Tough Sell (Tough Love Book 1) Page 18

  Derrick kept his eyes firmly on the TV. It was clear he wasn’t going to be the voice for the male population in this conversation.

  “Well, I kinda thought that too.” She told Allie the rest of the story and ended with Edward just riding away. “Now I don’t know what to think. Maybe he had some time to think it over and just realized I’m too needy and creepy. But I still don’t appreciate having to run in heels.” She flopped her head back feeling aggravated and glum at the same time.

  “Well, at least you’re good at keeping your balance. Anyway, I don’t think he all of a sudden decided he didn’t want a stalker. If that was it, he would have acted different the minute he found you outside his door.” Allie shook her head and struggled out of Derrick’s arms. He gave a sigh and sat up, propping his stocking feet on the coffee table. Allie sat forward. “No, he started acting weird after he was on video. I think that’s the problem. I wonder if he has a secret past?” She had her I’m-gonna-fix-this look on her face. “I wonder if we should search online to see why he’s so worried about having his face on the Internet.” Her friend started patting the couch. “I know my phone is here somewhere. Hey! Do you think he’s an ex-con? Or a porn star?”

  Derrick looked a little alarmed at that last outburst but limited his response to folding his arms across his broad chest.

  “What did you say his full name was? Miller?”

  “Walker”

  “Edward Walker court case,” Allie said to her phone and waited until the campy voice said, “Here you go. Oh, my, God. Dorothy.”

  Derrick looked over her shoulder. “He’s that guy?”

  Dorothy had a very bad feeling about whatever was coming next.

  Her better self insisted that she didn’t have to ask, didn’t need to know. The other part of her couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “What? What did you find?”

  In a completely out of character move, Derrick took the smart phone from Allie and swiped his wide finger across the screen. He handed the phone back to her saying, “That’s enough, Allie.”

  Allie twisted to look at him. “I’m not really a fan of the guy, he’s her client and he could be using her. I think she deserves to know everything there is to know.” Allie narrowed her eyes at Derrick but her phone lay flat and still in her hand, the screen dark.

  “Not like this.” He jabbed the remote at the TV, crossed his arms over his chest, and made like a sphinx, still and stone for the ages. The familiar voice of Met’s announcer, Gary Cohen, came over the air, answered by something Ron Darling was saying. On the green field, a Mets pitcher took the mound.

  “What?” Dorothy practically shouted.

  “I don’t know, Dot. You better ask Ed about it.” Allie sat back on the couch.

  “I’m a big girl you know and I can search for the man myself if I want.” She pulled her phone out and waved it in the general direction of the subdued couple. “I can, you know.”

  Allie said nothing. This was news right here. Dorothy had seen Allie cuss, fight, fire someone in a fit of anger, cook four courses for twenty people by herself and work for forty-eight hours without coming home but she had never, never, seen Allie take an order from a man that wasn’t for a meal. She stared openly at Derrick and then at Allie. Her friend just shrugged and tipped her head toward the hulk of a man pretending to watch baseball as if to say, ask him.

  Dorothy set the phone down. “Is it bad?” Her voice sounded small to her own ears.

  Derrick’s gaze flicked over to her and back to the screen.

  “Is it something that, I mean, is he bad?”

  Derrick exhaled. “Look, Dot, he’s not a criminal. It’s something he should talk to you about. It’s nobody’s business but his own unless you and he …” Derrick seemed to run out of words. “It’s his business and just because you can find something on the Internet doesn’t mean you should. Leave it alone.” He shut off the TV and grabbed Allie’s hand. “I’m tired.” Allie rose and gave Dorothy a thin smile. “It’ll be OK, Dot. You just be you and it’ll all be fine.” A moment later, Dorothy was alone in the living room, muffled sounds of the two of them settling in for the night coming through the door.

  She looked at her phone. Edward always thought the best of her, believed in her. Tomorrow she had a big presentation to give. It was totally possible that Peter had already killed the project but, Edward was going to be there, and if he was watching, then she was going to do her best. After it was all over, there was time enough for questions and explanations. Despite the burning curiosity she felt, she powered off her phone, grabbed her Kindle and read for an hour before shutting off her light and calling it a night. As she turned off the light, it occurred to her that the person she’d been before she met Edward would never have had the self-control to not look.

  Edward paid the cabdriver and took the stairs to his apartment two at a time. The keys slipped from his sweating hands and clattered on the black and white tile next to his polished shoes. He retrieved them and jammed them into the lock. He absolutely couldn’t wait to get into his apartment, shut out the world and try to figure out just how this day went so wrong.

  Once inside, he leaned against the closed door and gave himself ten breaths. Ten breaths to calm down and then he would have to get a plan together. He let his lungs expand until his scalp tingled, he held that breath, then let it go in a controlled exhale, focusing on the muscles in the back of his neck. When he had finished the ritual, he was calm enough to undress, hang up his suit and think of the next step.

  “God damn it.” He pulled a T-shirt over his head and marched to the bathroom, washed his face, brushed his teeth twice, washed his hands. Then he dug out his cell phone and called Ben Feingold at home. Part of him knew that he was imposing on the man, but his need to speak to someone who understood, who knew, just couldn’t be ignored.

  “Eddie?” Ben’s voice was calm and concerned. Edward only called him like this for one reason. “What’s going on, Ed?”

  “I screwed up, Ben,” God it felt so good to just be himself, to just be able to talk about it.

  “What happened, son?” The simple kindness of Ben’s voice almost wrecked him.

  “I got in the face of a guy today and people caught it on their cell phones.”

  “And you think the video will surface now?”

  “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know, but maybe.”

  “OK, so you know each time this happens, there’s less and less exposure, right?”

  Edward was silent.

  Ben’s voice came over the line, confident and compassionate. “I’ll have Jason, the same clerk that helped last time, start searching for it tomorrow. But you know, it’s very likely that it won’t surface.”

  Edward sighed and mumbled his assent, not trusting himself to speak for the way the fear and the gratitude were coursing through him.

  “Ed, you don’t have to say anything. But tonight, I just want you to remember that we’ve gone after so many sites and had that damn video taken down so often, it’s likely there isn’t any major place to post it anymore. If it goes up it’ll be someone’s personal copy and what did I tell you about that?” Ben paused. “There’s something to be said for that. If it’s a personal copy maybe, just maybe, it’ll lead us to one of those bastards once and for all. That would be a fine way for me to go out into retirement. Just takin’ one of ’em to the cleaners for you would make me twenty years younger.”

  Edward felt the panic start to subside for the first time since Dorothy had whispered to him that he was being videoed. Dorothy. He was going to lose her. He cleared his throat. “Thanks, Ben.”

  “Yeah, but I know that isn’t likely. The most likely thing is that the video will stay buried and as much as I’d like to catch one of them, I know that’s what you’re hoping for and Ed, I think that’s what’ll happen. You’ll wake up tomorrow and your life will be just the same. OK, son?”

  “OK, Ben. I’m sorry to call you on Sunday.”

  “Never say that to
me again, Ed. It’s my honor to be one of the people on your short list. All right?”

  “Yeah. Yep.” Edward ran his hands through his hair. “All right, Ben. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “All right, Ed. I’ll talk to you then. You be easy tonight. Bye now.”

  “Night, Ben.” Edward hung up. He knew Ben would never hang up first. When the video had resurfaced the first time, Ben had sat on the line for twenty minutes while Edward struggled to find a single word he could speak. Ben had gone to court four times in all, the first time to have the video taken down and three more times since then. It had been over three years since Edward had found a copy online. That didn’t mean that he didn’t have his own copy, shameful and hidden, a little evil thumb drive he brought out once in a while just to torture himself, and wonder how the young man standing by the pool could ever have been him.

  “Fuck it. I’m not doing that to myself tonight.” He put on some old George Thorogood and booted up his PC. He didn’t launch a browser. Instead he worked on emails and payroll until the sun set. He ordered up some dinner, and kept working until he was exhausted. Then he went to bed, dread pooling in his gut when he thought about what the morning would bring. What would happen when Dorothy finally saw the video? And what if she never saw it? He punched his pillow and turned onto his side. She would leave him, right? And she needed to know about it if they were really going to be serious, they couldn’t have days like this where he ran from her. He thought of her face tonight. She had been puzzled and angry, confused, hurt and he’d just left her there wondering if she’d done something wrong. Coward. He was a coward to let her blame herself for what was his sickness.

  He tried to imagine telling her. What else could he do? Ask her to promise not to see it? That would surely just drive her curiosity. He remembered his friend Tommy calling him. “Man, you do not want to see this. Just get yourself to a lawyer,” Tommy had said. But Edward had to go look for himself.

  In the scene he’d viewed, the sun was bright, the sky blue, the grass green and his face had been clear as day as the men urged him to put his hands on the patio table.

  Edward rolled to his back and launched himself out of bed. Christ, how could that have happened? And how could he explain it to someone as young and confident as Dorothy? She wanted a wrecking ball. What she was getting in him was a ball and chain. He strode to the bathroom, downed two sleeping pills and headed back to bed, finally succumbing to the dark.

  Chapter 15

  Monday morning had to arrive, and so it did. The daylight crept around the window shade and the alarm began its incessant chirping. Edward pulled himself out of bed, dreading what he might find today when he searched the Internet for his own name. He postponed it as long as he could, showering, shaving, dressing. The morning was misty and a fine spray of water droplets hung on the little bow window. Sitting at his table with his coffee, he called Ben again, but this time he dialed the man’s office.

  “Do me a favor, Ben?” he asked.

  “I already did. I checked the newsstand this morning and there was nothing in the papers. I searched for your name and it didn’t come up. The only thing out there is what’s always out there, a few links to the court filings, if I combine your name and something from one of the trials. That’s it. OK?”

  The relief was so strong, Edward had to put his coffee down until his hands stopped trembling. “Thank you, thanks, Ben.”

  “No problem, Ed. That’s what I’m here for. Now go on and get back to saving the world in your way, and let me get back to doing it my way.”

  After hanging up, Edward locked up and trotted down the stairs. He was going to need a cab to get to CDP by ten a.m., so he flagged one down, arriving at the building with only ten minutes to spare. No time for a men’s room pep talk today. He went right to the receptionist, waited politely for the person in front of him to get settled. It was now or never.

  “Excuse me,” he said. By the look on her face, he could tell she remembered him. “Last time I was here, I was very rude to you and I believe that I might have frightened you.”

  She tilted her head a little in a gesture that might have been an affirmation or a negation. No balls, no glory, so he pressed on. “And I owe you an apology. There is no excuse for my behavior, so I’m not going to bother you with one. I just want to say that I know I was wrong and I’m sorry.”

  The receptionist, Lisa, he could see her nametag now, made him wait a bit before she rose and extended her hand. “Apology accepted. Your meeting is through the doors on the left, first conference room on the right.”

  He shook her hand and thanked her, turning to the door.

  “And, Mr. Walker?”

  He stopped, looking back. “Yeah?”

  “I think your products are fantastic and I wish you good luck.” She grinned and he smiled back. For his first smile in twenty-four hours to come from a woman he’d treated badly, was a little humbling. Then he was through the doors and looking for her, his Dorothy. The meeting was starting in a minute or two and he could see she was already in the room, surrounded by the agency’s employees. With no time for a private word, he had to settle for smiling at her and hoping she could see that he was himself again. He had to believe that was enough.

  There were no windows in this room. Aluminum easels lined the long wall across from the door. From left to right, her placards mapped out the progression of the messaging she wanted to deliver. On the short wall, an overhead projector was looping through the pages of the revamped website Dorothy had envisioned and refined over the weekend. In the middle of it all stood Dorothy, smiling broadly, her face animated and glowing, as she vigorously nodded at something a young, dark-haired man was saying to her. Her blond hair was smooth and shining, her body lithe and elegant in a peach linen suit. Edward’s chest felt tight as he looked at her. This woman, he had walked away from this woman in shame last night. What the fuck had he been thinking? Any man with brains would stay as close to her as she would let him. His turning away from her would just leave room for guys like this idiot to move in. Edward straightened and moved farther into the room. He let his attention go to the slide show, and then to the advertising display. The colors were vibrant and clean, the messaging was positive and clear. These were products born of hope and determination, and the people who bought them were making a difference. The physical presence of Dorothy faded from his mind and her work rose before him—he watched as the attendees filtered in—he watched their faces as one by one they became caught in the spell of Dorothy’s vision. Sharp and tight, a strange feeling coalesced behind his breast bone. Like a physical pressure, it ballooned until he thought it might rip him apart. This was it. This campaign, this exhibit, this was his vision, manifest before him in a way that he could never have expressed. What he and Gunnar tried to communicate with their bottles of bovine probiotics, bags of the finest grass seeds, sleek tailpipe extensions and filters was now in living color, laid out so even the smallest child could understand it, could feel the prayer, the hope, and the plea to join him, join them.

  The belief that they could save Earth was laid out, raw and begging, for all to see. He couldn’t imagine how anyone could view this and say no. He turned his head and sought Dorothy out. She was looking right at him, her expression intelligent, soft, and full of an emotion he hadn’t seen on a woman’s face in so long, it just about killed him. He gave her a small smile and mouthed the words it’s wonderful. The moment ended; Adam came in and the meeting was underway.

  A bank of lights was shut off by the dark haired man and Dorothy gave the man a smile. Edward hated him. He wanted to be the one shutting off the lights for her, as ridiculous as that was. The slide show stopped and a new one began. Music faded in and a woman’s voice began speaking.

  “In the war on global warming, one truth is undisputed: there is no room for any of us on the sidelines.” A Polar bear, stranded on a tiny ice flow, drifted across a sparkling ocean beneath the blazing sun. “Even the mighti
est of us will not be able to change the course of history on their own.” Flights of birds arose from amid rippling heat waves on an African plain. “The most self-sufficient communities will not be able to insulate themselves from change.” Roaring flood waters ripped through a village, washing farm animals and the colored walls of homes before it. Swaying amid the branches of a slender, bending sapling, a boy wearing only navy pants, reached out a thin brown arm and managed to pull a dog from the churning water, the frightened animal trembling and dripping against the boy’s chest. “Each of us will be called on to act with courage and faith if we are to halt the ravages that lie before us.” A misty sun rose over the Manhattan skyline, rays glinting on the waters of the Atlantic. “As a nation, as a global community, we will have to support and cheer each other in enacting universal restrictions on carbon emissions. But it all feels so far away.” The sun set behind the playground of a small rural schoolyard, the picture merging into a series of different homes in America, a saltbox in New England, a colorful row house in San Francisco, a beachside cinder block home in Florida, a farm in Nebraska. A man in his late twenties, wearing a polo shirt and jeans walked down his driveway to his car parked in front of a small suburban ranch home. “At Walker and Birkeland, we make products that provide concrete, proven ways for everybody to make a difference.” The tailpipe adapter rose on the screen. Next a farmer appeared, letting cows into a field. “Carbon scrubbers for automobiles, healthier grasses for farm fields.” A business man stood before an upscale home, talking to a construction crew. “Underground carbon storage.” A factory worker carried a slim filter across a factory floor. “Emission scrubbers for manufacturing and so much more. Walker and Birkeland. The fight is real. The solutions are here.”

  The lights came up and the room sat in silence. Dorothy bit her cuticle and looked around the room, then seemed to gather her courage. She moved to the front of the room, loose and confident, like a lioness.