Eyes on You (21 page)

I wagged my head, beyond frustrated. “You know what’s really scary about this whole thing?” I said. “It’s how diabolically clever the person is. She—and I’m saying ‘she’ for now, because I still think it could be Vicky—wasn’t content with hurting me. She wanted everyone in the world to doubt me, like you’re doing. And she’s not the least bit afraid. For God’s sake, she stole into my office when I wasn’t there and used my computer. That takes
guts
.”

Ann didn’t utter a word, just looked ahead anxiously.

“Ann? What is it?”

“Robin,” she said, turning to me. “There’s a detail that Oliver didn’t bring up in the meeting with you. He felt enough had been laid on the table and there was no point in elaborating.”

“Tell me,” I demanded. My heart felt frozen in my chest.

“The searches on your computer? Each one occurred when Keiki was in the anteroom doing email or surfing the Web. So the truth is, no one could have sneaked into your office and done them.”

“That’s not possible,” I exclaimed. “Unless—unless Keiki is in league with the person. But I can’t imagine that.”

Ann looked away again, and when she returned her gaze to me, her expression was stricken. “They—they also found that the computer searches were done during periods when you were ordinarily in your office. In a couple of cases, you had sent emails only a few minutes before.”

I started to bristle. “Ann, I’m not sure what your point is, exactly. As I said before, the person who’s after me is extremely clever. She—or
he
, if you want—obviously waited for me to leave, sneaked into my office while Keiki was gone for a second, and then got busy in there after she came back. If the inner door were shut, Keiki would assume it was me.”

My mind was racing, still trying to make sense of her revelation. “Or—or maybe the person told Keiki they needed to wait for me. Tom did that sometimes. So did the producers. Keiki wouldn’t have been aware the person was on my desktop computer.”

“Right,” she said, but the word came out tentatively.

“Hold on a second. Are you seriously
doubting
me, Ann?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re thinking it,” I said, feeling the blood rush to my face. “You’re wondering if I
did
stage all those things, aren’t you?”

“Not intentionally, Robin. But—but you told me that when you crashed your car in Virginia, you’d felt out of it. And I’m just wondering if there’s any chance that with all the stress you’ve been under, the whole awful business from your past caught up with you. And you acted in a kind of fugue state.”

“Fugue state?”

“Yes. Without ever realizing it.”

I couldn’t believe what she was saying. She was my friend, and she was buying
their
story.

“Go to hell, Ann,” I said, leaping up from the bench.

Without thinking, I started to run north along the path. From behind me, I heard her call my name, but I kept going. Through the trees, I could see the glass wall at the back of the Metropolitan Museum and people running and biking along the park drive. Just past the obelisk, a footpath appeared in the grass, cutting through to the drive. I bolted down the path toward the road. As I started to lunge across, something rammed into my right side.

The force knocked the wind out of me and lifted me off my feet. I came down hard on the pavement, hands first, and skidded across it. I could feel skin tear from my palms.

A woman on Rollerblades had toppled me. I looked up to see her ass pumping up ahead on the road. “Are you okay?” a man called out, just to the right of me.

“I—I guess so,” I said. I couldn’t catch my breath. I struggled to a sitting position and looked down at my trembling hands. They were scratched and oozing blood.

A young couple helped me to my feet. As I glanced up, I spotted recognition in their eyes and then puzzlement. Was the word out? I wondered. That I’d been fired in disgrace? I muttered a thank-you and started to jog again, desperate to be back in my apartment.

Finally, I reached my block. As I neared my building, I saw the doorman step out onto the sidewalk, away from the entrance, and wave as if trying to flag me down. What was going on? Then a man jumped out of nowhere and thrust a silver recorder in my face.

“Robin, why are you leaving the show?” he shouted. “Were you fired?”

I shoved his hand away. “No comment,” I said, and rushed into the building.

The doorman followed quickly behind me. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Trainer,” he said. “I was trying to warn you. There was another one around here earlier.”

“Uh, okay, thanks,” I said, hurrying past him. “Can you try to get rid of him? Say—say I’m not coming out.”

It just keeps getting worse, I thought as I slumped against the elevator wall. By the time I reached my floor, my whole body had begun to tremble, like a toy top on a table. I held the key pinched tightly between my fingers to unlock the apartment door.

Inside, I sank onto the couch, tears welling in my eyes.
Fugue state
. I couldn’t believe Ann had suggested such a thing. Was she also hinting that I’d been in a fugue state as a little girl and that I’d faked my torment by Janice?

I struggled up from the couch and slunk into the bathroom. My palms were scratched and raw, as if I’d run a grater across the skin. I dabbed at them with a wet tissue. After rummaging through a drawer, I found a tube of Neosporin, smeared it on, and wrapped each hand messily with gauze.

When I finished, I texted Keiki on her cell phone. I
had
to talk to her.

The intercom buzzer rang, making me jerk in surprise.

“He’s back,” the doorman said when I picked up.

“Who?” I said. For a brief, stupid moment, I thought he meant Carter, that he’d come by to see me unexpectedly, like he had that other night.

“That second reporter. I just wanted you to know there’s two of them now.”

Fifteen minutes later, he called again to report that there were more. A swarm, he said, including TV camera crews. Go away, I wanted to scream.
Go the hell away
.

I pressed my hands to my head. They wouldn’t go away, that much I knew. They would encamp in front of my building until they scored the shot they wanted, the one of me looking bedraggled and undone. I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t let them swoop down and peck me to death. In the kitchen, I poured a glass of wine and drank half of it in two gulps.

My phone rang. Bettina’s name appeared on the screen. Answer it, I told myself. Because maybe she could help.

“Darling, what in the world is going on?” she asked. “Has Dave Potts lost his mind?”

“There’s been a massive misunderstanding,” I said. “I—I’ve got to find a way to fix it.”

“Why don’t you come see me? Or I could stop by wherever you are.”

“No. You can’t come here. There’s press outside my building. I don’t know what to do—I can’t stay here.”

I could almost hear her brain working, hatching a scheme.

“I have an idea,” she said. “Why don’t you stay in my guesthouse in Westport until the worst is over. They’ll never find you there. I’ll try to get up in a day or so, and we can have lunch and talk this out.”

“I don’t have a car. How—”

“Take the train. My housekeeper, Nancy, will pick you up. And I keep a car out there for the help. You can use that.”

I’d just have to be careful around Bettina. I knew she cared for me, but she’d also be thinking of her website, which was surely covering the news that I’d been axed.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll go out tomorrow.”

“Text me what train you’ll be on, and I’ll have Nancy meet you.”

I needed to eat something, but the thought of a meal made me want to heave. I toasted a piece of bread and poured another glass of wine, slopping some of it onto the kitchen counter. I was reeling still from my encounter with Ann. She didn’t believe me at the moment when I needed her most. The friendship, forged over endless conversations about work and love and loss, was done.

At seven, an email came in from Richard, saying that Potts and Carey wanted to talk to him in the next day or two about my compensation package, and he was going to use the call to try to reason with them.

“There’s some real weirdness about the times they claim the computer searches were conducted,” I wrote back. “We
must
see the evidence.”

I sent Tom another email, asking him to please call. Why didn’t he have the fucking decency to reach out to me?

At last, Keiki phoned. “Oh, Robin, I’m so sorry,” she said.

“Thanks, that means a lot,” I said.
Could
she be in league with the person? I wondered.

“No one’s told me anything, just that you aren’t coming back.”

“At this point I can’t explain what happened, but I will someday, okay?”

“I’ll send your stuff over, like you asked,” she said. I realized that her voice was choked with tears. “Some jerks were in here moving things around, but I don’t think they took anything other than your computer.”

“Keiki, I need to ask you an important question. Over the past few weeks, do you recall anyone stopping by to see me and then waiting in my office?”

There was a long pause as she thought. She
had
to remember.

“Not that I recollect,” she said eventually. “I’ve seen Tom wait in there, but it’s been awhile.”

Damn. “All right. If something occurs to you, will you let me know? And it’s probably best not to tell anyone we spoke.”

“Okay. Look, I know this seems silly to ask—I mean, with everything you’re going through—but what do you think is going to happen to me? Am I going to lose my job? I’ve got all these vet bills to pay.”

“Speak to Tom as soon as possible,” I said. “Tell him you love the show and want to stay. And he knows how highly I regard you.”

Keiki couldn’t have been in on the incidents, I thought after I signed off. With me ousted, her own job was in jeopardy. But then how had the person searched on my computer?

I packed an overnight bag and grabbed my phone again. There was something I needed to do, and it necessitated a call to my ex-husband. I tapped his number quickly, not giving myself a chance to change my mind.

“It’s Robin,” I said when he answered. “Do you have a minute?”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ve left you a few messages. What’s going on with your job?”

“I—I can’t talk about that now. But I need to pick up one of my boxes. Is it possible for me to come by at eight tomorrow morning and do that?”

The loft we’d shared had extra storage space in the basement, and when we’d divorced, Jake had agreed to let me keep a few boxes there.

“Sure,” he said. “Do you want me to go down tonight and bring it up?”

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Whatever you need.”

I told him it was the box with “Oneonta” written on it—the town in New York state where my aunt Jessie had lived.

When I left the building the next morning, my head throbbing from too much wine, I wore sunglasses again and a scarf around my head, but I didn’t need them. The press hadn’t dragged their asses out of bed yet.

“Duane Street,” I told the driver. Saying those two words was like uttering a language I’d spoken in another lifetime. As we barreled south on the FDR Drive, I sank into the backseat. It was drizzling out and streams of water raced sideways along the windows.

I’d last seen Jake about six months ago when we’d met at a midtown coffee shop to sign papers related to an old investment. The get-together had been clunky but cordial, and I’d been relieved by how, over time, I’d managed to distance myself emotionally when I was with him, as if we were talking through one of those Plexiglas barriers they use in prison visits.

But when he opened the door that morning, I felt my heart catch. His brown hair was shorter, and there were streaks of gray at the temples. He was growing older without me, something I’d never envisioned.

Jake touched my elbow in greeting. I saw him glance down at the piece of gauze I still had around one of my hands.

“Hey,” he said. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

“Thanks,” I said, shifting away. “Did you find the box all right?”

“Yes, I’ve got it. Robin, what’s going on? The Internet is on fire with all this hysterical gossip.”

“I can’t really discuss it at the moment,” I said.

He motioned for me to enter and led me toward the kitchen table, where I could see the old box sitting forlornly. I tried not to look around the loft, but I could sense new things in various spaces, filling spots left empty by the few paintings and furnishings I’d departed with. I felt an ache begin to build inside me.

When I reached the table, I tugged open the top panels of the brown cardboard box. Inside were the possessions I’d brought from Jessie’s after she died—photos, the quilt she’d sewn for my bed, the wooden flower press she’d bought me. I searched until I found what I was looking for: a manila envelope, soft as cloth from age.

“How about a cup of coffee?” Jake said.

“Actually, I need to catch a train in a few minutes,” I said. I stuffed the envelope into my overnight bag and glanced at my watch. “Would you mind putting the box back? I’d appreciate it.”

“Robin, please talk to me.”

“Jake, thank you for your concern, but like I said, I’m not really able to go into it.”

“I’d like to be there for you right now.”

I bit my tongue, saying nothing.

“Will you let me do that? Be there for you?”

I cocked my head. “That just seems a little
strange
,” I said, “coming from the person who didn’t want to be married to me anymore.”

“I made a huge mistake, Robin, but that didn’t mean I wanted out of the marriage. You were the one who decided to go down that road. It’s like you couldn’t even entertain the idea of forgiving me.”

“What choice did I have, Jake?” I said, my voice rising. “Do you think marriages ever really get back on track after someone’s had an affair? I would have just kept wondering if you were going to abandon me again—and the next time for good.”

“I didn’t abandon you.”

“No? What do you call it, then?”