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And then the email comes.
I’m at the beach still, sitting on the sand and wishing I could go back in time when my phone dings. I a
lmost don’t check it, but I’ve got twenty grand out right now being effectively laundered for me so Reginald won’t know where it actually went, and I check the message.
At first glance, it looks like one of those email blasts, inviting everyone to come to the Red Hall Hot Sauce Launch Event this Saturday night, almost a week from now. Except it’s addressed to me personally, and there’s no CC or BCC. It’s from Janie’s personal email.
Dear Jake, it reads. I’d like to personally invite you to the Red Hall launch party this Saturday at 8 p.m. I realize there has been a great deal of tension between us lately, but I believe we can set that aside in light of such an important event.
I stop reading for a moment. This isn’t an invitation to the launch party. Not really. One more face like mine won’t make a difference. My heart pounds, and the ache that’s been there for weeks now is suddenly acute again. I stare at the screen, not actually reading anymore, just wishing it said the things I most want her to say.
But I get it. The email is in code. There’s no telling whether I might forward it straight to the press, or if someone will intercept it. God knows I’ve worried my father has my email accounts hacked. If he did, he’d never say so — he’d just wait until the right moment, well after some critical intel comes across his lap. It could be years before I learn Reginald knew about my squirreling away money the whole time. There’s just no telling with that man.
If he is getting my emails, and if he does see this, it’ll tip him off that things are not going as smoothly between me and Janie as I’ve led him to believe. There’ll be consequences.
Then again, so what if there are?
I read over the rest of the email, but it’s more of the same and only confirms that what she’s really doing here is opening the door for me. And she’s doing it without my needing to introduce lawyers to the situation — which has crossed my mind.
That door is a chance for us. A chance for me to make all of this up to her. And I intend to take it.
For the first time in my life, I feel free.
Janie
It’s go time.
I haven’t heard from Jake, but I can’t be worried about that right now. Saturday has come, and Red Hall is packed with high-profile guests and swarming with cameras. The bottles are in, the logo is brilliant, Lacey has outdone herself with a spread of globally inspired dishes incorporating each of the hot sauces into appetizers and entrees themed by the origins of the peppers used in them.
Before I even walk out into the lounge, my phone is blowing up with the buzz. I take a moment in my office, alone, to breathe and indulge myself in a moment of elation. Already, we’re doing nearly three times the business we did at our peak over two months ago. We’re on every foodie blog, we’re in the local paper, and we are, for the moment, the talk of the town.
“It’s finally happening,” I tell my baby, one hand resting on my stomach. “Whether your daddy comes around or not, we’ll have each other, and you’ll know what it’s like to see someone go after their dream and catch it.” How many times have I wished I’d had that myself? More than I can count or remember.
Right alongside the stories coming out about Red Hall are other, less impressive — I’m happy to say — stories about the recent scandal surrounding Reginald Ferry and his wife, Toia. Rumors that there could be a divorce, entirely unconfirmed. But it’s good for me, whether it’s true or not. The last thing I need is anyone in that family disrupting or undermining the launch.
They even put out a weird, hastily edited reality TV-style webisode following Toia around during her “typical” day that’s so ridiculously staged I can’t believe there’s not a cardboard set involved that just tips over when the wind blows. She goes on and on about how she and Reginald have a relationship that goes beyond just sex and physicality. They’re soul mates, and she knows that he’ll always come back to her at the end of the day.
She of course doesn’t mention how she isn’t allowed to have male company of her own, while Reginald can do pretty much whatever the fuck he wants. They call the series Power Couples and Sidechicks. It makes me want to throw up to see Reginald’s wife degrade herself like this, even though I’ve never met the woman and don’t plan to. Nonetheless, I can’t stop watching.
What a pathetic stunt. It’s sad that Toia had to be the butt of the joke, but I can’t help feeling like all of that is happening because Ferry Lights can’t maintain steady numbers. The place is impersonal because it’s just another Reginald Ferry project that he set up and then moved on from. It’s a cash grab, it’s inauthentic, and everyone knows it and can smell it a mile away.
That sort of publicity stunt is exactly what Gloria would have me pulling if she got her way, too.
Which is why I’ve decided to announce my pregnancy.
Which is why I’m still in my office, scared shitless instead of going out to the lounge where I need to be tonight.
The best thing I can do is act with integrity, and make sure that I’m ahead of the story — that I’m the one that gets to spark the narrative. Once it’s out there, there’s no reeling it back in. There are no second chances on something like this. But there are best-case scenarios and worst-case scenarios.
Gloria leaking the story is the worst-case scenario, and it’s practically inevitable. The only reason she’s played this game with me the past week or so is that she wants to be front and center for the launch party. After that, the media attention will dwindle, and she’ll start looking for some other way to cash in. Probably that way will be offering to sell it to Reginald Ferry because she’s right — he’d pay a fortune for the chance to spin the narrative of my pregnancy however he wants.
I’m not going to play these games. There is no way to play in which I don’t lose in the end.
A few more deep breaths. I can’t hide forever.
Confidence is not what I feel when I leave the office, but I do have determination and a simmering rage that Gloria helps stoke when she makes a big deal about greeting me as I come out. She even asks, loud enough for everyone within a few yards to hear, “There you are! Feeling okay?”
“I’m fine, Gloria,” I tell her, and try not to give away the punchline of the night by smiling. After this, the bitch is gone. I don’t care if her mother and mine become lesbian lovers — I am done with Gloria, and I’m even considering firing her publicly, tonight, in front of everyone.
