Chapter Five
Sometimes, it took a lot to figure a person out. Sometimes, it didn't take anything at all. And then there were those few that were impossible to figure out. Those people that just didn't seem to have a sense or reason, yet they were around. Those were the people that could make you run circles, and could make you feel like jumping off the highest building around. Those people were the ones that you disliked for the rest of your life.
And it was too bad that you couldn't keep them away. They always had to be close to you. After all, you keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.
Words to live by, Chris figured, as he put down the Colwell novel that he had been reading. Keep your enemies closer. But was Alex much of an enemy? Something in his mind told him that she could be, should she want to be, but there was some sort of mystery about her. And he loved mysteries. Sometimes, too much.
What exactly could he do about his little "problem"? No one had just outright hated him before. Disliked, yes, but thousands upon thousands of people. Never hated. Even the most stubborn people came around after awhile, and at least respected him. Chris wasn't going to force anyone to like him, but respect...hell, that he deserved. Everyone deserved respect. And the only thing that he could do, the only thing that was coming to mind...was kindness. It sounded strange at first, but why shouldn't he be kind of her? Practically kill her with kindness. Maybe that would help.
Help what, he wondered? He couldn't really help it if someone didn't like him, but it seemed like Alex WANTED to fight with him. He wasn't going to give her that satisfaction. He knew how to get down and play dirty. And because she didn't exactly have a cheery disposition and a smile on her face all the time, so the only way to get under her skin would be to act like she was the most important and most friendly person in the world. It almost made him laugh when he imagined what her expression would be when he started to put his plan into action.
That is, if he could make it work.
He was sure that he could, but there was always that chance that something would happen and ruin his plans. Didn't it happen with Brooklyn and JC, he reminded himself? If it wasn't Tim Croft, then it was Brooklyn or JC themselves. It seemed like no plan could ever get too far off the ground. But this one is going to work, he told himself countless times. It HAD to work.
He put his book down and sighed, closing his tired eyes. His friends seemed to pick up on every little thing lately. How he wasn't sleeping that well. How he practically alienated himself from them. How he spent more time thinking than actually saying something. And Chris had no idea why he was doing that. Maybe it was just that time of year, he thought to himself. The winter blues, or something like that. ANYTHING as long as it didn't involve the word "depression".
His head moved back further until it practically slammed against the arm rest of the couch. What, was he trying to cause pain to himself, just to see if he had any reaction at all? If self-mutilation was the next thing on his upcoming Christmas wish list, he might as well just shoot himself then and there, he figured. At this point, he was beyond the uncaring bastard point. It seemed like he had no emotions in him whatsoever. Every laugh, every smile, every joke...that was all automatic.
And he had begun to understand that he was becoming like Alex, or at least the Alex that he saw. The "don't care" attitude that he had been exposed to was one that he was adopting and using for most of the day. The only time that he wasn't acting like that was when he was sleeping, and that wasn't too often.
Just the thought of sleep made him yawn, trying to stifle it so that it wouldn't travel upstairs, and God forbid, penetrate the thick wood doors that separated all the sleeping people from him. He longed to be one of those people, but it didn't look like it was going to happen anytime soon.
"Are you always up this late, or did Jace send you for water again?" he asked suddenly, sitting up when he heard the familiar shuffling steps behind him. Chris didn't even bother turning to see the shadowy figure of Brooklyn Turner standing behind him, wearing sleep rumpled flannel pajamas and a pair of fuzzy pink slippers.
Because he saw her soon enough as she walked further into the room and sat down on the couch, turning so that she could look at him. Her knees were drawn up towards her chest, and she rested her chin on them. "No, I came to an understanding with him. If he doesn't ask me to be his maid, I won't beat on him for every stupid comment that comes out of his mouth. You were right. The honeymoon period is over. We're just beginning to understand each other. Or at least, more than we already knew each other."
"You learn a lot living with someone, don't you?" he asked, a sly smile starting on his face. Forced, as fake as the sapphire ring that Brooklyn was wearing on her index finger.
She plastered on an innocent face. "Who says that we're living together? This is just a vacation."
Chris turned to look at her slightly. "Uh huh. I believe that one, but you have to admit that he spends almost all of his free time at your place in Belleview. It's like he doesn't remember where his own apartment is. Not that I'm complaining or anything. I see him more than enough, but he's becoming a permanent fixture in your house. Have you talked about it at all?"
"This is sort of a test period, to see if we can actually make the living together thing work. Of course, we have to decide whether I want to move to Orlando, or he wants to move to Tennessee, but that won't be much of a problem."
He nodded slowly for a second before turning back to look at the fire that was burning steadily. One good thing about not sleeping was the fact that he could make sure the house stayed warm for everyone else while they slept and woke up in the morning. "So, if he didn't send you down for another glass of water, what are you doing down here?"
The pause was what incriminated her. "Uh...I'm still getting used to the altitude here?"
"Wrong. Try again, and why don't you try the truth this time?"
Her eyes rolled before she sighed and stared at him. "I'm worried about you. And since everyone else is afraid that you're in some kind of 'mood' that they're apparently experienced before but won't tell me about, I'm the only one with enough guts to ask you about it. Then again, I know that you won't bite my head off. Like you've told me so many times, spill it."
His head rolled back until it rested on the back of the couch. "What makes you think anything is wrong?" he asked in an unemotional voice that, he realized after saying the words, practically begged for attention. Mentally, he cursed himself. He wasn't as good as Alex or even Brooklyn at hiding what he really meant with the tone of his voice. They were practically experts on the subject.
"First off, those bags that you're sporting under your eyes lately aren't exactly a great fashion statement, and it won't get you on the cover of any magazine." Acting dismayed, he snapped his fingers. "And second, that tone of yours just screams honestly. My bad. I'll just go back to bed, then," she added sarcastically. "Chris, don't think that I'm an idiot. I can tell when something's bothering you. Being your best friend, it comes with the territory."
When he looked over at her, he was brutally honest for the first time in the conversation. "Are we back to that point, or is the ground still a little unstable?"
It was a legitimate question. Very slowly, they were building their relationship back up. "I'd like to think that we're back to the point. I'm back to believing that if I was standing in the way of a speeding bus, you would push me out of the way. Would it be too much if I asked you to be that certain Secret Service guy that's around just to take the bullet for the president?"
"Just a little, sweetheart. But I would push you out of the way of a speeding bus, if that's any consolation. If I didn't, JC would kill me and then we'd both be up in Heaven and you would probably beat on me repeatedly for the next thirty years."
"When did I get this reputation as a ball buster, that's what I want to know. And you got it half right. I'd be up in Heaven, but you, dear Christopher, would be heading straight down, to the very warm place." Her head nodded seriously with that statement, but the smile on her face gave her away. "Not only that, but you're changing the subject. What's wrong with you, Chris?"
He sat beside her stubbornly. "I'm not changing the subject. I'm just drawing it out."
"One more time, and then I'll really start to bust some balls. What's wrong with you, Chris?"
His shoulders moved in a tight, uncomfortable shrug. "I don't know. It's like every little thing in the world right now keeps getting bigger and bigger. It's just...I'm not really sure."
Brooklyn reached forward and brushed a piece of hair off of his forehead. "You're not sure what's wrong, but because of whatever it is, you can't sleep at night? That doesn't make sense, and you know it. No one died, did they?"
He shook his head, an actual smile trying to fight its way out. "Of course not. If someone died, I would have told you and then flown back to...wherever. No one's been put six feet under recently. Hell, the last person that I know of that was in the hospital was you. I can guarantee that no one is sick, dying, dead, or even thinking about it."
She nodded. "All right. I just wanted to make sure that I wasn't putting my foot in my mouth or anything like that. So, no one's dead. That's always good news...isn't it?"
"Have you ever felt lonely even though you're surrounded by people?" It took awhile, but he got the words to come out. Maybe that was what he needed more than anyone. Someone to confide in. And he knew that Brooklyn would be the best person to talk to. If he asked her not to tell anyone, she wouldn't.
"Of course. You're talking to the expert on the subject." She stopped and looked over at him. "I never really told you about what everything was like before JC came into my life. I think I was living out what you just said." Turning to make herself more comfortable, she looked towards the fire with him. "You know that my parents died, but did you ever hear how?" He shook his head. "For practically a decade, my dad was an alcoholic. He was driving drunk when he died. And my mom...my mom was no angel, either. She was a druggie for about the same amount of time. She died from an overdose. They died the way they lived.
"That didn't mean that it was easy for me or Austin. Our parents weren't really around when we were growing up. At least, not in the sense that we needed them, so we depended on ourselves. Even after they died, I couldn't really turn to my brother. It was just too hard to admit that I couldn't handle everything myself. And going on tour? Sure, I was surrounded by a lot of people, good people at that, but I stayed to myself for the most part. They knew the Brooklyn that I showed them, not who I really was. It's still hard for me to do that. No matter how many people are around me, it's like I'm the only one there."
His head turned ever so slightly so that he could see her out of the corner of his eye. "Even when you were with Tim and now with Jace?"
Her eyes rolled. "Please. When I was with Tim, I was even more alone. I just wouldn't admit it to myself. I let myself believe that he was perfect and he was what I needed. And look what kind of trouble it got me in." She pointed to the small battle scar she had on her forehead. "With JC...that's different. He's the only one that can make me feel like there's someone else there, that there's someone that'll help me with everything. He's basically the only one who knows what I'm truly like. You, on the other hand, have just a little idea of who I am, and if it helps you sleep at night, you can keep that little idea."
"Nothing helps me sleep at night, Brooke. Nice try, though."
Her head moved to the side before she tucked her hair behind her ears. "Let me guess. When you do actually make it upstairs to your room, you're so tired that you think you're going to fall asleep walking up the stairs. The very second that you lay down, though, your mind starts to race and sleep is the last thing on your mind. Of course, after a few hours, you do fall asleep, but at that point, it's only because your mind needs a little rest. Am I right or even close?"
"Dead on. I suppose you did that, too."
"Many, many times. The tossing and turning phase was always my favorite. Do you know how hard it is to get a blanket unwrapped from around your legs without letting all the cold air in?"
His head shook. "I can only imagine."
A sympathetic smile appeared on her face. "But that doesn't mean that this should go on as long as it already has. It's pretty obvious that this isn't a two day thing. How long has this non-sleeping thing gone on?"
"Do you have a calendar handy? Because we're talking something like a couple of months here. I guess no one really noticed how I would kind of disappear throughout the day and fall asleep for an hour or two. It definitely helps, but not a lot."
Her head shook this time. "That's been too long, Chris. I know, I'm the one to talk, huh? I mean, look how long I did that, but I had a different reason. I just couldn't sleep because every time I closed my eyes, I saw the same thing, over and over. Every day for months. You, on the other hand, haven't had a psycho ex after you that wants to kill you." A small laugh escaped her. "At least, none that I've heard of."
Chris turned so that he could look at her. "I'm not justified in this, I know. It's...stupid. That's what it is. I've never had a problem sleeping before. I sleep more than a person should be able to, but recently...I just can't. I can't help it. I start thinking and I can't quit. No matter what I try. It's almost like I'm losing control of myself."
She was silent for a moment, but her voice filled his ears soon enough, in a sort of hushed whisper. "Okay, piece of advice. Jumping off a bridge would not be a solution, and besides, it would hurt."
He grinned. "I have never even thought of jumping off a bridge. A nice cocktail of painkillers and drain cleaner has entered my mind, but no one here has painkillers, so that's kind of out." When his eyes flicked back to her, he started to shake his head. "It was a joke, Brooke. No matter how disturbing and morbid, it was intended as a joke. Just like how jumping off a bridge would hurt, drain cleaner doesn't exactly taste like iced tea."
"Well, I feel a hell of a lot better now. Sure, make jokes about suicide."
His eyes widened. "You just did," he told her with an accusing tone.
"But mine was funny. Yours wasn't." She was quiet for a whole of two seconds before she started to laugh. "Okay, neither of them were funny. But I do need...wrong choice of words, sorry. I WANT to know what's going on. You have me a little scared here, Chris. You've always been the person that I can depend on, but now...you're not yourself. I don't know who you are anymore."
"That makes two of us." With a sigh, he slipped down further on the couch and looked around the room. "It feels like I'm missing something, but I know I'm not. Like I need something, but I don't. Like I need to know something, but no one will tell me. Great, the next thing to come is to think that the CIA or FBI are after me or something like that. Sometimes, I envy certain people."
She pulled up her knees again and hugged them. "Like who?"
He shrugged. "No one in particular," he told her as he stood up and walked towards the fire. He reached down for another piece of wood and tossed it on, watching the flames lick it. "People who can paint, for instance. I mean, with a single brushstroke, they can put so much emotion into something that was a blank white canvas before. Or writers, the way that they can manipulate words into feelings."
"You do the same thing," she told him. "With a single note, you can express so much to so many people. Besides, people get different meanings from the same thing. For example, if you put me and JC in front of the same painting, you would get two different answers about what it means. He might say that he can see the sadness in something, but I can see the happiness in it. Same as words. Everyone interprets them their own way."
Turning quickly, he stared at her. "That's just it. You'll never be lonely, even if you think you are, Brooke. You have JC, you have your brother, you have Mia...they all care for you. They all care ABOUT you. Why can't I have something like that?"
Her eyebrows raised slowly ad they stayed there for a moment before they lowered again. "May I remind you that every single person upstairs this very moment, all of whom are probably snoring their brains out, care for and about you. I care for and about you. You have all of that. Maybe you can't see it, but you do. Trust me."
"You don't understand," he said in frustration before falling down on the couch again. "What you have between you and JC...that's once in a lifetime sort of stuff. That's something that you'll never find with another person, no matter how much you try."
It was like the light had finally turned on, and she understood everything at that moment. "And I suppose that JC and I aren't exactly helping the problem, are we? You know, if we're making you uncomfortable or anything, just let me know. I can calm him down...somehow. Maybe. Well, I can try. Just tell me and I'll do it."
His hand came up to rub the top of his head as he thought. "No, you guys don't damage the case anymore than it already is. It's just...you remind me of what I don't have. That's all."
"If you say that you'll never have that, I swear to God, I'll lay a smackdown so bad on you, it's not even funny."
Chris raised a single eyebrow as he looked over at her. "You...uh...do realize where that came from, right?"
"I'm not an idiot," she complained, while rolling her eyes. "It's The Rock's catch phrase. Austin was always a fan of that crap, and he used to force me to watch it." Her lips pursed as the wheels in her head started to turn. She was trying desperately to say something that would help even the smallest bit. "You'll have that, eventually, and you know that you will. It may be closer than you think, but it's there."
She was going to cop out. She was going to take the offer and walk away like a dog with its tail between its legs. She was going to throw away every little piece of credibility and every shred of self dignity that she had...and she was going to take a damned buy-out just so that she could work closer to finishing her contract with Dell.
That, alone, was one of the saddest thoughts that she had ever had.
Never mind a dog being hit by a car, or maybe a kid that loses his or her parent. No, this was far worse for Alex. It felt her with an empty feeling inside, something that she hadn't felt in ages. And the thought that she was becoming easy to dissuade...that was even worse. Next, they were going to ask her to write a book that dealt with the poetic nature of dirt. If she was going to take this offer, why wouldn't she take the offer to write about common garden soil? It was an escalating thing, she figured. If you cop out to something small, they keep raising the bar on ridiculousness, and soon enough, she was yesterday's news, something that she wouldn't dare become.
And why should she? She had talent, damn it. More talent in her little fingernail than most writers had in their entire body. She could create a masterpiece with a few words, put it between a cover of heavy paper and charge eight dollars (twelve in another countries) for the paperback version, and twenty two for the hard cover edition. She had something bankable, something that would be around for years. And now, she was making a deal. Selling her soul to the devil, so to say.
Alex was also staring at the phone, waiting for it to ring. Her editor's phone calls had been like clockwork lately, and she hoped that this wasn't an exception. She knew how the call was going to go. He was going to ask if she had written anything recently, and if she hadn't, which she hadn't, he would bring up the wonderful deal for a non-fiction book that was being proposed to her.
Why her, she wondered. Didn't people know that she wrote fiction? Sure, even Stephen King had copped out once, and written a non-fiction book, but she was positive that she wasn't going to go down that path. Not if she had a choice. And she did have a choice. The only problem was that her choice wasn't the one that she wanted.
The phone rang at that very moment, and she picked it up, pressing the large button on the top, placing it next to her ear. "Hello, Kevin," she said dully.
"You don't sound too happy to hear from me. What a surprise," he said with his usual dry humor.
"I'm not having the best day, all right? Ask me the two questions and get it over with."
There was a shuffling on the other end before he spoke again. "Have you written anything about Demers?"
Score one for the fiction writer, she thought to herself. Her mind even put the emphasis on the word "fiction", like it was trying to convince her of something. "No, I haven't. Question number two."
"What do you think about the non-fic, then?"
Her eyes rolled. "What do you think I think about it? I think that it's the cheap way out, that's what I think. It's ridiculous that it was even offered to me, but I suppose that no one had a choice, right?" It seemed like choices were becoming a second life for her. Everything was a choice now. By the time she finished her contract with Dell, her only choice would be rather to get the regular or extra absorbent Depends. "I know nothing about this deal, Kev. Can you give me a little something to chew on?"
"Who knows?" he said happily. "Maybe you'll choke to death on it. Look, the non-fic consists of one person's story against another. One person's word versus another one, and this person doesn't think that his words were heard too well, so they want a chance to say what really happened. Tell the real story. Both of these people are well-known because of this, and it would be a great deal. This is guaranteed to go to number one on the non-fic list. That's all I know."
Alex rolled her eyes and rested her elbow on the table, supporting her head on her hand. "Great. That sounds about as boring as could be."
Kevin cleared his throat. "Not really. The story itself, I'm told, is quite interesting. And, for an added incentive, you'd most likely either piss people off, or maybe even ruin a life or two."
Her eyes brightened at that thoughts. "Lots of press on this deal, huh? Now it's beginning to sound more interesting than before. I suppose that it has guaranteed controversy written all over it." Maybe it wasn't as bad a deal as she had originally thought, but it was still copping out. Press coverage would be nice, since she hadn't had much in the past. "This isn't some kind of law story, is it? If it's the second telling of Helter Skelter, I'm not going to do it."
"I've been told that it's very minimal court stuff. A little, but every good non-fic has a little bit to do with the judicial system. What do you say, Alex? You're sounding pretty interested at the moment."
"Interested, but not setting anything in stone. Do me a favor and ask for a little more information on this, and then get back to me. You know that we're going to have to set up some kind of deal, IF this goes through. A gag order on revealing who I am, my full name, stuff like that. You and Sophia can set that up, I guess. Just Fed-Ex me out here in the mountains, and I'll sign my name on the dotted line. But remember, this is ONLY IF this goes through."
"Gotcha, Alex. I'll make a few calls and see what I can find out. I'll call you in a few hours."
Brooklyn stretched her arms above her head with a yawn, before looking over at the other side of the bed. With a faint smile, the most that she could manage that early in the morning with very little sleep, she leaned over. "I can tell that you're awake, so you might as well open your eyes. I swear, it won't kill you."
JC groaned. "I swear, I'm blind. I can't believe that I let you convince me to keep the curtains open all night. I told you that it would make it warmer in here, but no. Now the sun is on the snow, and it's blinding me."
"I'll pay for laser eye surgery. Big deal. Come on, would you please open your eyes so that I know you're not going to fall asleep halfway through the conversation with me, like you did the other night," she added in a very dry tone, before pushing him slightly. "Okay, ultimatum time. Either look at me, or tonight, I'm going to go sleep with the young, curly haired one."
Immediately, he rolled over and opened his eyes to look at her. "Do you think that if I yelled downstairs, they would bring up two cups of coffee for us? It's worth a try, isn't it?"
"Or you could have your head shoved so far up your ass, your voice would echo." Her shoulders shrugged. "I'm feisty in the morning. Besides, I got coffee for you last time. It's your turn to get it for me, right?"
Sleepily, he propped himself up on one elbow. "Excuse me? I had to come downstairs to get my coffee, which ended up being YOUR coffee, so don't try and tell me that you got coffee for me."
A wicked grin appeared on her face as she put her hand on his arm. "Uh, JC? Sam is creeping around the corner and about to show his evil little head. In other words, this is the beginning of PMS, and you know what I'm like around that time, don't you. You know that I hate to...say...inflict bodily harm on you-" She was interrupted when he snorted in disbelief. "Oh, were you coughing up a fur ball or something? Not hard to believe with that mop of yours."
"Coffee is coming right up," he said sweetly before reaching for a sweatshirt and pulling it over his head. "I'll be back in a couple minutes. Do you think that whatever you have to say can wait until then?" She nodded against the pillow with a smile. "Great. As soon as I tell her that I'll do whatever she wants, she turns into Little Miss Perfect."
Shaking his head, he walked out of the room and went down the stairs, turning towards the kitchen, where he knew coffee has already been made. As soon as he stepped onto the kitchen floor, though, he began to jump. "Who in their right mind would put down a tile floor in a house in Colorado, for Christ's sake?" he asked himself as he made his way to the coffee maker, trying not to get frostbite.
"Who in their right mind comes down to a tile floor in Colorado without at least wearing socks?" Lance asked from behind him, at the table.
JC shot him the finger behind his back. "Yeah, thanks for reminding me, but I just got up. I have an excuse for my stupidity, unlike some people," he told him with a smirk, as he poured two cups of coffee.
"Am I too assume that you were talking about me?"
"Am I too assume that your mother never told you that plaid and stripes just don't mix?" He turned with a grin. "And you wonder why you never have a date," he finished before taking the coffee and walking out to his own laughter, back up the stairs and to the bedroom.
As soon as he got in, and closed the door with his hip, he handed over Brooklyn's coffee and climbed back into bed beside her. "So, New York, I suppose that you have something to tell me."
She nodded as she swallowed her first mouthful of coffee. "My God, there is nothing better in the world than coffee." Her eyes moved to look at him. "Okay, so I can make a slight modification on that statement, but that'll he to be later. I had a little talk with Chris last night, about what's been going on with him. He asked me not to say anything about what we talked about, and I'm not going to say a word, but I need to know something. When was the last time Chris was in a relationship?"
He scratched his head before looking down at his coffee. "Long before you came into the picture, really. I think it was about the same time that I was dating..." Trailing off, he looked at his girlfriend beside him. "Uh...never mind. You don't want to know."
"You're right, I don't. Unless, of course, she was fourteen and the cops are going to come here and bust you for statutory rape. It would be just my luck, too," she added with a sigh. "Okay, let's see if you can shed a little more light on this subject. When was the last time that he actually had a date?"
He shrugged. "I'm not sure about an actual time frame, but he would go out with someone occasionally. We were all shocked if it went past three dates, though. Why all the questions, New York? This isn't like you."
"I think...I think Chris is lonely. You know, it's like how a dog will run away every now and then and visit the French poodle on the corner."
"Are you comparing Chris to a dog?"
"Sorry, bad analogy, but you know what I mean. He needs someone new in his life, I think. Someone of the female persuasion. Someone that is bound to go beyond three dates. The longer the better. I'm not saying that marriage is anywhere in the picture, but someone that can...go the distance?"
JC looked puzzled as he turned towards her. "Are we talking about sex now?"
Her head fell back hard enough to hit the headboard with a loud thump. "Ow, not smart," she said, rubbing her head. "I swear, you can be so brainless in the morning. No, I'm not talking about sex. I'm talking about a relationship. I think he needs that, but I don't know anyone outside of you guys that associate with him, so I'm kind of dead for suggestions. Do you have any?"
He shook his head and put his coffee down on the night table. "Most of the women around us are either lesbians, married, involved, or fifty years old. Nothing that exactly floats his boat, sweetie."
"Now who's talking about sex," she said under her breath. "Well, that just plain sucks. The only females that I know have been around him are Mia and Alexandra down the road. Mia's off limits, but Alexandra...hm..."
It was his turn to roll his eyes. "New York, as much as that thought sounds great, you need to put a little more thought into it. They hate each other. She hit him with a snowball, for the love of-"
Her hand covered his mouth. "Don't even finish that thought. Think about to elementary school. Did you not throw a snowball or beat up on a girl that you liked? Please, JC. If he acts like he doesn't like you, that means he does. It's the same for a female. There are countless boys back then that I kicked and then kissed. There's no playground around here that they could chase each other around on, but snowballs are a very good beginning."
He couldn't help laughing at that. "Sometimes, I think your brain is one big snowball. They don't have...while we continue on this theme...a snowball's chance in hell. Besides, I thought that you didn't like Alexandra. Man, that name is a mouthful."
"No more than Brooklyn. She probably goes by Alex, but we don't know her well enough to call her that. And you're right, I don't like her, but that doesn't mean that she wouldn't be good for him. Besides, opinions change all the time. Look at us. We went from not knowing of each other to best friends to...sleeping in the same bedroom." And maybe I can figure out what she's really doing, she thought to herself with a smile.
"Much better topic, if you ask me."
Brooklyn grinned as she handed over her empty coffee cup to him, and waited until he had put it on the table. As soon as he had done that, she reached up and tugged on his necklace. "Definitely better."
"Okay, so I got a little more information out of them. This is the most that we're going to get until you agree or disagree to the deal. If you agree, you get more information than you can put into a book. If you disagree, you get nothing, and you have to agree to the fact that you can't say anything about what you've been told so far until the book comes out. That would be the reason that I'm recording this."
Alex laughed shortly. "Living out your FBI dreams, I see. All right, I agree to their conditions as long as I get a name. I DO get a name, don't I?"
"Yes," Kevin said slowly.
"Fine, I'm making a verbal agreement, then. I won't say a word until the book comes out, if I'm not writing it. There, is that enough? Can we please go on now?"
He sighed. "Got a piece of paper and a pen handy?" She knew that he was going to ask her that question, so she brought the pad of paper closer to her and picked up the pen she had found in one of the drawers. When she told him that she was ready, he started. "Okay, this is the man's side of the story that you're writing. There's a tape available for you to see, from an interview that the other party, who's a female, did on national television. There are also some notes, letters, recorded phone calls...that sort of stuff, that he's kept since. The woman was famous before this happened."
"In what sense? Actress, author, Nobel Prize winner...what?"
"Recording artist, actually. I know, you don't like that, but hear me out. This guy claims that there were many accusations made about him. Stuff like he had beaten her and whatnot. There is a third person in the story, who's another recording artist. Both of them still work, and occasionally work together. Mr. Third Party and the woman are actually dating right now. This guy claims, not his words but mine, that they had been involved when he was engaged to the woman, and he created the plan to put this guy in jail."
Alex threw her pen down in disgust. "You have to be kidding me. I'm dealing with a domestic dispute thing? No way. This is as dry and normal as could be."
"The man is currently in jail for two counts of murder, assault and battery, assault with a deadly weapon, and attempted murder. He's going to die in jail, and he says that he's in there because two people conspired against him. Now, of course, the woman has a different story. Like the fact that she and Mr. Third Party weren't involved. She was beaten within an inch of her life. According to her, he choked her and she quit singing for a few months. Of course, her career is better than ever because of this."
She shook her head and finished taking the last of her notes. "This sounds so familiar, Kevin. I think I may have seen the interview, or at least read about it. What exactly is this guy's name? I can do some checking on the Internet and see what I can dig up about him. All very discreet, of course."
"Of course. His name is Timothy Jameson Croft."
This time, her pen went flying across the room when she read the name she had written down to herself. "Wait, you're talking about the Fiancé Fiasco. Kevin, do you realize this? That was like the biggest story for the longest time. It was all you heard about on the news and in the papers. My God, this isn't some minor league thing. We're talking the World Series, Game Seven, bottom of the ninth, full count and two out, rookie pitcher on the mound, sort of book. This is incredible...but it's still non-fiction," she finished in a lower and slightly discouraged tone.
A clicking sounded on the other end. "Okay, I just turned off the recorder. Alex, I want you to listen to me. This guy is lying. He failed a lie detector test, for Christ's sake, but they wouldn't let it be introduced in the trial. I remember Sophia telling me about it. This Croft guy really did all that to this woman, I have no doubt about that. You'll be writing more fiction than non-fiction. And, like I said, this is total press coverage. The woman only talked about this once, called in an exclusive, and wiped her hands of the whole deal. Croft and his lawyer have had so many offers from authors to write his side of the story, but he wants YOU to write it. This isn't something that you should just throw away. Put a little thought into it."
She sighed. "It does sound interesting, and I'm sure that I would have this chick and her new boy toy pissed at me, but that's two people. Big freaking deal, really. I mean, sure, this chick's fans could get pissed off, but that's nothing, really."
"Do you understand how many fans this woman has? And how many her new boyfriend has? I can't remember either of their names, and Croft's lawyer never told me, but we're talking beyond the five million range. These two are worldwide. You'd have a major deal on her hands, and I know that you enjoy that. It'll be nothing like the controversy you had after your first Demers novel came out, trust me on that one."
Her finger hit the side of her chin a few times as she thought about it. "Could I make a tentative agreement? I really don't want to do this, Kev, for the fact that it's non-fic. You know my views on this, but this might turn out to be a not so bad thing to write about. At least, it would be interesting to hear about. Do you think it would be too much if, when we find out his ex-girlfriend's name, we mail a copy of the book to her?"
"You want someone outside her place with a camera so that you can see the expression on her face, as well? That sounds like something you might pull, Alex."
"Most definitely. If people knew who I was, I would deliver the book in person, but that's kind of out of the question. Anyway, call Croft's lawyer back. Tell him that I need all files, notes, so on and so forth for this, just to examine and see if this is worth my while. I might need you to arrange a few meetings with him for me, but for the most part, I'm staying out here for a little while. There's something I have to do first."
And that something, she thought to herself, just happened to involve Chris Kirkpatrick down the street.
"No problem, Alex. I'm glad that you're actually going to be doing something. Writing non-fic is a breeze. The most effort it'll take will be organizing all these notes and everything to make sentences and paragraphs. It's so hard, I suppose."
"Shut up and get to work. The sooner I get this done, the better."
Chapter Six
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