28
Maggie
Roe takesme home after breakfast. I’ve been neglecting my duties as unpaid housekeeper and need to regroup. We’re too caught up in each other. We both seem to want some space after our heavy revelations to one another. Or rather we need to. Yet, neither of us seems to want to leave each other’s sides as we say goodbye.
It’s absurd. You’d think I’m going off to war, the way our hands clasp desperately to each other in the driveway behind Mrs. Jenkins’s house. We can’t stop kissing each other and then smiling like idiots. Ugh. I love it.
But really, we need to get things done. We agree to regroup tomorrow night for dinner. He has to film all day and I need to make a plan. As close as I feel to Roe, I made a choice. I’m not involving him in this anymore. I can’t tell him that because he’ll try to change my mind. He wants to do what’s right but this is all my fault. He’s gotten in way too deep because of me. I promised to help him and all I’ve done is manage to make his life infinitely more complicated.
Roe thinks the Zebulund threat was for him but I think it’s more than that. He’s getting too close to the flames. Zebulund is showing that he has the power to destroy anybody in a single breath. I bet he didn’t even lose a wink of sleep last night.
He framed Viktor. He’s somehow responsible for the entire shift of the public against the actor. It’s that easy to sway the masses. A few tweets, a few news stories, and a career is ruined. I won’t have that happen to Roe. Not now, not after I know what he’s been fighting for.
When I check on Mrs. Jenkins, she’s napping, so I take out her trash, clean up the kitchen, and do a little bit of housekeeping. All the while my gears spin, making a plan. I need access to Zebulund’s files. I need to get real dirt on him. I need an exposé, but it’s further away than ever. All I have is a few names.
After I take care of the house and a few emails, I start my search on the names I found on Zebulund’s computer. They don’t get me far. One is a lawyer from the Valley. There’s no connection to Zebulund or Roe as far as I can see. The other is a director I recognize. He’s done a few films for Slingers but that’s nothing crazy. I can’t help but see the news in my searching. The media blows up with examples of how awful Viktor is and always has been. I feel for the guy. He did his best. He’s obviously working through some issues. Poor guy. His whole life is ruined. Personal and professional.
But suddenly the universe is on my side when I get an email entitled, “Is this Miss Mayday?” from Viktor himself.
* * *
Viktor wantsto talk to Miss Mayday. He wants to tell his side of the story. Who am I to say no? He gives me his address and I head over to Beverly Hills. It means revealing that Miss Mayday is Roe’s assistant, Rachel, but it means he will give me the biggest break in this story yet. It’s a calculated but necessary risk. I’m so close now. The tide has turned and Zebulund is going down.
I’ve just pulled up to the gate of Viktor’s mansion when he stumbles out from the side door leading to the garage. His blond hair easily gives him away. He can hardly walk.
“Viktor!” I yell through the heavy iron gate.
His whole body turns toward me comically.
“Ahoy!” he yells.
“I’m here to talk.”
It takes him a bit to make his way toward the gate.
His face is a muddle of confusion as he tries to place me. “You’re Roe’s assistant? Did he send you?” A breeze carries the strong scent of alcohol before he reaches me.
“Nothing like that. I want to talk to you about what happened.”
“Don’t you know? I’m gay and I have a violent side. I carry guns. I’m un-h-h-hirable.”
“I don’t know that actually.” My eyebrows raise. “Why don’t you tell me the truth?” I hold his gaze. “You did email me that you want to tell your side of the story.”
And there it is… I’ve now used Rachel to pretend I’m somebody else. Again. I really need to send her chocolates.
Wheels turn behind his watery stare. “Ms. Mayday?”
I nod.
“Does Roe know?” He squints as he types a code into the keypad hidden in a brick column to my left.
“A girl’s got to have some secrets,” I say though I’m not sure why I lie. Reporter instinct mostly. Also, Roe should have plausible deniability. I’ve risked him enough. “He doesn’t know I’m here or who I am.”
I slip through the gate and follow him through that same side door around the house and go through a laundry room roughly the size of my bungalow to a sitting room. He slumps into a large white linen chair. From a flask, he takes a long sip and looks at a painting on the wall. I follow his gaze and study the art too. It’s modern, messy, splattered-looking, but I don’t know enough about art to know anything more than that.
“I’m gonna have to sell that.” His gaze settles on me but he seems a little startled. “Oh, right the assistant.” He looks at me expectantly.
“You know, it’s not over. It’s just a bad day.” My comfort comes out weak.
