Chapter Six

 

Julie

 

"I'm not really sure," I say.

Is that really the best I can do to inspire some confidence in him? For now, at least.

What I want to say is I have no idea where to even begin. From what I'm seeing as I scroll through news articles, tabloid spreads, and countless videos taken on shaky phones and posted everywhere known to man, Shane is, in the most professional of terms, screwed. He has messed his reputation up royally, and this new scandal has only made it worse. Like I said, the good old boys and dreamy-eyed girls who make up the vast majority of his fan base might get uncomfortable or a little angry when they see Shane acting up in a bar or shouting at a waiter. But they're a hell of a lot more likely to accept that than support someone they think abused his girlfriend. That's something they simply will not tolerate.

With every new picture, video, or comment I see, I feel more and more like this might be a lost cause. Then I think about the promise of a bonus and a raise, and my mind drifts over to the possibility of maybe doing such a good job that Mr. Slidell offers me a permanent position as a representative. It would be fantastic – much more fantastic than losing my job will be if I don't do well. I know giving up isn't an option. I have to buckle down, figure this out, and survive a summer with Shane while I scrub his reputation clean and create a brand-new image. Maybe this is some bizarre karmic punishment for taking a little bit of pleasure in finding out Shane wasn't doing quite so well anymore. Alright. Maybe more than a little bit.

I'm about to point out an article I'd noticed from this morning detailing the accusations against him when I hear a knock at my door. It’s jarringly loud, but that's to be expected when construction paper and glue sticks could have crafted a structure with more integrity and privacy than these walls.

"Expecting someone?" Shane asks.

I think I see a glimmer of jealousy in his eyes and hear a bit of tension in his smoky voice, but I push those thoughts down. Why would he be jealous? I could have a never-ending stream of naked men doing the Cupid Shuffle throughout my apartment, and he would have no reason to worry about it. I'd probably worry about it. But Shane wouldn’t even give it a second thought.

Setting my computer down on the cushion beside me, I unfold my legs and walk over to the door. The peephole barely shows anything, but it's enough that I know who's standing on the other side of the door, holding what looks like a pizza box. I unlock the door and open it.

"Mrs. Livingston," I say. "What a… pleasant surprise."

"Hi Julie," she says, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head as she tries to peer around me into the apartment. "It looks like the delivery man brought your pizza to the wrong apartment by mistake."

I twist my face into a quizzical look and tilt my head at her.

"I didn't order a pizza.”

"Oh," she says cheerfully. "Then I guess I ordered it and they delivered it to the right apartment on purpose. It must have just slipped my mind. You know. Age. Let's have lunch."

She shoves the box into my chest and pushes past me into the apartment.

"Mrs. Livingston, I'm actually –" I start, but I can't get the whole sentence out of my mouth before she sees Shane.

"Oh! I didn't realize you had company!"

Bull. She's probably heard every single word we've said and called for pizza the second she recognized Shane's voice.

"Hello," Shane says, standing up. "I'm Shane Lawson."

"I know who you are," she says, holding her hand out to him. "I watch you all the time. I'm Gloria Livingston, Julie's neighbor."

"It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Livingston," Shane says, putting on the charm.

"You can call me Gloria," she says.

I've never received such an offer. What the heck.

"Mrs. Livingston, we're actually working right now," I say gently.

"Working?" she asks.

"Yes," I tell her, staying by the open door so I can hand her the pizza on her way out. "I kind of got a temporary promotion today. I'm going to be Shane's PR rep for the summer."

"That's wonderful!" Mrs. Livingston gushes. "I know that's what you came here to do. I mean, not for Shane in particular, but in general. I guess your history will help with that."

Shane's eyes slide over to me, and I cringe.

"Thank you," I say. "Yes, it's going to be quite the challenge, so we really need to focus."

I gesture with the pizza box toward the door, and she waves me off casually.

"I totally understand. Don't you worry. I'll just sit here quietly and eat my pizza. Do you mind if we turn on the TV? Jessica will be on soon, and I just can't miss her."

Yes, because fake mysteries solved thirty years ago by a widow from Maine have a universally irresistible draw.

At least the pizza smells good. It reminds me I didn't get a chance to eat lunch, and my stomach grumbles in protest loudly. Closing the door, I turn the lock and carry the box over to the coffee table. I set it down and head to the kitchen for plates. When I come back into the living room, both have slices of meatball and onion pizza in their hands.

Classy.

Taking one of the plates for myself, I set the rest beside the open box, reach in, and grab myself a slice. Shane eyes the plate in my hand.

"Paper?" he asks.

I glare at him.

"Yes."

"That's sophisticated."

"Says the man holding his hand under his slice of pizza so he doesn't drip grease on his lap."

"Have you not unpacked all of your dishes, yet?" Mrs. Livingston asks.

"I have one plate, two cups, and a soup bowl," I say.

My teeth sink into the slice, and I take a few seconds to savor the richness of the cheese and the spiciness of the meatballs. I've been living off the bare necessities of groceries and leftover pastries from the coffee shop to save as much money as I can, so this is a major indulgence for me. It might be mostly oil, and I'm going to have the smell of garlic and onions emanating from my pores for the next couple of days, but it tastes like sheer luxury to me.

"That doesn't seem like much to set up a home with," she says.

"It's all I need for me."

"But what about when you have company, like now?"

"I don't have company," I say. "I have my next-door neighbor who I spend almost all my free time with at her place, and one client. That doesn't really justify pulling out the fine china and crystal glasses."

I take another bite and can feel both of them staring at me.

"What if there was a special man in your life?"

I hear Shane try to muffle a laugh and shoot a glare in his direction before turning back to Mrs. Livingston. I hold my arms out as if to indicate the entirety of myself.

"This is what I've got," I say. "This is it. The only guy in my life right now is yellow, rubber, and lives his life stuck to my shower wall."

"He's a little creepy," Shane says. "I had to close the shower curtain when I was in there."

"Worried he was judging you?" I ask. "Anyway, now that we're done with this afternoon's episode of 'Julie’s Sad Adult Life', can we move on with work? We really don't have a lot of time."

"You go right ahead," Mrs. Livingston says. "I'm just going to put on my Jessica. I won't be a bit of trouble."

Between her and Shane, I feel like I never actually left Virginia.

"I think the key place to start is dealing with Vanessa and her accusations," I say. "Immediate damage control with that is going to make a huge difference. We can work on building you up a little bit later in the summer, but for right now this is about handling the crisis in front of us."

"What do you suggest we do?" Shane asks. "I've already told everybody who’ll listen to me it's not true."

"Everybody?" I ask. "I heard you tell Mr. Slidell, and the men in the coffee shop, and me. I'm assuming you told your coach. Who else have you been able to talk to, though?"

"Not many people," he admits. "But it just happened. I haven't had enough time."

I sigh, running my fingers back through my hair.

"That's the problem," I say. "This thing just keeps getting worse and worse the more time that passes. We are just chasing it."

"Then why don't you have a press conference?"

Shane and I both look at Mrs. Livingston. She's making her way through her third slice of pizza and hasn't turned away from the screen.

"Well," she continues. "You just said he needs to tell people that woman's accusations aren't true. He can't go around town knocking on doors and talking to each person individually. Even if he could, what's that going to do for the rest of the people all around the country who are watching him? I'm not sure how far the rumors have stretched already, but if they've gotten out into the world, it's going to cause him serious problems. He needs to nip this in the bud. The fastest way to do that is to get him in front of as many people as possible."

"Nip it in the bud?" Shane asks. "Is that really the expression?"

"Yes," I say.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

"Yes," I say, a bit more exasperated. "I'm sure you've heard it before. It's used back home plenty."

"No, I know, I've heard it before. I just didn't realize that's what people were saying."

"What did you think they were saying?" I ask.

"Nip it in the butt."

I don't know if I should laugh or be shocked that this grown man has gone through thirty plus years of his life thinking people were saying nip it in the butt.

"What?" I ask. "What is that even supposed to mean?"

"Like a dog nipping at you," Shane says. "If you were doing something, and a dog hopped up and nipped you on the butt, you'd stop what you were doing, right?"

"I suppose I would," I say.

"It just makes more sense to me. I mean, seriously. What is nipping in the bud? What would that even mean?"

"Flowers, honey," Mrs. Livingston says with a chuckle. "It's talking about flowers. A late frost in the late winter or early spring can kill the flowers while they are still in the bud phase. It will nip them… in the bud."

She is speaking to him so carefully, I half-expect her to pull out a felt board and do a demonstration for him.

"Oh," Shane says.

There's a moment of awkward silence.

It's nice to see a flicker of embarrassment run across his face. It'll do him good.

"Anyway… I think having a press conference is a great idea. It'll give you a chance to confront the situation head-on. You can step up, acknowledge what's been going on, admit the wrongs you’ve done, but also vehemently deny everything she's said about you."

"Don't you think that could go badly though?" Shane asks. "What if they start asking a bunch of questions?"

"They probably will," I say. "Doing a press conference is going to put you out in the public eye and will open you up to questions you might not want to answer. It's probably going to be an uncomfortable situation, but you can't really get around that at this point. Putting yourself out there is going to at least show the public that you're not hiding anything. That's what we want right now. You want to look transparent, honest, and trustworthy."

"What if they start dragging things up, and I don't respond correctly? What if I say something wrong, or they bring up something I don't even know about yet? With as much trouble as I've gotten into in public, do you really think this is a good idea? I think I should lay low and start doing some charity work or some shit." He looks at Mrs. Livingston. "I'm sorry."

Even though it doesn't sound exactly genuine, it's the closest thing I've ever heard to an actual apology come out of his mouth. I wish I'd captured it on my phone, so I could use it as my ringtone for him from now on.

"Look, Shane," I say. "This might come as a surprise to you, but it's not really your choice. It’s obvious that you are incapable of making these types of decisions for yourself. That's why I'm here. You need to wrap your head around the idea that you're not in charge of this. I am. My job is to make you look good, and hopefully get people to forget how idiotic you've been so you don’t end up unemployed. If either one of us is going to have a chance, you need to do what I tell you, when I tell you to do it."

He's glaring at me so hard I can feel his eyes burrowing into me, but I won't back down. Not this time. I see Mrs. Livingston stand.

"You know what? I've seen this one a bunch of times. This is the one where the police think they know who did it, but Jessica proves they didn't know, and she comes up with a creative little farce to get the real killer to confess. You know that one." Of course, I do, considering that’s essentially every episode of the series ever produced. "I'm just going to go ahead and head back to my apartment for a little afternoon nap. Shane, it was lovely to meet you."

He tells her goodbye, and Mrs. Livingston quietly slips out of my apartment. I hear the door to her apartment close a few seconds later.

"I'm leaving, too.”

Without another word, he walks out of the apartment, closing the door slowly behind him. I almost would have preferred if he'd slammed it. A raving, angry man is far easier to deal with than one who's simmering and unpredictable.

I haven't even gotten into the kitchen with the pizza box when my phone rings.

"Hi, Joe," I say to my brother after answering the call. "What's up?"

"Hey, little sister. What are you up to?"

Hearing Joe's voice is reassuring. I haven't lived here very long, but it feels like I've been away from my brother forever. Until I moved here, we were never apart for more than a couple of days. Rather than going to college out of state, he stayed in town, so he could take care of me after our parents died. If he hadn't, the court would have sent me to some faceless relative I'd met when I was a toddler but hadn't seen or heard of since. I've carried guilt about that with me for years, knowing he might have had the opportunity for so much more if he had enrolled at his first-choice school. Maybe it would have been him who would have gotten the chance at a career instead of Shane. Maybe he wouldn't have relied so much on Shane and been hurt so badly for it.

"I actually just finished up a meeting with my new client. As of today, I am no longer a secretary. At least, not for the time being."

"And not a coffee wench, either?"

I make a face at the phone.

"I told you, that's not what we're called. And, no."

I pause halfway through stuffing my shoes into the shoe holder on the back of my bedroom door, thinking about what I just said. "Actually, I'm not sure. I haven't talked to my boss about that yet. But probably not. Maybe, though. It doesn't matter. What matters is I can officially call myself a PR rep."

"That's fantastic. I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you."

"So, who's this new client?"

Oh, shit.

I pause again. This isn't where I wanted this conversation to go. I was so excited to tell my brother about my new job I didn't even think about him asking that question.

"Um," I say, hesitating.

"What?" Joe asks. "You can't tell me? Is it top secret?"

What are the chances he'll buy it if I say yes? Probably not good. Besides, he'll find out eventually. It's better for me to go ahead and tell him now, so he doesn't get upset and feel like I was hiding it from him.

"Well," I start, perching on the edge of my bed to prepare myself for his reaction. "It's Shane."

"Shane?"

I nod even though he can't see me.

"Yes. Shane Lawson."

There's a brief pause, and I hear Joe let out a long sigh.

"Why would you take him on as a client?" he finally asks.

"I didn't really take him as a client. He was forced on me."

"What do you mean? How can you be forced to take on a client?"

I tell him the entire story, not sparing a single detail.

"I hate that you have to represent him," Joe mutters.

"I know. I'm not too happy about it, either, but it could mean amazing things for me."

"If he doesn't screw you over, too. If he could do it to me after everything I did for him, and all the years we were friends, don't think he'd hesitate to do it to you. He doesn't even know you."

"That was pretty clear when he didn't recognize me at first."

"Good. If he thinks even for a second, he'd be able to gain something by dicking you over, he'll do it."

Joe doesn't say it, but I know he's just as hurt as he is angry. He's thinking about the friendship that faded, the promises Shane forgot, and the way he took advantage of Joe to chase the success he so desperately wanted.

"It's going to be fine," I say. "I'm going to be fine. I can take care of myself. Shane Lawson isn't going to get the best of me."

"Promise me something. Don't fall for him, OK? He might have been with Vanessa for a long time, but don't trust it. Before he met her, and I'm sure after they broke up, he went through women like they were nothing more than bottles of water. And I'm sure you've heard how his relationship with Vanessa ended."

Cue the PR rep.

"Yes, I've heard the accusations. But that's all they are. Accusations. There's absolutely no proof, and Shane says it never happened. That's going to be a major focus of my work with him. I'm going to clear his name."

"Even if it's not true, I don't want him manipulating you."

"I don't think he even fully processes that I'm a woman, much less that I might merit any sort of romantic interest."

I decide to leave out that I've never put a lot of stock in dating, have never had a boyfriend, and am still a virgin. I don't really think those are things I need to share with my brother.

"Just be careful."

"I will," I reassure him. "Speaking of all this. Can you think of any way I might be able to prove Vanessa is lying about the abuse? Shane won't say it, but I’m worried the rumors could escalate to actual charges if we don't figure out how to get her to retract what she said soon."

"No," Joe says. "I don't know how you're going to do that."

"You're not just saying that because you want him to get hurt, are you?"

"No. I don't want him to get hurt, Julie. Humiliated is fine. Knocked off his pedestal and forced to live a normal life would even be great. But I don't want him in jail – especially if he didn’t do it. I'm not that vindictive."

"OK. If you think of anything, let me know, will you?"

"I will. So, other than the whole Shane situation, are you doing alright?"

"I'm fine."

We fall into a more comfortable conversation about Mrs. Livingston, the pastries I've eaten in the last week, and Bindi's recent and brief foray into the world of temporary neon hair dye, while he fills me in on what’s happening back home. By the end of the conversation I'm homesick and feeling discouraged. I know I need to push as hard as I can and get through this. I can't let this opportunity pass me by. I owe more than that to myself. I owe it to Joe.