“There’s more,” she said, knowing she had to get it out quickly. “And it’s bad.”
She went on to explain that the woman in question was the world’s most popular country-pop singer, and how Treasure had confronted her right before their interview.
Rochelle pressed her hand to her chest. “Finola, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe how amazing you are. You were so professional. I would have bitch-slapped her, then set her on fire. You had to interview her! And all the time you knew what Nigel had done to you.”
She stood and crossed to Finola and hugged her. “I’m sorry. I hate her. My daddy would say it’s wrong to hate people, but I hate her.”
The hug was comforting, as was the support. Finola leaned against her. “Thank you. It’s been a really hard week.”
Rochelle sat back in her seat. “What can I do to help?”
“What you’ve been doing. Please have my back around here and let me know if there are any rumors about what’s happening. I want to keep it quiet as long as possible.”
Rochelle winced. “Because when it comes out, it’s gonna be bad. Have you talked to a lawyer?”
Finola didn’t understand the question. Why would she—
“You mean about a divorce? We’re not there.” A divorce? No. Nigel was going to come back to her. He would be sorry and beg her forgiveness and never do it again. They were married. They had a life together. A good life that was important to both of them... At least it had been.
“You think I should?”
Rochelle held up both her hands. “That’s not for me to say. You have to do what’s right for you.”
“What would you do?”
“After what he put you through? If he’s not sorry and begging for forgiveness the second he was caught, then he should be tossed to the curb. He needs to respect you and right now there’s no respect.” She softened her tone. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing, Finola. Don’t listen to me.”
“It’s just all so sudden and confusing. I never thought he would do this to me. I thought we were happy.”
She’d sure been wrong about that, she thought sadly. What else hadn’t she known about her husband? What else had he kept from her?
She closed her eyes and wished it would all go away, but when she opened them, the world was just as it had been.
Her phone chirped. Rochelle handed it to her without glancing at the screen. Finola read the alert and flinched, then passed it over to her assistant.
“I signed up for alerts when Treasure Tweets,” she explained. “Just so I know what’s coming. So far there hasn’t been anything about Nigel.”
Rochelle read the Tweet out loud. “‘It’s sad when people get old and no one will love them.’”
“Not very subtle,” Finola murmured.
“You think this is about you? It’s not. You’re not old.”
“Compared to her, I’m ancient.”
“You aren’t and you are loved. She’s just being a bitch. We’re going to ignore her. Come on. People have stood in line for two hours just to see your show. It’s time to get ready to dazzle them.”
Finola didn’t bother saying she wasn’t really up to dazzling anyone. Not only because Rochelle wouldn’t want to hear it but because in the end, how she felt didn’t matter. She had a responsibility to the show, and maybe to herself. If she couldn’t be strong, she could at least fake strong. For now that would be enough.
* * *
Ali got back to work from her lunch break with two minutes to spare. She walked into the warehouse, doing her best to, from the outside at least, seem strong and confident. In truth she’d just seen the ugliest apartment ever. Not only had the unit overlooked the trash dumpsters, it had been small, dark and desperately in need of paint and carpet. But the worst part had been the weird, musty smell—sort of a combination of mold and dampness.
She’d already looked at four places and had hated them all. If nothing else, she was going to have to up her budget by at least another hundred dollars a month. But with having to pay off the wedding and deal with the cost of moving, she just didn’t see how that was possible. Yes, she could pay the more expensive rent and still eat and take care of her bills, but there wouldn’t be anything left for savings. She’d always had an emergency fund. The wedding had taken care of that, leaving her in fairly desperate straits. At the rate she was going, she was going to have to choose between living with her mother and living out of her car.
She found Ray and Kevin waiting at her desk. Ray appeared to be his normal grumpy, bearlike self, while Kevin looked fairly frightened. She was about to ask what was wrong when she saw Ray holding the postcard she’d slipped into his locker.
He set it on her desk. “I’m sorry about Glen,” he told her. “We’re all sorry.” He drew in a breath and seemed to brace himself. “Would you like to take Coco Chanel for the weekend?”
Her bad mood instantly vanished as she recognized the sweetness in his offer. There was no person or thing Ray loved more than his ridiculous little dog, and his offering her Coco Chanel was a genuine act of kindness.
She found herself fighting tears yet again, but these weren’t about hurt or frustration, instead they were about finding support in very unexpected places.
She smiled at Ray. “That is the most amazing gift anyone has ever offered me. Thank you so much. I wish I could, but with canceling the wedding and all, I couldn’t possibly accept. I’d worry I wasn’t taking good care of her.”
Ray visibly relaxed. “I understand. She’s kind of a diva, so a lot of work, but just in case you need to spend some time with her, you can.”
“Thank you.”
Ray glared at Kevin, then walked away. The teen shook his head.
“Damn, he must really like you. I didn’t think he’d trust his dog with anyone. I’m sorry about the wedding. I didn’t know Glen but from what everyone is saying, he wasn’t a great guy. They all think you were too good for him.”
She hated knowing she’d been the subject of office gossip, but it was to be expected.
“Thanks. It’s a lot to deal with.”
“Ray said no one is really surprised. I don’t know if that helps or not, but I thought you’d want to know.”
She told herself that Kevin was a kid and wasn’t being mean on purpose, then promised herself later, when she was home and by herself, she was making brownies and eating the entire pan.
“Okay, then,” she murmured. “I need to get back to work and so do you.”
Kevin nodded and left. She sank onto her chair and told herself eventually all this would pass. In a few weeks, she would barely remember that she’d ever been engaged. Glen who?
Her cell phone rang. She pulled it out of her jeans pocket and glanced at the screen. She didn’t recognize the number and wondered if it was one of her vendors.
“Hello?”
“Ali? Hi, it’s Selena. I just want to confirm we’re still on for tonight.”
Ali’s mind was a total blank. “Tonight?”
“I’m picking up the table and chairs, remember. I’m so excited. Our voucher came through so my daughters and I were able to move into our apartment over the weekend.”
Selena’s voice was full of emotion. “I know it’s a silly thing, but we’ve been in and out of shelters for so long. Having a place of our own is a miracle. Your table and chairs are going in our kitchen. My girls will do their homework there, just like a regular family.”
Ali knew in her head that there were dozens of free or almost free dining sets available online. That if she said hers wasn’t for sale anymore, Selena could find another one in about five minutes. That was what her head told her. Her heart, however, melted.
“I’ll be home at five,” she said. “Does that work for you?”
“Yes. My boss is loaning me his truck for a couple of hours. I remember you said the table wasn’t heavy, so he and I will be able to handle it ourselves. We’ll see you then.”
Ali tried not to feel stupid. She was doing a good thing, she told herself. For someone more in need than her. It wasn’t as if she had an apartment for her furniture anyway. What did it matter?
The problem was she had a feeling her actions were a lot more about beating herself up than being altruistic. She was caught up in an emotional death spiral and she didn’t know how to make it stop. Maybe she should spend a couple of days fussing over Coco Chanel.
Her phone rang again.
“Ali Schmitt?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Veronica at the bridal shop. Your dress is back from alterations and ready anytime you want to come get it.”
Of course it was, Ali thought, resting her head on her desk. “Great. I’ll be by in a couple of days to pick it up.”
And then she would have to decide what to do with it. Perhaps some kind of sacrificial burning as a way to cleanse her spiritual life. Of course she would need sage for that, and possibly a permit.
She straightened. Brownies, she promised herself. Later there would be brownies. And wine. Then she would figure out what on earth she was going to do with the rest of her life.