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“This is hideous tripe,” I spit out. “I feel like I’m reading my own fucking obituary.”
Georgina giggles with glee. “Read to the end, stronzo. What part of that instruction do you not understand?”
Begrudgingly, I return to Georgina’s screen, only to discover I’m not only a “philanthropist” who “generously” supports such and such causes, I’m also a guy who “regularly” helps good friends and family, and their friends and family, with whatever they ask of me, while never seeking acknowledgment or praise for any of my covert good deeds.
“Not true,” I mutter under my breath. But I know better than to look up from the screen again. I continue reading: “Why does Reed help so many people, without seeking credit or adulation? As far as this writer can tell, he does it simply because he can. Because helping people gives his life purpose. Because he’s a genuinely good man who likes watching other people soar. Of all the wonderful things I’ve discovered about Reed this summer, I think that’s the thing I like best about him. The thing that made me fall in love with him the most.
“Yes, you read that right. This writer has fallen hopelessly and totally in love with Reed Rivers. I didn’t mean to do it. In fact, I tried very hard not to give him my heart. But it couldn’t be helped. He’s irresistible. Thankfully for me, though, luck was on my side. When I gave Reed my heart, he gave me his in return. And let me unpeel it, down to the nub. And that’s why I’m able to tell you, with certainty, The Man with the Midas Touch truly does have a heart of gold.”
And that’s it. The article ends that way, without any mention of my father—not even the golf story I explicitly gave her permission to use. She doesn’t bother to mention the fact that I play all that Scrabble and do all that yoga with my “beloved mother” in a mental facility. Similarly, there’s no mention of my parents’ divorce or Troy Eklund or Stephanie Moreland. For crying out loud, Georgina’s article is so opposite a hit piece, so unabashedly—and explicitly—a sappy love letter to her boyfriend—I mean, for fuck’s sake, she literally declares her love for me!—it’s an embarrassment. Not only to me, but also to Georgina.
And then it hits me. She’s playing a prank on me. Ha! I look up, chuckling. “Good one. You almost got me. Now, show me the real article.”
Georgina smiles. “This is the real article.”
“No more joking around, sweetheart. I’ll cherish this forever. It’s sweet. But, please, show me the one you’re actually planning to submit to CeeCee.”
“This is it. I swear on my mother.”
I pause, utterly floored. Not to mention, disgusted. “Are you insane? You can’t submit this!”
She laughs. “Why not?”
“Because it’s everything you said you didn’t want to write. Propaganda. A love letter to your boyfriend. Not to mention, it’s full of brazen fabrications and untruths.”
“Name one thing that’s not true.”
“All of it! It’s not any one thing. It’s the total effect of it, put together. You’ve made me sound like a saint.”
“The article is well-researched and every word is accurate.”
I scoff. “I funded your grant because I wanted to fuck you. Did you forget about that?”
Georgina folds her arms over her chest and leans back from the kitchen table. “Then why’d you pay for my father’s medication, on top of my salary? Why’d you donate so much money to the cancer charity, if your only goal was getting me into bed? Surely, you could have paid my measly little salary and nothing else, if you sincerely didn’t have any altruistic motivations.”
Well, shit. She’s got me there. I’ve already told her, repeatedly, I had parallel motivations on that front. So, fuck, I guess I need another tack. “Yes, okay, but you make it sound like I’m never selfishly motivated, in anything I do, and you know that’s a bald-faced lie. There’s always something in it for me.”
“Is that so? Why’d you help Keane with his career? His agent wouldn’t send him on any serious auditions, so you pulled strings, without a moment’s hesitation. What’d you get out of that?”
“Where’d you hear about that?”
“Kat.”
I roll my eyes. Fucking Kat. It’s no wonder her family calls her The Blabbermouth. “Did Kat bother to mention Josh asked me to do it?”
“You also helped Hannah get a job.”
“Because Henn asked me to do it. Whoop-de-do, I sometimes do favors for my two best friends. It hardly makes me a saint. Do you know how many favors they’ve done for me over the years? Josh paid for every fun thing we ever did in college. He flew a group of us to Thailand for spring break! Did you know that, after graduation, he’s the one who gave me a loan to help me get River Records off the ground? I owe everything to Josh for that loan. Just as much as I owe CeeCee for putting Rock ‘n’ Roll’s reputation behind a nobody-band called Red Card Riot. And don’t get me started on Henn. You already know that guy helps me left and right, in a million ways. And not just regarding occasional hacking. He’s my conscience. He keeps me sane and on the right track. So, okay, yes, I do nice things for my friends, sometimes. It doesn’t mean I have a ‘heart of gold.’ It only means I’m not a sociopath. But that’s hardly something to praise me for in a gushing piece of tripe.”
