegroceryshoppingandshethought:That’sbecausethey’rethreatened!Ithadbeen,andstillwas,aworkingtheory.
GracegreetedLiamandwenttothelivingroomwhereshekneltdownbesideEmmaKate.Shewasplayingonherbackinheractivitygym,staringupattheassortmentofelephants,lions,andtoucansthathadbeenhungaboveherheadtokeepherattention.Sheheldherdaughter’sfootinherhandandEmmaKatekicked.Shecouldn’tthinkofmuchtosay,soGracereturnedtothekitchenandgrabbedasleeveofRitzcrackersfromthepantry.
Sheleanedoverthegranitecountertop,herheelsstillon.“Liam,whydoyouthinkI’veneverbeen,youknow,sexuallyharassed?”Shewonderedwhetherthepremiseofherquestionwaseventrue.Shehadbeenwhistledatonthestreet,askedtosmileinthelineforlunch,hadmeninmeetingsstareatherbreasts.Herhighschooltennisinstructorhadonceevenaskedhertositonhislaponacrowdedcarride(she’ddeclined,choosingoneofherteammates’lapsinstead).Butshewasn’ttraumatizedbyanyofit.
Liamslungadishtoweloverhisshoulderandpushedupthedoorofthedishwasher.Hewastallandwell-built,aformerlacrosseplayeratVanderbilt.“You’veneverhadchickenpox,either.”
EmmaKatecooedfromtheotherroom.
“Idon’tthinkit’sthatrandom.Imean,I’mnotimmune,amI?Attheriskofsoundinglikeahugebitch.”Graceprobablywasahugebitch.“I’m,youknow,pretty.PrettierthansomeofthewomenIknowthathavehadnegativeexperiences.”
Heheldouthishand.Shepassedhimacracker.“You’refeelingleftoutofsexualharassment?”
“Ofcoursenot.”Maybeshewas.“I’mtryingtounderstand.”
“Idon’tknow.”ThetimeronthemicrowavewentoffanditwasLiamwhomovedtotakeoutthesterilizerandwhobeganunloadingit.Graceslippedoffhershoes.Thetilecooledthesolesofherfeet.“You’reaskingmetogetintheheadsofpeoplewithwhomIdon’thaveawholelotincommon.”
Shehopedthatwastrue.Shebelieveditwas.Itbotheredherthatshedidn’tknowwhetherAmes’swife,Bobbi,feltthesameway.
Liamconsidered.“Butprobablysomethinglikeanimalinstinct.They’repreyingontheweakestintheherd.Theyoung.Thevulnerable.”
Gracesnorted.Crackercrumbsflewfromhermouthandshecuppedherhandoverhermouth.“Sorry.Sloaneisn’twhatI’dcallvulnerable.”
Shequicklytiptoedaroundthecorner—suchagoodmommy,asLiamwouldsay!—tocheckonEmmaKate,whowasnowquiet,mouthingherownwrist.
“Yes.”Liamheldupafinger.“Butshemadeherselfvulnerablewiththeaffair,didn’tshe?Hehadsomethingonher.”Gracedidn’tknowtherulesonwhethershe’dbeenallowedtotellLiamaboutSloane’saffair.Asanadult,shebelievedtheunderstandingwasthatifafriendtoldyouasecret,youcouldtellyourspouse.Butshe’dneverconfirmedthiswithanyofherfriendsincaseshewaswrong,andthataloneprobablymeantthatshewas.
“So,it’stheirfault,then?Ihaven’tbeenharassedbecauseI’mnotharass-able?”
“No.”Liamtwitched.“It’sjustlikeacrimeofopportunity,Isuppose.Youwouldn’tblameamurdervictim.Themurderer’sjusttryingtocommitamurderhethinkshecangetawaywith.”
“That’sdark.”
“Areweorderingdinnerorwereyougoingtocook?”
ThemessagefromSloanecamesometimejustbeforeten,afterLiamhadgonetobed.Gracewaswaitingtoperformsomethingcalleda“dreamfeed,”whichsheplannedtodoatapproximatelyten-thirty.AdreamfeedinvolvedpickingupEmmaKateand,withoutfullywakingher,holdinghertoGrace’sbreastandencouraginghertonurseforafullmealsothatshewouldsleepthroughtherestofthenight.Thatwastheconcept.TherealitywasusuallythatEmmaKatewokeupangryathavingbeenroused,tinyfistsballed,eyespinchedintoherface.ButGracecouldn’tgiveupthepromiseofsixhoursofuninterruptedrest.Thefactthatithadn’thappenedyetdidn’tmatter.
She’dbeenscrollingthroughherNetflixwatchlist,whichwasdwindlingwithalltheaddedTVtimesinceEmmaKate’sbirth,whenherphonebuzzed.
SloaneGloverGoingtofilelawsuit.Public=onlywaytohaveprotection+preventAmesfromtakingoverthecompany.TalkedtoKatherine.She’sscaredre:whathappenedatFrost+Ifeelalittleresponsible.Tiredofignoringitall!Kisses.
GracewaitedforArdie,whowasincludedonthechain,torespond,butwhenshedidn’t,sherealizedthatArdiemusthavealreadygonetosleep.Gracedecidedtopretendshe’ddonethesame.What,exactly,didSloanewantthemtosay,anyway?
Yougo,girl!
Ifanything,GracewasthinkingabouthowdisruptivealawsuitfromSloanewouldbetotheirjobs.Wasanyoneworriedaboutthat?
Twentyminuteslater,she’dpositionedherselfinsidethecraternowpermanentlyembeddedwithintheirsofafromincessantlysittingcross-leggedthere,the“U”-shapedpillowbalancedaroundherhips.EmmaKatehadswitchedfromscreamingtosucking,atwhichpointGracerealizedthatshe’dforgottentoplacethecupofwateronthesidetablenexttoher.AdesperatethirstovertookhereverytimeEmmaKatelatched.Sheneededtodistractherself.TheTVwasonalowvolume,theremoteinchesoutofreach.Sheclaspedherphone.ThetextfromSloanewasstillonscreenandshegotthesamesnagofannoyanceshehadwhenhermotherwastextingtoooften.
Shewantedtotalktosomeonewhoagreedwithher.Itwaslate,butshescrolledthroughhercontactsanddialedEmeryBishop,oneofherclosestsororitysisters.Thetwoofthemstilltookagirls’triptoFredericksburgeveryyear.EmerylivedinHouston.Shedidn’twork“outsideofthehome”andsatontheboardofbothanAIDSfoundationandalocaltheater.Shepickeduponthesecondring.“Iseverythingokay?”EmeryhadachronicraspyvoicecausedbyvocalcordnodulesandaslightSouthernaccent.
“Yes,yes,”GracesaidquietlysoasnottodisturbEmmaKate.“Sorry,wereyouasleep?”
“God,no.”Emeryhadalwaysbeennocturnal.Incollege,sheateaseconddinneratmidnight.“EmmaKate?”
“Alsofine.Feedingherrightnow.”Thebluelightofthetelevisionplayedoffherbaby’shead.
“Christ.”Emerymadethewordtwosyllables.Gracepicturedherfriend.Hairdrainedofcolorbywayofbleach,alastingaffinityforturquoisejewelry.“Irememberthosedays.Don’thavefourkids,Gracie.”Gracesmiledintothephone.Therewerefewfriendsmadeafterhighschoolthatyoucouldcalljusttotalk.EmerywasoneofGrace’slast.
“Doyouthinkwomenaretoosensitive?”Graceaskedafterashortpause.
Emeryhummed.Graceheardrustlingontheotherendandthenthecrackofarefrigeratordooropening.“Itdependswho’ssayingit.Like,ifClarkcallsmetoosensitive,IwillcutoffhistesticlesandfeedthemtoWillie.”
Gracelaughed,thenstoppedherselfwhenshefeltEmmaKatealmostlosehersuction.“Atwork,therearewomencomplainingthatthey’vebeen,Iguess,sexuallyharassed.Notinthosewords,butthat’sthegistofit.”
“Oh.”Adraweropening.Silverware.“Idon’tknow.Notallwomenarelikeus,youknow?Mymomalwayssays:nothingreallychangesafterhighschool.”
“That’sdepressing.”
“Certaingirlsneedtogetattentiononewayoranother.I’mnotsayingthatthey’redoingitintentionallyforthatreason.Theyprobablybelieve,onsomelevel,that’swhat’shappening.Youknow?”Gracedidn’tsayanything.“I’malwaysworriedthatClarkisgoingtobeaccusedofsomethinghedidn’tdo.OrTylerorMasonwhentheygetolder.Scaresmetodeath.WhatamIgoingtotellTylerorMason?Neverbealoneinaroomwithagirlyoudon’tknowextremelywell?Isthatevenenough?”
Gracepinchedthephonetoherear,usedherpinkyfingertounlatchEmmaKate,likethelactationnursehadtaughther,andmovedhertoherleftbreast.“Um,Idon’tknow,”shesaid,absently,tryingtoimagineArdiehavingthesameconversationaboutherson,Michael.
“WhenClarkwasatAirForceAcademy,hetoldmestoriesofcadetsgettingkickedoutjustbecauseawomanclaimedmisconduct.Thosewomenhadthepowertoruinthoseyoungmen’slivesandtheychosetouseit.”ItsoundedasthoughEmerywerenoweatingicecream,theclinkofaspoononherteeth.
Gracelistened,imaginingAmes’swife,Bobbi,sayingthat.AnditdidmakeGracethink:WhatifsomeonecametoherandsaidthatLiamhadbeenharassingwomen?Whatthen?
ShelistenedtoEmerytalkaboutTyler’stacklefootballteam—hewaseleven—andMason’ssoccerandAnnabelle’sballetandFinley’sphysicaltherapyuntilEmmaKatehadfinishedfeeding.ThenshecouldnolongerkeephereyesopenandshesaidgoodnighttoEmeryandswaddledEmmaKateandpattedheruntilsheagreedtogowillinglyintoherRock’nPlay,whichwasstillstationedinthefirst-flooroffice,notinthenurseryupstairs,whichhadneveractuallybeenused
Gracewokeuptothesoundofherdaughter’scrying.Shehadreadsomewherethatababy’scrywasphysicallyloudertoitsmother.Liamslept.Shefeltlikeshe’dbeenasleeponlytwentyminutes,butithadbeenthreehours.Smallconsolation.Soonshewaswideawake,havingnursedandnowrocking.RockingandrockingandrockingevenafterEmmaKate’seyeshadclosedandhercheekshadgoneslack.
Gracetuggedhercellphonefromwhereitstucktotheskinonthebackofherleg.SheswipedthephonescreenopenandtypedamessagetoSloane.
DepositionTranscript
26-APR
Ms.Sharpe:
I’mnotsayingnecessarilythatyousetouttoruinAmesGarrett’slife.I’mnotsayingthatwasyourintent,yourprimaryobjective.
Respondent1:
Isafailuretobecometheheadofapublic,Fortune500companylife-ruining?Ihopenotorelsealotofushaveprettysorryexcusesforlives.
Ms.Sharpe:
WhatI’msayingisthatIknowtheseissuesarehardtodiscussobjectively.Iknowtherearesensitiveissuesburiedinthesalaciousdetailsofthiscomplaint.Iamnottryingtomakelightoftheseriousnessoftheallegations.I’mawoman,too.ButI’malsoalawyerand,asalawyer,Isearchforfacts.Forevidence.TruvivhasactuallyundertakenitsownindependentinvestigationandIwillsaythis:nootherwomenhavecomeforwardtocomplainofAmesGarrett’sbehavior.
Respondent1:
Youmeanotherthanthethreethatalreadyhave.Howmanywouldbeenough?
Ms.Sharpe:
Yes,wehavethreewomenwithcomplicatedmotives.Walkmethroughyourreasoningthedayyoudecidedtotakelegalaction.
Respondent1:
KatherinehadtoldusthatAmeshadbecomeaggressive,sexually,withherandheseemedreadytoretaliateprofessionallybasedoffherrejection.Atthesametime,hetoldArdiethatallwomenwerecrazy.Somethingfinallyclicked.IrealizedthatIcouldn’tkeepdoingwhatI’dbeendoingforsomanyyears.NothingwasgoingtochangethewayAmesactedunlessIchangeditmyself.
Ms.Sharpe:
So,youfiledalawsuitandweallknowwhathappensnext.
Respondent1:
Dowe?
Ms.Sharpe:
Tragedy.
CHAPTERTHIRTY
6-APR
Wewantedtodoourjobs—wasthattoomuchtoask?WeweretiredofplannedserveroutagesandmandatorytrainingsessionstolearnthelatestupdatestoAdobeAcrobatPro.Wealittlebithatedcakedayandwhoevercamearoundtoforceustoattend,despitethefactthatwe’dalreadyannouncedquitepubliclythatweweretryingtoeatPaleothismonth.Wecouldn’tunderstandwhowasstillclickingonthosevirusemailsthatpromptedtheproliferationofsomanymoreemailsaimedatencouragingustostopclicking,butwithoutfail,oneofthempoppedupintheright-handcornerofourscreenstheprecisemomentweweretryingtocloseoutofOutlooktodoactualwork.(Wait,wasemailactualwork?)
Wewerealwayssigninglastyear’s,thisyear’s,ornextyear’sbeneficiaryformswithafrequencythatdefiedthecalendarandourabilitytorecallourdependents’SocialSecuritynumbers.Wehadaninklingthatfacetimerequirementswereaninstrumentoftheoppression.Wewouldprefer65percentlessnetworking,butlikelyneededtodoatleast50percentmoreofit.Therewereahundredthingssmallandlargethatstoodbetweenusandourjobseveryday,rangingfromtheincidentaltothenefarious.Sowhenwesaidthatwewouldprefernottohavetobeaskedtosmileontopofworking,wemeantthat:wewouldliketodoourjobs,please.Whenwesaidthatwewouldlikenottohearacommentaboutthelengthofourskirt,wemeantthat:wewouldliketodoourjobs,please.Whenwesaidthatwewouldlikenottohavesomeonetrytotouchusinouroffice,wemeantthat:wewouldliketodoourjobs.Please.
Wewantedtobetreatedlikemenatworkforthesamereasonthatpeopleboughtsmartphones:itmadelifeeasier.
ArdiehadbeentryingtodoherjobwhilebattlingaslowcomputerconnectionthismorningwhenthetwomeninsuitshadpassedbyherofficewindowontheirwaytoAmesGarrett.IthadbeenonedaysinceSloanehiredHelenYehtofilesuitagainstTruvivandAmes,alawsuittowhichArdiehadmadethedecisiontobecomeaparty.WiththeloomingpossibilityofAmesbeingannouncedasthesuccessorCEOanydaynow,timehadbeenoftheessence.
Twohoursafterthemeninsuitshadpassedheroffice,ameetinginvitationappearedonherscreentorequestherpresenceinHRintwentyminutes.Shechose“accept”andthemeetingappearedonhercalendar.
Ardiewasasinglemother—didthatmeanshehadtheleasttoloseorthemost?
ThetwomeninsuitshadstayedinAmes’sofficeforapproximatelyforty-fiveminutesbeforeleaving.Whetherthiswasalongperiodoftimeorashortperiodoftime,Ardiewasn’tsure.Shewatchedtheclock.Herowntwentyminutesmanagedtobebothlongandshort,too.
Shegotup,pulledherblazeroffthebackofthedoor,andstuffedherarmsthroughthesleeves.Sloanewaitedforherattheelevatorbanks.
“Andsoitbegins,”Sloanesaid.“Youreadyforthis?”Ardiehadneverunderstoodthestrategyoffocusingallone’senergyonappearancewhensomethingimportantwasgoingon,butthatwasclearlySloane’sMOtoday.Sheworeacrisp,royalblueskirtsuitwithawhiteblouse,herhairtiedintoasleek,lowponytail,notahairoutofplace.ItwaslikeshewasCorporateWonderWomanandthiswashersuperherocostumeofchoice.
“I’msureashellnotlettingyoudoitalone.”Partiallytrue.Or,perhapssomethingcouldbewhollytruewithoutbeingtheentiretruth,inwhichcasethatwaswhatshemeant.
Sloanepushedthebutton.Momentslater,fromoutoftherestroom,Graceappeared.
“Well,”shesaid,“ifweneedsomeonetowieldthebloodytamponatthem,Ijuststartedmyperiodforthefirsttimeinfifteenmonths.”Thethreeofthemsteppedontoanemptyelevator.“IthoughtIwasn’tsupposedtogetmyperiodwhileIwasbreastfeeding.Whatthehell?”
You’regoingtoneedme
ThatwasthetextmessageGracehadsentlatethenightSloanehaddecidedtosue.ShewonderedifGracecouldtellhowmuchArdiehadmisjudgedher,whetheritwasbroadcastonherface.
Ashortrideupstairs,andabaldman,whohadneithermustardstainsonhisshirtnorglassesbutseemedlikethetypeofpersontohaveboth,stoodinthefoyerwaitingtogreetthem.“AlRunkin.”Heclaspedeachoftheirhandswithbothofhis.“Comeondown,ladies,let’sseewhatwecandoyoufor.”
SloaneandArdieexchangedalook.Therewasaphysicaldifferenceinthelandscapebetweentheninth,whereHRresided,andfifteenthfloors.LiketakingthetrainfromtheUpperWestSideintoanonlypartiallygentrifiedneighborhoodinQueens.Theemployeesheremostlyoccupiedcubiclesinsteadofindividualoffices.Thestafftrendedyounger,exceptfortheexceptions,who,becauseoftheirjuxtapositionagainsttheircolleagues,seemedstuck.
AlRunkinusheredthewomenintoaconferenceroom.Hetookaseatinacrackedleatherergonomicchairoppositethemandlacedhisfingersbehindhishead.Thesaltyremnantsofunderarmsweathauntedhisdressshirt.“So.”Helookeddownhisnoseatthestackofpapersonthetableinfrontofhim.“You’reawareofthis.”Hesqueezedhischindownhisneck,theskinfolding.
Sloanefoldedherhandsonthedesk.“It’sprobablybestwegettheobviouspartsoutoftheway.Yes.We’vefiledasuitasco-plaintiffsagainstAmesGarrett,asGeneralCounsel,andagainstTruviv,Inc.,moregenerally,underTitleVII.WhileI’veexperienceddirectharassmentunderAmesGarrett’stenureatthiscompany,mycolleaguesArdieandGracehavebroughttheirclaimsunderthesameactbeneaththeunsafeworkenvironmentumbrella,whichpermitsclaimswhereemployeeshavebeenindirectlybutnegativelyimpactedbytheharasser’sbehavior.There.Thatshouldsaveusbothsometime,don’tyouthink?”
“Lawyers.”Histhinlipsdrewthinner.“Howrefreshing.”Hesatupabruptly.Thehingesonthechairsquealed.“Here’sthething:Wehaveproceduresinplaceforthissortofthing.Alawsuit?Well,Iunderstandthatyouallarelawyers,sothisisyour—howdoyousayit?—milieu,butit’snotnecessary.”Hemadeafaceasthoughhehadsmelledsomethingbad.“Infact,aninvestigationisalreadyunderway.Inthefuture,wehaveahotlinethatallowsyoutocallinthesetypesofcomplaints.Helpstoavoidtheexpenseoflawyersandfilingsandsuchforeveryone.”
Ardiewrappedherhandsaroundherknee.Shedidn’tknowhowshewouldfeelaboutbeinginthisroom.Thesicklyoverheadlights.Thecoffeemugsfilledwithpencils.“Ahotline,”shesaid,“that’softenrouteddirectlybacktothepersonaboutwhomyou’remakingthecomplaint.Itdoesn’texactlyrequireadoctoratetodeterminewhothenismakingsaidcomplaint.”There,Ardiesoundedlikeherselfthere.Herheartstartedbeating.Presumablyithadbeenbeatingallalong.
“Wehaveapolicythatallowsemployeesmakingacomplainttoskiptheusualstepsandgodirectlytoseniormanagement.”
Grace—“Thepersonaboutwhomwe’recomplainingisseniormanagement.”
Hethrewuphishands.Hisforeheadwasashinyballofwax;thereflectionoflightkeptmovingacrossitssurface.“Whatdoyouwantustodo?”
Sloane,whosatinthecenter,putahandoneachoftheirchairarms.“WethinkAmesGarrett’semploymentneedstobeterminated,forstarters.”
“LikeIsaid,it’sunderinvestigation.”
“Howlongdoyouexpectthisinvestigationtotake?”Ardieworriedthat“investigation”wasastagethathadanabilitytolastuntilanyonewho’dpreviouslycaredhadlostthewillto.Itcamewithanimageofendlessaccordionfoldersstackedonstorageroomfloors,repletewithmeaninglesspapers.MaybethiswasoffensivetothehardworkHumanResourceworkersotherwiseperformed,butitwasArdie’sparticularbiasandsheallowedherselftocarryit.
“It’shardtosay.Iwouldexpectthreedays,aweekatmost.”Alshrugged.
“Great,”Sloanesaidinavoicethatsaidshedidn’tthinkitwasparticularlygreat.“Thenwe’llexpecttohearafollow-upatthatpoint.Inthemeantime,I’msureyou’llbehearingfromourattorney.”
Ourattorney.Ardiecouldimagineapersonwhowasnotanattorneyfeelingmorepowerfulatthechancetousethatphrase,butArdiehadpeekedbehindthecurtaintotheWizardofOz.
Theystoodasone.SouthernetiquettedictatedthatAljumptohisfeet,too,buthislapgothookedbetweenthechairandthetable,sohehunkeredawkwardlywhiletryingtostandandwave.
“Ardie.”Hepushedthewheeledchairfreeanditclackedagainstthebackwall.Shepausedinthedoorway.“It’snicetoseeyouagain.It’sbeenawhile,”hesaid,voicelowered.
Shehesitated.“Yeah.Ithinkyouhadhairbackthen.”
ArdieValdezhatedAlRunkin.
EmployeeStatements
14-APR
KimberleyLyons:
No,Iwasn’ttherewhenithappened.Yousee,Itakecareofthesecretarialcoverageduringthelunchhour,whichmeansthatmylunchhourislateandsoIhadjustleftaboutfifteenminutesearlier.I’msorry.It’sdifficultformetotalkabout.I’veneverknownanyonewhohasdiedbefore,otherthanmygrandparents,andthatwaswhenIwastooyoungtoevenremember.It’sashocktoeveryoneonthefifteenthfloor.We’relikefamily.
KunalAnand:
Thewomenwentcrazy.Ifanyonesaysthatisn’tthecase,they’relyingortryingtobeP.C.orsomething.Theywerelikerabiddogs,thirstyformaletears.Rabiesmakesyouthirsty,incaseyoudidn’tknow.IsawitonViceland
KatherineBell:
Ijuststartedhere.Infact,ImovedfromBoston,soI’mnewtotheDallasareaaswell.Thisisadifficultfirstimpression,Iguessyoucouldsay.Ireallywasn’tinvolvedinofficepolitics.
AlRunkin:
I’mnotawareofanyoneexhibitinganyviolentbehaviors,no.Ourdepartmenttakespersonneland,particularly,mentalhealthissuesveryseriously.Thinkofusasguidancecounselorsforgrown-ups.Homicide?Idoubtthat.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
7-APR
ThebarwhereSloanesatnursingathirteen-dollarglassofMerlottradedinblackleatherandcoppermetals.Theatmospherewasluxeandinviting,thoughshe’dchosenitprimarilyforproximity—itsatonthesameblockastheTruvivofficebuilding—andforthefactthatthedimlightingmanagedtomakeherlookatleasttenyearsyounger.Shecouldseeherreflectioninthemirrorbehindthebar,betweenthehalf-fullbottlescorkedwithplasticnozzlespromisingintricatedrinksmixedbybeardedmenwithtattoosleevesandplugsintheirearlobes.
Sheshouldgohome.Herphonehadbeensilentallday.Derekhadbeengonebythetimeshe’dgottenupandhehadn’trespondedtoanyofhertextmessages.Itmadeherfeellikeahighschoolgirl,allinsecurity,chinacne,andaviciousinternalmonologuethathadcomeoutofthinair.Hecouldgetsomeoneyounger,Sloane.Mencoulddothat.Prettier,too.Therewasalwaysprettier.Andnowyou’vehandedhimpermissiontodoitwithaclearconscience.Bravo.
Yeah,buthecouldn’tgetAbigail’smother,sheshotback.Hecouldn’tgetme.
“CanIbuyyouanotherglass?”Sheprobablyhadthatstartledlook,cordsinherneckflaringlikeareptile.Themanwhohadtakentheseatbesidehercouldonlybeinhistwenties.Hewasboyishlyhandsome,freshlyshaven,athinbuild,withenoughdarkhairtosweeptotheside.Heworeapink,short-sleeved,collaredshirtthatwastrendywithouttryingtoohard.
Shenoticedwithmildsurprisethattherewereonlyacouplesipsleftinherglass.
“I’mmarried,”shesaid.Andnearlytwiceyourage,thoughshedidn’tfeeltheneedtoaddthispart.
“Thenit’sagoodthingmyquestionwasn’t:Willyoumarryme?”Hedrummedthebartop.“BecausethenI’dhavetobeproperlyembarrassed.”Hehaddimplesinhischeeks,because,ofcoursehedid.
Sheturnedherattentionaway.Shehatedwhenmendidthis,pretendedthatshewasbeingpresumptuous—worse,fullofherself—forassumingthatbuyingadrinkwasshortfor,wouldyoubeinterestedinme?
Theysatinunamiablesilence.
“SloaneGlover,right?”Outofthecornerofhereye,shesawthathewasholdingouthisrighthand.
Sheturnedslowly,eyedthebartenderwhowasdryinghighballglassesontheotherendofthebar.“Yes,”shesaid,takinghishand.
“CliffColgate.DallasMorningNews.”Heslidabusinesscardacrosstheslickwoodtoher.Theword“Reporter”appearedunderneathhisname.“Doyouhaveaminute?”
Sloanedidn’tmovetoleave.
“I’vebeenworkingonastoryaboutaspreadsheetthathasbeencyclingaroundagroupofprofessionalwomenintheDallasarea.TheBADMenList—I’msureI’mtellingyouwhatyoualreadyknow—detailsthesexuallypredatorybehaviorofmeninpowerhereintown.”
“Interesting.”Shepushedthebaseofherwineglassinacircle,theremainingliquidswirledarounditsedges.
Apocket-sizednotebookappeared,alongwithoneofthosepencilspeopleusedtowritedownminiaturegolfscores.“Wouldyouliketocomment?”
“Onwhat?”Sloane’smindwascalculating.
“OntheBADMenList—itscontents,itsusefulness,itsethics,anything.”Hiselbowrestedeasilyonthebar,thepencilpinchedbetweenhisfingers.Shehadavaguethoughtaboutwhatitwouldbeliketofuckhim,butitwasonlyapassingone.Sloanehadmovedpasttheageatwhichshecouldhaveaone-nightstandneverhavinggottenaroundtohavingone.Shedidn’tknowwhethertomournthisorbegrateful.
Shetookashortswigofthewine.Almostgoneandshehadn’tdecidedwhetherornottoorderanother,nowthatshehadcompany.“WhatmakesyouthinkIwouldhaveanycommentarytoadd?”
“ThenameAmesGarrettshoweduponthatlist.”Hehadtheairofaschoolboy,perhapsabitofateacher’spet.“Notlongafter,youandyourcolleagues,AdrianaValdezandGraceStanton,filedasexualharassmentlawsuitagainsthim.”Hetappedthebuttofthepencilagainsthistemple.“Thepowerofdeduction.”Hewasjoking,ofcourse.
“You’vebeenfollowingit.”Shetookanothersipofthewine.Thedropsofredthatsettledatthebottomwhenshereturnedtheglassweresofewthatshewouldlookdesperateifshetriedtoreachthemwithanotherdrink.“Sorry,butyoudon’tstrikemeasa‘professionalwoman,’asyouputit.”Shetwistedinherseat;herskirtrodeaninchortwohigherupherthigh,butpurelybyaccident.
Ameshadfoundoutaboutthelist—shedidn’tknowhow,exactly—andsosheshouldhaveassumedthatanyonemighthaveseenitand,still,shehadn’texpectedareporter.Shesuddenlyfeltthatshewasatthestartinglineofarace;thegunhadjustfiredandshehadnocluehowfarshewasgoingtohavetorun.
“Overthreethousandpeoplehaveaccesstothatlist,Sloane.”Herfirstname.Herhacklesroseeversoslightly.“Youreallythinkthatthreethousandpeoplecankeepasecret?”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
11-APR
Wetpavementstretchedoutlikeatonguefromtheopenloadingstationonthebasementlevel.Thecavernouscementblocksmelledlikegasolineandoldcompost.Mentruckedcratesofsodacansusingdollies.
“Ineedthesupply-roomkeys,”Rosalitasaidtotheforeman.Crystalwaitedbytheelevator,keepingwatchovertheircleaningcaddie.Shewasback.
Theforemansatonastackofcardboardboxes,slouchedoveraclipboard.Hisstomachpoochedunderhisyellowpolo.Ahollowdimplemarkedhisbellybutton.“Ifyou’reaskingsomething,mina,youbestbedoingitfromyourknees,”hesaidwithoutlookingup.Hesignedherpaychecks.
“Noproblem,butIwarnyou,Ibite.”
“Fuckyou.”Hespatonthecementfloor.Butheundidthekeyringhookedtohisbeltloopandtossedhertwokeys.“Don’tstealshit.I’llcheck.”
CrystalandRosalitadraggedthecleaningcartovertheelevatorridgesontheupperfloors—thud,thud,thud
“Heaskedmetoblowhim.”Crystalpulledonrubbergloves.
“Heaskseveryonetoblowhim.Justdon’tdoit.”
Crystaldidn’treply.Shestudiedthefingertipsofhergloves,pinchingthem—toobig.
Well.
SometimesRosalitathoughthowtheforemanwasakidonce,whoprobablylikedBatmanandtoycarsandLegosandstuff.Shepushedthecart.Hercalvessprungtolife.Sheparkeditmidwaydownthehall.“I’llbeback,”shetoldCrystal.
“YouknowIdon’tlikebeingleftalone.”
“Saysthebitchthatdidn’tshowuptowork,”Rosalitasaid,withalaugh,overhershoulder.“WhodoyouthinkIwaswiththen?”
Atthesupplyandcopyroomaroundthecorner,Rosalitaslippedthekeyintothelockandpusheddownonthelever.Theroomsmelledlikewarmpaper—chemicalandwoodsy.Thecopiersemittedbluelightsastheyslept.Theautomaticoverheadbulbsflickeredonasshecrossedtheroomtothedual-levelcabinets.Sheknelt,readthelaminatedlabelsthatappearedoneachofthecabinetdoors.Sheselectedthreepens,fourdifferentcolorhighlighters,apackageofnotecards,threeenvelopes,andanotebookforSalomon.Rosalitawasstealing,butonlyinthesamewaythatthemenandwomenwhoworkedonthesefloorsdidfortheirchildren’sschoolprojects.Andtheydidn’tfeelguilty,sowhyshouldshe?
TwodaysuntilSalomon’sentranceexam.
Shereturnedandplacedthesuppliesonthebottomshelfofthecaddie.“Whatarethosefor?”Crystalasked.
“Noneofyourbusiness.”Rosalitacheckedthedanglingclipboard.
“Ididn’tgotocollege.”Crystalpeekedattheschoolsupplies.
“Maybeyoushouldhave.”
Theycleanedthedarkenedofficefloors.Thecitylightspiercedthroughtheslatsofclosedblinds.Theirghostlysilhouettespassedoverglasspartitions.Occasionally,insidetheconferencerooms,shewouldlookthroughthewindowsandnoticeabuildingengulfedinblacksaveforoneortwogoldencubesoflightandseeapersoninsidevacuumingthefloorsanddustingthebookcases.
Shepassedthroughthefifteenth-flooroffices,observingonlysecondarysignsoflife—achangeinscent,agranolabarwrapperleftonadesk,anopengymbag—and,pooledinthebottomofawastebasketinsideAmesGarrett’soffice:apuddleofsoupybrownvomit.
TheDallasMorningNews—April11—Article:DisgracedCEOHopefulFacesSexualHarassmentCharges
VIEWCOMMENTS
AnonymousFormerTruvivEmployee
04/11at6:26AM
ThisisnottheonlyoffenderatTruviv.
AnonCurrentTruvivEmployee
04/11at6:31AM
IhaveworkedforyearswithAmesGarrett.Heisagoodmanwithaprovenlegacy.Hehasneverdemandedaccolades,buthasquietlysteeredthecompanythroughchoppywatersandnumerouspotentiallegalhazardsandintotheprosperousageofrecenthistory.Theseclaimsareunfoundedanditisembarrassingthatthisiswhatpassesforreportingthesedays.
RuthMcNary
04/11at6:36AM
Stop.Believewomen.Thereisnovalueina“He’sagoodguywhodidgoodthingsforthecompany”defense.Thiscomeuppanceislongoverdue.
Anonymous&FedUP
04/11at6:45AM
Thereisnoevidenceofanything.Everyfalsecomplaintmakesithardertobelievewomenandsomehowwantingactualfactsmakesusthebadguys.Yes,guys.Wasanyoneraped?Wasanyoneassaulted?No.Andnooneisallegingotherwise.
TruvivEmployee04/11at7:01AM
Seriously,Anonymous&FedUp?Yes,someone,someonesactually,wereassaulted.Thatisexactlywhatisbeingalleged.Andbytheway,noonehastoberapedforanassaulttotakeplace.Thisisn’tthe1950s.
Anonymous&FedUp
04/11at7:02AM
Wereyouthere,TruvivEmployee?Doyouknowwhathappened?Great,thenyoudon’tknow.
AnonVictim
04/11at7:16AM
I’dliketothankthewomenthatcameforwardtoaccuseAmesGarrett.It’sinspiredmetonamemyownabuseratTruviv.HisnameisLamarO’Neill.
LamarO’Neill
04/20at2:11PM
Ihavebeenmadeawareofthiscommenterandalsoknowwhohasmadethesefalseallegationsagainstme.Outofrespectandkindness,Iamchoosingnottonamethispersonpublicly,butwillbetakingimmediatelegalactionagainstthisperson.
RuthMcNary
04/11at7:35AM
@AnonVictimIbelieveyou.Iamsosorryyouwentthroughthis.
Anonymous&FedUp
04/11at8:12AM
Really,@RuthMcNary?Onwhatbasis?Isthiswherewe’reatasacountry?Wedon’tcareaboutdueprocessorevidenceanymore?Whyareweokaywithslanderinitsmostobviousform?Youareruiningpeople’slivesandcareers.Let’sseetheproof.Texts,emails,thisisadigitalage,soifthewomen’sandyourallegationsaretrue,showus.Everyoneisinnocentuntilprovenguilty.Iforonestillhavesomerespectforourfoundingfathers.
Anonymous
04/11at8:45AM
Youdon’tknowwhatwentonthere.Nooneknows.CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE
12-APR
Sincefilingthelawsuit,Sloanehadtakentoworkingwithherofficedoorshutmoreoftenthannot.Shewascloisteredinherofficewhenthecommotionbegan.Itwasabuildupofnoise,really.Voices.Thishappenedsometimes.AseniorattorneyreamedoutanITperson,someonegotengagedorbroughtanewbabyaroundtoshowtheircolleaguesand,foramoment,asmallflurryofactivitywouldbreakoutontheofficefloor.
Sloanefinishedtypinguptheemailthatwassittingonherdesktop.Then,curious,shepokedherheadout.AclumpofsecretariesgatheredatBeatrice’sstation.
“What’sgoingon?”Sloaneasked.
Anna,Ardie’ssecretary,turned.“They’resayingsomeonejumpedoffthebuilding.”
Sloanesteppedoutintothehalltojointhem.“Jumpedoffthebuilding.Thisbuilding?”Shepointedatthefloor.“Who’ssaying?”
Corey,thefifteenth-floorreceptionist,answered.“IwasjustcoveringforlunchonNineteen.That’swhatthereceptionisttheretoldme.”
Aphonerang.Beatriceglanceddownattheblinkinghandsetandignoredit.Twomorelineslitup.Thenthree.Beatricesentthemalltovoicemail.Butwithinseconds,thelineswereflickeringredagain.Shepickedup.“Hello?”
AnnatappedherhandonBeatrice’sdesk.“Ijustgotatext.”Shehelduponefinger.Loweredit.Annapressedherfisttohermouth.“IjustgotatextfrommyfriendKristenonNineteen.Shesaidthatsheheard…thatshehearditmighthavebeenAmes.”
Sloane’smouthcurledaroundwords,mostofwhichgotaway.“Who?Wait.What?”
Sirens.Definitelysirensnow.Thesoundspiralingintotheforeground.Risingupthestorieslikehotair.
Coreyseparatedfromthegroupandletherselfintoanunoccupiedoffice.Shepressedhernosetothewindow.“There’safiretruckdownthere,”shereported.Herhandsleftsmudgesontheglass.“Acouplepolicecars.Andanambulance.”
Beatricehadhungup.Deepparenthesesburrowedintoeithersideofhermouth.Thelinechirruped.“Bobbi’scalling.”Sheshovedherfingernailsinbetweenherteeth.Hercheektwitched.“ShouldIanswer?”ShelookedacrossthedesktoSloane.Sloanepressedherhairbackfromherforehead.Herblazerhikedawkwardly.
“Anna,checkAmes’soffice.”Sloanewasalreadyhustlingdowntheeasthalfofthehall.“Holdon,Beatrice,”shecalled.“Grace?Ardie?”Shestuckherheadineachoftheiroffices.Bothempty.Shereturned.
“He’snotinthere,”Annainformedthem,grimly.
Corey—“Isaidthatthere’sanambulancedownthere.Youdon’tthinkhe’salive,doyou?Doyouthinkhe’salive?”Sheturnedherfacefromthewindow,seekingopinionsfromthegroup.
“Wedon’tknowthatit’shim.”Sloane’sheartbeathadpickedupspeed.
“Bobbi’scallingstill.”Beatrice’shandclutchedthecradledreceiver.“WhatdoIdo?”Shelookedstricken.
Sloanetookadeepbreath,thought,thenswipedhercellphoneoffherdeskandtuckeditintoherjacketpocket.“Givemetenminutes,”shetoldBeatrice.“I’llgodownthereandseewhat’sgoingon.Holdtight.Don’tdoanythingyet.I’llberightback,okay?”
Redandwhitelightsflashedoutsidetherevolvingdoor.Shepushedherwaythroughtowherepeoplemilledoutsidethefrontofthebuilding.Twocopsindarkblueuniformswerewavingtheirhandsatonlookersandyellingatthemtobackup
Sloanestoodonhertippy-toesandshiftedafewpeopletotheleftforabetterview.Awhitesheetdrapedoverahuman-shapedmoundonthesidewalkafewfeetfromtheseamoftheTruvivbuilding.Sloaneglancedaround.Wasithim?WasitAmes?
Shit
Sloaneskirtedthecrowdtothefarside,wherefewerpeoplehovered.Shewassurprisedathoworderlyeverythingwas,asthoughthestreetandthosewhooccupiedithadagreedtooperateathalf-volume.Thesirenshadbeencut.Thebiggestsourceofnoiseseemedtoberoadtrafficandthecrackleofwalkie-talkiespinnedtothehipsofpolicemen.
Sheedgedaroundtheside,hereyesontheshroudedfigure,herheartlodgedinherthroat.Sloanesquatteddowntooneknee.ShepulledouthercellphoneandscrolledtoAmes’snumber.There,sheinchedascloseasshecould,anddialed.
Herbreathstilled.Abeat.Andthenthetrillofthemarimbaringtonefloatedoutfrombeneaththestill,whitesheet.
FromaphonethatSloaneknewalltoowellwasentombedinabullet-colored,OtterBoxprotectivecase.Thecell,intact;theman,not.
Off,off.Sherushedtopresstheredicononherscreen.Theringing—fuck,theringing—stopped.Herstomachpruned.
Ameswasdead.
AmesGarretthadjumped.
Themanhadkilledhimself.Here.
Shehadworkedforhim;shehadenduredhim.Shehadbeenangrywithhim.Shehadsuedhim.She’devenkissedhim,backintheday.ButitwasthethoughtofAmes’stwosmallchildrenthatchokedherwithasurgeofpity.
JesusChrist,Ames.
Why?
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR
13-APR
Thestrangestpartwashowlittlehappenedrightattheoutset.Eventscameinsnapshotsthosefirstfewhours.Momentsofdarkness,thenfocusastheshuttertwistedintoapinholeandthenreopened.Thefirsttent-poleevent,whichwastosaythefirstnoticeableclimatechangethathappenedwhentheGeneralCounselofoneoftheworld’slargestsportsbrandsjumpedoffanofficebuilding,wasthateveryonewhoworkedonhisfloorleft,scatteringlikeantsfromaflood.
“Thatwasamistake,”Sloanewasbeingtold.Inhermind’seye,thelenshadjustopenedagain,bringingintofocusthesecondtent-poleevent:detectives.“Toleteveryonego.Whomadethatdecision?”DetectiveDiazwasshortwiththinning,slicked-backhairandastumpymustache.Hisholstertippeddownbelowthecurveofhisstomach.Besidehim,DetectiveMartinhadashelfofbosomandthick,naturalhairthatsprungoutofaponytailpositionedatthenapeofherneck.
Todaytheofficewasoperatingunderonlyathinguiseoffunctionality,withstaffwalkingbackandforthcarryingredlineddocumentsfromtheprinterwhileostensiblyattemptingtoeavesdrop.BeatriceglancedoverthetopofhervestibuleeverythreeorfoursecondstowhereSloanegreetedtheofficersinthehall.
“Please,comeintomyofficeandhaveaseat.”Sloanegesturedforthepairtojoinherandatoncebecamehyperawareofthemessofpaperspiledontopofherdesk.Shetookherchairbehindthedeskandpushedherkeyboardclosertothemonitortohavemorespace.“Toansweryourquestion,Idon’tthinkthatanyonemadethedecision.Ithinkeveryonewasjusttryingtogetoutoftheway.”
DetectiveDiazhadthickarmsthattooksomemaneuveringtofoldacrosshischest.Wrap-aroundOakleysunglasseswithmirroredlensesperchedonhishead.“Butyoucouldhaveinsistedeveryonestay?”
“Me,personally?”Sloaneconsidered.“IsupposeIcouldhavetried.I’msorry.I’msureIwasn’tthinkingclearly.”
Gracehadbeenashen.Sobbing.KatherinewasshakyasshetriedtohelpGrace.Sloane’semotionshadbeenwhippingbetweenshockthatAmeswouldjumpandfurythathehadandhorrorthatshe’dmaybehadahandinhisdecision.Ardiehadn’tpretendedtobesad,butshe’dnoted,almostimmediately,thatthiswouldchangeeverything.
“HowdidyoulearnaboutAmesGarrett’sdeath?”DetectiveMartin’shipspushedoutfrombelowthearmrests.Sheextractedanotepadfromherpocket.
“I’msorry,isthis—”Sloanerestedherelbows,cladinblacksilk,onthedesk.Sheplacedherchinonthebacksofherhands.“DoyoumindifIask—isthisnormalforasuicide?”ShepointedtoDetectiveMartin’snotepad.Theword—“suicide”—washardtosayoutloud.Itfeltinpoortaste.Sloanewonderediftherewassomeother,nicerwordsheoughttobeusinginstead.
“We’reinvestigatingallangles,ma’am,”answeredDetectiveDiaz.Thegreasebeadsonhisforeheadremindedherofoldcheese.
“Whichmeans…sorry,I’mnotdownwiththelingo.”Shereachedintoherdeskdrawerandextractedalegalpadandblue-inkedpen.Sheclickedthepentopwithherthumb.“I’vewatchedshockinglylittleLaw&Orderinmylife,consideringI’manattorney.”Nervouslaughterbubbledout,aticthathadgonedormantafterDerekhadtoldher,intheirearlyyearsoftogetherness,thatitmadehersoundunhinged
“Thatwon’tbenecessary.”DetectiveMartinpeereddownhernose.
“Hm?”Sloanehadjustrestedthetipofherpenontothepageandglancedup.“Oh.”Shedutifullysetdownthepen,butnowdidn’tknowwhattodowithherhands.
“Suicideisonepossibility,yes,ma’am.”Asshetalked,DetectiveMartinwasscribblingdownthedateatthetopofhernotepad,followedbySloane’sname,whichsheunderlined.Twice.“AnotherwasthatMr.Garrett’sdeathwasn’tvoluntary.”
Sloane’seyesdartedbetweenthetwodetectivesinfrontofher.“Buthejumpedoffthesideofabuilding.”
“LikeIsaid,that’sonelikelyscenario.”DetectiveMartinhadaprettysmile.
Atthispoint,DetectiveDiazleanedforward,elbowstoknees,andrubbedhishandstogether.“Mrs.Glover,therewasnonoteandMr.Garrettwascarryingasurprisinglysmallamountoflifeinsuranceforamanofhisposition.It’sourjobtoruleoutfoulplay.”
Whyonearthdidn’tDetectiveMartinwanttoallowhertowritethingsdown?“Sothenthatwouldindicate—what—alackofplanning?”
“Maybe.”DetectiveMartincontinuedwriting.“Thatdoeshappen.”
“Mrs.Glover.”DetectiveDiazreachedintohisshirtpocketandwithdrewatoothpick,whichhestuckbetweenhisteeth.“Therewasascuffonthebackofhisshoe,afreshscratchonhishand,andacutabovehisrighteye.Atraceamountofblood—”
“Stillwaitingonlabanalysis.”DetectiveMartindidn’tlookupatthem.
“—wasfoundonthebalconynearwherehemusthavejumpedorfallenfrom.Wereanyofthoseinjuriesthatyou’dnoticedprior?”
Sloaneinterlacedherfingers.“No.NotthatInoticed,butwehadn’t…wehadn’tspokeninafewdaysatleast.”
Henoddedandtookadeepbreaththatflutteredseveralofthecoarsehairsonhismustache.
Sloaneroostedattheedgeofherchair,mouthpursed.Andfine,shemightaswelljustsayitoutloud:“AreyoutryingtotellmethatyouthinkAmescouldhavebeenpushed?That’sinsane.”Except,evenasshesaidit,shefeltthatinchofdoubtannounceitselfinthebackofhermind.Thatonepercentchance.
“Usuallythisisallsortedoutinafewdays,acoupleweeksatmost.It’sjustwiththishighprofilestuff.”
“Likewesaid”—Martinrestedthepencilonthepad—“weneedtobethorough.Standardprocedure.”
“Ofcourse.”Sloanemovedherhandsbeneaththedeskandfoldedthemtherewhilehermindalreadyracedthroughthequestions,anticipating,thewayanygoodlawyerwould.Anygoodlawyer—anylawyeratall,actually—hadadutytotellthetruth.Butnosuchrequirementexistedtovolunteerallofit.Sohowmuchofitwouldshetell?Howmuchofitdidsheevenknow?
Thelenshadalreadybeguntorefocusandanewfiltercoloredeverythingthathadhappenedyesterday.ThosehoursleadinguptoAmes’sending.IftherewasonethingthatAmesGarrettloved,itwasAmesGarrett.Whathadchanged?Hadanything?
DetectiveMartinsettledherattentiononher.“So,Sloane,”shesaid.“Let’sstartfromtheverybeginning.”
TheDallasMorningNews—April18:Opinion:HowThreeWomenPushedaManOvertheEdge
Thefeministwitchhunthasclaimeditsfirstcasualtyand,excuseme,butwhereisthepublicoutcry?InthissearchforthebogiemenwhoaresupposedlyhauntingDallasunchecked,itseemsthat,justlikeinSalem,thoseleadingthechargehavebeenallergictocold,hardfacts(likelybecausetherearenoneortheyaretooinconvenienttobearrepeating),andhaveinsteadfocusedonhowthoseaccusedaremakingthemfeel.Itstartedwithanunverifiedlist,movedintolawsuitterritory,andhasnowresultedinamanplummetingeighteenstoriestohisdeath.Arewesurprised?Thiscountryissupposedtoprotectitscitizensfromthetakingoflife,liberty,andpropertywithoutdueprocess,butwhat’stranspiredinthistownisanassaultonmen’sreputationsandI,forone,wouldliketoseejusticeservedagainstthebulliesmasqueradingasthebullied.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE
13-APR
ThenightAmesdied,GracehadsexwithLiamforthefirsttimesincethebaby.Sheworeablacklacesliptoavoidanyconfusionaboutexactlywhatshehadonthemenufortheevening’sentertainment.NoLesterHoltforyoutonight,Liam-baby!
AtnopointdidLiamthinkitoddthathiswifefeltfrisky—finally!—onthedaythatherbosshaddied.Onthecontrary,hewashappytodiverightin.
Undernormalcircumstances,Gracewouldhavesaidthatsheandherhusbandhadgoodsex.She’dneverunderstoodhergirlfriendswho,intheirtwenties,prattledonabouthowyoucouldnever-evermarryamanwithwhomyoudidn’thavegreatsex.Gracedidn’tthinkshe’deverhadgreatsex.Shelikedsex.Verymuch.Butgreat?Shefiguredthatifyoulovedsomeone,thensurelyyoucouldsortoutthedetailsofmutualsatisfactioninthefirstcoupleofyears.Anditwasn’tasifshe’deverhadbadsex,either.Atleast,thathadbeentrue.Untilthatverymoment.ThatmomentwhenshehadlistenedtoLiam’sraggedbreaths,feelingasthoughsomeonewerestuffingherinsideslikeaThanksgivingturkey.
WanttoknowwhatIdidtoday,honey?shethoughttoaskhimasshestaredupathisbarechest.
Thesexhurt.Therewasnowayaroundthat.Shewincedsilently.Butthenagain,thatwasthepoint.Shedeservedabitofsuffering.Cravedholypenance.
Afterward,whenthepartsbetweenherlegsfeltasifthey’dbeensandpapered,sheslidfromthebedandranadamptoweloverherbody.
Liamloungedonthepillow.Tuftsofhairstoodupfromunderneatheacharm.“Areyouokay?”heasked,watchingherwetherfaceinthesink.ShepulledapairofmatchingJ.Crewpajamasfromherdrawerandtuggedthemon.“With…everything?”
Honestly,whatwasshesupposedtothinkhemeantbythat?
“Youseemabit,Idon’tknow,off.”Hetuckedthewrinkledsheetsaroundhiswaist.Really,Liam,doIseemalittleoff?My,my,aren’tyouobservant.
Shewasbeingmean.Ifonlyinherhead.
“I’mfine,”shesaid.“Youknowme.”
Hewasagoodhusband.Dressedimpeccably,boughtjewelry,cookeddinners,calledonhiswayhomefromtheofficeeachday,tookshoppingliststoTarget.Hereshewas,defendingherownhusbandtoherself.
Heretrievedhiscellphoneandresteditonhisstomach.Theybothdidthis:checkedtheirworkemailupuntilthemomenttheywenttosleep.“You’reamazing,youknowthat?”hesaid.
Sheturnedfromthemirror.“I’mgoingtogogetaglassofwater.Youwantanything?”Shesoundedthesameasalways,sothefactthatLiam—herdearlybeloved—didn’tpressheranyfurtherwasalmostentirelyherfault.Justlikeeverythingelse.
Foramoment,beforesheleft,shewatchedthegrooveofhisshouldermuscledeepenashestretchedacrosstoturnoffthelamponhisnightstand.Andthenitwasdarkintheirbedroom.
Shepaddedoutintothelivingroom.Thehouseatnightwasartificiallycold—theirelectricbillanotherluxuryinherlife,proofthatshehadnorighttocomplain—andherarmsprickedwithgoosebumps.Shefoundherpurseslouchedbesidethefrontdoor.ShereachedintothemiddlecompartmentandpulledoutapackofMarlborosandalighter.Quietly,sheopenedthefrontdoorandsatdownontheporch.Thepapertubestucktothemoistinsidesofherlips.Shelittheendandbreathed.
Asshepuffed,shestaredoutintothenight,outatherneighbors’houses,withtheirattractivefloodlightsshiningupthetrunksofoldtrees.Shewonderedwhatwouldhavehappenedifshehadn’tseenAmes’smessageonhercomputerscreen:Ithoughtwewerefriends.
Anything?Thesamething?
Friends.
Therewerenoanswersouthereonherporch.Shewalkedtotheroadandrubbedthebuttofhercigaretteintothebrickmailboxandthenflickeditsidewaysintothebushes.Backinside,shewashedherfaceagainandswishedmouthwashoverhertongueandherteeth.Liam’sbreathswereslowandevenbeneaththecovers.Sheshookhimawake.“Liam.Liam,”shewhispered.“EmmaKate’scrying.”
Heturnedover,hiseyesadjustinginthedark.“Huh?”
Shelistened.
“EmmaKate’scrying.”Graceyawned.“Canyougogiveherabottle?”
Liamrubbedtheheelofhishandintohiseyesocketsandproppedhistorsoupwithhiselbow.“Bottle?Yeah.Icandoabottle.”
“Thanks,”shewhispered.“Istoredacouplenewbagsofbreastmilkinthefridge.”
Alie.Gracehadstoppedbreastfeedingthreedaysagoandhadhiddenaboxofpremixedformulaunderneathatarpinthegarage.Whatotherpeopledon’tknowcan’thurtthem,shethought,almostasaremindertoherself.Andthen,shewenttobed.
Thatwastwodaysagoand,sincethen,shehadhardlyleft.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SIX
14-APR
ThetidehadchangedthemomentAmes’sbodyhittheconcrete.Ahigh-poweredPRfirmcouldn’thaveorchestratedamoreeffectivecampaigntorehabilitateAmesGarrett’simagethantheman’sowndeath.Ardiegotaninklingoftheaftereffectsasearlyasthenextafternoonwhenshecameuponaknotofyoungassociates—allmalewithpressedkhakisandIvyLeaguerowinghaircuts—astheyleanedoverthecandydishatreception,pinchingoutSkittlesastheytalked.“Theyshouldbesick,”sheheardoneofthemsay;shestilldidn’tknowwhichone.
Shestoppedbehindthemsothattheyhadtoturnandtakenotice.“Why?”sheasked.Shewouldhavepretendednottohaveheardifthey’dbeenolderandmoreinfluential.“WhyshouldIfeelsick?”
Theydidn’ttrytodenythey’dbeentalkingabouther.Notjusther,butthatmadeitnolesspersonal.Theirposturesturnedunconvincinglyunapologetic,chestspuffedoutasthoughtheywouldhavesaidtheexactsamethingtoherface.Thethirdman-boyglancedathisfriend,Adam’sapplebobbing,moreexpressivethanapenis.“Sorry,”hemuttered.
Ardiegavethemalookthatwouldshriveltesticlesintoraisins,butthoughtthat,whenshe’dpassed,shecaughtafewnasallynotesofstifledlaughter.
Later,shewouldreturntoherofficeandfindablanksheetofpaperwiththewords“bitch”typedneatlyacrossitandwonderifithadbeenleftbythesameyoungassociatesoriftherewerethatmanypeopleintheofficewhohatedher.Shedidn’tmentionthenotetoanyone.
Itwasasthoughsomeonehadtappedtheterrariumdisplaycaseinwhichtheywerelivingandtheglasswallshadcracked.WhatAmes’sdeathhaddonewasgiveeveryonepermissiontocometohisdefense.
ItwasdumbluckwhenshefoundKatherinealone.Theusualinfluxofgrouptextmessagesandinstantmessengerboxeshaddriedupandsohadtheebbandflowofnormalofficeconversation.Ardiebelieveditwasinstinct,thattheyallfelttheloaded-gunqualityofanythingwrittendownbetweenthemandthought:Don’tpointthebarrelatme.Theword“liability”screamedintheirlawyerlybrains.Sothey’dstoppedmessaging.
SheandKatherinebothcameoutoftheirseparatestallsatthesametime,theireyesmeetinginthemirrorastheywashedtheirhands.
“Didthepolicecometalktoyou?”Ardieaskedher.
Katherineloweredhereyesandscrubbedherhandshardunderthehotwater.Redbloomedontheskinaroundherthumb.“Theydid.”
“How’ditgo?”
Ardieturnedfromthesink,herhandsdrippingontothetilefloor.Sheduckedherheadtocheckunderneaththestalls.
“Iwashonest.”Eachwordgivenequalweight.“ItoldthemIhadn’tworkedhereverylongandthatIwasupsetthishadhappened.”Sheshutoffthefaucetandreachedforapapertowel.ArdiewonderedhowshewouldhavedescribedKatherinetoafriend,ifshe’dbeenthesortofpersontodescribepeopletofriends.IfshehadfriendsotherthanSloaneandGrace.Thiswomanwho’doccupiedsomuchoftheircollectivementalspace,itsuddenlyfelttoArdielikeshewasseeingherforthefirsttimewithoutafilter.Shewasnot,asArdiepreviouslythought,ripeandwomanly.Shewasbony,withawhitescaronherdry,flakyelbow.Shewaslikeabunnysightedinaneighbor’syard,twitchyandalert.Ardiewantedtostretchherhandout,tocoaxher.ButArdiecouldstillseethesmolderofstubbornnessandintensityandmettlethathadgottenherthisfarhauntinghereyes.Ithadn’tgoneoutandthatwasagoodthing.
“And?”
“Theyaskedafewmorequestionsandleft.”Hertongueworkedunseenagainstherteeth,visibleinthewayitbulgedbeneathhercheek.
Itseemedtherewasnotatimeinawoman’slifeinwhichintenseconversationsdidn’tfrequentlytakeplaceinladies’rooms.Ardierememberedherbrother’sobsessionswithwomen’srestroomswhentheywereyounger.Whataretheylike?he’daskandshewoulddutifullydescribedifferentonesshevisitedasiftheywereeachforeigncountries—chaiselounges,tampondispensers,pursehooks,and,sometimes,ifparticularlyexotic,hairsprayandaerosoldeodorantcans.
“Amesaskedtomeetwithme.Before.”TherewasahiddenurgencyinthestatementthatstoppedArdie’shandasshepumpedthepapertoweldispenser.“Someonemayhaveseenmelookingforhim.Whatiftheytellthepolice?”
Bynecessity,“before”hadalsobeenonArdie’smind.She’dgoneupstairstogettaxdocumentssignedbyapayrollofficer.ShehadrepeatedthistoDetectivesMartinandDiaz.Bythetimeshereturnedtothefifteenthfloor,Ameswasdead.
“Lookingforyourbossisn’tacrime.”Sherippedthroughtheroll.“Whoelseknows?”Ardieasked,placid.Seismicactivityunderground.
Inthebackground,waterrushedthroughpipeslikebloodthroughveins,pumpingthroughthelivingorganismoftheofficebuilding.
“Grace,”shesaid,voicethinaspaper.“IsawGracethatmorning.ItoldherthatAmeswantedtotalktomeandsheaskedwhatIwasgoingtodo.”
“Okay,”Ardiesaid.Sincetheincident,Gracehadtwicecalledinsick.TheIncident.ThatwashowArdiehadbeguntoframeitinhermind.Awordthat,asanoun,meanteventoroccurrence,but,asanadjective,meantfallingonorstrikingsomething.
“Areyougoingtodropthelawsuit?”Katherinereturnedherattentiontoherreflection.
“Idon’tknow,”sheanswered,truthfully.“Ithinkwe’llpress‘pause’onit.”Theirlawyer,Helen,hadfiledtheformalcomplaintandpressedthecausesofaction.She’dreachedouttoHRtosetatimefordiscussionandmediation.AndthenAmeshadgoneandfallenoffaneighteenth-storybalconyandthatchangedthings.Howmuch,Ardiecouldn’tsay.“Untiltheinvestigationwrapsandthenfigureouthowbesttoproceed.”
We’recheckingoutallangles,thefemaledetectivehadtoldherwhensheandherpartnershowedupinArdie’soffice,gunsfastenedtotheirhips.Truvivwasabig,high-profilecompany.PeopleinDallasweregoingtopayattention.SoArdieunderstoodwhythepolicehadtoaskquestions,tocovertheirbases.
“SometimesIthinkI’mcursed,”Katherinewassayingtotheversionofherself—whateverthatwas—thatshesawinthemirror.“It’sliketheuniversecansenseI’msupposedtobeworkinginsomefactoryorflippinghamburgersbackinBostonandwantstosetthebalanceright.”Hervoicewastoohigh.Shedroppedherhandsandbreatheddeeply.“I’mjustkidding,”shesaid,toArdienow.“IfIreallythoughtthingsworkedthatway,Iwouldn’tbehere.WouldI?”Herfacetransformedand,likemagic,Katherinewasprettyagain.
“I’msureyouhavenothingtoworryabout.”Itwassuchacomfortingideathatshedecidedshe,too,wouldbelieveit.
TranscriptofInterviewofSloaneGloverPartI(cont’d.)
13-APR
APPEARANCES:
DetectiveMalikaMartin
DetectiveOscarDiaz
PROCEEDINGS
DET.DIAZ:
Mrs.Glover,isittruethatyouatonepointsaid:“Itwouldbeeasierjusttokillhim”inreferencetoAmesGarrett?
MRS.GLOVER:
I’mnotsureIsaidthatexactlyandifIdidIwasjoking.Whenwewereconsideringhowtoproceed—whethertofileasexualharassmentlawsuit,Imean—Imayhavepointedoutthat,logistically,onewouldbesimplerthantheother.Again,injest.
DET.DIAZ:
Isthatyourusualbrandofhumor,jokingaboutmurderingsomeone,someonewho—I’llpointout—happenstobedead,Mrs.Glover?
MRS.GLOVER:
Obviously,DetectiveDiaz,wechosetosuehimnottokillhim.Todobothwouldhavebeenabitofoverkill,don’tyouthink?Sorry,poorchoiceofwords,butyougraspmymeaning.
DET.DIAZ:
Theelevatorshavesecuritycamerasinsidethem.
DET.MARTIN:
YouwereontheelevatorsshortlyafterAmesGarrettdied.Infact,you,andGraceStanton,andAdrianaValdez,andKatherineBellwereallontheelevatorsaroundthetimeofMr.Garrett’sdeath.
MRS.GLOVER:
I’msurethat’sright.It’sanofficebuilding.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
17-APR
ThewomanstandinginthelobbyoftheTruvivbuildingheldherselflikesomeonewhowasstartingtogetusedtogettingwhatshewanted.Shewastallandtrim,notexactlyamodel,butcertainlyfurtheralongthescalethanSloane,whohadonlyeverbeenreferredtoasa“spitfire”or“spunky”(inexplicably,notwordstypicallyusedfortallerwomen).Thewoman’sauburnhair—nowaywasitnatural—waspinnedintoaFrenchtwistandshehadastraightnosesuitableforaGreekstatue.Ayoungerwoman,perhapsthirty,andagrayingbuthandsomemanflankedher,likewell-paidaccessories.
“Cosette?”Sloaneclippedovertothewoman,whowasutilizingboththumbstotapamessageintoherdevice.Sloanegentlytouchedherelbow.“Hi,I’msosorry,wasIexpectingyou?”Sloanewasalreadycataloguingtheweek’scommitments,butnomemoryofaCosettemeetingsurfaced.
CosetteSharpesheathedherphoneinthepocketofherblazer.ShesmiledatSloaneandbentdowntokissbothofhercheeks.“No,no,Ijustflewin.”AsifsomeonejustflewinfromNewYork.Adiamond-encrustedRolexpeekedoutfromCosette’ssleeve,easilyfortygrand,bySloane’scount.Cosettegesturedtohertwocolleaguestoexcuseherandachill,asicyasthecaratsonCosette’swrist,passedthroughSloane.
Cosettewasaformercollegeclassmate,aclosefriendofhercollegebestfriend,Jenny,andsevenyearsago,JennyhadarrangedacoffeedateforthetwoofthemwhileCosettewas“intown.”She’dmadeapitchforalargeportionofTruviv’sexternalmergersandacquisitionsworkandSloanehadpersonallygonetoAmestomakethecasebecauseshebelievedindoingthatsortofthingforotherwomenwhenitwasinherpower.NowCosettewastherelationshippartnerforaFortune500company,andSloanehadexcellentoutsidecounsel,andshereceivedafullcaseofVeuveClicquoteachChristmas.Ithadbeenawin-win.
SloanestaredupatCosette,tryingtodetectwhetherornotshe’dhadworkdone.“Sloane.Theboardcalledmeintohandletheharassmentsuit.”
Ofallthetimesforawomannottoleadwithanapology!
“You’renotalitigator,”Sloanesaid.
“Iknow.Believeme.Itoldthemthat.Butwe’reabigfirm.Ibroughtothermembersofourteam.”Shenoddedherheadbacktothetwolawyersstaringattheirphones.“Truvivfeelssafewithus.Andastherelationshippartner,I’llbeheretoconsultforthecompany.”
“Comeon.Youhavegottobekiddingme.”Itreallytookalotofself-controlforSloanenottoswear.
“Look.”Cosetteleanedin.“Privately,youknowI’minclinedtobelieveyou.Butthisisanimportantclientforourfirmandformeinparticular.It’snothingpersonal.”
“Igotyouthisjob,Cosette.”HeatcreptupSloane’sbra.“Youreachedouttomeforhelp.Womeninlawhavetosticktogether.”Sheputonafalselysweetvoice.“Ithinkthatwastheexactquote.”ShetiltedherheadandwaitedforCosette’sresponsewhilewonderinghowlongitwouldtakethesecurityguardsloiteringintheboothattheoppositeendofthelobbytoreachSloaneifshewrungCosette’sneck.(Onlyathought.)
CosettesqueezedSloane’sshoulder.“Irememberand,trustme,IwilldowhateverIcanforyouonthissideofthetable,okay?”
Therewenttheexaggeratedblinkingthingagain.Derekwasprobablyright,itwasn’therbestlookbut—“Um,no,Cosette.Notokay.”Shepinchedthehandrestingonhershoulderandremoveditfromherperson.
Cosettesighed.Herlowerteethwerebeginningtojut.“I’mfurtheringthecauseinmyownway,yourealize.Istandtobetheyoungestpartnerontheexecutivecommitteeandawoman.That’snotsuchabadmessageforyoungwomen,either,isit?AndIcandomypartfromtheinside.Morepower,moreinfluence.”Cosettesmoothedthefrontofherblouse,pullingherselfuptoherfullheight.
“Ihopeyouwarmedupbeforeperformingthatlevelofmentalgymnastics.”
“WhatIhopeisthatwecanresumeourbusinessrelationshipwhenallthisblowsover.”Shesmiled.“Icanevenhelpyoufindajobsomewherethatpaysbetterthanthisplace,ifthat’stherouteyoudecidetogo.Likeyouhelpedme.You’reagoodattorney.”CosetteclaspedherhandstogetherandinsteadofshakinghandswithSloanegaveashortbowofacknowledgmentbeforeturningbacktohercolleagues,whowerewaitingattheelevatorbank.
Sloanewaitedforhertowalkacouplestepsaway.“Andyou’reabitch.”
ThewordsechoedinthelobbyandSloanethoughtshecouldseeCosette’sspinestiffen.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-EIGHT
17-APR
“Cosetteishere.”Sloanebelievedthatrealfriendsdidn’tknockorringdoorbells;theycamerightinandhelpedthemselvestowhateverwinebottlewasalreadyopeninthefridge.Sheappliedthisphilosophyliberallythroughoutherlife.
“Where?”Ardieaskedfrombehindherdesk.Itwasalmostcomicalhowtheywereallhangingaround,manningtheirdesks,asthougheverythingwereperfectlynormal.Alawsuit.Adeadboss.A—daresheeventhinkit?—murderinvestigation?AndheretheyallwereinTheorysuits,savingdraftsontoiManageliketheymattered
ExceptforGrace.WhatthehellwasGraceupto?
SloanepacedthenarrowspacethatArdiehadbeenallottedonthefifteenthfloorand,foronce,ithadabsolutelynothingtodowithreachingherstepcountgoals.“Inthebuilding,Ardie.CosetteSharpeisinthisbuildingrightnow.Doyoufeelthat?”Shetiltedherheaduptotheceiling.“Ithinktheairactuallyjustgotcolder.”
“Why’sshehere?”
“I’lltellyouwhy.She’shelpingwiththesexualharassmentcase.Oursexualharassmentcase,Ardie.Nothelpingus,mindyou.She’shelpingTruviv.”Shecircledherfingerintheairtodemonstrate.
“Wow.”
Sloanegroundherteethlikeapestletoamortar.“Ettu,Cosette?”
“But…”ArdieconsideredandSloanecouldtellthatArdiewasgoingtotrytoberational.WhydidSloaneinsistonsurroundingherselfwithsuchrationalpeopleinherlife?Bigmistake.“Maybethatmeansthey’reactuallytakingitseriously.Ourclaims.”
ThisstoppedSloanejustshortofthefiddleleaffigstationedinthecorner.“Youthinkso?”sheasked,turningtheideaover.Ardieshrugged.ThethingaboutArdiewasthatshedidn’tconsidertheotherperson’sfeelingswhenchoosingwhethertodelivergoodnewsorbadnews.Thenewssimplywaswhatitwas:news.WhichmeantthatSloanecouldtrusther.Shewasacompasspointingduenorth.AndshehadpointedSloaneinthedirectionofapreviouslyunseenpossibility.“Maybeyou’reright,”shesaid,coolingbyacoupleofdegrees.“Thatwouldbeonelessthingtoworryabout.”Theireyesmet.Asmall,unintentionaladmission.
And,honestly,itwasn’tevenasthoughSloanehadbeenworryingabouttheinvestigation,perse.Orwas“honestly”onlyathingliarssaid?Sheshouldbemindfulofthatgoingforward.
ThepolicehadcomeforAmes’sthings.ThedaythecrimesceneinvestigatorscametoboxupAmes’soffice,Sloanewonderedwhatthey’dfind.Theatmosphereintheofficehadbeenbuzzy,alertwiththepossibilityofajuicymorsel,somescraptoshare.Itwasasiftheywereallwatchingthepallbearersatafuneraltowhichnoneofthemhadbeeninvited.Instantmessengerapplicationsdingedwiththemessagesofinformationbeggars,hungryforthosescraps.Didtheyfindanything?Wasthereanote?Werethosewomenblackmailinghim?Didhereallyscratchgoodbyeintothebalcony?Whyaretheystillinvestigating?
ManyofSloane’scolleagueshadmadeflimsyexcusestovisitthesecretarialkiosksormakecopiesorgototherestroomaninordinatenumberoftimestocatchaglimpseofthecarryingoutofAmes’sdesktopcomputerortheremovalofhisgalleryoffamousphotosfromthewall.ApopulartheoryhadhatchedthatAmeshidasuicidenotebehindoneofthepictures,butsofar,nonehadsurfaced.AndnotevenBeatricehadbeenabletosecurereliableinformation.
Itwasthenotknowingthatwastheproblem.Ifhedidn’tjump,thensomeonehadtoknowsomething…butwho?Sloanehadstartedbyconsideringthepossibilitiessheknew.
Katherinewasbeingawkward,butthenshewasalittleawkward.Sheprobablyfeltthat,onsomelevel,she’dsetallthisinmotion.Ames’sdeathfollowedthelawsuit,whichfollowedKatherine’sstory.Soyes,therewascatalystKatherine.Gracehadn’tcometoworksincethedaythatAmeshaddied.Out-of-character,yes,butshe’dalsobeensosensitivesincehavingEmmaKate,soshemightsimplybeinself-preservationmode.Ormaybeshewasactuallysick.AtleastArdieseemedtobeherusualunflappableself.
Sloanewantedtoknowwhatreallyhappenedandwhetherherfriendsknewanythingtheyweren’tsaying,butshehadn’tyetsortedouthowtogoaboutit.
Neverbesurprised.Thatwasasolidlegalstrategy.Neverbesurprisedbywhattheothersidewouldfind.AndnowshehadbothCosetteandthepolicetocontendwith.So,honestly,wasn’titimperativethatsheknewwhathadgoneonpriortoAmes’sdeathinordertoprotectherselfandherfriends?
“Honestly.”Thereitwasagain.Thatpeskylittleword.
Sloaneloweredhervoiceandleanedin.“Howdoyouthinkthatbloodgotonthebalcony?”shewhispered.
Ardie:“Ihonestlydon’tknow.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-NINE
18-APR
WhenRosalitaarrivedonthefifteenthfloor,Ardiewasonthephone.Ardiesawherandgesturedhertostay.Stay,shemouthed.Come,come.Giantwavesofherarm,leavingRosalitanochoice.
“Whenareyoucomingback?”shewassayingintothehandheldreceiver.Aquestion:Whydidnobodyinfancyofficesusecellphonesinstead?Abadgeofhonortobechainedtoadesk,loopycordlikealeashyankingtheemployeebacktowork?RandomthoughtsoccurredtoRosalitaasshewaited,liketracingcracksinthewalloutofboredom.Shetriednottolisten,butshewasn’tSalomon.Shewasn’thalfdeaf.“Idon’tknowwhattothink.”Ardiesighed.Shetwistedherchairsideways,slacksdrapedlikehangingcurtainsoverherknees.Underdifferentcircumstances,Rosalitamighthavebeenannoyedatbeingaskedtoholdstill.Shemighthavereaditasaninsult,hertimelessvaluablethanthelawyer’sjustbecausehertimewasliterallylessvaluable.“No,Idon’tregretsuinghim,suing…Yes,ofcourseit’sunfortunate.Butit’s—I’mnotsure…Probably,yes.Ultimately.But,thingsarestilldelicate.”ShesmiledatRosalita.“Areyouokay?”RosalitathoughtshewasspeakingtoherandonlyclosedhermouthintimeforArdietosay,“I’mworriedaboutyou.Yousound—okay.Ihavetorun.Haveyoubeensleeping?Trytogetsomerest.Bye.”Thephoneclatteredintoitscradle.
“Troublehasawayofmultiplying,doesn’tit?”shesaidtoRosalita,whodidn’tknowwhetherthatwastrue,onlythattroublemetastasizedifitwentuntreated.ArdielookedatherexpectantlyandthenRosalitarememberedthereasonshewashere.Thesomethingwonderful.
“Ibroughtsomethingforyou,”shesaid,holdingoutasimple,brownpaperbag
Ardienarrowedhereyes,skeptical.Inadifferentlife,theymighthavebeensisters.Cousins,atleast.“Ithoughtwesettled.”Butshetookthebag.
“Tamales.Ihaveafriendthatmakesthem.Goodones.”
Ardie’seyeswentsoft.Sheopenedthemouthofthebagandbreathedinthescentofcookedcorn.
“Salomongotintotheprogram.”
Ardiecrunchedthebagclosed.“Hepassed?”Hereyesturnedtosaucers.Aflushroseinhercheeks.
Rosalitanodded,herthroatcloggedandswollen.
Ardierushedaroundthedesktomeether,envelopedRosalitainahug,pulledherintight,andkissedherforehead.Rosalitaallowedthistohappenbecauseittooktheedgeoffacravinginsideofher.WhenArdiepulledaway,shewasscoopingatearoutfromunderneathherlowereyelidandRosalitaworeasillydoll-likefrown,paintedon,eyessparkler-happy.“That’sthebestnewsI’veheardallweek,”saidArdie.Growingup,themomentsinwhichgirlsweregenuinelyhappyforoneanotherhadbeenhardtofind.Rosalitawasgrateful.“Allmonth.Maybeevenallyear.”
IthadbeenseveraldayssinceAmesGarretthadjumpedoffthesideofthebuilding.Twomenfromthebasementhadusedajackhammertoclawtheblockofsidewalkfromthegroundandthenusedaspinningsilotopourfreshcementwherethebodyhadfallen.
ThatwasthedaybeforeSalomonpassedtheentranceexamintotheprivateschoolprogram.Rosalitadidn’ttellArdiethis:howthetwoeventswouldalwaysbelinkedinhermind,howtheywouldmatterinsomeway.
Afterthetwowomenhadsaidalltherewastosay,whichwasn’tverymuchgiventhemomentouseventthathadhappenedbetweenthem,Rosalitalefttodonothingbutwaituntildark.
ShecollectedCrystalwithoutanyofherusualgrumbling.Tonight,shemovedthroughthefloorsoftheofficewithextraefficiencyandevenCrystaldidn’tneedprodding.Itwaspayday.Thepromiseofafull—or,atleastfuller—bankaccountawaited.
Theeveningpassedinpleasantmonotony.Thincarpetunderfoot.Breathlesshallsblinkingawake.Theoff-keyhumofCrystalsingingtoherself.Ortoababy.Rosalitalostherselfinhermind,wanderingdownhappypassageways,mostofwhichledtoSalomon.
Shespottedasoggypaperinthemen’surinalonNineteen,thelastrestroomontheirshift.
“Look.”Crystalhadfoundanother,cloggedinthedrainattheendoftherow.
Rosalitafelttheouteredgesofhernostrilspullup.Shestretchedplasticglovesontoherhandsandpluckedthefingertipstobreakthesuction.Shepinchedthecornerofthefirstpieceofpaper.Onit,asmilingportraitofSloaneGlover,printedfromthecompanydirectory,bledpissandprinterink.Rosalitaextractedtwoothers:thefaceofthenewmothernamedGraceand,last,ofArdie.Shedredgedthephotographsoutoftheurinalbasinswiththesolemnityofoneturningoverabodyfoundlifelessinshallowwater,tofindthemouthandeyesandskinbloatedandwaterlogged.
“Whatisit?”Crystalasked,movingoutofthewayasdripsofurinetrailedtheflooronthewaytothetrashcan.Rosalitaskinnedherhandsofthelatex.Thesmellofammoniathickened.
“Targetpractice.Itlookslike.”Rosalitawantedtotakeashowertoridherselfoftheuglinessofmen—ofthethingstheydidwhentheythoughtnoonewaswatchingand,worse,whentheydidn’tcarewhethersomeonewaswatchingornot.
RosalitaandCrystaldidn’tfinishcleaningthenineteenthfloorbathroom.Insteadtheyrolledtheircartbackintotheelevatorandsanktothebasementbelowground,theirbacksthrobbing,theirhandsdryfromdisinfectant,theirfeettired.
Rosalitastoodinfrontoftheforemannow.“Youhearanythingaboutupthere—upstairs—recently?”sheaskedwhenhehandedhertheenvelopemadeoutinhername.
“OtherthanaguymakingtentimesmoremoneythanIdooffinghimself?Nah.Don’tcareto.”Rosalitathoughtaboutthevomitinthetrashcaninthatman’soffice,wonderedifshealonehadseenthefirstsignandwhetherthatmeantanything.
Distracted,shetooktheenvelope.Somethingwasgoingonupstairs.Shehadcaughttheshort-hairedwomanandthedeadmandoing…doingsomething.Seenthepukeintheplasticbag.Foundthatthemenontheexecutivefloorshadbeenurinating—literallypissingon—thelikenessesofthewomenwhoworkedforthem,womensheknew.Forallthreetohappensocloseintime,Rosalitathought,theyhadtobeconnected.Buthow?
Rosalitarippedtheenvelopewithherpointerfinger,aflapofskinopeninguplikeagillunderneaththepaperwhereitcut.Shereadthenumbersonce,twice,threetimes.Shehadneverbeengoodatmath.ButanywaythatRosalitalookedatthecheck,itwasforlessthanhalfitsusualamount.
CHAPTERFORTY
18-APR
Welivedwithguiltthewayotherpeoplelivedwithchronicmedicalconditions,onlyarguably,ourswasthelesstreatable.Wehadguiltofeveryflavor:Wehadworking-momguilt,childlessguilt,guiltbecausewe’dturneddownasocialobligation,guiltbecausewe’dacceptedaninvitationweknewwedidn’thavetimefor,guiltforturningawayworkandfornotturningitdownwhenwefeltwewerealreadybeingtakenadvantageof.Wehadguiltforaskingformoreandfornotaskingforenough,guiltforworkingfromhome,guiltforeatingabagel,CatholicguiltandPresbyterianguiltandJewishguilt,noneofwhichtastedquitethesame.Wefeltguiltyifweweren’tfeelingguiltyenough,somuchsothatwebegantotakeprideinthisabilitytofunctionundermoralconflict.Sometimeswewentsofarastovolunteertocutourownpaysimplytoalleviatetheguiltofhavingajobandbeingamotheratthesametime.
Wewonderedconstantly:Werewedoingtherightthing?Werewescrewingitallup?Wewishedwecouldsaythat,inlightofeverything,thishadchanged,thatweacquiredsomefreshperspective.Instead,wewouldmerelyslatheronanotherlayerofdeodorant,openatubeofTums,prepareourlyingfaces,andrefineourskillset.
Becauseoneofus,wewouldlearn,reallywasguilty.
“Honk,honk!”SloanerolleddownthewindowofherVolvoSUV,thenewestmodel.Herfistpushedintothesoftspotofthesteeringwheel,whichgavelikethespongypointinababy’shead.Thecarblared.Itwashermotherwhohadalwaysputwordstonoises—knock,knock,honk,honk,bang,bang—andSloanehaddutifullyrolledhereyesuntilshe’dgivenbirthandhadpromptlybeguntodothesamethingforAbigail.Ithadbecomesecondnatureandsoitwent;shewasturningintohermother,daybydaybyday.
ShecametoalurchingstopinthepebbleddriveofGraceandLiam’shouse.Thefrontdoor—Farrow&Ball,HagueBlue—crackedopenandGraceappearedontheporch.
Awhitepashminadrapedaroundhershoulders,givingherthedelicatelookofapieceoforigami,armstuckedaroundherself.“ItoldyouIwasn’tsurethatIwasfeelingwellenoughtocometoworktoday.”Shesquintedlikethesunhurthereyes.
SloanehadneveraskedGracetojointhelawsuitagainstAmes,butrecentlyshe’dbeenstruckbythenigglingworrythatGracemighthavefeltpressuredto,giventhatSloanewashersuperiorjustasmuchasAmeshadbeen.Sloanehatedworries,especiallythosethatniggled.
Still,ithardlymatterednow,Amesbeingdead,thelawsuithavingbeenfiled.Sloanejustfeltthepressingneedtogatherherfriendsup,tocollectthem,tokeepthemunderherwing.Theedgefeltsoclosetheselastfewdays.Abeamhadmaterializedandallfourofthem—Sloane,Ardie,Grace,andKatherine—werenowbalancedontopofit.Onefootinfrontoftheother,theconcretespiralingdizzyinglybelow.Afatalfall,sheworried,mightbecontagious.
Asmightbeapush.
“Grace.”Sheprojectedoverthelowpurroftheengine.“Youknowweneedyouintheoffice.Itlooks…odd.”
Grace,forherpart,didn’targue.Shewasn’tanarguer.
Gracedippedinsidethehouseandreturnedwithherpurse.Inthepassengerseat,GracedrewthebuckleacrossherchestandsatgingerlybesideSloane,herfingernailspluckingattheleatherstitchseams.
“Doyouwanttotalkaboutit?”Sloaneasked,reversingthecarintothestreetandpushingthegearshiftintodrive.SloaneeasedtheSUVdownthewidestreetsofHighlandPark,wherecopshadnothingbettertodothanpullpeopleoverforfailingtocometoacompletestopatanemptyintersection.TheyhadpassedHighlandParkVillage,theneighborhoodshoppingsquare,withitsunattainablestorefrontslikeCarolinaHerrera,Fendi,andBalenciaga,beforeGracesaidanything.
Hergazepiercedthroughthewindshield.“I’mfine,really,Iam.I’msorry.YourememberwhatitwaslikewhenyouhadAbigail.”HereyesflittedforthebriefestmomentovertoSloane:hopeandaccusation.“Thecombinationofeverythinggoingon—Ames,thecompany,it’sjustalot.It’scatchinguptome.”
“Youfeel…responsible?”Sloaneasked,knowingthatcouldmeansomanydifferentthings.
“No.”Gracestilledherhands.“Idon’tknow.DetectiveMartincalledmeathome.Ifeelbad.Ididn’thavemuchtotellher.”
Theseangledglancesatoneanotherweresotricky.
Sloanetwistedhergriparoundthesteeringwheelandwettedherlips.“IthinkitmightbetimeforyoutotalktoKatherine.”She’dbeengearingupforthisconversation,weighingthebesttimetohaveitandwithwhom.GraceneededapurposeandtheyneededGrace.
SloanewasfairlycertainthatArdiehadliedtohernow.FirstaboutbelievingthecompanyhadbroughtinCosettebecausetheywereconsideringbowingtothewomenandsecondaboutsomethingelse.Itwasthewayshe’dsaid“honestly”thathadraisedSloane’santennae.Ardieknewsomethingaboutsomeone;Sloanejustdidn’tknowwhatorwhyArdiewouldn’ttellher.SloanehaddoneabitofsnoopingandArdiehadnotbeenlyingaboutgettingthepayrollformsigned,butthenagain,whywouldshelieaboutpayrollforms?So,Sloanewondered,whatwouldNancyDrewdonext?
NancyDrewwasn’tmiddle-aged,youidiot.
Still,shewantedtobethefirsttotalktoGrace.
“Yes,”saidGrace,simpleandelegantasthepearlsaroundherneck.“Iagree.”
Theycametoaredlightandsatforamomentinsilence.ThenGracesaid,“Hewastryingtomanipulateme,youknow.That’swhyIjoined,really,incaseyouwerewondering.Ijustwasn’tgoingtolethimgoaroundthinkingthathe’dpulledoneoveronme.”
Sloaneletoutaheavybreath.“How?”
Gracelaughedquietlyandtoyedwiththetipofonenail.“Heaskedmetosmokewithhimupatthebalconyafewtimes.He”—asortofhiccuporindigestion—“actedlikehewasgenuinelyinterestedinmycareer.”
God,hadGracebeensmoking?SmokingwithAmes?Sloanedidateensybitwanttojudgeherfriend—gloat,morelike.SheimaginedtellingDerek:Canyoubelieveit?PerfectlyproperGraceStantonsmokingwhilenursing.Ineverdidanyofthat.Nowwho’sthebettermom?But,goodness,itwasGraceand,well,Sloanewasn’texactlyasaintandDerekandSloaneweren’texactlyspeaking,soitwasallabitmoot,really.Andstillthenewswas,undeniably,salacious.GraceandAmes.Cigarettes.
“Wheredidyousmoke?”Shethoughtshesoundedcasual.Mostlycasual,anyhow.Therewasnodelicatewaytoask.Eighteenthfloor?Thebalcony?Oh,seeanythingunusualupthere?How’sthebreeze?
“Ononeofthesmokingdecks.”Gracecrookedherfingerandpressedittoherlips.“AssoonasKatherinetoldusthatshe’dmentionedtoAmesthatshehadseenmeatThePrescott,IthoughthowstupidIwas.Imusthaveseemedlikesuchaneasytargettohim.Buttermeup.Offertohelpmycareer.AndthenI’dbeonhissideandthesadpartisthatIwas.”Theedgeofherfingercameawaywithaviolentshockofredfromherlipstick.
Sloanefrowned.“It’snotmutuallyexclusive,youknow,”saidSloane.“Hemighthavereallyseenpromiseandofferedtohelp.”
“Maybe.Isawtheroomkey,though.ToThePrescott.Whenheshowedmeapictureofhiskids.EvenifnothinghappenedinthatroomatThePrescott,hekeptakeybecausehewantedsomethingtohappen.Ithinkthat’swhyhedoubleddownwantingmetowritetheletter.Peopletrytotakeadvantageofnicepeople.”
“WhatwereyoudoingatThePrescott?”Sloaneasked.
“Sleeping.”
TheydrovepastDealeyPlaza,theplacewhereJohnF.Kennedyhadbeenassassinated.Sloanehadneverpassedbyitwithoutsparingatleastafleetingthought:bloodandbrain.
“DidyoueverseeKatherineupthere?Onthesmokingdecks?”Itwasalongshot,butSloanehadnochoiceexcepttofeelaroundinthedark,hopingtobumpintosomething.Shedidn’tliketheideathattheonlypersonwithopportunitymightbeGrace.But,no,thatwouldn’tmakesenseatallbecauseshe’dneverevenheardGracefailtosay“please.”
“Idon’tthinkshe’dspendtimethere.Katherine’sterrifiedofheights.”
Nearlytotheoffice,Sloanehadanotherthought:“Sonowwhat?Whythedisappearingact?”sheasked.“Youfeelguilty?Forwhat?ForsuingAmes?Forbelievinghim?Forwhat?”
Gracetiltedherheadbackontherest.“I’vefeltguiltyaboutsomanythingsinthepastfewmonths,wherewouldIevenbegin?”
Sloanereachedacrossthecupholders,stilloccupiedbytwoemptyDietCokecans,andsqueezedGrace’shand.“Welcometomotherhood,”shesaid,andthen:“Hey,where’syourweddingring?”
CHAPTERFORTY-ONE
18-APR
GracehesitatedbeforeKatherine’soffice,justoutofview,shieldingherselffromtherelentlessglasswalls.Shefingeredthebarespotonherleftringfinger.Droppeditoffatthecleaner,she’dtoldSloane,which,strictlyspeaking,hadbeentrue.
GraceslippedintoKatherine’sofficeandclosedthedoorbehindherbacksosoftlyitonlymadethefaintestclickasitlatchedintoplace.
Katherine:“You’reback.”
“Iam.”Grace’sheartcouldn’tdecidewhatrhythmitwantedtobeatin.SheneededtwothingsfromKatherine.Thequestionwaswhichtoaskforfirst.“Katherine,wewouldneverwanttoaskyoutodosomethingyouweren’tcomfortablewith.”Thiswas,ofcourse,theexactwrongwaytobegin.Aversionofthosewordshadlikelystartedthiswholesordidaffairinthefirstplace.
Katherine’sfacebecameaquestionmark.
ItwasimportantthatGracenotscrewthisup.Anyofit.Butdespitedays’worthofsleep,shestruggledtothinkproperly.Shesworesomethinghadhappenedtoherbrain,somethinganatomicalandquantifiablesinceEmmaKate.
Welcometomotherhood,Sloanehadsaid.
Butwasthisreallywhateveryonemeantwhentheytalkedabout“mombrain”?
“Sorry.”Gracebeganagain.“Sloane,Ardie,andIarefiguringoutnextsteps.Themedia,Truvivpeople,they’reall,youknow,twistingthestory,actinglikeAmeswasasaint,”shesaid.“AndnowTruvivhascalledinabigNewYorklawfirmandwewanttomakesurethatoursideofthestoryisn’tforgotteninthemix.Thatwe’renotvilifiedbythecircumstances,Iguess.WithAmesgone,wethoughtthatyoumightfeelbetteraboutcomingforwardwithyourstory.”
Gracestoppedherselfbeforeshecouldsayanythinglike“brave”or“strong,”heavenhelpher.Shealsoresistedtheevenmoretenaciousurgetosaythatshehad“prayedon”thismatterandwasnowcomingtoKatherinebecauseshefelt“calledto,”whichwerepopularmethodsofmanipulationinhermother’ssocialcircle.
KatherinewasdoingaweirdthingwithherjawandGracethoughtsheheardfaintpopsthatmanagedtocausepsychologicalhurtinherownmouth.“I—”
“Wethinkitcouldreallyhelp.”GracestartedtalkingagainatexactlythesametimeasKatherineandshegenerallymadeaconsciousdecision,whenthishappened,tofinishhersentencestoavoidthepolitestop-startoftwopeopletryingtoconverseout-of-sync.
“Iunderstand,”Katherinesaid.“I’llsharewhathappened.It’snotaproblem.”
Ameshadmanipulatedbothofthem.Itwasfunnyhow,evenifthethingpeoplesharedwasanunpleasantone,thepartthatmatteredmorewasthatitwasathingsharedincommon.Thiswasthetheorybehindhazing,Gracesupposed,andshe’dtradedonitwithKatherine,gottenhertoagreetothethingthegroupneededfromher.
Buttherewasmore.TherewaswhatGracealoneneeded.Andwhatsheneededwastostopdreamingeverynightthatshe’djumpedoffabuilding,wakingupablinkawayfromthemomentherbodycrushedintotheground.
“Wenevergottospeak.After,”Gracesaid.AtagonherToryBurchshiftwasmakingherbackitch.Katherine’seyeswerebigandbrownandwatchful.“DidyouwindupgettingtoseeAmes?”
Hewantstotalktome,Katherinehadtoldher.ThoughGracehadbeensoexhaustedfromaweekofBabywisesleeptrainingatthatpoint,itwasalmostpossibleshe’dimaginedit.WasGrace…wasGraceparanoid?“Ijustwonderedifyou’dgone,youknow,lookingforhim?”
Thewomenheldeachother’sstareforaheartbeat.
“No.Imean,Itriedtofindhim,butIcouldn’t.Wenevergottotalk.”Katherine’ssmilewaswan.“Iguesshehad…well,hemusthavehadotherplansinmindintheend.”
WasKatherinetellingthetruth?HadKatherine,infact,seenanything?Whatdidsheknow?
“Probablyforthebest,”Gracesaid,theairthickbetweenthem.
WhenKatherinecombedherhandthroughherhair,Gracenoticedthewaterylineofblood,aredribbonofrawskinspreadingatthenaillineonherpointerfinger.
Sometimelater,SloaneandArdiegatheredwithKatherineandGracetoescortKatherinetotheHumanResourcesdepartment.GracehuggedKatherine,herslendershoulderbladespokingintoGrace’shands.Theytoldherthethingsfriendssaidinmomentsinwhichtherewaslittletobesaid.Theytoldheritwouldbeokay,thatshewasdoingtherightthing,thattheywerehereforher,thatshewasamazing,anditwasnearlyimpossibletoimagineasimilareventunfoldingwithagroupofmalefriendsorcolleaguesinevenclosetothesamefashion.GracewatchedKatherinedisappearbehindfrostedglassandtheremainingthreewaitedafewextrasecondsbeforeitwascleartheywerenolongerneeded.
Everythingwouldbeokay.Shewasdoingtherightthing.Grace’sfriendswerethereforher.Butwhenshesteppedbackontheelevator,herreflectionobscuredinthegraymetaldoors,Gracewonderedwhen,ifever,shewouldstopthinkingaboutthelastwordsthatshe’dsaidtoAmesGarrettupthereonthatbalcony.
Threehourslater,andGracestillhadn’theardanythingandneitherhadArdieorSloane,butitwaseasyenoughtotellherselfthiswasnormal,howeverrelativethattermmightbeunderthecircumstances.Shecouldassignreasons.ThecompanywasconsideringasettlementinlightofKatherinecomingforward.Perhapsevenotherwomenwouldsharetheiraccounts,too.Gracehadheardofthathappeningatanationalnewsstation.Alandslideeffect.MaybetheboardwaswaitingtoannouncethenextCEOpriortofinishingthisharassmentsuitbusiness—goodnewstobufferthebad.
ButthenshesawthetwobuildingemployeescartingboxesfromKatherine’sofficeandherheartbeganpoundinginherchest—Knock,knock,knock,who’sthere,Grace?
Gracebustledover.“Excuseme.”Sheflaggedthemdown.“Whatexactlyareyoudoing?”
TheyhadfiredKatherine.Gracedidn’twanttobelieveit.Katherinehadbeenrightnottowanttoriskgoingupagainstthecompany.Sheshouldhavejoinedthelawsuitorkeptquiet.HRisnotyourfriend!Shehadreadthatsomewherebutneverreallysuspectedittobetrue.
Thebuildingemployeeseasedacartoffitswheelsandontoitsflatbed.Amanwithbicepsthickasherthighslookedbackather,atallofher,shenoted.“We’removingMs.Bell’sbelongingstoatemporaryofficeupstairs.”
“Upstairs?”Graceworealookofconcernthatwasbothhonestandputon.Hertensioneased.Herspikeofguiltfelltoitspreviouselevation,whichwashigh,butatleastshe’dbeenbearingit.
“Yes,ma’am.”
“Whyupstairs?”sheasked.
Themanclearedhisthroat.“Iassumebecausethat’swhereMs.Bell’sgoingtobesitting.Thisistherightoffice,isn’tit?”Hesquinted,smudginghisfingeroverthefirstletteronthenameplate,therestofwhichclearlyspelledout:KATHERINEBELL.
“That’sright,”shesaidandheshruggedandhikedtheboxesoffthegroundagain.Shedidn’ttrytostophim.
Amaninadamp-lookingpoloshirtstoodinfrontofherofficewhenshereturned.“GraceStanton?”Heworepleatedkhakisandhisforeheadwasshiny.
“That’sme,”shesaid.Heheldapacketatwaistlevelandsheregistereditwiththesurrealpanicofsomeoneregisteringagunbarrelpointedatherhead.
“GraceMarieStanton.”Heraisedthepacketandshehadaself-preservationimpulsetorunandneverlookback.“You’vebeenserved.”
DepositionTranscript
26-APR
Ms.Sharpe:
Stateyourname,please.
Witness:
KatherineBell.
Ms.Sharpe:
Whatisyouroccupation,Ms.Bell?
Witness:
IworkasanattorneyatTruviv,Inc.inthecorporateandtransactionalpractice,primarily.
Ms.Sharpe:
DidyouknowAmesGarrett?
Witness:
Yes,Iknewhim.OnlysinceIbeganworkingatTruviv.HewastheGeneralCounsel.IreportedtoAmesaswellasSloaneGlover,whoworkeddirectlybelowhim.
Ms.Sharpe:
WhatwasyourimpressionofMr.Garrett?Howwasyourexperienceworkingforhim?
Witness:
Ithoughthewasextremelysharp.HerecruitedmefromafirminBostonandIwasgratefulfortheopportunity.Ihadn’tworkedin-housepriortothisposition,sohewaswillingtomentormetohelpgetmeuptospeed.Heprovidedinterestingworkassignmentsfortheattorneysunderhiswatch.IwasreallyexcitedtohearthathewouldpossiblybepromotedtoCEOofthecompany.Ifiguredthiswouldbeviewedasanetpositiveforthelegaldepartment.
Ms.Sharpe:
Didheevermakeunwantedadvancestowardyou?Didheevertouchyouinanyway?
Witness:
No.
Ms.Sharpe:
Didyouwitnesshimmakingsuchadvancestootherwomenintheoffice?DidyouwitnessanybehaviorfromMr.Garrettthatyoumightcall“sexualharassment”?
Witness:
No.
Ms.Sharpe:
Wereyouawarethattherewereotherwomenintheofficewhofeltdifferentlyandwho,infact,plannedtosueMr.GarrettandTruviv,Inc.?
Witness:
Iwas.
Ms.Sharpe:
Howdidyoubecomeawareofthis?
Witness:
SinceIstartedthere,itwasprettyclearthatSloaneandArdiehatedAmes.Iwasn’tsurehowGracefeltabouthim,butSloanewasdefinitelytheringleader,soweallhadtokindofgoalong.Itfeltlike,youwereeitherinoryouwereout.Youwerewiththemoragainstthem.Ifeltlike,tobepartofthegroupIhadtobewillingtolistentothemcomplainaboutAmes.Itwasverymuchagroupthinkmentality.SloanewasmydirectsuperiorsoIwantedtobeonhergoodside.IwenttolunchesandhungoutwithSloane,Ardie,andGrace—Iwasnewtotheoffice—anditbecamecleartomethattheyhadfashionedasortofpersonalvendettaagainstAmes.Itwaslikeapastimeforthem.Practicallyalltheycouldtalkabout.Iwanttobelievewomen.Ido.ButwhenSloaneaddedAmes’snametothatBADMenList,shewassogleefulaboutit.Itwaslikeshewasbragging.
CHAPTERFORTY-TWO
20-APR
Weneverunderstoodthetendencytounderestimateus,wewhohadbeenbaptizedanddeliveredthroughpain,whogrinnedandboreagonieswhilemanagingtodrawonwing-tippedeyelinerwithasurgicallysteadyhand.Wepluckedoureyebrows,waxedourupperlips,gotrazorburnonourcrotches,heldbladestothecupsofourarmpits.Shoestoreholesintheskinofourheelsandcrippledtheballsofourfeet.WeenduredlaborandchildbirthandC-sections,duringwhichdoctorsliterallysetourintestinesonatablenexttoourbodieswhilewewereawake.Wegotacidfacials.WepuncturedourforeheadswithBotoxandfilledourlipsandourbreasts.Wepiercedourearsandworepantsthatweretootight.Wegottoomuchsun.Wepunishedourbodiesinspinclass.Allthesetinysacrificestomakeusappearmorelitheandladylike—thefemaleofthespecies.Theweakersex.Secretly,theytoughenedourhides,sharpenedouredges.Weweretougherthanwelooked.Theonlydifferencewasthatnowwewerefinallylettingon.
Ardiefullyexpectedthemeetingaheadtobepainful.CosetteSharpesatacrossthetablefromthem,herpointedelbowsjuttedouttoeithersideasshefoldedherhandsinfrontofher.Witheightpeopleintheroom,Ardiethoughtshecouldactuallyfeeltheoxygendwindling.
“Wrongfuldeath,Cosette.”Sloaneslappedherhandoverthestackofdocuments.Shehadatendencytooverenunciatewhenshegotheated,asthoughthewholeroomsuddenlyspokeEnglishonlyasasecondlanguage.“You’resuingusforwrongfuldeath.”
Fortherecord—and,asamatteroffact,Ardiewouldhavelikedsomecreditonthispoint—she’dneverlikedCosetteSharpe.NewYorklawyers,asarule,thoughteveryonewhowasnotaNewYorklawyerwasaninbredidiot.Theyendedcallswith“Sorry,butIhavetojumpoff.”CosetteSharpewasguiltyonbothcountsandyetshewasn’ttheoneontrialhere.
“I’mgladweallhaveanopportunitytogatherandtalk.”Cosette’seyesweretooclosetogetherforhertobepretty.Ardiewasn’tinthehabitofpickingapartotherwomen’sappearances,especiallywhenitwasn’trelevant,butshecouldindulgefromtimetotimewhentheoccasionandthepersonwarrantedit.
“Whysueus?What’sthepoint?”Graceasked,softly.
AcountersuitmeantnotonlythatTruvivwasn’tconsideringasettlementpayoutontheirsexualharassmentclaim,butthattheywere,infact,preparedtodemandmoneyfromGrace,Ardie,andSloaneonbehalfofthemselvesandtheGarrettfamilyforAmes’sdeath.Theamountowediffoundresponsibleinawrongfuldeathwasbasedofftheliteralvalueofthelifelost.AndAmesGarrett,toputitmildly,wasveryvaluable.
Damagescouldincludethecostofhiseducationandtraining,plusthesalaryhewouldhavemadeoverthecourseofhiscareer(raisesandpromotionsincluded),thenaddonstockoptionsandbonuses,painandsuffering,andwhateverelseTruvivmightdecideithadcostthemtolosetheirnextCEOand,inshort,theywouldbeaskingformillionsofdollars.
“AtcompanieslikeTruviv,whilewetakesexualharassmentclaimsveryseriously,we’renotgoingtokowtowtowomenwhothinkthatmakingafalseallegationisapathtoaquickpaycheck.Itsetsapoorprecedent.”
Ardiepushedhersleevesupherarms.“There’sno‘we’thatyou’reapartof,Cosette.Truvivisyourclient.WearepartofTruviv—Sloane,Grace,andme.Wearetakingthisveryseriously.Rightnow,itfeelslikeyou’reattemptingtoturnthiscaseintoajournalarticlethatyoucanaddtoyourbyline.”Ardiehatedoutsidecounselthatinsertedthemselvesintotheclientsasiftheywereallpartofthesamebig,happyfamily,when,inreality,thosesameattorneysbilledtheirclientsupthenoseforeverysixminutesspenttypingoutanemail.“Amesjumpedoffofaneighteenth-storybalcony,leavingbehindawifeandtwochildren,andyou’resuingusforwrongfuldeath?”
Awomantoherleft,round-facedandprobablyoneall-nighterawayfromdyingofexhaustioninheroffice,pushedanotepadwithsomethingscribbledonittoCosette’sattention.Sheglanceddownherstraightnoseandnodded.“Allegedly.Butyes,that’sthetheorywe’reworkingunder.”
“WhatonGod’sgreenearth.”Sloanepushedherbackintothechair.Itwasn’tagreatsignthatthisearlyinthegameshewasalreadyrevertingtoSoutherngrandmothersayings.
“And,I’msorry,buthowdoyouplantoarguethatthreewomenareresponsibleforagrownmankillinghimself?”AnoteofexasperationranunderGrace’squestion.IfoneofthemwasmostupsetbyKatherine’sbetrayal,itwasGrace.She’dbeensteelyeversincelearningthatKatherinewouldbeawitnessforTruviv.
Whywouldshedothis?Italkedtoher.Shesaidshewouldtellwhathappened.Why?Grace.Spinning.Disbelieving.
Sowhy,then?Ardiecouldinventreasons.Truvivhadpromisedhersomething.Shewasscared.Shewasafairweatherfanandhadchosenwhoshebelievedwouldbethewinningteam(shewasaRedSoxfan,afterall).Ormaybetherewassomethingelse.
Ardieshouldhavetalkedtoherbefore.OrelsetheynevershouldhaveletKatherinegetinvolved.Butthatwashindsighttalking.
“Actually”—Cosettewieldedthewordlikeaknife—“wehaveArdieandSloanetothankforthat.”Sloane’seyesflittedtoArdie’s.AndArdie’sbackstraightenedinfinitesimally.“WewereabletopullthecomplaintthatArdiepennedregardingthetreatmentofSloane’sdaughteratschool,whichwasactuallyverywelldone.”Cosettepushedthreecopiesofanotherdocumentacrossthetabletothem,aletteronofficialTruvivletterhead,thesignatureblockonthethirdpagefromAdrianaValdez,Attorney-at-Law.Ofcourse,Sloanehadwrittenthat.NotArdie,buttheymusthaveknownaboutitfrom…IthadtobefromKatherine.Herheartskippedasshestartedtodrawanuneasylinefromheretothere.“TheLaneyPrespercase,JacksonWorrall,andevennow,theMattRenardlaw.Theseallrelatetoincidentsinwhichpeoplewereheldcriminallyandcivillyresponsibleforthedeathsofsuicidevictimsasaresultofsystematicharassmentthatpushedthevictimovertheedge,sotospeak.”
Sloanescoffed.“Comeon,Cosette.Thesearen’tfaircomparisons.”
IthadseemedlikesuchaninconsequentialthingtoventtoKatherine,andKatherinehadseemedjustenoughoutsideoftheirinnercircletofeelsafe.Ardiehadn’tmeanttosoundsobitchy.Sherecallednow,withaflush,thatshehad.
“Theharassersinyourcomplaintweremostlyteenagers.Theyhardlyknewtheseriousnessoftheiractions;theywereonlybeginningtounderstandconsequences.Butyou?”
Ardiefeltthesizzleofrageinherveins.“Weweren’tharassingAmes.”Hervoicewasreserved,notquiet,butthoseatthetablehadtoleantowardhertohear.
Cosetteliftedhereyebrows.“TheBADMenListtowhichSloaneaddedthenameofAmesGarrettisaformofonlineharassmentinourview.Asoftoday,it’sbeensharedonsocialmediaoverthreethousandtimes.Giventheunsubstantiatednatureofthespreadsheet,itserveslittlepurposeotherthantopubliclyshamethoseincludedonanonlineforum.”CosettehadputonherI’m-from-the-most-prestigious-law-firm-so-I-am-obviously-correcttone.Truvivhadalreadyputsomemoneyintothis.Cosetteandherteamhadbeenpaid.Theywerebeyondthefact-findingexpedition.Theywereformulatingarguments.Ardie,Sloane,andGracewereintrouble.
“Theparallelsdon’tevenstopthere,”CosettecontinuednowwiththeinflectionofaRealtorshowingoffanimpressivelisting.“AswiththeSedwickcase,thebullyingstartedwhenthebulliedgirlbegandatingthebully’sex-boyfriend.”
“We’renotinmiddleschool,Cosette,”Sloanesaid,evenly.
“Butisn’tthatmoreorlesswhathappened,Sloane?Didn’tyougetupsetwhenyouthoughtthatAmes,someonewithwhomyou’dhadarelationship,becameinterestedinayoungerwoman—Katherine?”
ItwasasthoughArdiehadsteppedintoanalternateuniverse.IftherewasanopportunityforArdietohavehandledmattersdifferently,tospeakup,she’dmissedit.Shehadneverwantedtoenduphere,andnowshehad.
“How’syourdaughterdoing,though,Sloane?Ithinkwe’reallsorrytobehereunderthesecircumstances.”ShegavesympatheticlookstoherteamandArdiesawGracepressherhandintoSloane’sthightoholdher.“Still,I’mafraidwecan’tignorethataskingArdietoprovidelegalrepresentationtoyouisamaterialbreachofcompanypolicy.I’veaskedTruvivtotablethatissuefornowuntilthemattersathandareresolved,butI’msureyouappreciatethatthisisaseriousmatter.Afireableoffense,actually,andTruviv’sagreementnottotakeimmediateactionisextremelygenerous,underthecircumstances.”SloanepressedherlipstogetherandgavenothingwhileCosetteblinked,waiting,asthoughforathank-you.“Right.Well.Let’salltakeoutourcalendarsandstartpencilingindepositions,”suggestedCosetteatlast.
Themeetingendedwithallthewarmthofahostagenegotiation.Grace,Ardie,andSloaneslippedintotheelevator.Thedoorsclosedandnoonemovedtopressthebutton.
“SoyoutoldKatherineaboutAbigail,”Sloanesaid.“Aboutthememo?”Sloaneasked,afalselightnesstohervoice.
“Yes.”Ardiestaredstraightahead.
“When?”
“AfterMichael’sparty,Iguess.”
Sloanenodded,pushingherjawintoanunderbite.“So,what,youwerecomplainingaboutmetoKatherine,then?Yourannoyingboss,Sloane?Yourhorriblefriend,Sloane?”Shedroppedanyhintoflevity.“Idon’tknowwhyyouwouldhavebroughtAbigailintoit.Clientconfidentiality.Didn’tyoutellherthat,Ardie?Didn’tyousaytomydaughter’sfacethatyouwouldn’ttellanyoneanything?Andthiswillbepublicrecordnow,youknow.They’regoingtoadmitthatmemointoevidence.Peoplewillthinkthat…peoplewillsaythatAbigailwasactuallysuicidal.”Sloanebreathedheavily.“Thewholeschoolwillknowhowmeanthosekidsweretoher,thethingstheycalledher.Asifthingshaven’tbeenhardenoughforherthisyear.Shetrustedyou,Ardie.NottosayanythingofthefactthatImaynothaveajobnow.”
Ardieknewsheshouldn’tfeeldefensive,andyet…“Ididn’twritethatmemo,Sloane.Youwroteit.Andyoudidn’tevenaskme.Youknowthat’snothowIoperate.Iftheydidn’thavethatmemo,wewouldn’tbehere.”
“That’snotthepointrightnow,”Sloanesaid,withactualvolumecontrol.“Youhadnoright.”
“Well,youhadnorighttohangoutwithTony.AndBraylee.”
“Iwasn’thangingoutwithTonyandBrayleecomplainingaboutyou,Ardie.Iwasn’ttalkingshitaboutyou,”shesnapped.“Iactuallylikeyou.”
AsmudgeofmascarasmearedalightblacklinealongthetopofGrace’scheek.Afewoverprocessedstrandsofhairfellfrombehindherears.“Anditseemstheyknowabouttheaffair.”Gracegentlyheldupherfingertointerject.
“Don’tlookatmelikethat.Youcan’tblamethatoneonme,”Ardiesaid.
Shewasjustnowregisteringthatthespeakersintheelevatorwerepipingthroughapeppyradioeditof“Cheerleader.”
Theelevatorbegantodescend,theelectronicredlinesreconfiguringthemselvesintosmallerandsmallernumbersuntiltheyvanishedandwerereplacedbyanarrow.
Sloanetappedherridiculousredpumponthefloor.“Ineverwouldhavecomplainedaboutyou,Ardie.AndIdefinitelywouldn’thavebroughtMichaelintoitifIdid.AndIneverwouldhavejeopardizedyourjob.Youreallywentforthetrifecta,there.”
“AndIneverwouldhavecheatedonmyhusband.”
“Ha!Gladyoufinallygotthatoffyourchest,”Sloanesaid,withoutmalice,whichwaswhy,attheverycore,despiteallindicationstothecontrary,Sloanereallywasthebetterpersonbetweenthetwoofthem.
Sloanefishedoutherjanglykeys—withatleastsixkeychainsacquiredforherbyAbigailandDerekfromfamilyvacationstoplaceslikeAtlantisandJacksonHoleandBigSur.“Iguesswe’reevennow?”ShesteppedoutoftheelevatorwithoutgivingArdietheopportunitytorespond.
Thelobbywasbigandairyanddisconcerting.WhenGracemadeanexcuseaboutneedingasalad—ormaybeitwasahamburger—Ardiemadenoefforttogowithher.AmessagehadbuzzedinArdie’spocketand,whensheretrievedit,thefireemojiblazedonherscreen.Withoutanyceremony,Ardieswipedherthumbtoopenit.
SMUalmn75:Hi,Ilikeyourprofile,doyouwanttomeetup?
CHAPTERFORTY-THREE
26-APR
Afterthat,theydidn’tseeKatherine.Butthatdidn’tmeanshewasn’tthere.Shebecamelikeaghost,hauntingthem.Sheloomedallthelargerintheirimaginationsbecauseshehadallatoncebecomesointangible.Incorporeal.Ferretedaway.Ablankspacetofillwithperceivedmotivations,backstory,andcunning.Intheabsenceofher,theyquestionedtheirjudgment.Theyquestionedthemselves.
Thedepositionsbegan,ithavingbeenseveraldayssinceSloanelastheardfromthedetectiveswithoutanyhintastowheretheinvestigationstood.
Sloane,Grace,andArdiehadhiredHelenYehfromScott,Wasserstein,andMcKenna.Really,Sloanehadcalledinafavor.SloanehadhookedHelen’ssonupwithaninternshipatJaxonBrockwellayearagoandhewasnowstartinghisfirstyearattheUniversityofPennsylvaniaSchoolofLaw.Fromthestart,Helenhadagreedtotakethecaseoncontingency,whichmeantthatifthey’dwonanything,shewouldtakehome40percent.Theydidn’thavetopayadimeupfront,thoughitwasquicklystartingtolookliketherewouldn’tbeadimetotakehome,either,andHelenwasprobablystartingtowonderhowmuchherson’slegaleducationwasreallyworthtoher.
Truviv’sstrategy,itappeared,wastomethodicallychipawayatthewomen’scredibility—mostlySloane’s.Tomaketheirclaimssoundhypersensitive.Todrawasclearalineaspossiblefromthespreadsheet,tothelawsuit,toAmes’sdeath.Hourspassed,punctuatedbylukewarmcoffeedrawnfromastationedcarafe,duringwhichSloanehadtowatcheverywordthatcameoutofhermouth.Inthelateafternoon,theybrokeforthedayandSloane,Ardie,andGracereconvenedatoneofthemanysaladshopsthatpopulateddowntownDallas.Duringthosemeetings,Sloaneattemptedtofortifymorale.Shewentoverthelineofquestioning—theaffairwasirrelevant,Grace’snotewaswrittenunderpressure,whichcouldactuallybereadasapointforthem.They’dbeenresponsible,longstandingemployeeswithaknockoutrecordofloyaltytothecompany.
Buttherewasnoeasinesstothistimespenttogetherandanyway,Sloane’stonegaveheraway.AdulledgeofhurtstillpressedonherthatArdiewouldcomplainabouther.WasSloanesomeoneaboutwhompeoplecomplained?Sheworried.SheworriedDerekwaspreparingtoleaveher.(Whatwashedoingallthosehoursupintheguestbedroomalone?)Sheworriedshewouldloseherjob.
Still.“HowcantheysaythatsomethingwedidmadeAmeskillhimself?”Sloanewouldsayoveranunappreciatedmixofpurplelettuceandgoatcheese.
ButthentheconversationalwaysreturnedtoKatherine.
CHAPTERFORTY-FOUR
27-APR
Gracewrotethenannyacheckwhenshereturnedhomefromthethirddayofdepositions.Shehadfoundhernanny,Julieta,throughavolunteer-runshelterthathelpedimmigrantwomenfindwork.JulietawasclosetothesameageasGrace,withtwochildrenofherownandamoderategraspontheEnglishlanguage—notthatGracecouldjudge,seeingashowshespokenoSpanishatall.Gracefeltherusualtwingeofguiltwhenshewroteoutthesumsheowedfortheweek.WomenlikeGraceweresupposedtowantmoretimetomother,andwomenlikeJulietawantedmoremoney,alsotomother.Therelationshipshouldhavefeltmoresymbioticthanitdid.
WithJulietagoneandLiamnotbackfromwork,thehousewasquiet.EmmaKatelayonherback,staringupattheceilingfan,whileshekickedherlegs.ThetelevisionwasoffbecauseGracehadmadesureJulietasignedsomethingGrace’sfriendsreferredtoasa“nannycontract.”Apparentlyitwasanabsolutenecessityunlessyouwantedyournannytomeltyourbaby’sformativebrainwithtelevisionwavesorshoveOreosintotheirtoothlessmouthswhileyouwereatwork.GracehadfourNestcamerassetupthroughoutthehousethatcost$199apieceandamonthlysubscriptionthatallowedhertorewindtheday’stapetomakesurethatJulietawasn’tpinchingherdaughterorkissingheronthemouth.Sheneverchecked.Forwhatitwasworth,shedidbelievethatJulietawasmeetingalloftheiragreed-uponrequirements:playingclassicalmusicforatleastfifteenminutesaday,readingtwobooksbeforeeachnaptime,nevermicrowavingbreastmilk,speakingSpanish,sterilizingbottles,schedulingtwohoursoftummytime,andholdingupblack-and-whiteimagesforherbabytostareat.
Gracestillfeltlikeaterriblemom.
ShesankintothesofaandturnedontheTVstraightaway.EmmaKatetiltedherhead,hereyesstaringupattheflashingimages,whileGracementallyquotedthemessagefromDr.Tanaka’spamphlet:Noscreentimebeforetwo!
Ifaskedaboutit,shewouldlie.
Whatifwemissouroldlife?Liamhadaskedwhenshewasfourmonthspregnant.ThesweetfreedomoftakingwalksaroundtheneighborhoodafterdarkwasthethingGracedidn’tknowshewouldlongforafterward.WhatifIlovemyjobasmuchasIlovemybaby?sheshouldhaveaskedback.
Forafewminutes,Gracesatglassy-eyedinfrontofaFriendsrerunthatshecouldquotebyheart,remindingherselfhow,inafewmonths,whenEmmaKatewasjustalittleolder,she’dstopdoingthis.Bobbypinsdugintothebackofherskullassherelaxedherheadintothecouchcushionsandkickedherbarefeetontotheleatherottomanthatshe’drecentlypurchasedfromPotteryBarnforathousanddollars
Thisremindedher:shestillneededtosetupEmmaKate’scollegefund.
Acommercialcameonattwicethevolume,technicallyaregulatoryviolationthatGracethoughtdeservedalotmoreenforcementthanDodd-Frank.ShemuteditandcrawledonherkneestowhereEmmaKatewasstickinghertongueoutanddrooling.IftherewasonethingthatGracereliablylovedaboutherdaughter,itwasherbreath—inexplicablysweet.ShepressedhernosetoEmmaKate’sfaceandherdaughterpushedherfeetintheairandsmiled.
EmmaKatelookedlikeLiam.Everyonesaidso.Gracehadreadinoneofherprenatalbooksthatitwasanevolutionaryadaptation,meanttoreassurethefatherthatthechildwashis,soshehaddecidednottotakeitpersonally.
RugfiberswerealreadycollectingonGrace’sblackdress.Ifshe’dbeenwearingpants,shewouldhavealreadychangedbynow.EmmaKateseemedtobehavingaburstofunexpectedenergyandshewasscootingalongherbackandthencrossingonelegovertheother.Hertinyfacewrinkledinconcentration,hermouthpuckeredintothesizeandshapeofasingleCheerio.
“You’vegotit,”Gracefoundherselfsaying.Shewatchedherbabykickandwrestle,tryingtomakeherbodydowhatshewantedittodo.Howharditmustbetohavesolittlecontrol.Gracegrippedthethreadsofcarpet,realizedthatshewasresistinghelpingEmmaKatenotbecauseshedidn’twanttobutbecauseshewasrootingforthismomentoftinytriumphforthelittlepersonbesideher.
EmmaKatesquirmed.Heronesiebunched.Andthen,inslowmotion,EmmaKateflippedontoherstomachandGraceclapped.Unintentionally.ShewasapplaudingEmmaKate,wholookeddisproportionatelypleasedwithherself,andthen—because,whynot—GraceliftedEmmaKateandspunheraroundshouting,“Youdidit!Youdidit!Youarethechampion!”inthatwhisperybabyvoicethatshe’dpreviouslybelievedwasonlymildlylessobnoxiousthanwhenmomsspoketotheirchildreninsyrupytonesatadecibelleveldesignedspecificallytoinviteeavesdropping:Oh,no,Timmy,decorationsaretoenjoywithyoureyesnotwithyourhands!
Gracepressedherhandtoherbaby’sinaminiaturehighfiveand—shedidn’twanttojinxit,butshethoughtthatthetwoofthemhadpossiblysharedwhatsomemightcall(notGrace,Christ)a“moment.”
Withoutfeelingguilty,sheturnedthevolumebackuponFriendsandrelaxedintothesofaagain,thistimewithEmmaKate’schinonhershoulder.
Thedoorbellrang.Gracebouncedherbabyasshepaddedstillbarefootovertothedoorandslidopenthelock.Ontheotherside,DetectivesMartinandDiazstood,wearingmatchingslackfaces,asthoughthosewerealsodepartment-issued.
Ifyouthinkofanythingelse,giveusacall,DetectiveMartinhadsaid.
WellGracehadthoughtofsomething.Shehadthoughtandthoughtandthought.
DetectiveMartinblinked.Ashimmerybluepowdercoatedhereyelids.Brownhairburstlikecottoncandyoutofthebackofherhead.“Yousaidyourememberedsomethingthatcouldberelevant,Mrs.Stanton?”
TranscriptofInterviewofGraceStantonPartI(B)
27-APR
APPEARANCES:
DetectiveMalikaMartin
DetectiveOscarDiaz
PROCEEDINGS
DET.MARTIN:
Mrs.Stanton,youcalledusbecauseyourememberedsomethingthatmayberelevanttoAmesGarrett’sdeath.Canyourepeatfortherecordwhatyoutoldus?
MRS.STANTON:
RightbeforethetimeAmesdied,KatherinecameintomyofficetotellmethatAmeswantedtotalktoher.
DET.MARTIN:
DoyouknowwhatMr.Garrettwantedtospeakwithherabout?
MRS.STANTON:
Notexactly,no.Butsheimpliedthatitwasrelatedtoafallingoutthetwoofthemhadrecentlywhen,asIunderstandit,sherejectedhisadvances.
DET.MARTIN:
You’reawarethatKatherinecontendsthatnosuchadvanceswereevermade.
MRS.STANTON:
She’slying.
DET.MARTIN:
Youbelieveshe’snottellingthetruthandthatAmesGarrettmadesexualadvancestoher.
MRS.STANTON:
Ibelieveshe’slyingtooneofus.Eithershewasn’ttellingthetruthtousbackthenorsheisn’ttellingthetruthtoyounow.Whichdoyoubelieveismorelikely?EspeciallygiventhatAmeswashelpingtopayforherhotelroomatThePrescott.Didshetellyouthat?Notonlythat,butIsawaPrescottkeyinhiswallet.I’mnotsureifitwouldhavestillbeentherewhenhe…whenhedied.Butstill.Itwasthere.
DET.MARTIN:
Whydidn’tyoumentionthisbitofinformationinourinitialconversation?
MRS.STANTON:
Ididn’trememberuntillater.Therewasalothappening.Ihadn’tcollectedmythoughts.Ididshareitwithmylawyer.Recently.Thepart,atleast,aboutAmespayingforKatherine’shotel.
DET.MARTIN:
Sothetiminghasnothingtodowiththefactthat,sinceourinitialmeeting,Katherinesidedwithyouremployer,Truviv,andisprovidingwitnesstestimonyindirectoppositiontoyourandyourcolleagues’claims?
MRS.STANTON:
No,ofcoursenot.
DET.MARTIN:
Grace,doyousmoke?
CHAPTERFORTY-FIVE
27-APR
Sloanerarelycamehometoadarkhouse,oneofthesmallluxuriesofbeingthelastonehome,buttonightthehouselookedspiritless,asifitbelongedtoafamilyonvacation,afewlightsleftglowinginstrategicroomstowardoffburglars.
“Abigail!”sheyelled.
“Uphere,”afaintvoicecalledback.Sloanecouldhearthesoundofatelevision.Shestaredupthroughtheceiling,asifshecouldseeAbigailthroughit.Hermombrainfilledwithalltheuglythingsthatayounggirlmightstarttogetintoiflefttoherowndevices.Forgetbaby-proofing,Sloanewouldliketopreteen-girl-proofherhome.She’dtakeouttherazors,thescissors,anythingsharp,thetoiletbowlsandtrashcans,thegirl’smagazinesandinstantmessengerappsandcellphonesandpillsandliquorbottlesandcameras.
Sloanestrippedoffherblazerandkickedhershoesunderneaththelipofacabinet.
“Theschooldistrictsuperintendentcalledme.”Atthesoundofavoice,shespunaroundtothedarkenedlivingroom,herheartthumpinglikeatrappedrabbit’s.
“Youscaredme,”shetoldDerek.Thesilhouetteofherhusbandblackenedthecouch.Thestreetlightsthatfilteredthroughtheshutterslittheouteredgeofabeerbottlesea-glassgreen.“Hesaidhewasdisappointedtoreceiveourcomplaint.”
“Ineversaid‘we’,”saidSloane,restingherhipagainstthegranitecounter.
“Youknow.”Derekraisedthebeertohismouth.HealwayssoundedmoreSouthernwhenhe’dhadabeerortwo.“Hewishedthatwedidn’tthreatenlitigationandhehopedwewouldchangeourminds.Changeourminds.Ours.”
“Youdidn’tseethetextmessagesthatAbigailwasreceiving.”
“Yes,Idid.”Derekpointedthebottle’sneckather.
“Thereweremore.”
Helaughedandpushedhimselfupoffthesofatopacetherug.“Andyouhidthem?Gee,Sloane,that’ssounlikeyou.”
Shewouldnottakethebait.“Iwantedtokeepyourhandsclean,”shesaid.“Ididn’twanttoinvolveyou.So…Imadeanexecutivedecision.”
“Thisismyjob,Sloane.”Hethumpedhischest.
“Iunderstandthat.”
“Doyou?”Hetwistedonhisheeltofaceher.“BecauseIthinkthatyouthinkjustbecauseyoumakemoremoneythanIdo,thatmakesyoumoreimportanttothisfamily.Theexecutivedecision-maker,right?”
“Idon’tthinkthat.”
“Youmaymakemoremoney,butwebothworkequallyhard.Webothhavefull-timejobs.Youcouldworkotherplaces,Sloane.”Heaimedhisfingerather,tippedhischin.“Youdon’twantto,butyoucould.Therearen’talotofotherschooldistrictsinthistown.”
“They’renotgoingtofireyouandeveniftheydid—”
“Eveniftheydid,what?What,itwouldn’tmatter?”Herakedhishandsoverhisface.He’dputtogethertheswingsetinthebackyardwiththosehands.
“Ofcourseitwouldmatter.I’msorry.LikeIsaid,Iwantedtokeepyououtofit.Theproblemisnotinthesayingofthething,Derek,it’sthatthethingishappeninginthefirstplace.”Whydidnobodyseemtounderstandthis?
“Right,well,IhopethatArdieandGraceknowwhatthey’vegottenintowithyou.”Andthereitwas.Herworstfearlaidbarebyherfavoriteperson.Shewasaterribleambassadorforthecause.Shewasaliability.Shehadtoldherselfthatshemightbeanimperfectenvoyfortheirmessage,butthatshewastheonlyoneavailableandsoshehadtobebetterthannothing.Butnowtherewasalawsuit,acounterlawsuitand,well,maybeevenmore.Maybeevenreal,permanent,life-alteringramificationsforheroroneofherfriends.Andshedidn’tknowhoworwhereanyofthiswouldend.OnlythatithadjustbegunwithAmesdying.Andthewomenwerelefttodealwithit,whateveritwas.Intheend,whatifshewasleftwithnothing?Nothingcouldbeworseforherthannothing.
CHAPTERFORTY-SIX
28-APR
ShelivedinahousethatwouldcauseRosalita’sabuelitatoexclaim,“Butthepropertytaxes!”asifitwerethewasteofexorbitantamountsoftaxdollarsthatkeptRosalita’sfamilyoutoftheseneighborhoods.Rosalita’scar,adisintegratingten-year-oldKia,lookedoutofplaceparkedonthecurbandshewonderedhowlongitwouldtaketheneighborstocallthecopsand,inturn,howlongitmighttakethecopstoarrive,giventhattheyhadnothingtodoinHighlandParkotherthanhandoutspeedingtickets.Rosalitastaredupatthehouse.Charmingwhitebrick.Topiariesclimbingoutofterra-cottapots.Ironlanternsthatframedacherryreddoor.Asweepingcircledrivethatdidn’tevenneedtobeusedbecauseoftheattachedthree-cargarage.
Butthepropertytaxes!
Rosalitasethermouthanddraggedherheavy-bottomedpurseoffthecloth-coveredpassengerseat.Ivorycurtainbacksblockedthewindows.HersneakershadbittenthroughthehemsofRosalita’sjeanssothattheyscrapedthegroundwithdamp,whitethreads.Thechafeofthedenimwastheonlysoundhershoesmadeupthewalk.
Shetriedtoimaginethewomanbehindthecherryreddoor,wholivedintheperfectwhitebrickhousewithplantsthatreceivedmoregroomingthanRosalita’slegs.Probablyshebrushedherteethfirstthinginthemorning,waspurposefullyloudduringsex,worematchingpajamas,andreadhealthfoodarticles.Rosalitadidn’twantthislife,thoughsheunderstoodthisthoughtwaslikecallingtobreakupwithamanwhohadalreadystoppedcallinghermonthsearlier.Ithadneverbeenofferedtoher.
Sheclutchedtheheavyironknocker—aringthroughalion’smouth—andclompeditagainstthedoor.Shewaited,countingquietlyunderherbreath.Sheknockedagain.Whennooneanswered,sheshovedherthumbintothedoorbell,whichhadastretchofScotchtapecoveringit.Thechimereverberatedthroughthehouse.Rosalitacouldhearitfromhereaswellasthefootstepsthatfollowed.Sheglancedupidlyandnoticedapinholecamerafixedtothecornerofthedoor.Rosalitaimaginedtheshapeofherselfreflectedinthefisheyelens,warpedandrounded,theopeningshotofatruecrimeshow.
Andthenthedooropenedandthetwowomenstoodonoppositesidesofthethreshold.
“MynameisRosalitaGuillen.Ineedtotalktoyou.”Sheheldoutanenvelopewithcleanwritingonitsface.
Thewomanhadpinkskincoveredinfreckles.Shehadhairthatlookedasthoughsomeonegnawedonitsends.ShelookedatRosalitaonceand,gentlybutforcefully,snappedthedoorshut.
CHAPTERFORTY-SEVEN
1-MAY
Twonewsvansidledinthefirelaneswithtwodifferentanchorwomenwhowerehookedtocameraandmicrophonecords.EveryfemalenewsanchorSloanehadeverseen,nomatterthecity,lookedlikeshewasfromDallas,buttheDallasnewsanchorswerebyfartheDallas-iestofthemall.Bigsprayed-inhair,pinklips,tailoreddressesinoneoffourjeweltones,pairedwithplatformheelsthatmadethemwalklikebabydeer.SloanehadonceseenasegmentontheTodayshowabouthowtherewasanonlineFacebookgroupwhereanchorwomensharedgooddealsonTV-appropriatedressesand,honestly,nothinghadevermademoresense.
HaditreallybeenlessthantwomonthssinceDesmond’spassing?Thewords“shareholdershatehearing‘nocomment’”stillrangfreshinhermind.
Sloanecovertlyslippedacompactmirrorfromherpurseandcheckedherteeth.Themomentshebeganwalking,thenearestanchor—awomanwithvoluminousblackhair—startedinatanangletocutoffSloane’scourse.
“Sloane?SloaneGlover?”ShepushedthebulbofamicrophoneoutatSloane.“Howdoyouanswerallegationsthatyouandyourco-plaintiffsareresponsiblefordrivingamanovertheedge?”
“Ididn’tpushanyoneoffthesideofabuilding,”Sloaneresponded,astatementwhichshehopedwouldservetobeboththought-provoking—Well,ofcourse,youdidn’t—andsassy.Peoplecouldgetonboardwithsassy.
“Iwasspeakingfiguratively,”saidthereporterunnecessarily.SloanesawdimpledCliffColgateslouchedagainstthesideofthebuilding,takingapuffoutofane-cigarette,whichhethenslidintothepocketofhissatchel.“Mrs.Glover?”Thereporterleanedintoherlineofvision.
Sloane’sattentionsnappedbackandshelookeddirectlyatthereporter,whoreallydidwearentirelytoomuchmascara,andthatmeantsomethingcomingfromSloane.
“Idon’tanswerthem,”Sloanesaid.“Thoseallegationsareadistractionmeanttokeepusfrombeingabletofocusontheoriginalissue,whichwasacompanythatallowedamanlikeAmesGarretttobehavewithalackofdiscretionforyearsuncheckedbecausenofeasibleoptionsforwomenexistedtocomplainoutsideofthelegalsystemwithoutfearofretribution.”
“SoyouthinkTruvivisoutforrevenge?”
Sloaneconsideredthis.“IthinkthissituationhasgottenoutofcontrolandIthinkweneedtoaskourselveswhythatis.”
Cliffwascastinghischin,gesturingforhertoheadinhisdirection.Heworeblack-rimmedglassesandawhitebutton-downwithnotie.Shewonderedifitwaspossibleforsomeonehisageandinhispositiontohaveneveractuallywornatie.Wewereenteringtheageinwhicheverychildhadgrownuponsmartdevicesandwasn’tcasualworkwearinsomewayspart-and-parcelofthesametrend?Sheexcusedherselffromthereporter.
Cliffkickedhisweightfromthebuilding,pocket-sizednotebookinhand.
“Whatnow?”
Hestuffedhishandsintothepocketsofgraychinopants.“Follow-uppiece,”hesaid.“Yourformercolleague,ElizabethMoretti,justcameforwardasthecreatoroftheBADMenList.”
“Shewhat?”
Cliffdrewthegolfpencilfromwhereitwasbalancedonthetopofhisearandjottedsomethingdown.“Don’twritedownmyface.”Shewaggedherfingeratthenotepad.
HegrinnedandwinkedandshewonderedifshewouldeverseesomeonewinkwithoutthinkingofAmes.
“Amagazinewaspreparingapiece.Itwasgoingtoouther.She’sgettingaheadofthestory.Shesuggestedyou.”
Officebuildings:strangelydevoidofplacestositoutside,Sloanewasrealizing.
“So,Iguessit’ssafetosayyoudidn’tknowshe’dmastermindedthespreadsheet?”
Shecuthimalookwithoutsayingaword.
Heliftedhispalms.“Notwritingdownyourface.”Sloanehadn’tfeltthisdizzysinceAbigailfelloffthemonkeybarsatpreschoolandtheschoolsentheranemail—anemailforGod’ssake—toletherknowthatherdaughterwasintheemergencyroom,thedetailsofthebrokenarmand,not,say,aneckinjury,onlycomingonceSloanearrivedatthehospitalandspoketooneoftheverycompetent,patientdoctorsonstaff.
Hermindspun.Onbalance,perhapssheshouldn’thavebeenthatshocked,givenallthathadhappened,allthethingsinthisworldthatmatteredmorethanElizabethMorettistartingaspreadsheet.
Butshemighthavetoldher.
“Caretocomment?”Thepointofhispencil,sharpenedtodrawblood,hoveredattheready.
Whatevershechosetosayinthismomentcertainlywasn’tgoingtobewise.Shetookadeepbreath.“I’llgetonetoyoubyendofday.Ihaveyourcard.”
Thecornersofhismouthsagged,butheflippedthepencilaround,sothatitwasblunt-sidedown.“Fairenough.”Shebegantoleave,toextractherselffromthecircusofwhichshewaseitherringleaderorclown.“IspoketomysourceintheDallasPD,Sloane.”Shewentcadaverouslystill.“Theythinkthey’vegotnewinformationonAmes’sdeath.”
“Ames’ssuicide,”shecorrected.
Clifflookedoutatthestreet.Sunglintedoffhislenses.“Ames’sdeath.Somebodywhoknewsomething,mighthaveseensomething.Someone.Idon’tknow.”
“Who?”
Hescratchedhistemplewithhispencil.“That’sallIgot.”
Sloanehikedherpurse—heavywithbrokencrackers,wetwipes,checkbooks,andtenexpiredcreditcards—furtheruphershoulder.“That’sridiculous.Amesjumpedoffabalcony.Everyoneknowsthat.”
Naturally,thatwasn’ttrue.Notevensheknewit.Itwasjust,DearGod,couldanythingelsegowrong?Andthatwasn’tadare.
Sloanewasagoodpersonwhenitcamedowntoit.Mostly.Andshehadfriends.Lotsofthem.Sheshouldn’tbeinthemiddleofa…ofamurderinvestigation.
Whyhadn’tanyofherfriendsbroughtcasseroles?
“Methinkstheladydothprotesttoomuch.”
“Hamlet,”sheanswered.“You…havethetragedypartright.”
Sloanepushedtherevolvingglassdoor.
“Emailme!”Hecuppedhishandsaroundhismouthtocallafterher.“I’moneofthegoodguys,Sloane.”
Shepushedherweightsothatthedoorslidbackwardandshewasnearlyencasedinthecylinderofglass.“Areyousurethat’snotanoxymoron?”shecalledback.
SloaneslammedherfistintothepadheldbyOksanaandpainfireduphershoulder.Jab,cross,hook,andjab.Shefollowedthepattern,oneaftertheotheraftertheother,windburstingfromherlungs.
Witheverypunch,theimageofAmesflashed.Crimsonseepingfromhishead,splatteringupintotheair,rainingdownonthesidewalk,ariverflowingfromtheshatteredboneinhisleg.
Shepunchedharder,faster.Forgottobreathe.Sweatdampenedthehairsunderneathherponytail.Whatifshewereresponsible?WhatifthiswereallSloane’sdoing?Shehit.Fireupherelbow.Hermusclesburned.Someoneknewsomethingorsawsomething.Orsomeone.ItcouldbeGrace—whyhadGracenevermentionedthatshesmokedcigaretteswithAmesonthatbalconybefore?ItcouldbeArdie—hadArdieliedaboutthetimeshereceivedthepayrollsignatureand,ifso,why?OrKatherine—whathadcausedhertochangeherstorysoabruptly?
Whatwasthisnewinformation?Coulditevenpoint…toher?
OksanacalledtimeandSloanecollapsedinaheap.Shehungherheadbetweenherknees.OksanadrapedacleantowelaroundherneckandSloanedraggeditoverherface.
“‘A’forefforttoday,”saidOksana.
“Iateasandwich.Withthebread.”
OksananudgedSloanewiththetoeofherTruviv-brandedsneaker,pushingherintoaplankposition,whichOksanajoinedbecauseshewasasadomasochist.Oratleast,thatwasprobablythereason.
“Ameswascodedredontheappointmentbook.”Sloanebarelyliftedherheadbecausehertorsowasingravedangerofbeingsplitinhalf.“Noneofthefemaletrainerswouldworkwithhimanymore.”
Whenawetdropploppedontheyogamatbelowher,Sloanedidn’tknowwhetheritwassweatoratear,onlythatitseemedfittingthatshe’dlosttheabilitytotellthedifference.She’dlostcontrolofbasicallyeverythingelseinherlife—hermarriage,herdaughter,herfriends,hercareer.Shewas99percentsurethatshehadbeentryingtodotherightthingwhenshefiledthatlawsuit.Buttherewasthatpeskyremainingpercentagethatmadeherworrythatactuallyshehadjustbeenmeddling.Thatshe’dbeenabored,middle-agedwomanmasqueradingbehindtailored,woolpantsandafancy-soundingtitlesothatnoonesuspectedhowcompletelyboringandmiddle-agedshereallywas.
“You’regoingtobeokay.”
ButSloanedidn’tknowhowmuchstockshecouldputinthewordsofsomeonewhosmelledsostronglyofcoconut-bananatanninglotionatthreeintheafternoon.
Cliff,Hereisyourquote:“ElizabethMorettibelievesinonecentraltenet:knowledgeispower.Shemadeknowledgeavailable.Shesharedherpower.We’realltryingtoprotecteachotherinthewaysweknowhowandthiswashers.”—Sloane
TranscriptofInterviewofGraceStantonPartII
28-APR
APPEARANCES:
DetectiveMalikaMartin
PROCEEDINGS
DET.MARTIN:
Grace,didyouseeAmesGarrettonthedaythathedied?
MRS.STANTON:
Idid,yes.Idid.
DET.MARTIN:
Howdidheseem?
MRS.STANTON:
Heseemedagitated,onedge.Hefeltmisunderstood.Likehehadn’tdoneanythingwrongandhewantedmetounderstandthat.
DET.MARTIN:
Didyou?
MRS.STANTON:
Idon’tknow.
DET.MARTIN:
Whatdoyoumean?
MRS.STANTON:
Ifeltconflicted.Noneofthisstuffisasblack-and-whiteaspeoplewantittobe.I—Idon’tknow.Atthetime,Ifeltangry.IfeltthatAmeshadmisledme.IwantedhimtoknowthatIwasn’tthetypeofwomantoignorebadbehavior.Iwantedhimtofeelremorse.Ididn’tknowthathewasinsuchadarkplace.
DET.MARTIN:
Didsomethinghappenthatyouthinkupsethimfurther?
MRS.STANTON:
Yes.
CHAPTERFORTY-EIGHT
2-MAY
ThenewscamethatTruvivwantedtomeetthenextmorning.Ageneralconsensushadbeenbrewingthatthedepositionshadnotbeengoingwell.GracereceivedthecallfromHelenYehonherwaytowork.“I’mgoingtotellyouwhatIthink,”saidHelenwithoutintroduction.“Ithinkweneedtohearthemout.Findoutwherethey’recomingfrom.Afterthat,wedon’tneedtomakeanyrashdecisions.But,weshould…”
“Listen,”GracefinishedasshetookthePearlStreetexittodowntown.Shestillhadn’tgottenusedtospeakingintoahands-freedevice,sohervoicecameoutatadecibelclosertoayell.
“Exactly.”
Gracecheckedherblindspot.“Havetheylistened?Tous?”
SheturnedontoMain,drivingpastthepark,inthecenterofwhichsatathirty-footstatueofaneyeball—mostnoticeableforitsredcapillariesandstartlingblueirisandthefactthatitwasanimpossiblyhugeeyeball—knownasthe“EyeSore.”
“Ihearyou,Grace,Ido.But,look,myjob,asyourattorney,istoprotectyourinterests.Youallarelawyers,butifyouweredoctors,youwouldn’tperformyourownheartsurgery,okay?”Gracemighthavebeenadoctorwereitnotforalltheblood.Butlookwhereshe’dendedupnow.“IhavetoadviseyoutodowhatIthinkwillbebestforyouinthelongrun.Maybethey’rereadytodropthewholething.Wecanhope.Butyouallareinfreefall.”
SothisiswhatAmesfeltinthoselastfewseconds,Gracethought.
Freefall.
Helenmetthemattheoffice.Twentiethfloor.GraceremindedherselfthatitwasHelen’sjobtotearthemdown,preparethemtoacceptwhateverwasbeingofferedtothemlikestarvingdogs.Itwasaclassicstrategyusedonunsuspectingclientstomakethemfeelasthoughtheirlawyerhadgottenthemagreatdeal.GraceruffledatthethoughtofHelenhavingaquick“chat”onthephonewithCosettebeforethemeeting:IthinkIcantrytosellthemonit.
MaybeGracewasbeingunfair.Maybenot.
ShetookaseatnexttoArdiewhilewhatGracehadcometothinkofasthe“usualgroup”gathered.“Howareyoudoing?”shemurmured.Ardiehadlostatleastsevenpounds,byGrace’sestimation,probablywithoutevennoticing.
“Okay,”Ardiesaid.“I—well,Idon’tknowwhatI’mgoingtotellTony,though.”
“Wedon’tknow—”Gracestarted.
“Please.”
Gracedidn’thaveananswer.ShehadLiam.Shewastheluckyone.Ifshedidn’twanttowork,shedidn’thaveto.LiamhadsaidasmuchthemomentthatEmmaKateslidoutofhernetherregionsheadfirst.Infact,he’dprobablybepleasedtoseeherhome.NomorewashingbottlesforoldLiam!
Momswereonlysupposedtoworkiftheyneededtowork.Graceknewthis.Thatwaswhyshe’dneverletonexactlyhowsecuretheirfinancesreallywere.Iftheygaveupnow,Gracewouldbegivinguphercareerforever.Shecouldseethefuturespinningoutaheadofherasshetwistedthediamondring—newlybackonherfinger—aroundandaroundandaround.
Sloanearrived.
“Thanksforcoming.”AmintbobbedonthebackofCosette’stongue.“We’llkeepthisbrief.Amesisdead.”Shefoldedherhandsonthetable.“WehaveakeywitnessonoursidethathasgoneunderoathstatingthatnotonlydidsheexperiencenosexualharassmentatthehandsofAmesGarrettoranyoneelse,butthatthethreeofyouharboredapersonalvendettaagainstAmes,asortofmobmentalitystemmingfromafailedromancebetweenSloaneandAmesGarrett.”GracepicturedCosettepracticingthisspeechinthemirrorofherhotelbathroom.“Grace’sownwordssupporttheideathathewasagood,capablebossforwhomshewaswillingtovouch.ArdieValdezseeminglydidn’tlikethatshewasn’tpromotedinlinewithhercolleagues.Thetimingofthelawsuit,onthecuspofMr.Garrett’sascensiontoCEO,wasdesignedtoeffectmaximumdamage,topinthecompanytothewall.Noneofthesefactsaregoodforyou.AmesGarrettkilledhimselfbecauseofyourunfoundedaccusationsandactions.”
“Youknowwetakeissuewithliterallyallthoseconclusions,right?”Sloanesaid.
ThiswaswhatfrightenedGracemost:Sloane.Sloanehadn’tbarreledintotheroom.Shehadn’tmadeaflippantremarkaboutrunningfiveminuteslate.Shesatsubdued.Tranquilized.
“Noted.ButTruvivispreparedtofightthisonetothebitterendifneedbe.Theshareholders,havingheardthetestimonyandthefactsofthecase,arereadytobackthisupwithasizeabletrialbudget.Itjustmakesfinancialsense,frankly.Buthere’swhatIcandoforyou.Giveupyourstockoptions.Resign.SettlewithTruvivforfivemilliondollarstocoverthecostoflegalfeesandreputationaldamage.WalkawayfromthisandTruvivwillprovidelettersofrecommendationandsignanondisclosureagreementprohibitinganyoneatthecompanyfromspeakingpoorlyofyoueitherpersonallyorprofessionally.”
“Fivemilliondollars.Youwantustopayyoufivemilliondollars?”Ardiescoffed.“Wheredoyouthinkwewouldcomeupwithfivemilliondollars?”
Gracedidn’tvolunteerthatshecouldcomeupwiththemoney.Ifshehadto.Atleast,hershareofit,perhapseventhewholething,butshe’dhavetogotoherparentsand,well,thatwasn’taparticularlyattractiveoption.Andbesides,itwasthe“resign”partofCosette’spropositionthatmadeherbloodruncold.Andnondisclosureagreementornot,there’dbenokeepingquietthewhos,thewhats,orthewhyswithinthelegalcommunity.
Thediamondringspunandspunandspunaroundherfinger.Shehadbeensostupid.Shewouldbeherownundoing.
“Wecansetupapaymentplan.Ifweneedtonegotiateonthetotalnumberofyearsforpayment,Ithinkthat’ssomethingIcouldprobablyselltotheboard.”Cosettecheckedoverhershoulderatthethick-bodiedman,theboardmemberfromtheindependentreviewcommittee,andhepressedhiseyesclosedandfrowned:Sure,sure,let’sletthemhavethisone
“Thisisvindictive,”saidSloane.“It’sextortionate.”
“No,”Cosettesaid,evenly.Shewasalreadyplacingpapersbackintoherbriefcase.“It’spreventative.Thetermswillbeonthetableuntiltomorrow.AfterwhichTruvivwillplantomoveforwardwithitscaseagainstyou.”
ItwasclearthatifyoucutopenCosetteSharpe’sveins,youwouldfindthemcrustywithfreezerburn.Andreally,whointhisroomwouldn’tliketotry?
TheroomemptiedexceptforGrace’steam.Helensatatthebackendofthetable,hermouthpursed,waiting.
“Thereisaspecialplaceinhellforwomenwhodon’thelpotherwomen.”Sloanegroundherteeth.
“MadeleineAlbright,”saidArdie.
Sloanemovedtostandatthewindowandstareddownthefaceofthebuilding.“Really?IalwaysthoughtitwasjustsomethingTaylorSwiftsaidtoTinaFey.Butstill.”
Butstill.Gracefeltarushofloveandnostalgiaforherfriends.Maybethiswasexactlywhenpeoplefeltrushesofbothloveandnostalgia.Necksintheguillotine,asitwere.
“Youwouldbefreeofthewrongfuldeathsuit.”Thatwasjustthelawsuit,though.It’dhavenobearingoncriminalcharges.However,theopticswouldn’thurt.
WhatifIlovemyjobasmuchasmybaby?WhatifIloveitjustatinybit,atinybitmore?
Sloanespunbackaround.“Fivemilliondollars,Helen.”
Helenwasasmallwoman,abodylikeoneofthosespace-saverbags,vacuum-sealedfromfat.Sheraninsanedistancesontheweekendsforfun.“Iknowthatsoundslikealotofmoney.ButforAmesGarrett,that’sactuallycheap.”AsaleonAmesGarrett’slife.Itwastheirlucky,luckyday.“Ifyouloseawrongfuldeathsuit,you’dbeonthehookforalotmore.Atleast—atleast—threetimesthat.”
“AndKatherine?”Graceasked,tryingtokeephervoiceneutral.Eversinceshe’dspokentothepolice,she’dharboredahopethattheywouldfindKatherinetobeatfaultforAmes’sdeath.Gracefeltwicked,butthatwasthebaretruth.ShewasfurtherfromGodthanshe’deverbeeninherlifeanditwouldn’tbotherheriftheycrucifiedKatherine.ShesupposedonsomeleveltheywerebothJudasnow.
“AsIunderstandit,she’llbegettinga…promotion.I’mnotprivytothedetails.Sorry.”Helentookadeepbreath.“MyfirmsaysIcan’tkeeprepresentingyouoncontingency.I’msorry.YouknowIwantto.Butthiswasn’tevenwhatIinitiallysignedonfor.”GracelookedtoSloaneforsomereaction,butSloane’sfaceshutdown.“Honestly,Iseriouslydoubtthatanyotherhigh-levelemploymentfirmintownisgoingtowanttogrindthroughthisvolumeofworkforfree.”
Noonesaidanything.ItturnedintothelongestsilencethatGracehadpossiblyeverexperiencedwithhertwofriends,whoalsohappenedtobethesmartestandmostcapablewomensheknew.Butintheend,itwasn’taboutintelligenceorcompetence.Itneverhadbeen.Andbecauseofthat,theyweregoingtolose.
CHAPTERFORTY-NINE
2-MAY
Sloanefoundtwovoicemailswaitingforherafterthathorriblemeeting:Thefirst:“ThisisPrincipalClark.Something’shappenedatschoolinvolvingyourdaughter,Abigail.I’mafraidshehitanotherstudent.Weneedyoutocomeinassoonaspossible.”
Thesecond:“Mrs.Glover,we’vebeentryingtocontactyouforanhour.Wereallydoneedyoutocomeinassoonaspossibledueto…theseverityoftheincident.”
Theseverity!Oftheincident!
Thatwastwentyminutesago.
Sloanehadneverbeensenttotheprincipal’sofficeinherlife,notevenforcheatingortalkingbackorsomeothernormalindiscretion.TeacherslovedSloane.She’dbeenVicePresidentofStudentCouncil.She’dmadebuttons,forfuck’ssake.
Abigail,ontheotherhand,hadhitsomeone.Onlyhooliganshitpeople.Grubbykidswithstickylittlejellyhandsanddirtcloggedbeneaththeirfingernails.Otherpeople’skids.
Thethoughtstruckheronthefranticdriveover:Wasitpossiblethatherdaughterhadbeenthebullyallalong?Andthatwaswhyshe’dreceivedthetextmessages?Ohgod,whatifSloanewasoneofthoseawfulparentsthatbelievedtheirchildwasasweetlittleangelbaby,andmeanwhileshewasoutkickingpuppiesandpinchingotherchildrenbehindtheteacher’sback?Oh,shit,oh,shit.
Ofalldays,Abigail,shewouldsaywhenshesawher.Ofalldaysforyoutodothis
Atthedoubledoorsleadingintotheadministrationoffice,Sloanecheckedherreflectioninthetintedglass,shimmyingherskirtintoplaceandpullingherblazertailsdownoverherhipswhenDerekjoggedup,appearingbehindherinthedistortedimage.
“Sloane,”hesaid,breathless.“Jesus,whatthehellisgoingon?”Hishandwasonherbackandshefelthermouthgocrooked.“Sorry,Ihadahellofatimefindingsomeonetowatchmyclass.”
“Iwasinameeting,”sheexplained,withsympathy.“CameassoonasIheard.”
SeeingDerek’sface,itmadeitallworse.Andbetter.
Heshookhisheadindisbelief.“Ourdaughterhitsomeone.”
“Ourdaughterhitsomeone,”sheagreed.
Theyheldhands.Thoughneitherofthemacknowledgedit.Andtheywentintothemeetingapair.
Everyonewaswaitingforthem.ThatwasthefirstthingtheyweretoldwhentheyenteredPrincipalClark’soffice.Everyone’sbeenwaitingforyou!
Thatseemedlikeabitofanexaggeration.TherewasPrincipalClark.AndAbigail’sEnglishteacher,whatwashisname?Mr.Tawley?Tully?Derekwouldknow.Derek,whosehandwasstillgraspinghersfirmly.Andthenanothermother,whosenameSloanehadneverknown.Shewaswearinghospitalscrubswiththenameofaveterinaryclinicembroideredabovetheleftshirtpocket.Aboy,withsweaty,cowlickedhairandUnderArmoursneakersthatcouldblindyou,hunghishead.Driedbloodringedhisrightnostril.AndthentherewasAbigail.Sloane’spulsefalteredatthesightofherdaughtermakingherselfsmallinacornerchair.Freshtearssilentlystreameddownherbeautiful,freckledfaceatthesightofherparents.DerekandSloanegravitatedtoher,flankedher.Thiswastheirdaughter.Theywouldlovehernomatterwhat.Evenifshekilledsomeone.
“AllowmetointroduceyoutoSteveLightner.”PrincipalClarkpresentedtheboylikeatrialexhibit.SteveLightner.Sherecognizedthenamefromthetextmessagesandinstantlyfeltherheartgrowteeth.“AbigailherepunchedSteveinthenose—twice—outsideofherEnglishclass.”
Surely,PrincipalClarkthoughthe’duncoveredthesmokinggun.See,Mrs.Glover,yourdaughterisnotsoinnocentafterall.
DerektouchedAbigail’sshoulder,sogently,asifscaredshemightotherwiseshatter.“Isthistrue?”
Abigailsniffled,butnodded.
“Hewasbleeding,”saidSteve’smother.“Gushingbloodfromhisnose.”Themother’sfacewasgrave.
Sloanepeereddownatherdaughter,atthebonybladesjuttingoutofhershoulderslikestuntedwings.“Why,Abigail?”sheasked,voicepressing.“WhydidyouhitSteve?”
Itallfeltsodire.Asthoughthedeathpenaltywerestillonthetableandeveryone—Sloaneexaggeratedtooapparently—washoldingtheirbreathtoseewhatthejurywoulddecide.
Abigailswallowedandlookedup.“Hekeptmakingfunofmyunderwear.HimandGrady.EverytimeIbentovertogetabookoutofmybag,theywouldshout,‘Grannypanties,grannypanties.’”Hercheekspinked.“AndthenStevewouldkindofnudgethetopofmyunderweareachtimeithappenedandtelleveryonewhatcolorIhadonthatdayandtelleveryonethatIdidn’twearthongs.Iaskedhimtostop,buthekeptdoingitfor,like,threedays.”Evennow,asherdaughterslouched,Sloanecouldseethelittlepeekofunderwearshowingbelowthewaistofherjeanshorts.Purplecotton.“SoIwentandtoldMr.Tully,butMr.Tullytoldmetoignoreitandthatwouldmakehimstop.SoItried,butthenhegrabbedmyunderwearand…”Hergazedropped.“Hegavemeabigwedgie.Ithurt.So,IturnedaroundandI—andI—”Shestartedtotearupagain.“Ipunchedhim.Twice,”shemumbled.
Sloane’seyeswentwide.“Shecametoyou?”ShedirectedthequestionatMr.Tully,who,letitbesaid,wasnotnearlyashandsomeasDerek.Thesepeoplehadcausedhertoquestionherown,sweet,kindchild.Sloanefeltwildwithanger
Mr.Tullyclearedhisthroatandshiftedhisweightonhisfeet.“Weliketodiscouragetattling.Wethinkthekidsworkingitoutamongthemselvesfostersbetterlifeskills.”
“Oh,youdo,doyou?”Sloanefoldedherarms.“Somydaughterwasbeingsexuallyharassedandshecametoyou—theadultincharge—andyourbiglifeskilladvicewastoignoreit?”
“Now,let’snotoverreact.”PrincipalClarkspreadhishandsoutlikehewasgivingthebenediction.Heavenfuckinghelphim.
Mr.Tullyscratchedbehindhisear.“‘Sexuallyharassed’isstrongterminology.Idon’tthinkitwasthatserious.”
“Okay,then.”Sloaneturned.“Let’shearit.Steve,whatlifeskilldidyoulearn?”
Steve’smom—blessherheart—atleasthadthegoodsensetolookembarrassed.“Steve,sheaskedyouaquestion,”saidthemother.
Theboy’smouthfellopen,fishlikeandwordless.
“Derek?”PrincipalClarkliftedhiseyebrows.“Doyouwanttojumpinhere?”
Derekfrownedandtookastepbacktowardthewindow.“No,Ian.I,uh,thinkmywife’sgotthisone.”Herchestswelled.Sheseemedtofeelherheartactuallyinflate.Sloanehadlongagostoppedgivingblowjobsinthenameoffeminism,butshewasreevaluatingthisstance,considering.
“So,whatwouldyousuggestshehavedone?”SloaneaskedPrincipalClarkandMr.Tully.“Aftersheusedherwordstoaskhimtostopandthenwenttothepersoninauthoritywhorefusedtohelpher.Whatwashercourseofactionnext?Because,”shesaid,whennooneofferedasuggestion,“itseemslikeyourpreferredcourseofactionwouldhavebeenforherto,what,takeit?Lethimtouchher?Letaboypushher,grabher,reachintohershortsbecausehethoughtitwasfunny,becausenoonewouldstophim,becausehewantedto?Andnotfightback?HaveIaboutgottheplotofit?”Wildblinking,nostrilsflaring,thankthegoodLordtherewerenocamerasrecordinghernow.ButtherewasDerek,whowouldsurelycommentonitafterward.Only,no,actually,shesawhimwatchingher,followinghereveryword,withsoft,kindDerekeyes.
PrincipalClark.“We’rejusttryingtosaythatviolenceisnevertheanswer.”
“Oh,well,that’sgoodtoknow.Butviolenceagainstlittlegirlsismoreof,what,agrayarea?Mostlyokay?Fine,aslongaswe’reallgoodsportsaboutit?Itseemstomeyou’remistakenaboutwhowasbeingviolentandwhowasactinginself-defense.Abigail,getyourthings,please,”shesnapped,nottakinghereyesoffthetwogrownmenstandingontheothersideoftheroom.
Abigailclimbedoutofthechairandsullenlycollectedherbagandherlunchboxfromunderthechair.
Derekheldthedooropen.
“Don’tevertouchheragain.”ShepointedherfingeratSteve.“Doyouhearme?”
Stevecouldnotbringhimselftolookupfromthosefrighteningtennisshoes.Hiseyesmustbethrobbing.
“Iwon’t,”hegrumbled.
Outside,theparkinglotasphaltwasaTeflonfryingpan,setonhighheat.Sloanewasbreathingheavilylikeshe’djustwonaboxingmatch.Shewalkedinatightcircle,handsonherhips,lettingthethrobbingoftheveininherneckslow.Sheshookoutherarms.“Thenerveofthem,”sheexclaimed,atintervals,untilshewasabletostandstillwithherlittleclumpofafamily,heartstillonfireforthem.
“Areyoumadatme?”Abigailasked,herbackpackatortoiseshelltoolargeandloadedforhertinyframe.Shewasnolongercrying,butherlowerliplookedunsteady.
“No,”Dereksaid.“Nooneisangrywithyou.”Heruffledherblondehair.
“ButIpunchedsomeone,”shetoldthem,asifsheneededtobeclearonthispoint.Sheturnedherhandoverandexaminedherknuckles,whichwereanaggravatedshadeofpink.
“Ithinkyougotthatimpulsefromyourmother,”hesaid.“Andit’sagoodone.Mostly.”Heheldouthishandandsheturnedherheavybagovertoherdad,whoslungiteasilyoverhisshoulder.
Abigailventuredaguiltygrin.“Idon’tthinkhe’lltrythatagain,Dad.”
Dereklaughed.“Ishouldthinknot.”
Withmorecautionthaneverbefore,DerekwrappedhisarmaroundSloane’sshoulderandkissedhertemple.
Shepressedhernoseintohisneck.“Derek.”Hervoicewaslow.“Derek,I’mafraidIhavesomeverybadnews.”
TranscriptofInterviewofKatherineBell
28-APR
APPEARANCES:
DetectiveMalikaMartin
DetectiveOscarDiaz
PROCEEDINGS
Ms.Bell:
Twoofmybrothersarecops.
Det.Diaz:
Great,thenyouknowthedrill.
Ms.Bell:
Notexactly.Notlikethis.
Det.Diaz:
AtleastonepersonhastoldusthatAmesGarretthadrequestedachancetospeakwithyoupriortohisdeath.
Ms.Bell:
Thatsoundsright.Idon’trecallexactly.
Det.Diaz:
Youdidn’tmentionthatyouhadspokentoAmesGarrettminutesbeforehefelloffaneighteenthstorybalcony?
Ms.Bell:
Hemayhaveaskedtospeak,butIdidn’tseehim.
Det.Martin:
Whynot?IthoughtyouandAmesGarrettwereongoodterms?That’sthegistofthestatementsyou’vegiveninthesexualharassmentsuitagainstAmesandTruviv,right?
Ms.Bell:
Wewereongoodterms,yes.
Det.Martin:
So,whynotmeetwithhim?
Ms.Bell:
Icouldn’tfindhim.
Det.Martin:
Youcouldn’tfindhim…So,togetthisstraight,heaskedyoutospeakwithhim,thenwhenyouwenttospeakwithhim,hewasn’tthere.Whywouldhedothat?
Ms.Bell:
Iwaitedabit.Afterheasked.
Det.Martin:
Wereyoustalling?
Ms.Bell:
No,noIwasn’tstalling.
Det.Martin:
Becauseyouwereongoodterms.
Ms.Bell:
No.Imeanyes.Wewere.Idon’tknowwhywedidn’tmeet.Heclearlywasn’tinhisrightmindatthetime.
Det.Martin:
WheredidAmeswanttomeetyou?
Ms.Bell:
I’mnotsure.Idon’tthinkhespecified.
Det.Martin:
Hm.Thatwouldbestrange,wouldn’tit?Didyoufindthatstrange?
Ms.Bell:
Ifigureditwasanoversight.Ithappens.
Det.Martin:
Whatdoyouthinkhewantedtospeakwithyouabout?
Ms.Bell:
Idon’tknow.
Det.Diaz:
Ms.Bell,GraceStantonmentionedthatyouhadafearofheights.Thattrue?
CHAPTERFIFTY
2-MAY
Failurewasaluxurywecouldn’tafford,allchainedtogetheraswewere,ourfateslockeduptight.Oneboxofficeflopfromafemaledirectorandnoonewanted“girl”movies,onestockmarketplungefromacompanywithawomanCEOandwomencouldn’tlead,onefalseaccusationandwewereliars,allofus.Becausewhenwefaileditwasbecauseofourchromosomes,itwasn’tbecauseofamarketdiporanineffectiveadvertisingcampaignorplainbadluck.
Onewrongmove!Asthesayingwent.
Ardielayonhercouch,asmorgasbordoftakeoutcontainersopened,thestinkoffailureallaroundherasshewatchedanoldepisodeofCommunity.“TheLastSupper,”shewascallingit.ThelastnightshecouldaffordUberEatstodeliver,morelike.Thetaxattorneyinherhadn’tbeenabletokeepfromdoingthemath.Oh,howshe’dwantednotto!Shewouldowealittlemorethan$1.6millionaftertomorrow.Evenonafive-yearpaymentplan,theyearlyamountwouldequalfarmorethanherannualsalary.Shehadthreehundredthousanddollarsinsavings,whichwouldalmostcoverthefirstyear’sinstallment.Afterthat,she’dhavetosellthehouse.Thatshouldmakeadentinthesecondyear,butMichaelwouldhatestayinginanapartmentwhenTonyandBrayleehadalovelyhomewithabackyard,asoccergoal,andapool.Itwasonlyamatteroftimeuntilshebecamethechore.Yes,Michael,youhavetogoseeyourmother,Tonywouldsayandhe’dfeellikeagoodpersonforit.
She’dhavetogobacktoalawfirm.Thatwasobvious.Shehatedlawfirmlife,thebillingrequirements,thefacetime.Shewasalreadytoooldforpartnershiptrack.Bythethirdyear,shewouldn’tbeabletopay.She’dfallbehind,oweinterest,theholedeepenedanddeepened.SheignoredthechasmopeningandtookanotherswigofCoca-Cola,fullcalories.
Herphonebuzzedonthetable,underneathafoilhamburgerwrapper.
Oneoftheworstchangesthathadcomewithbeingasingleparentwasphone-ringinganxiety.IfTonyhadrungunexpectedlyduringtheirmarriage,herfirstreactionwouldhavebeentofeelpleasedandalittlespecial.Butnowitwasdifferent.Herfirstinstinctwastoanswerthephone,What’swrong?Nomatterwhocalled.Ifonethingcouldfail,everythingcould.
ButitwasRosalitacalling.Ardiewatchedthephonevibratinginherhand,probablyanaccident.OrmaybeRosalitawascallingtogushmoreaboutSalomon’sacceptance.Ardiedidn’tthinkshewasupforgushingtonight.Butthenthecallendedand,secondslater,itstartedupagain.
“Rosalita?”Shejammedherfingerintothespongyremotebuttonstoturndownthevolume.
“Ardie?MissArdie?”Rosalitasoundedasthoughshe’dbeenjogging.“IneedyoutohelpmefilloutSalomon’sfinancialaidforms.Please.”
“Okay,sure.Icanhelpyou.”Sheregrettedpickingupthephone.Shewasn’tinthemood.“WecanmeetattheBarnes&Noblelaterthisweek.”Shewouldhaveplentyoftimethen.
“No,now.”Rosalita’saccentreadthickoverthephone.“Ineedyoutocomenow.Idon’tunderstandwhathappened.I—thedeadline—Igotconfused.IthoughtIhadmoretime.Idon’tknow.”
Ardiedraggedherhandoverherface.She’dalreadytakenoffherbraandshehadn’tevenhaddessert.WereitnotforthedesperationinRosalita’svoice,shewouldhavesaidno.Ormaybewereitnotforherown,quieterdesperationseepingintothecouchcushions.Sherolledthepaperbagcontainingwarmcookiesandstuffedthemintoherpurse.
“I’llmeetyou,”Ardiesaid.“Sendmeyouraddress.”
CHAPTERFIFTY-ONE
2-MAY
SaintArdie,Tonyhadcalledher.Ithadn’tbeenacompliment.
ArdiearrivedattheapartmentcomplexwhereRosalitalivedandcuttheengine.Shesankintodarknessand,atthesamemoment,aswitchturnedoninsidehertohighalert.Shepressedthepointofakeybetweentwofingers,aself-defensetacticshe’dreadaboutinachainemailthathadbeenpassedbetweendozensofemailaddressesshehadn’trecognized.Itwasthesortofunsubstantiatedadvicethatshefollowedbecauseitfeltmildlyusefulanddisproportionatelyempowering.ShestaredoutthewindshieldatthedistancebetweenhercarandRosalita’sapartment.
Itwasimpossibletorememberatimebeforethisinstinctiveandimmediatefearforoursafetyhadsetin,theneedtoglanceoverourbackswhencrossinganemptyparkinglot,tocheckbeneathourcars,tobristlewhenastrangemanwalkedbehindustooclosely,tostartlewhenhestoppedustoaskthetime.Therealizationthatthisfearwasparticulartouscamelater,that,unliketheboyswithwhomweplayedincul-de-sacswhenwewerelittle,wewouldneveroutgrowthecautionarytales.Therewouldforeverbestrangersofferinguscandy.
ArdielookedbothwaysasshesteppedfromhercarandmadeherwayupthemetalstairsthatRosalitaandSalomonnavigatedeveryday.
ArdieknockedandRosalitaansweredwithastackofpapersandaninstructionsheet,plusaworriedfrownthatagedher.ArdiestillhadonlythevaguestnotionofRosalita’sage.
Asaggingsofatookupathirdofthetiledlivingroom.Itwasspacedtoocloselytoatelevisionset,thesizethatArdieandTonywouldhavegottenridoftenyearsagobecauseitlooked“dated.”Salomonwavedfromthecouch.Itwaslate,buthehadn’tchangedintopajamasyetandstillworehisfavoritecap—ablueMaverickshatwithagreenbrim,anillustratedcowboyhathookedoverthe“M”ofthelogo.Itwastoobigforhisheadandheliftedhischinupslightlytoseethetelevision.
Hehelduphishandandshegavehimahighfive.“Igotthreewrongonthemathportion,”hesaid,buthewasgrinning.“Notfractions,though.”
“IsahighfivereallyallIget?Ihaven’tseenyousincethebignews.Areyousureyoudon’thavesomethingelsetotellme?”
Hepressedhisfingerstohischeeksandpeeredupather.“Igotin.”
“Ofcourseyoudid.”ArdiefeltanachingtendernessthatSalomonwouldn’tneedtutoringanylonger.Hewasasweet,quietkidwitharoundfaceandaloveforillustratedbookslikeDiaryofaWimpyKidandTheWildRobotthatwasclosetoinsatiable.She’daskedhimtowritedownalistofhisfavoritesforhersothatshecouldshareitwithMichaelwhenhewasolderandSalomonhadtakenthetasksoseriouslythathe’dcomebackwithtwopagesofrecommendations,pouredintoneatcolumns.Shekeptitinhernightstand.
RosalitawasmakingimpatientnoisesandArdiereleasedherhandfromtheboy’scap.
“Yousee?”RosalitaledArdieintothekitchenwhereabuilder-gradeironfixturehungoverthebreakfasttable,itsceramictulipsdiffusingthelightfromthebulbsinside.Papersandtornenvelopeslitteredthetabletop.“Idon’tunderstand.”Rosalitaflickedthepapers.“Idon’tunderstandwhattheywantfromme.Ican’tpay.Whatelsedotheyneedtoknow?Salomonhastogototheschool.Ican’tpay.”
FrustrationwaftedoffRosalitaasArdiesurveyedthetaskathand.SheimaginedRosalita’sannoyancewasroughlyequaltoherswhenshe’dtriedtopiecetogetherIKEAfurniture.
“Okay.”Ardiescannedtheinstructionsheet,whichdescribedwhatneededtobeincludedinthenumberedboxes.“Wecandothis.Noproblem.Wecandothis.”Sheturnedovertheform,bitingonherthumbnailforconcentration.“We’llneedyourfederalincometaxreturn,W-2s,someotherIRSforms,andyourmostrecentpaystubs.We’vegotthose?”
Rosalita’shandsshookasshecastaboutovertheloosepapersstrewedacrossthetable.
Ardieflattenedherpalmsoverthetable,leaningin.“Noworries.I’llfindthem.”Salomonhadbeguntossingupaballandcatchingit,tossingitandcatchingit,andArdiecouldtellthatthis,too,waswearingonRosalita’snerves.“Maybeyoucouldmakeusacupoftea?Coffee?”Ardiesuggested.
Rosalitasmoothedthefrizzthathadgatheredathertemples.“I’llmakeboth.”
Freetoriflethroughthepages,Ardiebegansearchingfortheapplicableforms.Sheclearedasquareofspacefortheonessheactuallyneeded.
ShewishedshecouldconveytoRosalitathat,nomatterhowmanyyearsofeducationonehad,everyonefeltlikeanidiotwhenitcametofillingoutgovernmentissuedforms.ButtherewasnowaytosaythiswithoutsoundingpatronizingandsoArdiemadeherselfcomfortableinawoodchairthatwasn’tcomfortableatallandbeganfillingouttherequiredinformationinthetiny,notchedsquaresprovided.
“What’sSalomon’sfather’sname?”Ardiecalledoverhershoulder.
“Nofather.”
Ardieturnedinherchair.“It’simportanttobeaccurate,”shesaidasgentlyasshecould,giventhebiologicalimpossibilityofRosalita’sclaim.Rosalitamadeeyesatherson,whowasthrowingtheballwithlessfrequencyandmakinganobviousattempttooverhear.
“Gowatchyourmovie,Salomon,”Rosalitabarked,herhandsonherhips.Ardiedidn’tscareeasily,butifshewereakid,she’dhavelistened,too.SalomonobeyedhismotherwithareadinessthatMichael,hertinykingofdistraction,hadyettoemulateandwenttositonthecouch.Thetelevisionblared.
Rosalitasetateakettleontheelectricstove.“Salomon’sfatherisdead,”shesaidquietly.
“Oh,I’msosorry.Ihadnoidea.”
Rosalitarolledhereyes.“Salomondidn’tknowhim.ButIthought…Ithoughtmaybehe’dpayforthisschool.SometimeshewouldhelpifIasked.Hereandthere.Notmuch.But.”Sheshrugged.
Ardieturnedbacktostudytheforms.“There’saboxtocheckfordeceased,butitlooksliketheystillwantaname.”Ardiehadslippedtheheelsofhershoesoffunderthetable.
Rosalita’seyebrowsfoldedinwardandshepulledadishragbetweenherhands.“Hewasn’tincludedonthebirthcertificate.Hedidn’tleaveSalomonasinglething.WhyshouldIhaveto?”
Ardieheldupherhand,sensingtheroadblockupahead.“Okay,okay.Fairenough.We’llleavethatblankandhopeforthebest.”
Shewadedthroughthepapertrailofsomeoneelse’slifeandtriedtocorralitintoorder.Shepulledthepaystubsandsetthelastthreeoutinchronologicalorder.Shereadtheamountslistedinthelittlewhiteboxattheright.Andthenreadthemagain.
“Rosalita.”Shebeckonedwithoutturning.“Yourmostrecentpaycheckislessthanhalftheamountyouwerepreviouslybeingpaid.Look.”Shepressedherfingerbelowthenumber.
“No,it’sokay.”
Ardieturnedthestubbackwardandforward.“Whywouldyourpayhavedroppedthatmuch?”Shetiltedherhead,puzzled.“Didtheycutyourhours?Isthiswhatyou’remakinggoingforwardorwhatyouweremakingbefore?”
“Imakethatforfuturenow,Ithink.It’sokay,”Rosalitasaidagain,briskly,thenreturnedtotheteakettle,whichwasbeginningtowhistle.
“No.”Ardiebitthebackofherpenandpushedherselfoutofthechair.“Thishastobeanerror.There’stoomuchofadiscrepancy.I’lltalktoaccountingforyou,orHR.Thisisridiculous.”
“No.It’sfine.”Rosalitaslungthedishtoweloverhershoulderandremovedawhitemugfromanuppercabinet.“Thisisjusthowmuchitis.”
“Rosalita,thisisserious.Youcan’tliveon—”
Rosalitapushedtheunfilledmugbackontothecounter.“You’rearichperson.Youdon’tknowwhatIcanliveon.Youhavenoidea.Salomon—stopplayingwiththatballinside!”shesnapped.
“Ididn’tmean—”Ardieextractedherhandsfromthetableinsurrender,thenturnedinherchairtowatchRosalita.“Ididn’tmeananythingbyit.”Ardiesankbackintothechair.“We’llhavemoreincommonthanyouthinkaftertomorrow.Rich?Notsomuch.”Shegaveaweaksmile.
Rosalitalaughed,abitunkindly,Ardiethought,butthatwasfine,shecouldunderstandwhy.Ardiehadalawdegree,assets.
Ardiepulledoutthecookies,slightlybrokeninherpurse,andsetthemouttosharewithRosalita,whowouldn’ttakeoneatfirst.“Didyouknowwesued,um,thatwefiledalawsuit,”Ardiesearchedfortheword,“demandajudicialagainstTruviv,thecompany.”
Rosalita’slipstightened.“Iknowsomethingofit,yes.I…seethings.Why?”
“AgainstAmesGarrett,too.Thatmanwhodied.Offthebuilding.Sexualharassment.Hewasn’ttreatingwomenintheofficewell.Itwasn’trightandwedecidedwehadtodosomethingaboutit.”Sheloweredhervoiceandcrookedherarminaparodyofthemselves.Dosomethingaboutit!They’ddonesomethingallright.“Asyoucanprobablyguess,itwasn’tagreatidea.”Didshebelievethat?Inhindsight,ithadbeenaterribleidea.Butatthetime,withthesameinformation,shedidthinkthey’dbeentryingtodotherightthing.WithouttheBADMenList,withoutAmesdying,withouteitheroneofthosetwothings,maybeitwouldhaveturnedoutdifferently.
Rosalitacametothetable,pulledoutachair,andselectedoneofthecookies.Acrumbfellintoherlap.“Isawhiminhisofficewiththat…shorthair.”Rosalitamimed.“Katherine.”
Ardiesnuffedoutabreathandshookherhead.Tofindthisoutnow,awitness.Diditmakeherfeelmoreorlesscrazy?“Katherinehaschangedhertune.”Sheliftedhereyebrowsandtookabiteofthecookie.“SaidthatnothingeverhappenedbetweenherandAmes.We’regoingtolose.Thecompany’stakingeverything.Iwon’tevenworkatTruvivaftertomorrow.”Shesmiled,justnowfullyrealizingthis.“Butyouhavemycellnumber.You’llbeabletoreachme.”
“No.”Rosalita’sforeheadfolded.Sheshookherhead.“No,that’snotright.How…howwouldtheydothatto…toyou?”Shegesturedbig,spirited.“Salomon!”Rosalitabarked.BothwomenlookedatSalomon,whowastossinghisballagainstthepopcornceiling.Hetossedtheballanditslippedawayfromhim,deflectingoffhisfingers.Helungedtogetitandthetoo-largecapdroppedfromhishead.
CHAPTERFIFTY-TWO
2-MAY
Allthistime.ThiswastheextentofArdie’sthoughtsforthosefirstfewminutes,thesilenceringinginherearsresidualfromthesoundofhercardoorslammingclosedinthedark.
Ardiekepttheseatinhercarheatedbecauseitsoothedherlowerback,buttonight,thewarmerleftathinlayerofslime,thefabricofaPinkFloydT-shirtstickingtoherasshedrove.Itwasten-thirtyandsheconsideredwhethertocallSloaneorGraceorboth.
Eightyears.
IthadbeenafterSloane,even.Thedetailshardlymattered.Once,twice,threetimes,morethananyonecouldcount?Theywerealljustspokesonawheel.
Ardierolleddownherwindowandflickedherfoboverthekeypadsothatthemetalarmlifted.HerblackLexustiltedonitsaxis,climbedtheTruvivparkinggarageandslidbetweentwoyellowlinesonthesecondfloor.Shehitthe“lock”buttonandthehornblaredtwice,echoingagainsttheconcretepillars.Onceinthegarageelevators,nosoundtrackplayedandshefelttheeerinessofbeingscrapedalongtheedgesofacementshaftinsideacoffinboxattachedtoamanufacturedpulley.Shewavedtothesecurityguardonduty,crossedthelobby,androdetheelevatorinthenextbankup.
Theindustrialair-conditioningunithummedthroughthevacanthalls.Aroundthecorner,ayoung,whitewomanwithanemicallybrownhairpokedherheadaroundacleaningcartandrelaxedwhenshesawthattheintruderwasArdie.
Likeakidonapooldeck,Ardiehadtowillherselfnottojog.Thespiritofanticipationproddedherfaster.Thechanceforvindication—astrongwordmaybe,butonethatwasnearlywithinreach.
Whenshewasinlawschool,Ardiehadwantedtoinvestigatewhite-collarcrimeandpracticeforensictaxanalysisbecauseithadsoundedglamorousinthewayfewjobsactuallywere.Butamonthafterheron-campusinterviews,she’dbeenofferedajobatalawfirmthatpaidalmosttwohundredthousanddollarsayear.Attwenty-five,shereasonedshecouldgoontopracticecriminallawaftershe’dpaidoffherstudentloans.Andthis,shelearned,wasprobablythewaymostcareerdreamsperished.
Ardieusedherkeycardtoaccesstheroominwhichthepersonnelfileswerestored.Theideathatshecouldparsethroughtheenormousvolumeofinformationcontainedinthisroomandfindnothinghollowedherassheflippedthelightswitchandlockedthedoorbehindher.
Beigefiledrawerslinedbothsidesofthelong,narrowroom.Beamsoffluorescentlightsturnedtheairantiseptic.Inhere,shemightneverknowthetimeofday.Hercellphonedidn’tevenhaveservice.
Thepersonnelfileswerearrangedbydepartment.Cleaningstaffhadaplaceinthebackthird,ontheright.Alphabetized.Neatlyarrangedforeasyreference.Itwasgoodhousekeeping.Theywereapubliccompany,afterall.
ItwasexactlythetypeofmeticulousanalysisthatmadeArdieadamngoodattorney.(Mirror,mirroronthewall,whohasthemostboringsuperpowerofthemall?)Butitwasausefuloneand,anhourintohersearch,herfingertipsweredryfromriflingthroughpaystubsandW-2s.Herbackslidagainstthealuminumfilecabinetasshesankontothefloor,thetypedandsignedconfirmationofwhatshealreadyknewclutchedinhand.Ardieunderstoodnowwhyshehadn’tcalledSloaneorGrace.Itwasn’therstorytotell.
ButArdiedidhaveastoryandhershadgonelikethis:
Apianistplayedmoviescoresinthecornerofthehotelbar.Afewminutesago,she’dputafive-dollarbillinthejarandaskedhimtoplaythethemefromJurassicPark.“Anotherround?”Ameshadasked,slidingthecompanycreditcardovertothebartender.Theyweredrinkingexpensivechampagne.They’dclosedanexpensivedeal.Tomorrow,shewouldhaveaheadachethatcostmorethanherhandbag.“I’llberightback.IneedtocallDan,”shesaid.“Ordermethesame.”Sheexcusedherselftothelobby,whereacanopyofivygrewoverhead.Shecalledherboyfriend.“Yousounddrunk,”hesaid.“That’sbecauseIam.”Herheadfeltpleasantlyheavy,thetipofhernoseandhercheekshadbeguntogonumb.“Goodnews:Ihavemylifeback.”Themomentthedealhadbeensigned,shefeltherbodyinstantlylighten,asthoughshe’djustfinishedajuicefastinsteadoftwomonthsofeatingtakeoutThaifoodfromaStyrofoamcontainerintheconferenceroom.“I’llbelieveitwhenIseeit.”Danlaughed.HewasaseriousyounganalystatDeloitteandArdiehadrecentlybeenwonderingatwhatpointshewouldknowifhewasTheOne.“It’strue,”sheinsistedinthepetulantmannerofsomeonetoomanydrinksintobeconvincing.“I’manewwoman.”“Congratulations,”hesaid.“Enjoyyourself.I’llseeyoutomorrow,orwhoeverthisnewwomanisthatI’mdating.”Shereturnedtothebarandpickedupthechampagneflute,thebubblesstillspinningtheirwaytothesurface.“Drinkup,”hesaid.“ThenI’llwalkyoutoyourroom.”CHAPTERFIFTY-THREE
3-MAY
Wehadlongseentheproblemattheheartofitall:beingawomanatworkwasahandicapthatwe’dbeentryingtomakeupforbyerasingourfemininityinjusttherightways.WepretendedtoagreethataninterestinmakeupandromancenovelsandRealHousewiveswasanymoreempty-headedthananobsessionwithsportsandcraftbeerandvideogames.WejoinedFantasyFootballleagues.Wepolicedourselvesintoremovingverbalupticksfromoursentencesanderasingtheword“like”sothatwecouldsoundmore“professional,”whenwhatwewerereallytryingtodowassoundmoremale.Sincesexualharassmentwasathingthathappenedtowomen,believeitornot,wedidn’twanttoadmitthatwehadbeenharassed.Itwouldbeadmittingthatwewerewomeninawaythatmattered.Soourinsistenceonspeakingupatlastoughttohavebeenaclueofwhatwastocome.Weweregoingtostartmattering.
Likewise,thefactthatSloanewasn’tapuddleshouldhavebeenaclue,too.Itwas,attheveryleast,agoddamnmiracle.Shewaswaitingforsomeoneinthisroomtoremark:Sloane,youaresostoicalHowdoyoudoit?And,oh,bytheway,canIgetthenumberforyourhairstylist?
Butinstead,everyonebesidesherandGracelookedliketheirstomachswereupset.SheconsideredofferingthemPepto-Bismoljusttobecheeky,but,well,sheprobablyshouldn’t.
Theyoccupiedthetwentiethfloorconferenceroom,theImportantOne,asSloanethoughtofitbecausethiswaswhereshe’ddoneherlegalliabilitypresentationsforDesmondandtheboard.Sheherselfhadbecomealegalliability,sherealized.Shewouldhavemadethepresentations.Lifewasfunnythatway.
PuffyleatherrollingchairscircledtheslickmahoganyovalaroundwhichCosette,hertwohenchmen(whomSloanehadnamedPeggyandBradwithouthavingeveractuallylearnedtheirnames),astaunchlyspectacledmemberoftheindependentreviewcommittee,AlRunkin,HelenYeh,andGracesat.Fromthecorner,anenviablefiddleleaffigfannedimpressivelylargeleavesfromitstrunkandprobablyretailedforfivehundreddollars,afactwhichSloanehadlearnedthehardwaywhenshekilledtwooftheminherownlivingroom.
CosettemadeabigshowofcheckingthetimeonherRolex,asifthatwerethewayanyonereallycheckedthetime.SloanefiguredtheRolexwasprobablylikepurchasingaboat.Onceyouboughtit,youwererequiredtologthenumberoftimesyouusedittojustifythecost.“HaveyouheardfromArdie?”sheasked,liketheywerewaitingforoneoftheirfriendstoarriveforbrunch.Amimosamightbenice.
“I’msureshe’llbeheresoon.”SloanedrummedherfingersonthecountertopwhileasilencethatthreatenedSloane’sconversationalimpulsesstretched.
Tooccupyherself,SloanewonderedatCosette.Sillythings,likewhethershewasthesortnevertohavedirtydishesinhersink.(Probably.)HerapartmentinNewYorkpresumablywasfeng-shui-ed,acopyofMarieKondo’sTheLife-ChangingMagicofTidyingUphalf-readonherpristinenightstand,asthoughthereasonherhomewasinsuchimmaculate,anallyretentiveorderwerethatshewasenlightenedandnot,say,becauseshebilledtwenty-fivehundredhoursayear.
Cosettegaveaperfunctorydouble-tapofthediamond-rimmedwatchface.“Maybeweshouldgoaheadandgetstartedonthehousekeepingpartsoftoday’smeeting.”Shepushedthreesetsofdocumentsover.OneforSloane,oneforGrace,oneforArdie.“We’vegoneaheadandputtogetherthesettlementpapers.I’veusedyellowtabstomarkwhereyouneedtosign.Wewantedtomakethisaspain-freeaspossible.”Herlipsprunedassheleanedacrossthetable.
“Howconsiderateofyou,”Gracesaid,hertoneminty-cool.
Cosette,blessher,crumpledherfaceinanappreciativenod,apparentlytakingitasanactualfuckingcompliment.
Sloanehadreadsomewherethatitwouldbeimpossibletokillsomeonewithathousandpapercuts,despitetheoldsaying,“Deathbyathousandpapercuts,”butthatamillionmightactuallydothetrick.Sheprobablyshouldn’tthinkaboutthatsortofthingafterallthathadhappened.
“Thethingis,Cosette,”Sloanestarted,“youcouldhavejustofferedtoletusdropthelawsuit.Wemighthaveconsideredthat.”
“Sloane,Iwish.”Cosetteclickedopenherpen.“Givenourhistory.Buttheboardfeltverystrongly—andIagreed,tobehonest—thatweneededtosetaprecedent.Todiscouragefrivolouslawsuits.”
“Right.Precedent.”GracefrownedatSloane,shrugged.“Makessense.”Inanotherroom,GraceandCosettemighthavepassedassisters.
Sloanewonderedhowcocksure—wehatedthatword—onehadtobenottowonderwhythetwowomenwhowerepreparingtoforkoveragut-churningsumofcash,alongwithalltheirstockoptionsandtheirjobs,didn’thaveaneyelashoutofplace.
AndthenArdiepushedthedoor.Sheheldherbackagainstit.“Sorrywe’relate.”
CosetteglancedupanddidadoubletakeasRosalitaandherson,Salomon,enteredaheadofArdie.“Excuseme.”Shetappedthetable.“Thisisaprivatemeeting.We’relive,here.Cleaninglater,please.”Cosettelickedherfingerandflippedapageonthedocumentsbeforeher.
“Hello,Ms.Sharpe.”Rosalitacametoastopinfrontoftheconferencetable.“Myname’sRosalitaGuillen.Myson,Salomon,willwaitinthehallwhilewetalk.Salomon,come,come,manners,please.Takeoffyourhatwhenyoucomeinside.”
Theboyremovedhishat.“Nicetomeetyou,”hemurmured,staringatthefloor,earsturningred,whiletheroomturnedinonhim.
Itwaslikeaninvisibleatomicbombhadgoneoff—silent,foreboding,billowing—swellingouttotransformthefacesofeveryoneinthefalloutradius.Thesilverylineshonelikelightningthroughtheboy’sdarkhair.
Evenhavingexpectedtheexplosion,ittookSloane’sbreathaway.
“Cosette,”SloanestartedasArdiehelpedtousherSalomonfromtheroom,“thetruthisweneverwouldhaveuncoveredourfriend’sstoryifitweren’tforyou.”
Cosette’slipsparted,teethwhiteasashark’s.
Sloanewassurprisedtofindthatshedidn’tfeelthejoltoftriumphthatshe’dbeenexpecting.Mostly,Sloanefeltatiredmelancholyworseninginherbones.ItwaslikedeclaringyourfavoritewarwasWorldWarIwhenwhatyoumeantwasthatWorldWarIwastheoneyoufoundmostfascinating.Nooneactuallyhadafavoritewar.Soyes,itwasthatwaywithRosalita.Itwasaninabilitytostopstaringatthewomanshehadlookedoversomanytimes.(ThoughSloanehadbeennicetoheratMichael’sbirthdayparty.Everyonehadtogiveherthatmuch.)
And,ofcourse,thishadhappenedtoRosalitainAmes’sownoffice,withitshulkingdeskandthatnavyleatherchair.Ifshethoughtaboutittoolong,shesworeshewantedtokillAmes.But,well.
RosalitapushedaslimfolderofdocumentsovertoCosette,whosemouthhadconvertedintoapin.“IcametodaybecauseAmesGarrettassaultedmeinthisofficebuildingeightyearsago.HetoldmeheknewIwantedit.Ididn’t.Ineverdid.”SloaneimaginedwhatitmustbelikeforRosalitatoaddressthisroom,toaddressthesepeople—amemberoftheboardofdirectors,NewYorklawyers,anHRofficer—andnotonlytoaddressthem,buttosaythesewordsinthisorder.AmesGarrettassaultedher.
ButRosalitashowednosignsofdistress.Sheseemedperfectlycollected.Thewomanhadmoxie.Thenagain,RosalitahadalreadysaidasmuchtoDesmondBankole,theCEOofaFortune500company,allthoseyearsago.She’dhadpractice.Unliketherestofthem.
“AmesGarrettwasSalomon’sfather,”explainedRosalita.
Ardieleanedin.“AreyoufamiliarwithWaardenburgsyndrome?It’sahereditarysyndrome.Relativelyharmless,thoughitcancausediscolorationintheforelockandsomehearingloss.Ames,asI’msuremostofyouareaware,hadWaardenburgsyndrome.”
“So,Ms.GuillencouldhavehadaconsensualrelationshipwithMr.Garrett.”Shelookedaroundtheroomtoshowhowcompletelyobviousthiswas.ButifCosettewastreadingwaternow,noonecamethroughwithalifepreserver.
“AconsensualrelationshipforwhichTruvivpaidhermorethantwiceherpreviousincome?”Graceasked.“AconsensualrelationshipthatcausedDesmondBankoletopersonallysignoffonasinglecleaningstaffmembertoreceiveanunheardofspikeinpayfollowingtheassault?Idon’tbelievethatCEOsareusuallyinthebusinessofreviewingcleaningstaffpay,doyou?”
SloanehadbeensadtohearaboutDesmond.She’dexpectedmorefromhim.
“Nottomention,”Ardiepressed,“thatifyoureviewthecompany’shistorysurroundingthetimeatwhichtheincreaseinpayoccurredandthetimeatwhichSalomon,”sheloweredhervoice,“wouldhavebeenconceived,TruvivwouldhavebeenattheprecipiceofclosingontheRunDynamicsacquisition,aprocesswhichAmesGarretthimselfwasleadingatthetimeandwhich,asprojected,hasbeenastronomicallylucrativeforTruviv.”
Rosalitaintertwinedherfingersandrolledherchaircloser.“Ilovemysonvery,verymuch.”Shesearchedeachofthefaces.“That’swhyIhavenotsaidanythinguntilnow.UntilArdie.”Theysharedalook.“UntilArdieandIspokeandIdecided—Idecided—thatIwanttocomeforwardtotellmypartofthisstory.IletthemspeakbecauseofmyEnglish.ButIamherebecauseIknowwhatmatters.AndIknowwhat’sright.Andwhatyouaredoing,it’snotright,Ms.Sharpe.”
Sloane’sthroatfeltsuddenlyswollen.IfAmeshadsoughttoputRosalitainherplace,he’dfailed.
Cosettelookedasthoughshewerewaginganinternalbattleindecidingwhethersheshouldsaywhatshewantedtosaynext.“Becauseyouwanttogetpaid,”shespatout.
EvenAlRunkintwitched.
“Yes,itwouldbenicetogetpaid.Sure.Buttheyaretellingthetruth.Icannotletthemlosetheirjobsandmoneyandeverythingbecausetheytellatruththatisalsomytruth.”Rosalitapushedafistintoherheart.Sloane’seyeswatered,goddammit.
Sloanepushedthesmallpileofpapersbackacrossthetable.“So,whilewedoappreciatetheextratimeyouputinflaggingwhereweneededtosign,we’regoingtogoaheadandnot.Thepresshasalreadybeencontacted.Incaseyouhadanyideasabout—Idon’tknow—goingontheoffenseagain.”
ThewomanwhomSloanehadnamedPeggychosethismomenttospeakup.“You’reunderconfidentialityagreementswiththecompany.”SheglancedsidewaysatCosetteforapproval.“You’renotallowedtosayanything.You’dbeinmaterialbreach.”
“That’sright,”Cosetteaddedhastily.“Youare.”
Rosalitaraisedherhandfromthetable.“I’mnot.”
RosalitahadmadethecalltoCliffColgatefirstthingthismorning.Itwastheirturntotakecontrolofthenarrativeandthis—Rosalita—wouldchangeit.Plus,Sloanethought,itwouldbeaprettynicescoopforCliff,too.(You’rewelcome.)He’dpromisedtohandlethearticletastefullyandwithdiscretionand,asaresult,they’dhavetoputtheirfaithinhimthathereallywas,ashe’dclaimed,oneofthegoodguys.
“Right,well,we’llleaveyoutoit,”Gracesaid.
Sloaneshookherheadsolemnly.“SoundslikearealPRnightmare.”
TherewasabsolutelynoworldinwhichCosettewasnotclencheddowntohertonedrearend.“We’llofcourseadviseTruvivabouthowbesttoapproachthispublicly.They’reingoodhands.”
Sloanepaused.“Imeantforyourfirm…andforyou.Womeninlawhavetosticktogether,”shesaid.“Thanksfortheadvice.”
CHAPTERFIFTY-FOUR
Twopinklines.Rosalitahadsatonthetoilet,pantsstillaroundheranklesasshe’dwatchedthesecondlinesteadilydarkenuntiltherewasnomistakingwhatthetesthaddecided:shewaspregnant.
She’dhadascareoncebeforewhenshe’dphonedherthen-boyfriendandtoldhimherperiodwaslate.Shethoughtsheknew,inthebackofhermind,thatshewasn’treallypregnantevenbeforeshe’dheldthetestuptothelight,squintingtoseeiftherewaseventhefaintesthintofalineformingalongthegrayishindentionprintedintothewhitestrip.She’dwantedtoseeherboyfriend’sreactionand,foracoupleofdays,ithadallbeenverymatureandromantic,playingattheideaofafamilywithhim.
Now,therewasnoneedtosquint.
She’dplacedthetestintoaplasticbagandzippedittight,beadsofurineclingingtotheclearsides.RosalitawasCatholic,butthatwasn’ttheonlyreasonshewouldn’tgetanabortion.Overthenextninemonths,thebaby’sfatherwouldbehauntedbythesightofhergrowingbelly,ofherfatswollenbody,ballooningandforcingitselfoutintotheworld.Withoutawordfromher,he’drememberexactlywhathehaddone.
Beforethatnight,he’dbeenthemanwithsilkties,theoddwhitestreakinhishairlikeaskunk,thefadingbluetattoomostlyobscuredbythick,masculinearmhairandtherestbyhisrolledshirtsleeve,emptycigarettecartonsinhistrashcan.Beforethatnight,shehaddislikedbeinginvisible,hatedthewaymenlikehimlookedstraightthroughherasthoughitwereamachineandnotapersonthatwasdustingtheblindsandemptyingtrashcans.Afterthatnight,shewouldneverfeelinvisibleenoughagain.Shewouldcravetheabilitytogounseen.Butshe’dalwaysfeelnaked.
Hehadbeenworkinglate,nightafternight,somanyofthemstrungtogetherthatitfeltasthoughsheandthemanwereworkingthesameschedule.Hetookpowernapsonacouchinhisoffice,whichhadquietlyimpressedRosalita.Acouchintheoffice!
Theword“acquisition”wastossedbackandforthandsheoncethoughtshe’dheard“billion”witha“B”anddidn’tknowhowanyonecouldsleepatall,evenonanofficesofa,ifhewasinchargeofsomethingthatcostoverabilliondollars.
Atfirst,shehadlikedthecompanionshipeveniftheyneveractuallyspoke.Thehoursstretchedandthenumberofupstairsattorneyswhohurriedbackandforthfromtheprinterandshovedsushiintotheirmouthsovertheirkeyboardsdwindleduntileacheveninghemanagedtobethelast.Thiswentonfortendays,maybemore.Once,hedidregisterherandhadliftedhisheadtosay,“How’sitgoing,”inagruffvoicethatdidn’tinvitemorethanamumbledresponse.Onanotheroccasion,shewatchedhimstandinginfrontofthefloor-to-ceilingwindow,staringoutintothebottomlesspitofnight,wherebuildingspressedtheirjaggedteethintothenavysky.Juststandingthere.Staring.
Thenightthatithappened,voicescarriedintheemptyhalls.Iftherewasabuildup,Rosalitadidn’thearit.Toher,itsoundedlikeastereoswitchedon,thevolumetooloudsothatitcrashedintothenervesandmadethelistenerrushtodialbacktheknob.Rosalitakeptherheaddownandworkedthroughtherowofoffices,hercleaningpartnersomewhereoffontheothersideofthefloor.
Thefactthatshewaseavesdroppingcouldn’tbedenied,butthatwasprimarilyafunctionofherhavingears.Shecouldn’tmissthesoundofthetwomenarguinganymorethanshecouldhavemissedthesoundofbarkingdogsatnight.Inanyevent,sheunderstoodlittleofwhatwasbeingsaidbetweenthemanandtheotherman,whomshegatheredwasthefirstman’s—herman’s(asshehadcometothinkofhim)—boss.Shewouldhaveforgottenitaltogether,ifnotbymorningthenmaybeinaweekortwo.Shefeltsorryforthemanwho’dbeenworkingsomanyhoursonlytobeyelledatbyhisboss.Maybethatwastheproblem—herimpulsetofeelsorryforhim.Becauseshewouldalwayswonderwhatthemansawonherfacethatnightandsheguesseditwaspity.Whatinhereyeshadbeenintendedasbenignsympathy,inhishadalreadymetastasizedintosomethingmean.Shesupposedthatwasbecausetherewasalreadymeannessinsidehim,swimminginhisbloodlikecancercellswaitingtoglomontosomething.Hehadanunderlyingcondition.Wherewouldithavegoneifhehadn’tnoticedherseeinghim?Ifhehadn’talreadyfeltthehumiliationboilinginsidehimandactedonthatfatefulimpulsetomakehishumiliationhersinstead.
Ifatreefallsintheforestandnoone’stheretohearit…
Or,That’sthemillion-dollarquestion!
She’dheardthosephrasesonTV.
ThebosshadbeengonefifteenminutesorsowhenRosalitaenteredtheoffice,herheaddown.Shewouldleavetheofficefifteenminuteslater,havinglearnedthedifferencebetweenbeinginvisibleandfeelinginvisible.She’dhaveawhitescratchpuckeringalongherforearm,transformingitselftored.Itwouldtakeanotherninemonthsforthescratchtoscar,havingfounditswaytothesoftbitofskinbetweenherhips.
Betweenthosetwopointsintime,shewouldfinallymemorizethenameonthesilverplateinfrontofhisoffice.Shewouldcallafreelawyerthatshelearnedaboutonahotline,becauseRosalitawasnotthewomanthathehadbankedonherbeing.ShewouldmeetwiththeCEOofthecompany.Shewouldbetoldthattheman—herman—wasinchargeofacriticalacquisitionstrategyforthecompany,thatitwouldbeherwordagainsthis,thatthestockholderswouldpushbackhard.Shewouldbegivenachoice,whichwouldbemorethanshe’dbeengivenbefore
Thewrongplaceatthewrongtime!
Anotherphrase.
Eightyearslater,shewouldwanttheman’smoneymorethanshewouldwanthimdead.Hewouldwindupdeadanyway.Shewouldshowuptohiswife’sdoor,somethingthatshehadneverdonebefore,nomatterhowmanytimesshe’dbeentempted.Shewouldhaveadoorclosedinherface,tellinghertogoawayandbequiet.Andoneofthosethingsshewoulddo.
CHAPTERFIFTY-FIVE
3-MAY
“Hi,Katherine.”Ardiehoveredinthedoor,herhandsstuffedintoherroomypockets.
Katherinestaredatherfrombehindthemakeshiftofficeonthetwentiethfloor.Aprivateofficeontheupperlevel.Movingonup,Ardiethought,glancingaroundatthetwowallsandthepaneofglass,blindsdrawn,behindher.
“Hello.”
ArdietriedtoimaginemeetingKatherineinanothercontext.Inaninterview,perhaps.Whatwouldshehavethoughtofherthen?Wouldshehavehiredher?Shefounditimpossibletosay.Toomuchhadhappenedinthein-between.
“Ijustwantedtoletyouknowthatwedidn’tacceptthesettlementoffer.”Noinflection.Justthefacts.Likeanunbiasednewssource,ifthoseexistedanymore.
ThetipofKatherine’stongueslippedontoherupperlip.“Doyouthinkthat’swi—”
“Therewasashiftinthecase,”sheinterrupted.“Ithinkit’ssafetosaythatwe’llbereceivingasettlementofferourselvesshortly.Maybeeventoday,andthatitwillbeconsiderable.”
Katherineblinkedupather.Threeredblotcheshadbeguntospreadupherlong,perfectlyposturedneck.Itwasnoeasythingbeingonthelosingsideofamoralbattle,especiallywhenyou’dchosenthepragmaticone,theupperhand,whenyouhadsoldapieceofyourselfforthesaferbet.Katherine’smouthformedan“O”ofsurprise.
“Why,Katherine?Whydidyoulie?”Ardieaskedfinally.
Katherinetookinasharpbreath.“I—Ithoughtitwasobvious.Ineededdistance.”
Ardiecrossedherarms.“Fromwhat?Fromus?”
“No.”Katherinemassagedhertemples.“Notjustfromyou.Fromallofit.From…whathappened.”Sheswoopedherhandswidetodemonstrate.Ardiewaited.“Idon’texpectyoutounderstand,”shesaid.“AtFrostKlein,Ididn’tlookoutformyselfandlookwhathappened.Andtherewasevenmoreatstakehere.IdidwhatIhadtodo.Notjustforme.Itwasbetter—itisbetter—formetohavebeenongoodtermswithAmes.”
Ardieremainedcalm.Ardie’sothersuperpower.“AtFrostKlein,noonewaslookingoutforyou.Andyouweren’tjust‘lookingout’foryourself.Youtriedtoruinus,Katherine.”
“No.”Shelookeddown,shakingherhead.“No,itwasn’tpersonal.”Supposedly,noonewasthevillainintheirownstory,andKatherine,Ardienowknew,couldmakeupstories.Whatshedidn’tknowwaswhethershewasspinelessorcalculatingoraliarorwhetheritwaspossibletobeallofthosethingsundertherightcircumstances.“Ineveraskedforthis.Ineveraskedyouguystosueyouremployerforme,okay?Infact,Ispecificallysaidasmuch.”Katherinerubbedthebackofherheadwithtoomuchaggression.
“Okay,”Ardiereplied.
Katherinelookedthroughhereyelashesather.“It’snotlike,it’snotlikeIwentinthereplanningtosay…planningtosaywhatIdid.”Ardiemadenomotion.“Iwalkedinthere,andbeforeIhadachancetosayaword,CosettetoldmeIshouldknowthattheyweregoingtosueyouguys.”Shewhisperednow.“ThatthedetectiveswerelookingcloselyatanyonewhowasknowntobefightingwithAmes.Theyhoped”—shelaughedalittle—“theyhopedI’dbehonest,becausetheysawsuchabright,promisingfutureformehere,andtheyknewI’dhadsometroublesbefore.”
“Andsothatwasenoughtothrowusunderthebus.”
“Theyweregoingtocrucifyme.Again.Mynamewouldbesmearedthroughthepapers.Imightneverworkasalawyeragain.Foryearsanyonegooglingmewouldn’tseehowI’vebustedmyass.Theywouldn’tseethatIwasaneditorofLawRevieworhowfarI’dcome.They’dseethatIaccusedsomemanofharassmentandnowhewasdead.Youdidn’thearCosette.Thedetectivesweregoingtobealloverme.AndIwasn’tgoingtobeatthecenterofthishouseofcards.”Ardiethought:Youweren’tthecenter;youwerethewindthatknockeditdown.“Theywereaskingquestions,Ardie.”
“Iknow.”Ardiehadmovednotsomuchasaninch.“Theyaskedme,too.”
“Yournamewasalreadyonthefiling.Thatwasdonebeforehedied.”
Beforehedied.Okay,then.
“Sowhynottellthedetectivesmore?”sheasked.“Whynottellthemeverything?”
Katherinefellsilent.
“Ameswasn’tagoodperson,”Ardiesaid.WhatshewouldremembermostaboutAmeswasthatconversationshe’dhadwithhiminhisoffice,adayortwoafterthey’dreturnedfromtheclosinginL.A.Itwastheirlastconversationofanysubstance.Buyer’sremorse,he’dcalledit.Sourgrapes.Hesaidshewasjustmadhedidn’tcallafter.Itwasaone-night-stand;peoplehadthemallthetime.Hewasright.Theydid.Onlyshehadn’t.Sheknewthat.Shedid.Shehadbeendrunk,passedouteven,sure.But—“Let’sberealforasecond,”he’dsaid.“Lookatyou.YouthinkI’mjustdyingtosleepwithyou?Ididn’tdoanythingthatyoudidn’twant.Ifanythingyoucameontome.Howmanydrinksdidyouorderagain?Youcouldhavejustleftifyou’dwantedto.”Thestingofshamethatlingeredovertheyearswasn’tthatshebelievedhim,itwasthatshelethimbelieveshehadbynottellinganyone—otherthanthatworthlessAlRunkin—aboutit.ShelookedthroughtheyearsofexperienceandacrossthedeskatKatherine.“Hemighthavetriedtobeoccasionally,”shecontinued,“whenitsuitedhimorwhenitwasn’ttoodifficult,buthewasn’t.”
Analmostimperceptiblenod.
“Anyway.”Ardiebrushedherhands.“Ijustwantedyoutoknowfromme.”
“But”—Katherine’sneckcontractedassheforcedaswallow—“it’snotover.Therestofit.”Hervoicewasathinrasp.
“ThatIdon’tknow.”Slowly,shewalkedovertothewindow.Thegreat,glasshole.Shedrewtheblindsup.Katherineshrank.“ButyouandAmeswereonsuchgoodterms.Whatdoyouhavetoworryabout?”
TherednesshadcrawledupKatherine’sjawline,fingeringitswayuplikearash.“IknowtheythinkImetwithAmes.”
“YoudidmeetwithAmes.”
“Ardie.WhatdoIdo?”Shepressedherpalmlightlytothespotwhereherribsmet.Hadn’tshedoneenoughalready?
Ardieshrugged.“Youwait.”
“Ardie,I—”ShesawthehopeinKatherine’sexpression.Thebrightlift,thesmallpleawrittenonherprettyface,askingArdietosaveheragain.
“Katherine.”Shestoppedher.BecauseArdiehadchosenwell.She’dpickedthechoiceshecouldlivewith,nomattertheoutcome.She’dpickedherfriends.AndnowKatherinehadtoownherchoice.WhetherornotshecouldlivewithitwasnoneofArdie’sbusiness.Ardie’sonlybusinesswasthesecrettheysharedbetweenthem.“Wearenotfriends.”
CHAPTERFIFTY-SIX
4-MAY
Thenextday,Rosalitareturnedtowork.Returnedtospraybottlesandlatexglovesandcleartrashbagsandemptytoilet-paperrolls.Totheconcreteboxinthebellyofanofficebuildingandupintoitsarteriesthatweretheempty,channeledhallwaysconnectingthefloors.Itwasthesamethingshe’ddonefortenyears.Noonehereknewwhathadhappenedinthelasttwenty-fourhoursandshesankintoworkbecauseitwashersandbecausesheneededto.
BesideCrystal,shecheckedofftheboxes,officebyoffice,whilethenightbreathedaroundthem.
Atoddmoments,shesawheryoungselfinCrystal.LikewhenCrystalcontortedherbodytopickupatrashbin.OrwhenCrystalrolledhereyesatsomeconversationgoingoninsideherhead.Rosalitasawthesethingsandworriedthatshewasalreadybecomingsoft.SuccessdidthattopeopleandRosalitahadwonandwonbig.WithSalomonandagainstTruvivand,thoughshestillshoweduptowork,alreadythedifferencewascreepinginanditboileddowntothis:Rosalitawouldnothavetobehere.Removethe“haveto”anditchangedeverything.
Astheyworkedtogethertowipedowntheglassofaconferenceroom,Rosalitaaskedforthefirsttime,“When’syourbabydue?”ItwasbecomingpainfullyobviousthatCrystalwaspregnanttoanyonewitheyes.
Crystaldidn’trespondrightaway.Shestoodonhertoesandrubbedatthewindow.“August.”Sheloweredherselfdowntoherheels.SheswayedslightlyandRosalitaresistedtheurgetosteadyher.Crystalsmiled,then,embarrassed.“Mybirthday’sinAugust,too,andIhopeshe’sbornonmybirthday.Ithinkthat’dbecool.I’mturningtwenty.Sowe’dbeexactlytwentyyearsapart.”Shesmiled,amouthfullofcrookedteeth.Rosalitahadnevernoticed.
RosalitaaimedtheWindexandsprayed.Twentyyearsold.“You’rehavingagirl?”
Shereturnedtoworking.“Yeah.DoctortoldmewhenIwasaboutfourmonthsalong.”
“Youhaveeverythingallready?”Rosalitaasked.ItwasgoodCrystalhadasteadyjob,buttheforemanneverwouldhavehiredherifhe’drealizedshewaspregnant.ShehopedthatCrystalwouldn’tbefiredoncehepaidattentionenoughtorealizethatshewas.Thingslikethatstillhappeneddownhereoccasionally.
“Kindof.Well,no.Notreally.Herdadcan’tdecidewhetherhewantstobe,youknow,aroundaftershe’sborn,soI’mgoingtowaittofigureoutwherewe’regonnabe.”SheavoidedlookingatRosalitawhenshesaidthis.Rosalitarememberedherownstomachgettingbiggerandthewayshe’dliftedherchinanytimesomeonehadglanced—alwayssoobviously—downatherringfinger.“Don’tworry.IknewIwantedhereitherway.Idon’thaveanyfamily.”Crystaltouchedherstomach.“NowIdo.”
Rosalitatossedapapertowelintothebaghangingfromthebackofthecart.“Iraisemysonbymyself.It’sokay.You’llbefine.”Though,ofcourse,noonecouldknowthisforsure.
Crystalchewedtheinsideofhercheek.Rosalitahadbeenthere.Alone.Unsure.Mostofthetimeangry.
Rosalitasighed.“Writedownyouraddress,”shesaid.“Ontheclipboard.I’llbringoversomeofSalomon’soldbabythings.I’vegotoldbottlesandonesiesandabouncerandtoys.Ihavesomuchstuff,youwon’tbelieve.Almosteverythingyouneed.”RosalitahadsavedallofSalomon’sthingsthinkingsomedayshemightwantanotherbaby,butthattimehadcomeandgone.
Crystalshookherheadandturnedaway.“No,”shesaidquickly.“No,Idon’tneednohandouts.I’mnotacharitycase.”
Rosalitasteppedcloser,sothattheirpersonalspacesbumpedintooneanother’suncomfortablybutshestayed,unmoving.“Stop.Youhearme?Youstopthat.Whenanotherwomanofferstohelpyou,youtakeit.Youunderstand?”
Crystallookedatheroutoftheverycornerofhereye.Rosalitaraisedaneyebrow,waiting,refusingtotakeastepback,untilatlastCrystalnodded.
CHAPTERFIFTY-SEVEN
18-MAY
“ThankGod,y’allarehere.”Sloanefoistedherheavypurseontotheemptychair.Thisrestauranthadathingandthatthingwasplants.Vinescascadedfromterra-cottapots;succulentstoppedreclaimedwoodshelves;miniaturewhiteorchidssproutedfromhandmadeceramicmugscenteredonthetables.ItwaswherePinterestcametovomit,tradinginthesortofmotifthatseemedsoeffortlessandnaturalthatithadtobeattainable,onlyitabsolutelywasnotandSloanelivedforit.“IfeellikeIhaven’tseenyouinages.”SheleanedovertohugArdieandGrace,inturn,beforedumpingherselfintoanartisanalWishboneChair.“I’mjonesing.Physically.Lookatmyhands.”Sheheldoutherhand,whichwastremblingslightly,thoughitmighthavebeenlowbloodsugar.
“It’sbeenfourdays.”Ardielookedupfromaconcisepapermenuthathadbeennailedtoasmallplank.
“Whichhasbeenthelongestsince…”Sloanewavedherarm.
“Sincemymaternityleave,”offeredGrace.
“Exactly.”Sloanenoddedsolemnly,pickingupherownplankmenuandscanningdownforthewinelist.Somethingcold,white,andcrispwasinorder.“AndweallknowIbarelysurvivedthat.”Sloaneflaggedthewaitress,awomandressedinallwhitewithforestgreensuspenders.“I’llhaveaglassoftheStarmontChardonnay,please.Anyoneelse?”
“Same,please,”saidGrace.
“Me,too.”
Sloaneraisedhereyebrows.Shehadanappointmentwithherdermatologisttofixthatnextweek,butfornow…“Around,then.Thanks.”Sloanetookasipofroomtemperaturewaterservedinasquattymasonjar.“Gracie,lookatyou.Havewefreedthenippleafterall?”
Graceworeafloralshirtdresswithaprimlycreasedcollar.“Ifyoumustknow,yes.”Well,ofcourse,Sloanealwayshadtoknow.“I’mevenlettingEmmaKateuseapacifier.”
“Scandal.”Ardietrailedherfingerdownthelistofappetizers.
“Hey.”Graceflappedawhitenapkinoverherlap.“Itwasaharddecision.”
“Ofcourseitwas.”Sloaneleaneddowntostowheroversizedsunglassesinherpurse.“So.Tellus.”Sheleanedinonherelbow.“Wasshestilltherewhenyouwentbacktogetthelastofyourthings?”
“Notsure.”Grace’sglanceflittedtowardtheopenkitchenandthenback.“Tobehonest,Icouldn’tbringmyselftocheck.”
So.NoonehadspokentoKatherinesince.Sloanemightthinkthatshe’dneverexisted,socompletelyhadshebeenexcisedfromtheirlives,exceptforthefactthateverythinghadbeguntochangethemomentshearrived.Threedaysago,SloanehadcalledGraceandArdiewiththenewsthatAmes’sdeathhadofficiallybeenruledasuicide.Therewasn’tenoughevidenceoffoulplayapparently.DetectiveMartinhadcalledherpersonally,blessher.ThiswasthenewsthatSloanehadbeenhopingforandyetitcarriedwithitamixedlegacy,becausetherewouldalwaysbepeoplethatagreedwithCosette,believedthatthey’dgonetoofar.Thatthey’dbeenunfair.ThattheywereatleastpartlyresponsibleforAmesdying.ThisdespitethesettlementagreementandlargelumpsumcheckcurrentlymakingitswaythroughthebowelsofthelawofficesofHelenYeh,who,bytheway,wasnowhappilycollectingher40percent(eyeroll).
“Derek’sback,”Sloaneannouncedwhenthewinearrivedtokeephermindfromracingdownclosedpaths.
“Fromthemountains?”Ardielaidhermenuoverherplate.
“TheAppalachians.Hehasabeard.”
“And?”Graceprompted.
“And,aweekhikingandeatingbeansinacanlater—Idon’twanttojinxitbut—hesayshe’sreadytomoveon.”Shedidhopethathemeantit.ShefeltsorryforDerek.SincethelawsuithadsettledandRosalita’sstoryhadmadepapers,there’dbeenrequestsforinterviews,talkshowspots,podcasts,evenafewliteraryagentssniffingaround.Peoplelovedtheiradjectivesrightnow:harrowing,heroic,painful,courageous.AndhereDerekwasjusttryingtobemadathischeatingwifeinpeace.“Oh,”shesaid,justremembering.“AndAbigailmadeafriendatschool.LottieSilverman.She’scomeovertoplayexactlythreetimes,soI’mprettysureit’sserious.Evenhernamesoundsnice.Lottie.Sheremindsmeofyou,actually,”shetoldArdie.Ardiewaswearingallblack,whichwascompletelynotinlinewiththefreshdécor,butthatwasArdieforyou.
“I’mnotgoingtoevenaskwhatthatmeans.”Ardieangledinthechair.
“Oh,Iknow.”Gracetookalongsipofthewine.
Itwasdelicious.Sloaneknewherwines.“Well,guys.”Sloaneliftedherownmistyglass.“Cheers.Toourfirstofficialworkinglunch.”Theyclinked,evenArdiewhohatedtoasts.“Firstthingsfirst.Whatkindofofficeshouldwehave?LikeSouthernchic?Mid-century?Isthatstillcool?”
Ardiepulledapocketcalendarfromherbag.ThismadeSloanefeelsafeandsmart,tohaveapartnerwhoranaroundwithlittleleather-boundpocketcalendars.“IlookedatthespacesinUptownthatourrealtorsentover,”saidArdie.“Ilikedthem,butarewesurewefeelokayaboutUptown?”Sloaneopenedhermouthtospeak,butArdiepointedthebusinessendofthepenather.“Donotstartsinging‘UptownGirl.’”
Then,honestly,whatwaseventhepoint?
“Fine.DoweofferRosalitaajob?Idon’tknowtheproperetiquette.Orwhethershe’deventakeajob.Or…”
“Yes.”Ardiestraightenedthecutleryaroundherplate.“Weofferherajob.Notnecessarilyasacleaner.Butweofferhersomething.Yourguessisasgoodasmineastowhethershetakesit.”
Thesettlementmoneywouldbesplitfourways,notthree.RosalitawastheonlyoneofthemremainingatTruvivsofar.Shewantedtoseethemoneyinheraccountbeforesheconsideredjumpingship.Fromthebeginning,Sloanehadinsistedtoherselfthatshewasdoingallofthis—thelist,suingTruviv—sothatshecouldhaveafuturethere.Butafterallwassaidanddone,shefoundthatshecouldn’tworkforthecompanythathadtriedtoruinherwithanunlawfuldeathclaim,thathadtriedtodestroythemall.
Gracechewedonherlowerlip.Herthumbandpointerfingertwirledthestemofherglass.
“Ok,what?”Sloaneaskedher.“Whysosilentoverthere?Youhatemid-century,don’tyou.”
Gracetookabreath.“Okay.”Shefoldedherhandsinherlap.Sloanefeltachillrunupthebackofherneck.“Idon’twanttobethebuzzkillhere.Ijust—Iknowwe’reallexcitedaboutstartingourownpracticeandIjust…Idon’tknowifIcan.Rightnow,anyway.”Shedelicatelypressedtwoofherfingersonthespotbetweenhereyebrows.
“What?”Ardieasked,scootingherchairbacksothatitmadealoudscreechintheserenerestaurant.Ladies-who-lunchturned.
Gracelookedskittishforasplit-second,thencalmed.“Iwanttocomewithyou,Ido,butmaybepart-time?Andaftersometimeaway.But”—shetookagulpnowofwine—“Iunderstandifyouguysneedtomoveforwardwithoutaspotforme.I’mjustonanewmedicationandIhavesomehealthstuffIneedtosortthrough.”Shespoketooquickly,usingherhandslikeatrafficcop.
Sloane’sjawdropped.“You’redying,aren’tyou?Isitbreastcancer?”Sloaneasked,steelingherself.“It’sbreastcancer,isn’tit?”
“No,no,god.It’snot.Ihave…Ihavepostpartumdepression.”Shesaidthislow,likeshemighthavesaid“leprosy”instead.
“Oh,honey,”Sloanesaid,sharingalookwithArdie.Shedidn’tusuallycallherfriendspetnames,butperhapsthereweremomentsthatwarranteditandthiswasone.“Whydidn’tyoutellus?”ThoughwouldSloanehaveknown,deepdown,ifsheweren’tsodistracted?
“Itjustdidn’tsoundlikeme.SoIfigureditwasn’t.Amesactuallypointeditout.”
Ames.Thathithard.ThefactthatSloanehadbeentoodistracted,butAmesGarretthadbeenabletospotit.
“Anyway,I’msorry.Ijust—”
“Please.”Sloanebuttedin.“Please,youcomewhenyou’rereadyandnotaminutesooner.”
Theyrelaxed.Sloanecouldfeelit.Thewayeverythingwasclick-click-clickingintoplace.Sloaneactivelydespisedthenotionthattheuniversemightbetellinghersomething,thateverythinghappenedforareason,asiftheuniversegaveafuckaboutthecomingsandgoingsofmiddle-agedblondewomen,butshewouldsaythismuch:thingsfeltright.
“Whilewe’remakingconfessions…”Ardieshiftedinherseat.
Sloanelookedupsharply.“Areyoudatingsomeone?Iknewit.Icouldfeelit.”
Ardiesquintedoneeyeshut.“No.What?Actually,Idohaveadate.Tonight,infact.”
“See?”
“Oh,ishenice?”Graceasked.
“Idon’t—Idon’tknow.Imethimonline.I—no,it’saboutsomethingelse.”Shelookedsuddenlyflustered,then,justasquickly,centeredherself.Sloanehadaboutadozenmorequestions.Still,sheknewbetterthantopepperArdiewiththemnow.“Ineedtotellyoubothsomething.Okay?”GraceandSloanewaited,expectantly.“Ithinkyoubothdeservetoknow,afterallthatwe’vebeenthrough,that—Imean,IthinkyourealizedthatAmesandIactivelydidn’tlikeeachother,but,see,therewasmoretoitthanthat.Amessexuallyassaultedme.”Shesatback.Lettheinformationland.
“I’msorry.What?”Grace’sprettyblueeyesnarrowed.
“AmesGarrettsexually—herapedme.I’membarrassedit’stakenmethislongtoadmit,butIthoughtyoushouldknow,sothereitis.AndI’msorry,Sloane.I’mnotgreatatsayingthat.Ishouldhavetriedhardertowarnyou.”
“Wh—when?What?”Sloanefeltthatblind,unseeinglooktakeoverhereyes,confusionandanger,searchingforaplacetosettle.Butthatplacewas,unfortunately,dead.
“Iwasdrunk,”Ardiesaid,outloud.“Reallydrunk.DoyourememberI’dcomebackfromL.A.rightbeforeyoustarted?FromclosingthatsortofhellishFiterdealthateveryonewastalkingabout?WestayedinthesamehotelthatyouandIstayedinwhenweworkedonMatrixBandacoupleyearsagoactually.”
“Theonewiththeivyontheceiling?”
“Yes,thatone.”
Sloanedidnotlikethisfactoid.Shefeltasuddenonsetofnausea.Liketheroomwasspinning.
“Anyway,Ican’trememberallofit.Ijustwantedtoputitbehindmeandforgetthatithappened.Mydadusedtotellmethebestwaytokeepasecretistopretendthatyoudon’thaveone,so…”
“SothenIsleptwithhim?”Sloanenearlyshouted.
Ardie’sglanceskirtedtheroom.“Sloane.Iknow.I’m—”
“But—but—Ardie,youmusthavehatedme,”Sloaneinterjected.
Atthis,Ardieletoutagenuinelaugh.“Ididtry,”sheadmitted.
“No,really.”Sloane’shandsgrippedtheedgeofthetableandsheleanedherchestin,hissingatArdie.“Youmusthaveabsolutelyhatedme.”
Sloanefeltherfaceflush,asifshewerecomingdownwithsomething.Sheneededanothermasonjarofwater.Infact,ArdieslidhersovertoSloaneandshedrank.
Oncequenched,Sloanesatheavily,weigheddownbytheeffortspentonthosewords—Ardie’swords—andfeltexhausteddowntoherbones,thisdespitethefactthattheyweren’tevenhers.
“Itwascomplicated,”Ardiesaid.“I’dhopedyouwouldhatehimrightoffthebat.Atthatpoint,hewassohatabletome,Ifiguredit’dbeobvioustoeveryoneelse,too.Then,forafewmonthsthere,IthoughtmaybeIreallywasjustaone-off.Maybeitwasamisunderstanding.Andyouweresopersistentintryingtobemyfriend.”
“Iwasn’t.”Sloanedabbedhermouthwiththenapkin,accidentallystainingitpink.“Okay,Iwas.Thatdoessoundlikeme.”Shesmiled,shakily.“Whydidn’tyousayanythinglater?LikewithKatherine?”
“Itfelttoolate.Likeitwouldappearconvenientmorethanhelpful,Ithink.Amongotherthings.”
Ardiehesitated,hereyebrowsfoldingin.“Grace,areyouallright?”
Ohgod.PoorGrace.Shewascrying.Ofcourseshewas.Thiswastoomuchforher.Hormones.Postpartum.Sheshouldn’tbehearingthis.PG-13!TheyneededtokeeptheconversationPG-13forGrace.
“I’mfine,”Ardieassuredher.“Really.”HowwouldSloaneeverknownowwhetherornotthatwastrue?“Whyareyousoupset?”
“Becausehedidthattoyou.AndbecauseIfeelsoguilty.AndthenIfeelguiltyforfeelingguilty.”Gracestifledasob.Itlookedphysicallypainful.“He’sdeadand,afterhearingthat,Ishouldbeglad.Right?”Shepressedthebackofherknucklestohernose.Ofthethreeofthem,GraceclearlyhadthehardesttimegettingonboardwithhatingAmes,withbelievingKatherine,butthepointwasthatshehad.She’dchosentobelievethem.Shewasbeingtoohardonherself.“Thethingis,”shesaid.Whensheswallowed,itlookedasthoughherthroathurt.Sheclosedhereyes.“IkilledAmes.”
CHAPTERFIFTY-EIGHT
18-MAY
GracekilledAmes.HadArdiemisheardher?Grace.GracesaidshehadkilledAmes.Sloanehadspoutedwinelikeawhale,whichArdiecouldn’tevenpassoffasSloaneoverdoingit,becauseGraceStantonhadconfessedtokillingAmesGarrett.Whichwasn’tatalltrue,ofcourse.HadGraceactuallymetGracebefore?
“Whywouldyousaythat?”Ardieasked,tentatively.
Grace’seyeswereslightlyunfocused,asthoughthewinewereworkingdouble-time.“BecauseIdid.IwasthelastpersontoseeAmes,”shesaid.“I—oh—”Thewordescapedasasad,littlemoan.Ananimalgivingupthefight.
“Grace,you’renotmakingsense.”Sloane’schestrestedagainstthetableclothasshetriedtogetasphysicallyclosetoGraceaspossible.
“Iam,”Gracesaid.“Ifinallyam.”Shepinchedherchindownforamoment,collectingherself.“Iwassoangrywithhim,forbeingfooledintobelievingthatheactuallycaredaboutme.OrmaybeitwasjustmypridehurtthathethoughtIcouldbefooled.Anyway,ItoldSloanethatmuch.Butthen…butthenthatmorning—theonethathedied—hemessagedme,somethingridiculous,baitingme:Ithoughtwewerefriends.Thatwaswhathesaid.Itshouldhavebeenmesayingthattohim,youknow?SoIwentupthere.”Shetiltedherheadbacknow,forasecond,staredupattheexposedbeamsoftheceiling.“WhenIcouldn’tfindhiminhisoffice,Iknewhewasuponthebalcony,smoking.AndIswear,Ijustthought,I’llgospeakmymindtohim.Well,Idid.OrIwasandIwassmokingandIfeltverytogether.Imean,IwassortofshakingbutIfeltgood.Strong.YouguyshavealwaysbeensogoodatstandingupforyourselvesandIjustwanted—”
Ardieletoutaburstoflaughter.“Really?AfterwhatIjusttoldyou?Youthinkthat?”
Gracelookedsober.“Yes.Iknowthat.”AndinresponseArdiejustpinchedherlipstogetherandfeltanuncharacteristicsqueezeonherheart,becausetheywouldneverseethemselvesthesameastheysaweachotherandthatwasagift.“Anyway,Iwastalkingandhesortofleanedintolighthiscigaretteoffofmineand—Idon’tknow—Ifreakedout.Itspookedme.IhadthisweirdspasmandIdon’tknowhowbutmyringsnaggedhiseyebrow.Oneoftheprongswasloose.”Sheexaminedtheshinyrockonherlefthandthatsparkledbrightlyinthenaturallight.Ardiemissedwearingaring.She’dsoldthediamondandwishedshehadn’t.“Gosh,therewasthisbrightgushofbloodonhisface.”Shecoveredhereyes,recalling.“Seriously,itdribbleddown.”AndArdiewondered:Hadsheseenthegashonhiseye?“Hewipeditwithhisthumbandsmeareditallovertherailingandhecalledme…hecalledmeabitch.Noone’severcalledmeabitchbefore.Atleastnottomyface.Istilldon’tknowwhatcameoverme.ItwaslikeIwasadifferentperson.Isawblack.Isaid,‘Gotakeaflyingleap.’Whosaysthat?Onabalcony?”Gracewipedthefilmoftearsfromunderneathhereyes.“IwasafraidmaybeKatherinesawustalkingoutthere,sawmehithim.ThenIleft.Well,anyway,youknowtherestofthestory.”
Ardiedid.ButnotthesameonethatGraceknew.
Sloanehadn’ttouchedherwinesinceGracestartedtalking.“Youcannotputthatonyourself,Grace,”shesaid.“Wehavenoideawhatwasgoingthroughhishead.”
“Sloane’sright.”
“Trustme,I—”
“Youweren’tthelastpersontoseeAmes,”saidArdie.
Sloane’sglancequicklytrackedup,thequestionwrittenclearlyonherface:WhathadhappenedonFloorEighteen?
Ardieonlyknewforsurewhathappenedtoher,becauseofher,andwhatmighthavehappenedwithouther,aftershe’d,bychance,gottenonanelevatorwithKatherineandseenhergetoffontheeighteenthfloor.
Sheonlyknewthis:ApayrollofficerwouldconfirmthatArdiehadreceivedasignatureonpayrolltaxdocumentsaround1:30P.M.,althoughthepayrollofficerhadn’tcheckedtheexacttime,whichwouldexplainwhy,shortlyafterAmes’sdeath,shewouldbeseenridinganelevatorandshewouldbeclearedofanypossibilityofwrongdoing.Ardie,ontheotherhand,knewthatshe’dreceivedthesignatureofthepayrollofficercloserto1:25PM,adiscrepancyoffiveminutes.
WhathappenedinthoseinterveningminutesbeforeArdieinsertedherselfintothescene?SheimaginedAmespacingthebalcony,suckingontheendofacigarette,animagethatwasn’tdifficulttoconjurebecauseArdiehadseenitbefore,thoughithadbeenyearsnow.SheimaginedAmestryingtojustifyhimselftoKatherine,tryingtoexplainhowhe’dneverdoneanythingthatanyonedidn’twanthimtodo.Aspeechthatshe’dalsoheardbefore.
ArdiehadfeltuneasythemomentKatherinehadlefttheelevatorandhadbeenthinkingofSloanewhenshemadethelife-alteringdecisiontostopoffontheeighteenthfloorherself.Sheintendedtoeaseherconscience.Justtocheck.Shewatchedthroughtheslidingglassdoor,drawnbytherisingvoices—ortherisingvoice,rather,whichwasAmes’s.
Amesrakedahandoverhisface.Katherinetriedtopushpast,buthisarmwentout,blockingher.
Theslapwasashock.Electric.Polarizing.Ardie’schinflinchedinwardinsyncwithAmes’sown.Katherine’shandhadstruckoutlikeaviper.
IfSloanehadbeenaccusedorifGraceorevenifKatherinehad,Ardiewouldhavetoldthenextversionofevents.Shewouldhavesaidthatitallhappenedsofast.Shewouldhavegonetothepolicethen,nomatterthefactthatitwastoolate.Shewouldhavetoldallofit.
Butthathadn’thappened.Somethingmoreinsidioushadtakentheplaceofthosewould-beevents.Instead,Gracehadbeenprivatelyblamingherself,spiraling,andsothequestionbecame:WhatshouldArdiedonow?
“YousawAmes?”Sloaneaskedanditfeltasiftherestaurantaroundtheirtableceasedtoexist.Grace’stearsstopped.Shestared.
“Notjustme,”Ardieansweredslowly.
Anditwasthenthatthewaitressshoweduptotaketheirorders.Ardieimaginedhowtheymustlooktothispoorwomanwiththegreensuspenders.Thestrangethingaboutdeliveringbadnewswashowitwasrarelynewinformationtothemessenger.SoArdiehadtoallowforherwordstotakethecolorofrevelationforthesakeofSloaneandGrace.Shehadtochoosewhattosay.Carefully.
Sheorderedsearedrainbowtroutwithsobanoodlesandsprouts.
Meanwhile,SloaneandGraceheldtheirbreathuntilthewaitressleft.Ardiehadmeanttoaskforanotherrefillofherwater.
“Whatareyousaying?”Grace’sfingerswrappedtightlyaroundhercrossnecklace.
“AmesaskedtospeakwithKatherineandshewent.WhenIfoundthisoutIwas,understandably,concerned.”
TherewasafascinatingtidbitArdiehadonceheard:Womenwalkedaroundtheworldinconstantfearofviolence;men’sgreatestfearwasridicule.
“Andyou’resurethatthiswasafterItalkedtohim.”Grace’sforeheadwrinkled.Therewasanewexpressiononherface:hope.
Inreality,itdidn’thappenasfastasArdiewouldhaveliked.WhenAmes’shandswerearoundKatherine’sthroatandhewasshoutingather,spittleflyingintoKatherine’seyelashes,theremusthavebeenwords,butArdiecouldn’trememberwhichones.Katherine’seyesbulgedlikeacornereddeer’s,herbacktothebalcony’scementbarricade.TheflareofheatinAmes’sfacepurpled.
Theslidingglassdoorpeeledapart,thesoundcuttinglikeablade.
“Ames.”Ardiehookedhimbytheshirtcollar,grabbedhiselbow,andpulledhimoff.Whatonearthdidhethinkhewashedoing?Sheremembered,evenknowingAmesthewaythatshedid,beingsurprisedbyhiminthatmoment.Like,Oh,andhe’scapableofthis,too.Katherine’shandspressedtoherwindpipe,herchestcollapsing.
Andinthenextsecond,Ardiefeltherinsidesexplode.Shewonderedwhathesawinthatlastsecondofhislife.Blindrage,teethbared,curiosity,coldintent,orpent-upfrustration.Sheknewwhatshesawinhiseyes—hatredandcarnalfuryandahow-dare-she.Shefeltthestruggle.Felthisarmsonher.Felthisstrengthandherownandthefactthattheywerebothholdingbackjustabit,outofsomeinstinctthatcleavedthemtopropriety.
Andthenthethoughtstruckher:therewasnoreturningfromthismoment.
They’dpassedthepoint.ThemomentshehadgrabbedhimoffKatherine.
Shepushedhim,again,thistimewithhershoulderinhischest.Gruntinginsurprise,hestaggered.Onelegleftthegroundashestruggledforbalance.Andthen—andthen—theweightofhimsimplydissolved.
Gone,windmillingbackwardthroughspace.
Katherinekneeleddown,pantingwherehisfeetusedtobe,anditseemednearlyimpossible,toofar-fetchedtobelievewhatshe’djustseen:Katherine—awomaninacrispblackpantsuit—grabbingAmes’sstandinglegand…heaving.
Shewasactuallytryingtothrowhimovertheledge.Forcinghiscenterofgravitytoohigh.
AndArdieunderstoodthatKatherinehadexperiencedthesamerevelation.Nogoingback.
Thankyou,Ardiehadwhispered,handsonherkneesasshecaughtherownbreath.Sweatcoatedherforehead.
Thetruth:Amesmighthavecaughthimself.OrArdie,withherhandsfullofhisshirt,mighthavepulledhimback.Wereitnotforthatone.last.push.
Afterward,theytookthestairs.
“I’mabsolutelypositive,”Ardiesaid.
Gracestartedtospeakandthenstoppedherself.
“Oh,”wasallthatSloanehadtooffer.
Abombgoesoffandpiecesflyoutinunpredictabledirections,causingdestructionofvaryingdegrees.Collateraldamage.
Ifshewentoverthestoryenoughtimes,shecouldnearlyconvinceherselfthat,intheend,he’dchosentojump.SloanestretchedacrossthetableandsqueezedbothGrace’sandArdie’shands,andArdiefeltalittlesorryformenbecausetheynevergottoholdhandswitheachother.
EPILOGUE
Wehadbeenprogrammedtotradeinsecrets.Ourleadingdeodorantbrandpromisednottotell.Ourmagazinecovershockedthesecretstoclearerskin,betterhair,tonedlegs,andlongerorgasms.Ourmotherspasseddownrecipeswithsecretingredients.Evenourfeminism—second-wave,couchedasitwasinourfemininemystique—feltpurposefully(smartly)veiledinsecrecy.
Ourmottohadlongbeen:Keepitbetweenus.
Andwedid.Forgenerations.Passingalongoldwives’tales,tellingeachotherhowtorelievecramps,cautioningoneanothernevertoleaveanopendrinkunattended,nottowearaponytail,nottoopenthedoortostrangers,nottobeinaroomalonewithhim.Ourtacticwasavoidance,tomarklandminesandencourageeachothertosteparoundthemsothatnobodywentkaboom
Itwasn’tonlythewarningthatkeptussafebutourabilitytokeepthatwarningquiet.Likesecretagentsoperatingbehindenemylines,wecouldn’taffordtogetcaught.Andyetweriskeditanyway.Withvoiceshushed,wereachedouttoeachothertoofferourknowledge.Wetried.Becausewe’dalwayswantedthebestforeachofourfriends.
Wewantedhertodumpthatloser.Wewantedhertostopworryingaboutlosingfivepounds.Wewantedtotellhershelookedgreatinthatdressandthatsheshoulddefinitelybuyit.Wewantedhertocrushtheinterview.Wewantedhertotextuswhenshegothome.Wewantedhertoseewhatwesaw:someonesmartandbraveandfunnyandworthyofloveandsuccessandpeace.Wewantedtokillwhoevergotinherway.
Westartedtowonder:Bywhispering,whosesecretswerewekeepinganyway—oursortheirs?Whoseinterestsdidoursilenceultimatelyprotect?
Theanswercametousgradually.Aswebegantostripoffourpantyhoseandaskformoremoneyandmarchinpinkhatsandholdmegaphones.Aswebuiltdigitalplatformsandwatchedhandmaidsanddemandedthatcompaniesadvertisesizesthatfitourbodies.Aswetookupspace.
Aswegrewtiredofwhisperingbecausewhatwerewehiding,afterall?Wehadstories,allofus.Wouldspeakingupcostus?Maybe.Butmaybeitwouldcostthem,too.
Andso,whenoneofusspokeup,itwasneverjustforher.Itwasforus.Ifanything,shewasthewillingsacrifice.Anotherlogonthepyrestokedbyus,ourstories,ourvoices.Andwewouldfantheflames.Spreadthetruth.Jointhechorus.Burnittotheground.Razetheearth,ifwehadto.Startoveronlevelground.
Ourlegacywouldbeourwords.Shoutedoutloud.Foralltohear.Weweredonepetitioningtobebelieved.Wewerefinishedrequestingthebenefitofthedoubt.Weweren’taskingforpermission.Thefloorwasours.
Listen.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Ihavebeengiftedwiththemostincrediblenetworkofpeoplethathelpeddreamthisbookintoexistence.
Aloudandheartfelt“thankyou”tomyagent,DanLazar,foropening(andholding)themetaphoricaldoorlikeatruegentleman.Aftercountlessreads,notes,calls,andemails,DanthrustmywordsintoalloftherighthandsandIameternallygrateful.
Ofcourse,twoofthosehandsbelongedtomylovelyeditor,ChristineKopprasch,whoaskedallthesmartestquestions,inallthekindestpossibleways,andunderstoodrightfrompageonehowthisbookshouldfeelwhenitended(andhowtohelpmenavigatethein-between).Bythatsametoken,IfeelfortunatetohavelandedatFlatironBooksfortheopportunitytoworkwithoutstandingpeopleincludingAmyEinhornandAmeliaPossanza.Thankyou,also,toBrynClark,RobertVanKolken,NancyTrypuc,KatherineTurro,andtherestoftheMacmillanteam.
Ideeplyappreciatetheinputandhardworkofmyfilmagent,DanaSpector.(YouandDanmakeaformidablepair.)AndtoJonBaker,forchampioningmybook(andbeingpatientwhenIaccidentallymadeabeelineforAstoria…).
Samegoesformyforeignrightsagents,includingMajaNikolicandPeggyBoulosSmith,whofoundWhisperNetworkhomesacrosstheglobe.Speakingof“acrosstheglobe,”I’mparticularlyindebtedtotheSphereandHachetteAustraliateams,withspecialthankstomybiggestcheerleadersandsavvyeditors,CathBurke,RobertWatkins,andRebeccaSaunders,aswellastoMaddieWest,EdWood,andLouiseNewton.
Ihavewonderfullysupportivefriendswhoreadandcommentedondrafts:WendyPursch,JuliaJonas,EmilyO’Brien,LisaandJoyceMcQueen,CharlotteHuang,LoriGoldstein,andShanaSilver—notsurewhatIwouldhavedonewithoutyou.Inaddition,I’mincrediblyluckytohavethewomeninmybookclub,whoembodysisterhoodandwomensupportingwomen(andbooks!).ThankyoutoJeremyCoffey,ElizabethStork,andHueM.Flexforansweringmyresearchquestions.Andtothemany,manywomenwhosharedtheirstorieswithme—writingthisbookhascreateditsownquasi–whispernetworkandI’veenjoyedgettingthechancetoleaninandlisten.
I’dberemissifIdidn’tmentionthatIworkatalawfirmwithamazingattorneyswhohavebeenkindenoughtogivemethetimeandspacetowrite:Thankyou
Andfinally,thebiggestthanksgoesouttomyhusband,Rob.Beingaworkingmomisnexttoimpossiblewithoutthefullsupportofapartner.YoucontinuetostepupsothatIcanreachformydreams.
AUTHOR’SNOTE
Reader,
IreapedthebenefitofmyfirstwhispernetworkwhenIwasasummerassociateatalawfirm.Ataworkevent,amucholderpartnerwasgivingmeanuncomfortableamountofattention.Theotherassociateswereleaving,butthispartnerandhisfriendskeptencouragingmetostaywiththematthebar.“Howoldareyou?”theyasked.(Twenty-fouratthetime,whiletheywereoverfifty,incaseanyonewantstodothatmath.)“Doyoulikeoldermen?”Iwasinatrickysituation—asummerassociateissortoflikeawell-paidinternvyingforafull-timeposition,andnetworkingiskey.Butinthatmoment,Ifeltmorelikeatarget,someonetheyhoped—assumed,really—wouldbea“goodsport.”Ifeltmyselfdoingthatsmilingandfakelaughingthingthatweallturntointhesemoments.Iwantedtoleave,butIalsowantedajob.Andwantedtomakesurethismanfelt—Idon’tknow—appeased?Attheveryleast,notrejected.
Really,though,IrememberlessaboutthosemenandmoreaboutthewomanwhoextractedmefromthesituationwithalotmoregraceandsocialskillthanIpossessedatthetime.ShehadacharmingSouthernaccent,abig,shinysmile,andasshejoinedthegroupsheputherarmaroundmyshoulderandtoldmequietly,“Goaheadandleave,I’lltakecareofthis.”So,IlistenedandIlether.Thenextday,aseniorassociate,havingheardaversionofwhathadhappened,askedifI’dliketospeaktoHR.Answer:Absolutelynot!Sure,hisbehaviorwasbad,but—sorry—thisveryinfluentialpartnerwasabouttotakepartinthedecisiontohireme—ornot.IlaterlearnedIwasn’tthefirstyoungwomantohavearun-in,butbecauseofthekindnessofafewsavvywomen,I—andmycareer—survivedunscathed.
It’sbeenlikethisaslongasIcanremember.Manyyearsago,Iwastheonlywomanonmycollege’smen’srowingteam.Iwasthecoxswain(a.k.a.thepersonwhoyellsattherowersandsteerstheboat).Astheonlywomanontheteam,IwaspreoccupiedwithensuringthatIfitin.Nothingwouldeverbotheroroffendme.Noway!Notme!Oneday,Isataroundwiththeteam.Admittedly,I’dgottencrosswayswithoneoftheboysoverthepreviousfewweeksandhe’dbeenannoyedwithmeforreasonsunknown.Ireachedforasliceofpizzaandthisboy—whowas6’5″—kickedmehardinthejaw,causingmyteethtosnaptogetherwithaloudclack.Hislaughwasmean.Everyoneelsesatslightlydumbfounded,butsilent.Iwas,ofallthings,mortified.Asmyeyesprickedwithtears,IknewonlythatIdidn’twanttodothe“girly”thing—overreact.IclungdesperatelytothenotionthatIwasthekindofgirlwhocouldhang.SoIquietlygotup,wenttoadifferentroom,andneversaidanotherwordaboutit.LittledidIknowthatversionsofthisdynamicwereplayingoutinbiggerandsmallerwaysforsomanywomen,andanechoofitwouldfollowthroughmyandeverywoman’sprofessionallife—Playalong!Don’tcauseascene!
Threeyearsago,Ihadababy.Becomingamotheropenedawholenewsetofchallengesathomeandatwork.Twelveweeksaftermydaughter’sbirth,Ireturnedtowork.Onmyfirstdayback,anewpartneraskedmetostaylate.Around7P.M.,whenItoldhimmoreinsistentlyIreallydidneedtofeedmynewborn,he—afatherofthree—said,“Howoldisyourdaughter?”Isaid,“Oh,she’sthreemonths.”Andheresponded,“Well,she’snotreallyanewbornanymorethen.”Iexplainedthateitherwaysheneededtoeat.Hemagnanimouslygrantedtwentyminutes,completelyoblivioustothefactthat“feeding”meantwithmybreasts.Thatnight,myhusbanddrovethirtyminutestobringourdaughtertotheoffice,andInursedherintheparkinggarage.
ThesearethekindsofthingsIdiscusswithmygirlfriends,whileI’mwalkingTownLakewiththematlunchoratbookcluborworkingout.IfoundmyselfdiscussingthesestoriessomuchthatIstartedwritingWhisperNetwork.Asthestorygrew,Irealizedthebookdeservedachorus,avoiceforthecollectivewomen,beyondthewomenofmynovelandbeyondme.Icalledmybestfriendfromlawschool,whotoldmeaboutacompliancehotlinethatoftenthreadscomplaintsdirectlybacktotheverypersoncomplainedabout.Italkedtomyfriendwhoreturnedfrommaternityleavetomorethantwothousandemailsbecausenoonehelpedwhileshewasaway.Ispokewithanattorney,strugglingwithinfertility,whowastoldpointblankbyamalepartnerthatwomenarenolongerusefultothefirmoncethey’vehadchildren.Allthesestoriesbecamethebook’s“we”narrator,ameanstotalkabouttheworkingwomanexperience,ofwhichsexualharassmentiscertainlyapiece,butnottheONLYpiece.
AsIwaswritingthisbook,Iwas—andstillam—hopefulabouthowourattitudestowardsexualharassmenthavebeenchanging.Interestingly,oneofmygoodfriendscalledmewhileIwasfinishingthefirstdraftandaskedifIcouldrecommendanattorneytohandleasexualharassmentclaimforher.Shetoldmeanincidenthadoccurredataconferenceand,whileshedidn’twanttoofferdetails,shehopedIcouldconnectherwithsomeone.I’membarrassedtosaythatmyfirstreactionwas:Areyousureyouwanttodothis?Ifeltterrible.I’malawyerandawriterwhohasspentcountlesshourscontemplatingspeakingupaboutharassment,butIalsocaredaboutherwellbeingandknewthatspeakingupcouldstillcomewithahighprice.Particularlyifawomanisn’tsomeonewithaplatformoranyotherostensibleformofprotection,orifsheholdsothermarginalizedidentities.But.Thingsarechanging.Slowly,definitelyunevenly,butIdothinktheyarechanging,thankslargelytothemanybravewomenwhohavestoppedwhispering.
Aswomensharedtheirstorieswithme,writingWhisperNetworkbecameaquasi–whispernetworkofitsown.IlookforwardtosharingthisbookwithreaderswhoIhopewillcontinuetoexpandthenetworkinnewways.
Best,
Chandler
ABOUTTHEAUTHOR
ChandlerBakerlivesinAustinwithherhusbandandtoddler.Sheworksasacorporateattorneyandistheauthoroffiveyoungadultnovels.WhisperNetworkisheradultdebut.
VisitheronlineatChandlerBakerBooks.com,orsignupforemailupdateshere
Thankyouforbuyingthis
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Thisisaworkoffiction.Allofthecharacters,organizations,andeventsportrayedinthisnovelareeitherproductsoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.
WHISPERNETWORK.Copyright?2019byChandlerBaker.Allrightsreserved.Forinformation,addressFlatironBooks,120Broadway,NewYork,NY10271.
www.flatironbooks.com
CoverdesignbyLisaAmoroso
Coverphotograph?AdaSummer/GettyImagesTheLibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationDataisavailableuponrequest.
ISBN978-1-250-31947-0(hardcover)ISBN978-1-250-26871-6(Canadian)ISBN978-1-250319494(ebook)eISBN9781250319494
Ourebooksmaybepurchasedinbulkforpromotional,educational,orbusinessuse.PleasecontacttheMacmillanCorporateandPremiumSalesDepartmentat1-800-221-7945,extension5442,orbyemailatMacmillanSpecialMarkets@macmillan.com
FirstU.S.Edition:July2019
FirstCanadianEdition:July2019
CONTENTS
TitlePage
CopyrightNotice
Dedication
Prologue
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
ChapterTwenty-One
ChapterTwenty-Two
ChapterTwenty-Three
ChapterTwenty-Four
ChapterTwenty-Five
ChapterTwenty-Six
ChapterTwenty-Seven
ChapterTwenty-Eight
ChapterTwenty-Nine
ChapterThirty
ChapterThirty-One
ChapterThirty-Two
ChapterThirty-Three
ChapterThirty-Four
ChapterThirty-Five
ChapterThirty-Six
ChapterThirty-Seven
ChapterThirty-Eight
ChapterThirty-Nine
ChapterForty
ChapterForty-One
ChapterForty-Two
ChapterForty-Three
ChapterForty-Four
ChapterForty-Five
ChapterForty-Six
ChapterForty-Seven
ChapterForty-Eight
ChapterForty-Nine
ChapterFifty
ChapterFifty-One
ChapterFifty-Two
ChapterFifty-Three
ChapterFifty-Four
ChapterFifty-Five
ChapterFifty-Six
ChapterFifty-Seven
ChapterFifty-Eight
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Author’sNote
AbouttheAuthor
Copyright
TableofContents
TitlePage
CopyrightNotice
Dedication
Prologue
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
ChapterSix
ChapterSeven
ChapterEight
ChapterNine
ChapterTen
ChapterEleven
ChapterTwelve
ChapterThirteen
ChapterFourteen
ChapterFifteen
ChapterSixteen
ChapterSeventeen
ChapterEighteen
ChapterNineteen
ChapterTwenty
ChapterTwenty-One
ChapterTwenty-Two
ChapterTwenty-Three
ChapterTwenty-Four
ChapterTwenty-Five
ChapterTwenty-Six
ChapterTwenty-Seven
ChapterTwenty-Eight
ChapterTwenty-Nine
ChapterThirty
ChapterThirty-One
ChapterThirty-Two
ChapterThirty-Three
ChapterThirty-Four
ChapterThirty-Five
ChapterThirty-Six
ChapterThirty-Seven
ChapterThirty-Eight
ChapterThirty-Nine
ChapterForty
ChapterForty-One
ChapterForty-Two
ChapterForty-Three
ChapterForty-Four
ChapterForty-Five
ChapterForty-Six
ChapterForty-Seven
ChapterForty-Eight
ChapterForty-Nine
ChapterFifty
ChapterFifty-One
ChapterFifty-Two
ChapterFifty-Three
ChapterFifty-Four
ChapterFifty-Five
ChapterFifty-Six
ChapterFifty-Seven
ChapterFifty-Eight
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Author’sNote
AbouttheAuthor
Copyright
© Copyright Notice
The copyright of the article belongs to the author. Please do not reprint without permission.
THE END
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