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“What’s he doing here?”
“Get this on video.”
“Oh, shit…”
Even as I make my way toward her, I can see how her face lights up. I wasn’t sure it would happen like this. I thought that maybe when I got here I’d find out she just wanted to discuss some kind of arrangement. And for all I know, that’s what she intended.
But now that we’re in the same room, looking at one another, my heart swells. I can see in her face that she feels the same way I do.
Which is a very good thing, because I came here intending to put everything on the line. There are bloggers and journalists here, and already cameras are flashing. What will Jake Ferry do? Does Reginald Ferry know about this?
He will soon enough. It’ll be too late by then. I
wish I had time to discuss all of this with Janie, but frankly no one can possibly doubt that she made all of this — Red Hall, the launch party, this hot sauce line — happen on her own. I had nothing to do with the building, or the popularity of the place and I’m more than willing to say that here and now, on camera, for all the world to see.
And I’m willing to say a lot more than that.
The blonde that accosted me the first night I came here on Reginald’s orders intercepts me at the stairs up to the stage.
“Jake Ferry, as I live and breathe,” she says, batting her fake eyelashes. “Your daddy is going to shit when he — ”
“It’s… Glenda, or something, isn’t it?”
“Gloria,” she says, going stiff. “Gloria Price. We met before when — ”
“I remember,” I tell her. “You were the one trying to get into my pants. Or, my wallet. Whichever. I guess it’s probably the same for you, right?”
“Excuse me?” She bristles, genuinely taken aback. Maybe no one’s ever spoken frankly to her before, I don’t know. I don’t really care, either, except that she’s in my way.
“Could you move, please?” I ask, with as polite a tone as I can muster. My fingers are clenching around the small box in my hand. Janie’s right. This woman just grates your nerves by being in proximity. It is much worse when she speaks.
“Janie’s in the middle of — ”
“Let him come up, Gloria,” Janie says over the microphone. She sounds unsteady, but not worried, exactly. I probably sound the same.
Gloria’s face darkens quickly, and she looks over her shoulder at Janie. Then, she steps out of the way. As I ascend the stairs, I can see her in the corner of my eye trying to get the attention of one of the bloggers, but he shoos her away like a fly, and his photographer all but pushes her out of the way to train his camera on me and Janie.
The whole room is quiet.
Janie doesn’t slap me, or throw me out when I get close to her. I still worry she might, any second. She doesn’t move. She just watches me, and I watch her, our eyes locked until I lean in to whisper in her ear. Cameras flash when I do.
“Everything we experienced was real,” I tell her. “I was stupid, and I let my father push me to do things I didn’t want to do, things I feel terrible about. I want to fix it, if you’ll let me.”
I kiss her cheek before I straighten, waiting for some signal from her about what I should do, what I should think.
Janie clears her throat, and it echoes over the speakers from the microphone. She puts a hand over it, her face flushing. “Thank you for coming,” she says. “I didn’t think you would.”
It comes out formally in her voice, but not in her eyes.
“Janie,” I say, “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now.”
Finally she smiles, wide and genuine. More cameras flash, and by now the live tweets have probably gone out. Reginald probably already knows I’m here. I wonder what he’s thinking as he watches this progress?
“Can I take the mic?” I ask. “I promise not to steal the stage.”
“I think you’ve already done that,” she mutters, but with a hint of excitement and humor in her voice. “Don’t worry, I’ll be stealing it right back.”
“I’m counting on it,” I tell her, and she hands me the mic.
