“How about Tony?” I said. “He’s going to be thrilled.”
“Not right now,” she said. “I don’t want to tell anybody at the moment.”
“But…that review she posted is worthless,” Spike said. “Your editor and agent should know.”
She shook her head.
“Maybe we should keep it to ourselves and make her sweat?”I tried. “Is that your line of thinking? You want to see if she posts a positive review and an apology on her own? That might carry more weight with Evan. But I still think we should tell Tony.”
Melanie Joan stayed silent.
Spike and I looked at each other.
I pulled down my visor and glanced in the mirror. Melanie Joan sat in the backseat, arms and legs crossed tight, half her face shielded by her sunglasses. Unreadable.
“Melanie Joan?” I said. “Are you okay?”
“I hate her,” she said. “I hate Leila Donnelly.”
“Me, too,” I said. “We all do.”
“She called me washed-up,” Melanie Joan said. “And fossilized. And…old.”
“Sticks and stones,” Spike said. “And anyway, you know that’s bullshit. You’re fabulous.”
Melanie Joan said nothing for a long while. She smoothed her hair and crossed her hands demurely in her lap.
“Spike’s right, you know,” I said. “You really shouldn’t let anything she said back there—”
“You know what? I think I need a nice long nap,” Melanie Joan said. And then she was through talking.
—
Two hours later, when I was in my office and Spike was at his restaurant and Melanie Joan was back at her hotel, presumably taking that nap, Blake came in from reception and told me that someone [email protected] my website. He wouldn’t have bothered me, he said, but the subject line wasURGENTin all caps.
I was amazed that anybody still used Hotmail, but I opened it anyway. I had a feeling I knew who the sender was.
The email consisted of one line:It’s LD. Can we please meet?Plus a phone number. I found the “please” part interesting. I called the number. A woman picked up. I recognized that whispery voice immediately.
“Hello, Leila,” I said.
“I need to talk to you.”
“What about?”
“Nothing I can say over the phone.”
I took my time responding. “Can Melanie Joan come?”
“Just you.”
“Why?”
“Because what I have to say is very…sensitive. Plus, she hates me.”
“Do you blame her?”
She breathed, in and out. “No.”
