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“They’re weak. Too much orange juice, not enough champagne.”
It’s barely noon! And she’s just glossed over everything I’ve just said to her.
I look at Naomi and shoot my shot.
“If multiple people sign him in for psychiatric observation, it could be helpful. He needs help.”
Naomi’s response is to drink from her mimosa, but her eyes don’t leave mine.
What is she trying to communicate?
Grace puts her hand on my knee, so I turn toward her.
“Chloe,” she says gently, “Derek is unique. He doesn’t process things the same way as the average person. He’s not easily dissuaded. With Derek, you have to finesse things to get him to see them your way. If you also tweak your expectations you’ll–”
I lean forward. “He should be put in jail for the things he’s done!”
My eyes dart to Shannon Steele. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Steele. I don’t mean to hamper your anniversary celebration but real talk here, Derek blackmailed me in some very not-nice ways. I don’t need a briefing on how to deal with the press or the public. I need you people to get him some help. He needs to be admitted for psychiatric evaluation. I won’t have to press charges if you help me handle things in a way that I know I’ll be safe. That the people I care about will be safe. That your son won’t be a danger to anybody.”
Marcie is back with a bucket holding a bottle of champagne and a male server follows with a tray of clean glasses.
“Put it all down,” Mrs. Steele says, irritated. “We’ve got this.”
They leave us with the table now quite crowded. Shannon tops off each of our glasses with champagne, mine overflowing until it spills on the beautiful rug that likely costs more than my Cherokee.
I gasp.
“Oh, whoops,” Derek’s mother says with a lopsided grin. “Marcie!”
Staff descend to deal with the rug.
“We should get back, shouldn’t we?” Naomi asks.
“I’ll meet you all there,” Mrs. Steele says. “Chloe and I can talk about all this later. For now, I must powder my nose.”
She disappears into a room adjoining the room we’re in.
I’m standing out of the way of the puddle on the rug and Grace links arms with me and moves us out of the room.
I’m reeling. They’re all in denial. Or they don’t care.
“Grace,” I whisper. “What the fuck?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t get involved in that way. But I’m here if you want to talk. I can give you pointers for dealing with him.”
I look over my shoulder.
Naomi shakes her head. She heard.
I stop and look at them both beseechingly. “He’s making threats. He’s threatening to harm people I care about if I don’t do what he wants me to do. He’s had me followed. Slipped into my bedroom while I was asleep and I’m sure I don’t need to spell out what he did when he got in there. He’s got cameras in my house. He had some guy hold me and my fiancé at gunpoint so my fiancé and I couldn’t have sex. Is he capable of doing violent things? Seriously? I need to know. Because I think he is.”
“Yeah,” Naomi says as if the word yeah is an understatement.
My heart plummets.
“I need help,” I whisper.
“Girlfriend,” Grace says, “I know this sounds odd, but you could be really good for him.”
