The Stand-In(93)

It doesn’t take me long to pack.

Then I write an email to Fangli.

You probably know that ZZTV called me to get my side of the story. I hung up on them. I know I signed the NDA, but even if I hadn’t, I never would have told them. I overheard you and Sam but I swear it wasn’t me who told ZZTV.

I wish I could spend more time with you. I’ll miss you. Thank you for everything.

I hesitate, weighed down by the thirty grand sitting in my bank account. Should I keep it? The money might be tainted but I did earn it. I decide to keep it but tell her I understand if she wants me to return it and of course I waive all rights to the rest of the money.

I read it over a few times before I decide it will do.

Sam, though, Sam’s another story. He knew I needed the money for Mom, not out of greed or ego. Refusing the rest of the pay seems like a message to Sam as well, at least in my head. I walk out the door, and right before I enter the subway, I click Send and then block both their numbers from my phone. It’s better this way.

Just like that, it’s all done. I’m back to being Gracie Reed, sad, jobless loser.





Thirty-Five


It almost feels like getting fired all over again, but with more heartache and in a less comfortable environment since I decided to get an Airbnb for a few days. Thanks to their detective’s dossier, Sam and Fangli know where I live. I don’t want to talk to either of them because it would be too painful to have to recount what I said in the letter in person. A clean break is the best break for both bones and relationships.

It’s no Xanadu, but it’s cute, a small sunny apartment in a low-rise on the other side of town. The central design element in the living room is a hard couch that I sit on for hours, staring at my phone, half expecting and half dreading what could happen and refreshing my browser every three minutes to see if I’ve been publicly shamed. Thank God my social media is under the generic @gracie_graceTO, so I don’t need to worry about that getting flooded. I can watch cat videos in peace even if I need to go into hiding from the world.

For the twentieth time, I almost check to see if Sam or Fangli have shown up in my voicemail for blocked callers. I toss the phone aside. That experience is over and whether they try to contact me or not doesn’t matter. It’s done. I’m done.

Rectitude. If I’d acted with rectitude, I wouldn’t be in this position now. I wouldn’t have a thing to be ashamed about.

I call Anjali and tell her I left and that ZZTV called. I leave out the part about eavesdropping. That hurts too much to talk about.

“I’m sorry, Gracie.” Her voice is gentle and holds none of the smugness she’s entitled to as a result of being correct that this would end in tears. She’s in Vancouver for work, but physical distance has not prevented her from taking on the role of cheerleader with a vengeance.

Anjali lets me talk, not interrupting at all, which is so unlike her that I know I must be a more pitiful mess than I thought. Finally, once I peter out, she says, “You have to stop blaming yourself. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“It was dumb. You told me this was a dumb thing to do.”

“I did,” she agrees. “But you keep acting like this is some moral failure on your part.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? About tricking people?”

“Do you think Fangli is ethically lacking? That she’s a bad person?”

“No.”

“Then give yourself the same consideration.”

“Is this life coach advice from the good days?”

“Saw it on an online advice column but it remains valid.”

“Maybe.” Easier said than done.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Wait for ZZTV to drag my name through the mud and move to Tierra del Fuego?”

“It’s cold there. Damp, too.”

“I’ll bring a coat,” I say morosely.

Her sigh gusts into the phone. “Do you have a plan B? What about Eppy?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Are you working on it or sitting on your ass checking your phone to see if ZZTV released your name?”

I pause. “The latter.”

“When this started, you said Fangli’s team could handle any scandals.”

“I did.”

“Nothing has happened yet.”

“Not yet.”

There’s a bang, then Anjali’s voice comes back on. “That was me hitting the phone in frustration,” she says. “Here’s what you’re going to do.”

Despite myself I grin. Anjali’s back in fighting form. “What am I going to do?”

“I’m going to set up a Google alert for your name and I’ll tell you if anything happens. You’re going to turn off your Wi-Fi and work on Eppy.”

“I might need to research something.”

“Save everything you need to search and send it to me. I’ll copy and paste the web pages.”

“This is ridiculous. You don’t have time for this.”

“I’ve been on the phone with you for an hour. Trust me that I have the four minutes to set an alert. Plus it’s a scientific fact I made up that 98.9 percent of internet searches are only mindless surfing.”