Eyes on You (34 page)

I rang the bell, and Bettina’s male Filipino housekeeper answered. He led me into the massive living area, gestured for me to take a seat, and asked if he could bring me a refreshment. I declined.

After he departed soundlessly, I rose and drifted over to the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that faced west to the Hudson and the densely packed New Jersey waterfront. The vista was even more spectacular tonight than it had been the evening of my party; because it was fully dark out, lights twinkled fiercely everywhere.

“Please forgive me,” Bettina said when she swept into the room a good ten minutes later. She was dressed in a deep-orange pantsuit, a nod to fall, and carrying what looked like a vodka on the rocks. “I had a call I just could
not
get rid of. No drink for you?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” I said, turning from the window. “I have to ask. Is it as magical now as it was at the start?”

“What, darling? You’re not inquiring about my sex life, are you?”

I smiled. “No, the view.”

She shrugged. “I’m going to tell you a little secret, Robin,” she said. “I appreciate my view, I do. I worked hard for it. Unfortunately, it’s like going to bed with a gorgeous man. After a while, things become familiar, and some of the magic does disappear. Now, come talk to me.”

We took seats opposite each other, she in a curved white armchair set on a Plexiglas base and me on the couch.

“It seems as if some of the drama is finally dying down,” she said.

“Yes, a bit,” I said. “For the first time in days, there were no reporters camped out in front of my apartment this morning.”

“You said you had a question for me. I’m eager to hear and to help if I can.”

I had called two days ago and requested a meeting. I knew my question would surprise her. But it was something I’d been mulling over for the past four weeks.

It had been a truly crazy month for me, and tough at times. Not just because of the trauma of East Hampton but because I was still wrestling with grief over Sharon’s death and my failure to see the ugly mix of emotions I’d triggered in Ann.

She’d been charged that night with trying to drown me, and afterward the police in New York City had taken her DNA in conjunction with the investigation of Sharon’s murder. The story had been everywhere in the press for two weeks but only the bare outlines: Ann Carny had tried to kill me. She had also allegedly murdered Sharon Hayes. The full details had yet to surface. Ann had been painted as a career girl come unhinged, and one of the tabloids ridiculously had made her a cautionary tale for chicks leaning in too far.

Vicky had been spared. So far, at least, there was no evidence linking her directly to Sharon’s murder. Ann had tried to take her down, but it hadn’t worked. Vicky admitted that she’d called Sharon but claimed it was only out of concern for her own career. Sharon, Vicky said, had tried to sully her reputation years ago, and she’d feared another attempt. She also said she’d shared her concerns with Ann, but she had no idea why Ann would try to become her avenger.

I’d retained a PR person to assist me, and he’d issued a statement saying very little but saying it well. I used the ongoing investigation as an excuse to be discreet; at least I was controlling the information.

The Monday after I returned from Long Island, Lisa Follett met with Potts and Carey. They agreed to search my computer and within days had found the botnet. During Lisa’s frank discussion with them, a few more details emerged. It had been Ann who’d told Potts about my history with Janice, and she who’d revealed that Carter and I were involved. Ann always led me to believe she was working on my behalf when behind the scenes she was doing her best to undermine me.

Lisa found out that there’d never been a mystery suspect, as Ann had implied to me the night before I was axed. It had been her way of toying with me, cat-and-mouse-style.

On Wednesday, Lisa had yet another meeting with Potts. He conveyed that he planned to offer me my job back. Because of the impending sale of the network, the decision had to be run by others.

I should have been frustrated by having to wait longer, but I wasn’t. I used the time to run and to think and to connect with a few old friends. And to talk to Alex. We walked together sometimes and ordered in food at my apartment, discussing what had happened and trying to make sense of it. I still felt overwhelmed by what he’d done for me. We both knew that a physical relationship was going to happen. Some nights it felt wildly erotic, sitting on the couch next to him and feeling the charge between us. But we were taking our time. I had work to do before I became invested in another romantic relationship.

After the Ann story hit and word began to gurgle up that I might be exonerated, I heard from a couple of people in management at the network. Never from Tom, though. Within days it came out that he was going to a bigger show at a whole other network.

Maddy called right after the weekend in East Hampton. She was all fluttery with her concerns. I arranged to meet her on Tuesday and told her I’d discovered that she was passing my research along as her own.

“Oh, I didn’t realize I wasn’t supposed to do that.”

“Of course you did, Maddy,” I said. “And until you can examine what you did and realize why it was wrong, I have nothing more to say to you.”

I’d learned by this point that Alex was the guy she was so taken with. She had confessed her infatuation to him after the weekend, to his total surprise.

A few days after Ann’s arrest, I arranged to meet with Jake. I told him I wanted to come downtown one night to pick up my boxes and asked if he’d order us a pizza. I knew the request floored him.

It was unsettling to spend an evening at the loft, sitting at the same pine table where I’d eaten so many meals as we laughed and talked. But I fought off my discomfort. I also forced myself to adjust to seeing Jake in reading glasses. I ate three slices of pizza, drank a beer, and related what had happened to me.

“I really appreciate you sharing all of it with me, Robin,” he said.

“That’s not the only reason I came down here. There’s something else I wanted to talk about with you.”

“Don’t tell me this is one of those ‘I’ve met someone I’m serious about’ moments.”

I laughed out loud. “No, not that. I wanted to respond to one of the points you made when I was here last.”

“Okay.”

“When things started to fall apart between us, I did owe you another chance, or at least an attempt at another chance.”

“Look, I came down a little hard. I’m the one to blame for what happened.”

“I’m not excusing your infidelity. But I did box you out in our marriage, particularly when I had my own show, and even before that. It pains me to admit this, but I was never all in during our marriage. It’s not because I didn’t love you. I can see now that I’ve always found ways to keep my distance in relationships. I don’t want to sound all ‘boo-hoo, woe is me,’ but the truth is that my screwed-up past has gotten the better of me in my personal life.”

“You were open to me about what you’d been through, Robin. Maybe I should have helped you cope with it better.”

“That wasn’t your responsibility. It was mine. And I’m sorry that I came into our marriage without having fully dealt with it. I’m going to do that now, though. Find a therapist.” I smiled. “Maybe one who specializes in wicked stepmothers and stain phobia. And deal with it.”

He nodded, picked up a pizza crust, and obviously deliberated finishing it before dropping it back in the box. “Does that mean making peace with your father, too?”

“Yes. But not in the way you might expect. I’ve responded to his calls and emails over the years because, I think, deep down I was hoping he was on the verge of saying he was wrong to choose Janice over his daughter, who was still grieving for her mother and needed him desperately. But that’s not going to happen. And I’ve decided the best thing for me to do is accept the reality and lose all contact with him. That’s the only way I can truly move on.”

“I hope I’m not part of the going-incommunicado plan. I told you I wanted to be there for you, and I meant it.”

“I’m okay with that, Jake. I want to stay in touch. But I’d like to take it slow.”

“Sure. Hey, somehow I’ve inspired you to eat a ton of carbs tonight, so I feel that bodes well for the future.”

Two weeks later, the offer had come from Potts. My job back, along with an apology and a healthy raise, the latter probably as protection against my trying to sue his flabby ass off. Potts also made it clear that Vicky would be warned and watched. Unfortunately, the network had no grounds for terminating her before the end of her contract. “She’s a nutcase, and they know it now,” Lisa told me later that day. “But their hands are tied.”

I’d thanked Potts for the offer and told him I’d like time to consider it.

I did think about it. Again and again. And that led me to Bettina’s.

“Here’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” I told her. “I want to come to work for you again.”

She made no attempt to disguise her total surprise. “I must say, darling, you’ve completely caught me off guard.”

“It doesn’t have to be a regular job,” I said. “I’d love to consult again, like I did before. Maybe there’s a project you can think of for me.”

“Oh, there’s plenty for you to do. There’s even a job I’d give you in a heartbeat. But why aren’t you going back to your show? Potts assured me he was rehiring you.”

“He offered,” I said. “I don’t want to be back on that show.”

“Darling,” Bettina said, “do another show, then. Take some meetings and listen to the offers. If you want, I’ll talk to Tony about an entirely different show for you once he buys the network.”

“Thank you,” I said. “You’ve helped me through this, and I appreciate it. But I want to take a hiatus from TV.”

“You worked so hard to get back. Potts will be gone before long, and you won’t have to deal with him anymore. And between the two of us, Vicky will be out once her contract is finished.”

I couldn’t go back to the network as long as Vicky was there. But it was more than that. If I wanted a career in television, it couldn’t be for the same reasons I’d been involved up until now.

That night by the pool, Ann had been blistering in her comments about me, but she’d been right about one thing: I
had
spent a year and a half bemoaning being off the air. I was desperate to be the girl on the side of the bus shelter again. It wasn’t simply because I loved the work. It ran deeper than that. My career had served a visceral need. When Sharon had asked why I preferred TV journalism to print, a word had slipped out of my mouth: I’d told her that for me, being on TV was
validating.
And it was. I’d felt that way from my first time on the air. I’d been more than happy as a print reporter, but as soon as I had a taste of being on-camera—as a guest on a show—I was hooked. It was like a drug, in some ways. It had tangled me up, made me push other things away. And my obsessiveness had hurt my marriage.

In hindsight, I could see that craving that role probably had to do with my father, with a need to feel believed and accepted.

At some point, I might be open to being back in the game. But only when I could do it because I loved the work.

“Would you want a full-time job?” Bettina asked.

“What I’d love for now is a freelance project,” I said. “I promised my publisher that I would throw myself into publicizing the book for the next few weeks. Fortunately, this whole mess has really helped the sales.”

“Why don’t you give me a day or two to put together a proposal for you, and I’ll be in touch.”

“Perfect,” I said, rising. I knew she must have evening plans, maybe a dinner at Positano or Pastis. “And thank you, Bettina. I’m very grateful to you.”

“How is it going, anyway?” she asked. “I hope you’ve had people to lean on during this time.”

“People like you, yes. And there’s a guy I’ve started to see. He’s the one who saved me in the swimming pool.”

“What a sexy way to connect,” she said, swinging open her front door. “I seem to only meet men at dreary dinner parties, and they’re all eighty-five years old. Goodbye, darling, have a nice evening.”

“Thanks again, Bettina.”

“Remember, if you change your mind, I’ll make sure you’re back on the network in a millisecond.”

“Maybe someday,” I said.

One of the parts I enjoy most about writing a book is doing all the research for it. That’s where you really get to play detective. I would like to thank the people who so generously helped me gather information for
Eyes on You
: Barbara A. Butcher, chief of staff at the NYC Office of Chief Medical Examiner; Susan Brune, Esq.; David S. Rasner, Esq., partner at Fox Rothschild, LLP, and co-chair of its family law practice; Ronald S. Katz, Esq.; Dr. Mark Howell, psychotherapist; Danielle Atkin, freelance TV producer and writer; Brad Holbrook, former news anchor; Tom Miller, information security manager; Andrea Kaplan, president, Andrea Kaplan, PR; Caleb White, police officer; Ted Lotti, deputy director of corporate security, the Hearst Corp.

I’d also like to thank my awesome agent, Sandy Dijkstra, who has been with me for thirteen books now, and although that’s not a lucky number, with Sandy I always feel like I’ve hit the jackpot; Sandy’s fab team, including Elise Capron, Thao Le, and Andrea Cavallaro; my terrific book editor, Carolyn Marino, whom I’m thrilled to be working with now; Emily Krump of William Morrow, who was always there when I needed her; Rachel Elinsky, the associate director of publicity at HarperCollins and a dream to collaborate with; Katie O’Callaghan, the associate director of marketing at HarperCollins, who has given me a bucketload of help and great advice; and the fabulous Kathy Schneider, associate publisher at HarperCollins, who has always had such faith in me.

KATE WHITE
, the former editor-in-chief of
Cosmopolitan
magazine, is the
New York Times
bestselling author of the standalone novels
Hush
and
The Sixes
and the Bailey Weggins mystery series. White is also the author of popular career books for women, including
I Shouldn’t Be Telling You This: Success Secrets Every Gutsy Girl Should Know.
She lives in New York City with her family.