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“Cat,” my father’s secretary, Nancy, says. Nancy is blonde and gorgeous, of course. She’s probably fucking my father. That’s his thing. He, like Mitch, likes his secretaries. I walk right past her too and enter the office, opening the door to find my brothers present.
“Oh good. A Maxwell family reunion.” I shut the door. “Well, except for the youngest, who was smart enough to leave the city. I’d call him, but why bring him into this hell. Let him lead a happy life.”
My father, who I haven’t seen in months, looks good, not sick at all. His grey hair is thick, his complexion warm. His weight healthy as always. My brothers just look like assholes, one on either side of his desk. Twin assholes. “I told Reese Summer that we had a conflict. He immediately called my publisher and asked to back out of the consulting agreement thanks to that conflict of interest. For those of you who think my career sucks, that’s half a million dollars. Yes. More than my asshole brothers are probably making in a year with their fucking Harvard law degrees. Thank you. I love you all, too.”
“He’s suing us, Cat,” Reid says.
“His partner is suing you.”
“Semantics,” my father says.
“Well, now you can duke it out with him. He’s done with me and my book. I watched him in court. I hope you will all call me before you zip up those orange suits and at least say goodbye.”
I turn and walk out of the office and when I reach the elevator and punch the button, it’s with relief that it opens. I put on a show in there, but I felt every angry word. I step into the elevator and Gabe joins me just before we’re shut inside.
“A half million dollars.”
“Yes. I sold a lot of books with the last release and this time I had Reese on board. But it’s done now. I move on.”
“Put it off until this is over.”
“Why?” I demand, and then grind through harsh words I don’t want to speak. “We both know if you can ruin Reese Summer, you will. He’ll be worth nothing to me.”
“It might not end that way.”
And there it is. The confirmation. They are going after him, but at least I’ve been assured I’m not leverage.
“But it might and it doesn’t matter. I’m already talking to my publisher about another option with the prosecutor, though I hate that prick almost as much as I hate you right now.”
He reaches into his jacket and hands me the letter from our mother. “I’ve been carrying it around. I was going to bring it by, but I keep reading the damn thing. I’m on team Cat just like Mom. And I’m not being sued. I didn’t fuck up and get involved. For the record, I don’t think Dad knew what was going on either.”
“Reid?”
“He says he didn’t. I’m not sure. Uncle Rudolf. He knew. He’s the root of all of this.” The elevator dings and he adds, “Team Cat.”
I don’t reply. Gabe and I have a big wall to climb. The one my family put between me and Reese. I exit the car and I try to figure out how to tell Reese what is going on. I don’t want to put anyone in the middle. That means my column.
Hours later, I’m back in my pink-covered bed without Reese, writing my column. I find a case that fits perfectly. A woman accused of murder, but ultimately the uncle is now being questioned. I walk my audience through how the woman became the accused. In the end, I close simply: The uncle has yet to be charged, but I predict that that tide will turn, and he will soon be the defendant in a court case we will follow here with interest. Until then —Cat.
The message is there. Look at my uncle, who isn’t my uncle at all, and who my mother never liked. Now I know why. He’s trouble.
***
Reese
Day three apart…
I start my morning at my coffee pot reading Cat’s column and I understand the message. Her uncle is trouble.
Cat
Day fourteen apart…
I am miserable, sitting in my overstuffed chair by my fireplace, with Ben and Jerry’s ice cream next to me after eating two last night while Lauren and Julie hung out here. I’m going to be buying new clothes if I keep this up and I don’t seem to care. Cherry Garcia, and my MacBook, are my friends. I love them. I need them. I worship them. Not really, but ice cream is a known substitute for sex per me, the expert, who is not having sex right now after having had the best sex of her life.
My cellphone rings and I grab it, hopeful that it’s Reese and this is over, but it’s not. It’s his mother. I answer with a reprimand. “I told you that you can’t call. It connects me to Reese.”
“I know,” she says. “But Reese told me he can’t talk to me right now. He has shut himself off. He’s completely focused on whatever he is doing.”
