“He couldn’t have known it would work.”
“Why not? It’s probably worked before. I’m sure I wasn’t his first target.” Caroline shook her head, remembering. “If it hadn’t, I’m sure he would have tried something else later. Lucky for him, I was so easy. I should have known,” she said again. “The way he quoted Keats. What banking consultant does that? What banking consultant says things like ‘Mexico on my doorstep’ and ‘a temperature that rarely strays ten degrees from moderate’? He probably got that out of some travel brochure. And what the hell’s a banking consultant anyway? Does such a job even exist?” She jumped to her feet. “He said he had a wife and daughter who’d been killed by a drunk driver. Did he make that up? Did he actually invent a dead child in order to worm his way into my confidence? Was it all a ploy to get me to confide in him by pretending to confide in me?”
Peggy shook her head. “I guess we’ll never know.”
“He played me. Oh, how he played me. Played on my emotions, my sympathy. Not to mention he flattered me, told me I was mysterious, that I had deep thoughts.”
“You are mysterious. You do have deep thoughts.”
“Are you planning to write a story about me, too?” Caroline asked.
“And a sense of humor,” Peggy added, reaching for her friend’s hand.
“How could he betray me like this?”
“He’s a reporter. It’s what they do.”
“Do they all sleep with their subjects for a story?”
“Interesting that he fails to mention that. And at the risk of sounding prurient, was he any good?”
“He was great,” Caroline confirmed. “More’s the pity.” She poured herself another cup of coffee and returned to her chair. “What’s it saying online?”
“More of the same. Lots more of the same. Don’t read it.”
“Why not? Everyone else will.”
They heard Michelle’s footsteps descending the stairs. In the next second, she was standing in the doorway, still dressed in her flannel pajamas. “I thought I heard voices,” she said, staring at Peggy. “You’re here awfully early. Is something wrong? Why is the phone off the hook?” She replaced the receiver. Immediately, the phone started ringing. “Are you kidding me? What’s going on?” Her eyes landed on the morning paper spread out across the kitchen table. “Is that a picture of you?” she asked her mother, dragging the paper toward her. “Shit. What is this?”
Caroline walked to the phone and picked it up. It was her mother. “What have you done?” Mary demanded.
“Are you out of your mind?” her brother shouted over the extension. “You spilled your guts to a reporter?”
Their call was followed by an even angrier one from Hunter. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
There came in quick succession at least a dozen calls from various magazines and newspapers across the country; a request from the producers of 60 Minutes for a televised interview; an appeal from Howard Stern for her to be on his popular radio show. Both Barbara Walters and Diane Sawyer were seeking a one-on-one; Oprah was eager to talk, as was Katie Couric and someone with the unlikely name of Maury Povich. She hung up on all of them. “Who the hell is Maury Povich?” she asked Peggy. Then, to Michelle: “You should get dressed. You don’t want to be late for school.”
“Yeah, sure. Like I’m going anywhere near school today.”
“Michelle…”
“Sorry, Mommy dearest. Am I being ‘difficult’?”
“I’m the one who’s sorry,” Caroline said. “I should never have said those things.”
“Why shouldn’t you? That’s what you believe, isn’t it? That I’m a pain, a blight on your existence…”
“I never said that.”
“You might as well have. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. I love you, sweetheart. You know that.”
“Yeah, right,” Michelle said. “Anyway, I’m not going to school today. Think I’ll go over to Grandma Mary’s. She’s always happy to see me.”
“Michelle, please…,” Caroline began as her daughter marched out of the room.
The phone rang again. This time it was the school where Caroline worked, informing her that they thought it best she take a few days off, that her classes would be handed over to a substitute teacher, and that the principal would like to meet with her sometime later in the week.
“I’m going to lose my job,” she said, hanging up the phone.
“They can’t just fire you,” Peggy said.
“They can. But they won’t have to. I’ll go quietly.”
“No. You can’t give up without a fight.”
“I have no fight left,” Caroline said.
Peggy scrunched the front page of the paper into a tight ball and flung it to the floor. “That bastard. Are you going to sue?”
“On what grounds? Those are pretty direct quotes. I’m sure he has it all on tape.” She winced at the thought of her every word, every sigh, every groan being secretly recorded.