Eyes on You (14 page)

“You know Will Oliver, don’t you?” Potts asked me after I’d said good morning.

“Yes,” I replied, nodding at the security chief. He was tall, African-American, and shrewd-looking—a guy who could probably give a dead-on description of the doorman and anyone else he’d passed entering the building. I sat down at the table and accepted a cup of coffee from the maid.

Ann was perpendicular to me, and smiled warmly. It was good to have her there. I felt a sliver of guilt over the fact that I’d had another tête-à-tête with Carter and would be keeping it to myself. But nothing naughty had happened. I’d simply hugged Carter back, he’d finished his wine, and then he’d headed home.

“Robin, as you can imagine, we’re terribly concerned about what’s going on,” Potts said. “I wanted to meet out of the office so people wouldn’t be buzzing about why we were all congregating. Ann provided Will and me with details last night, but why don’t you take us through everything that’s happened.”

He was all Mr. Nice Guy now, compared to the pompous butt-head he’d been a few nights ago. Of course he was concerned. If anything bad happened to me, it would be a blow to the network.

I described it all, even the water bug incident. When I finished, Oliver, who’d been taking notes, asked if I had the makeup with me. I handed the bottle to him in the Ziploc bag I’d stored it in.

“Okay,” he said, his dark eyes sober. “We’ll have this tested by a forensics firm and see if your doc’s guess is right. We’ll also examine footage from our security cameras. What about the note? Do you still have that?”

“I’m sorry, but I tore it up,” I said. “Unfortunately, I also tossed the book jackets.”

“Is it possible the rips in the book jackets happened accidentally? Perhaps that incident is unrelated.”

“At the time I thought that, but in light of what else has happened, I hardly think so now.” I didn’t want to come across defensively, but I couldn’t let them dismiss anything.

“By the way, I have the doll,” Ann announced. She reached into a bag at her feet, drew out the Barbie, and slid it down the table.

“Jesus,” Potts said as he took a look. “This is completely sick.”

“Yes, this is very disturbing,” Oliver said. He turned to me. “We’re going to quickly figure out who’s doing this and deal with them accordingly.”

I nodded, feeling a sense of relief just from hearing those words.

“I need to ask you a few more questions, though,” Oliver said. “Has anyone on the show or at the network acted at all negative toward you lately?”

How would
You had no fucking right to use one of my guests
stack up in his opinion? I wondered. Though I hadn’t planned to raise Vicky’s name, it was going to be hard to avoid doing so.

Fortunately, he expanded the question, so I didn’t have to go there. “Think about beyond work as well,” he said. “There could be an acquaintance, or even a stranger from the outside world, who resents you and has an accomplice in the building. Have you received any hostile emails or tweets?”

“Nothing I would categorize that way,” I said. “As for work, things become tense on the show at times—a producer might not like being criticized for a weak segment, for instance—but that goes with the territory. Oh, and a few reviewers have had to eat their words lately,” I added, making a little joke. I forced a laugh, which came out sounding like a seal bark.

Oliver glanced toward Tom and then back to me. “Tom and I had a chance to speak last night,” he said. “He tells me there was an altercation recently between you and Vicky Cruz.”

Good—her name was on their radar now and I hadn’t placed it there. But the word “altercation” made it sound like I was partly to blame, that I was on the same level as a female Jell-O wrestler.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it an altercation,” I said, trying to strip any emotion out of my voice. “Vicky was upset that we’d booked one of the guests from her show, and she was very vocal about it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I’d seen Potts’s sausage-y lips begin to part.

“Good God, Will, you can’t possibly think that’s relevant,” Potts said. “That’s simply a case of Vicky being Vicky. We’re looking for a sociopath, here, if you ask me.”

“Possibly,” Oliver said. “What really concerns me is the way the actions are escalating. We’ve gone from pranks to bodily harm. I’m wondering if we should bring in outside security for Robin.”

Potts looked ready to sputter and then caught himself. “Of course we need to protect Robin. But that will set off all kinds of alarms.”

“I’m fine without that, at least for now,” I said. “I just want you to catch this person.”

“We will,” Oliver said firmly. “Until then, I want you to lock your office door whenever you’re away from your desk, and let me know if you spot anything out of the ordinary. Though we won’t bring in outside security at this moment, I’m going to have our own team spend more time on the floor. It will be done discreetly.”

“Yes,” Potts said, shooting a look at Ann. “Discretion is key. We need to keep a lid on this.” He glanced back to me. “And Robin, it’s going to be difficult, but you’ll have to do your best not to seem ruffled.”

“Of course,” I said. God forbid I look ruffled by this.

Ann raised a finger and suggested that I tell Stacy that the foundation had gone bad somehow; otherwise she’d start gossiping. Tom, who’d remained mostly silent during the meeting, nodded.

“One last point,” Oliver said. “I’m going to loop in Carter on this. If the person responsible has a grudge about the show, it’s possible that he could become a target, too, at some time.”

I didn’t divulge, of course, that Carter already knew. Carter, I was sure, would keep his mouth shut.

When we finished, Potts remained in his apartment, and Oliver went his own way. I gave Tom and Ann a lift back to the office in my car. Tom said very little on the ride, just tapped, tapped, tapped on his iPhone.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Ann asked me privately. She’d stepped off on my floor of the building, and Tom had scurried off.

“I’m hanging in there,” I said.

“Your face looks better, at least.”

“Thanks.” I offered her a rueful smile. “And just think, when it’s fully healed, I’m going to have the most refined pores in the universe.”

“Remember, I’m just one floor away.”

As soon as I was in my office, I called Stacy, as instructed. She’d already texted me twice about my face. I told her I was on the mend and that the foundation had become contaminated on its own. She suggested we switch to a different brand.

Next I phoned Richard to fill him in. He sounded truly alarmed and promised to call Potts immediately.

After I hung up, I popped two ibuprofen. My head was hurting, the pain bleeding from front to back. Breathe, I told myself. Just breathe.

Over the next few hours, my office phone seemed to ring constantly, making me jerk nervously each time. I let Keiki pick up and field the calls. After about the tenth one, she poked her head into my office. “There’s a Mrs. Nolan on the line,” she announced. “She said it’s personal.”

“Okay,” I said, caught by surprise. It was my cousin, Maddy’s mother. Though we spoke occasionally on the phone, she’d never contacted me during the workday. “Paula, hi,” I said. “What’s up?”

“I just thought I’d check in, say hello. I hope it’s okay to call you at work.”

“Sure.” Though the last thing I was in the mood for was chitchat.

“Maddy is loving her internship. And we’re so grateful for all you’ve done.”

“But . . . ?” I said.

“But?” she said.

“She’s loving her job, but you’re calling in the middle of the day. Something’s clearly up.” I wondered if Maddy had filled her mother in on the screwups at work.

“Robin, you can’t tell Maddy I told you this, but she’s a little worried about you.”

“
Worried
about me?”

“She says . . . well, that you’ve seemed tired lately and stressed out. I just wanted to be sure you’re okay.”

Was my stress really showing? I wondered if word had leaked out about the episode with the foundation.

“That’s sweet of Maddy,” I said, gritting my teeth. “But I’m fine. This job can be demanding at times, that’s all.”

“Good, I was just a little concerned.”

“Like I said, I’m fine. How—how’s everything with you?”

“We’ve been to the Finger Lakes this summer. Our old stomping grounds. Um, we saw your father up there a couple of times.”

I said nothing.

“Do you ever meet with him?” she asked haltingly.

“No,” I said.

“He’s proud of you. And I know he’d love to be part of your life.”

“Paula, I appreciate the call, but I really need to get back to work.”

“Of course, of course. I’m glad you’re okay.”

As soon as I hung up, I swallowed a third ibuprofen. My head felt ready to explode. What I needed even less than chitchat was hearing a status report on my father. And though Maddy might mean well, I didn’t appreciate her stirring the pot.

Just before noon, I headed down to the newsroom. Tom had sent an email saying there was a story he wanted to do tomorrow relating to a comment from the FCC on TV coverage of red-carpet events. It was time to check in with Alex about it. As I walked along the outside perimeter of the newsroom, I caught a few people, including Charlotte, raising their eyes toward me.

“You feeling okay?” Alex said as I pulled up a small stool. “They said you took the night off because you were sick.”

It was a little more personal than he usually allowed himself to be with me. Maybe our brief chat on the High Line had made him feel more at ease.

“Yes, thanks for asking,” I said. “So what’s this red-carpet story about?”

He smiled. “I’ll tell you, but you’ve gotta promise not to report me for sexual harassment.
Under
boobage. Remember how big side boobage was a while back? Apparently, this is the newest red-carpet trend. The FCC seems to be agitated about it.”

Despite my foul mood, I smiled.

Alex explained that for guests, he was aiming for a celeb stylist or fashion editor and a spokesperson from the FCC. “Who else, do you think?” he asked.

“You know who would be interesting to include? An anthropologist. We can ask if underboobage is hot right now because we’ve seen so much outrageous décolletage lately that we’re almost oblivious to it and we need a different visual to jolt our senses.”

Alex laughed lightly.

“What?” I asked.

“I like the idea of adding an anthropologist, but I don’t think many men end up oblivious to plunging necklines.”

I laughed, too. This is better, I thought. I’m feeling
normal
now. “Point taken,” I said. “So find a great guy to weigh in. Maybe an author who’s written about the male-female dynamic.”

“Good. I’ll shoot you names by email.”

I started to rise and then paused. “I bet you didn’t get to deal with cool stuff like underboobage in the DA’s office.”

“Not true,” he replied. “There were a few hookers who were in on the trend. They may have even started it.”

The comment was breezy enough, but he’d taken a second to respond. The DA’s office. There was something about it that didn’t sit right with him.

I ate lunch at my desk, a salad from the cafeteria. As I was tossing the container in my trash basket, I heard a knock on the door frame. My body jerked nervously in surprise.

Will Oliver was standing there. “Got a minute?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said, feeling my pulse kick up. “Do you have news already?”

“Not yet,” he said. He eased the door closed without making a sound, like some Navy SEAL would know how to do. He motioned for me to remain seated and dragged the extra chair over to my desk. “But there’s a question I need to ask you, one I didn’t want to raise in front of everyone.”

“Okay,” I said. Something was up.

“The kind of harassment you’re experiencing often occurs after a failed relationship,” he said. “I need to ask if you’ve been involved in a romantic relationship with anyone here at work.”

I probably should have expected a question like that, but I hadn’t. “Absolutely not,” I said.

Oliver studied me without saying anything, as if he weren’t a hundred percent convinced. Well, I wasn’t going to confess to a momentary rush of lust for Carter Brooks.

“Okay,” he said at last, “but instinct tells me that there’s something you didn’t want to say in front of Dave this morning.”

He was as good at his job as he looked. I hesitated.

“Robin, I need you to be honest with me,” he said.

It didn’t seem wise to make an accusation at this point. But if I withheld information, it might bite me in the ass later.

“Can it be between just the two of us?” I asked.

“For now, definitely.”

“Several days ago, Stacy, one of the makeup artists, told me that Vicky Cruz had inquired about what foundation I used.”

His eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise. “Was there a reason given?”

“She claimed she liked the way my skin looked. And that so-called altercation in the newsroom wasn’t the only problem I’ve had with her. A couple of days later, she complained to Potts about one of my interns.”

Oliver laid a long slim finger across his lips and tapped a few times. “Was she at your book party?” he asked.

“Yes. And she was on our set the night the water bug ended up in my coffee.”

“All right,” he said, betraying nothing. “I’ll be back in touch soon. Until then, be extremely careful.”

He left soundlessly, like an apparition. But his words kept echoing in my head. Later, rushing to makeup, I could feel anxiety gaining on me again, like a nasty mongrel nipping at my heels. There were two guests in the room, having their makeup done for the six o’clock show, so Stacy kept her mouth shut about what had gone down the evening before. But she gave me a sympathetic look and opened all new packages of makeup for me. I held my breath as she sponged the foundation on my face.

“Hey,” Carter said as I slid into my seat on the set a little while later. He’d sent me a text earlier, just checking in. “Your face looks great now.”

“Thanks. Nothing like an acid peel to pump up the collagen.”