“Yes!” a group of women responded.
“Anyway, I enjoy Leila Donnelly’s books,” Sam said. “And I hear she just signed with your publisher.” He gave Melanie Joan a sly look. “I suppose you two touring together is out of the question?”
A few guffaws erupted from the audience. Melanie Joan satthere, stone-faced. I thought about what my dad had suggested, about getting her in front of her beloved fans to offer a public apology to Book Babe. She’d really have to humble herself,he’d said last night. It felt more than a little ironic now. The only one humbling Melanie Joan was Sam.
“Oh, great,” Tony said. “Now Greg Scepter is calling me.”
“Oh, no,” I said.
“I’d say wish me luck, but what would be the point?” Tony said.
“It does feel like a foregone conclusion,” I said.
As we ended our conversation, Melanie Joan was telling Sam that she was disappointed in him, in his show, and in his audience. “It was a mistake coming here,” she said.
It was the one thing she’d said that was indisputable.
My phone rang. It was Spike. “Are you watching this?” he said.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” I said. The positive aspect to this interview was that it seemed to be over. Sam was thanking Melanie Joan for joining him. I turned off the TV.
“I want to punch Sam in the face,” Spike said. “Should I?”
“I don’t think it would be helpful.”
“No, but it would feel good,” he said. “To me, not him.”
“It would probably feel good to me, too.”
Rosie was still in my bed, snoring away. I glanced at the clock on my wall. It wasn’t even seven-ten a.m. yet. “Wait, what are you doing up so early?”
“You promise you won’t get mad at me?” Spike said.
I frowned. “Why would I get mad at you?”
“Because,” he said. “I’m here at the studio with Melanie Joan. I’m the idiot who gave her a ride.”
Twenty-six
Spike and Melanie Joan were at my apartment, drinking coffee in silence, when Tony showed up. “I’ve got some news for Melanie Joan,” he said to my intercom. “It isn’t good.”
That wasn’t surprising. I buzzed him up.
“I obviously don’t know how to make good decisions anymore,” Melanie Joan said.
“No argument here,” said Spike. He wouldn’t even look at her. Hadn’t said a word to Melanie Joan since they’d arrived. I couldn’t blame him. At six a.m., she’d called Spike, telling him that she needed to be at the studio for a planned public apology to Book Babe.I know it’s a big ask,she’d said, according to Spike.But can you take me there? Tony has an early meeting, so he can’t make it, and I could use the moral support.
If there was one thing Spike hated, it was being played for afool. And even though Melanie Joan insisted that this had never been her intention, Spike didn’t know until they arrived that 1) the appearance had not been planned, and 2) Melanie Joan had no intention of publicly apologizing to anyone. He’d stood backstage, avoiding eye contact with Sam and sinking deeper and deeper into the realization that he’d aided and abetted a staggering act of stupidity. Who could fault him for feeling betrayed?
“It was even worse in person, Sunny,” Spike said.
“I’d been up all night,” Melanie Joan said. “I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“Yet another detail you didn’t tell me about,” Spike said.
“I have a copy of her latest,” Melanie Joan said. “I highlighted all the misogynistic parts in yellow, the terrible clichés in green, and the parts where she’s ripped off other writers—including me—in pink. I should have brought it with me as a visual.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” Spike said.
