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The next morning, Mom knocks on the door at seven thirty on the dot. I’m ready for work, and Graham’s dressed for preschool, except his hair looks like a singed wad of rope in the back. I don’t know what he does at night to completely maim his mane this way, but it makes him even more endearing.
“Meems!” He runs and gives my mom a bear hug.
“G-man!” She tosses her purse aside. It lands next to several stains on my off-white carpet, and she opens her arms wide for a hug from my boy.
I give her a quick hug. “Mom, can you calm his hair down before you drop him off?”
“Sure, honey. We’ve got it.” She strokes my face and tucks my long hair back with a concerned expression. “Try not to stress. It’ll only make those headaches of yours worse.”
“Bye, Momma.” Graham sulks with glistening eyes as he pulls on my shirt for a hug.
I scoop him into my arms and give him a wet smooch. “Bye, angel.” It’s been six eternal months since I last drove him to school. That’s when my work schedule changed without warning.
I take a deep breath of frigid air as I shut the door to my fifteen-year-old Camry and glance in the rearview mirror. I find no smudges, but there are a few dark circles even my best concealer can’t hide. I want to kick myself for being too nervous and afraid to fall asleep until five o’clock this morning. I’d hoped that final glass of wine would do the trick by amplifying my anxiety meds but no.
The letter doesn’t seem so bad now. Maybe it’s not even true. It’s probably some sick joke a bunch of teenagers dared each other to do. Everyone in the neighborhood knows I have my new sixty-second local-round-up segments on Thursdays and that I’m sent out every Halloween to cover the scariest stories and legends around town.
The station. Ugh. My stomach curls as I think about the place. Despite my hard work, I’m getting absolutely nowhere, and Marcus is my only reliable, genuine friend there. Everyone else is only looking out for number one. But if this tip is true, maybe I can get assigned to the Allegra story.
But who am I kidding? Perry will never go for it. Tess will be all over the coverage on Allegra’s death, and he’ll let her. I can see her smug face now. "Maybe next time, Madison."
There’s always that book I started writing a few years ago, the mystery that Allegra herself inspired me to write that day at the library when she told me not to give up. I could finish it and query some literary agents to see if I get any bites, but that would mean at least another year of working for Pervert Perry. The publishing industry works at a snail’s pace, and writers’ tears don’t exactly pay the bills. I’ll think of something else. Something outside the box.
***
WALKING DOWNTOWN IN heels has always been daunting, but the fall breeze and Tennessee-orange foliage I encounter on my way to the office cause my pain to temporarily slip away. After a few blocks, I can’t feel my feet anymore anyway. Passing by the Regal Riviera movie theater, the Tennessee Theatre, and the French Market Creperie with its alluring aroma of cinnamon and butter crepes makes me want to skip work altogether and enjoy the lively atmosphere. But as usual, I approach the seven-story Edwardian Miller’s Building and step into its gray, marble-floored lobby.
Kevin, our elderly doorman with the kind eyes, always greets me with a gracious smile. “Welcome back, Ms. Barton.”
“Thank you, Kevin.” His friendly face always makes me feel better.
I step into the office. Waves of conversation fall on my ears as I breeze past huddles of people gossiping around their shoulder-height cubicles, all of them saying the name Allegra Hudson. I’m told that Perry is already down the hall in my office, waiting for me like a circling vulture. I give my burgundy pencil skirt an extra tug and button my charcoal trench coat to my throat as I approach him. I glance at Marcus’s office in the left-hand corner—lights off, door shut, computer off, no coat, no cup of steaming coffee from the Beanery. Looks like I’m on my own.
“Good morning, Perry.” I force a smile as I walk into my office, which Perry insisted I take even though I’m low on the totem pole at WKNX. I have a hunch why I got that office—it has a door.
Only three women in the building have offices with doors instead of cubicles—Tess Miller, super-anchor, who we all think is sleeping with Perry even though she has a gorgeous younger husband at home; Georgia Wilson, social media manager, who begins every sentence with the phrase “When I was runner-up at the Miss Tennessee pageant” and is still drop-dead beautiful; and me.
I’m not a beauty queen or star news anchor, but Perry obviously saw something he liked when I joined the team a few years ago. Perhaps it was a certain vulnerability he could take advantage of since I’d recently lost my husband, Clayton, and gained a child I didn’t even know I was expecting when he passed away.
At first, I thought I’d gotten one of the only offices out of sympathy, or perhaps I’d just won the lottery through excellent timing since some other woman had quit the day I began. Now I wonder if she quit because of the office. Maybe it’s all in my head. Madeleine Barton: a wounded young woman full of loss and guilt, trying to be wary of even more ugly things life can throw her way when she least expects them. Or maybe I’ve simply seen enough warning signs from Perry to know I’d better keep my guard up.
“Hello, love.” Perry pulls me in for a hug. It’s not the side hug many polite men give so they won’t feel a woman’s breasts pressed against them. It’s a full-frontal “so I can feel every inch of your chest” squeeze, which lasts a few seconds too long. For months, Perry has been coming on stronger and stronger.
I gently pull away in disgust. “So, what’s going on in this chicken coop today? Something new on poor Allegra Hudson, I assume?”
Perry smooths his salt-and-pepper hair and exposes a dampened armpit. “Word is the police suspect foul play since it’s possible she might have been hit in the back of the head before she took her plunge down the steps. Or someone could’ve snapped her neck after she fell. But for now, they have no real leads, no weapon, no motive, and no arrest-worthy suspects. It’s almost like the beginning of one of her suspense novels, so we’re going with that for our headline today.” He rubs his hands together like a proper villain.
I picture the scribbled note that kept me up all night. “Murder? Are you saying someone wanted Allegra dead?”
He looks me up and down. “It appears that way, love. And I know what you’re thinking, but the handsome husband has an alibi. The security cameras inside their house prove he was asleep in their bed at the time of the murder.”
I take a few deep breaths to calm my brewing anxiety. “What about security cameras outside?”
“They were in the middle of switching security companies and only had the ones inside up and running.”
“Of course they did. That’s pretty convenient, right? Ugh. I can’t even imagine.” I turn to peer through my open door as blood rushes from my face. The thought of the note sent to my home—one that’s apparently true—makes my hands shake. I peek at everyone gossiping happily over their desks as if Allegra hadn’t been a real person with a real family whose lives were now devastated.
“Yes, yes, it’s quite the shock. By the way...” My door shuts, and Perry reaches around my body. “I have a proposition for you, Madeleine,” he whispers softly into my ear with a heavy breath.
I scurry to my desk to avoid being pinned between him and the door as I start to sweat. Out of habit, I unbutton my trench and hang it on the back of my chair, instantly regretting my decision. I lift my V-neck sweater as close to my neck as possible without exposing my navel and take a seat. “You want me to work on the Allegra Hudson story?”
“No, no, no. I want you to go to the...” He stops. “Are you interested in the Allegra Hudson story, Mad? I don’t know if you’re seasoned enough yet. This could be national news, and you report on the fluff. This would require more investigation, possibly more danger. You’ll have to talk to the cops, interview neighbors...”
“I’m interested in less fluff, yes, and I’m more than capable. I did work on some big stories before I came here, remember? And this one would mean a lot to me. It feels... personal. I don’t have any connections on the police force, but Marcus does. Perhaps he and I can work on this story together.”
“Yes, I suppose you have, but...” He moves behind me and places his hands on my shoulders. “I don’t know if you really have the time and energy for something like this. Your little boy keeps you completely tied up in the evenings, no?”
I want to haul back and smack him, but I stay professional and wiggle away from his touch. “I can do all I need to do during the day, and if certain things pop up in the evenings, I do have access to a nanny in case of an emergency.”
He leans down and whispers in my ear with his hands again on my shoulders. “Is this something you really want, Madeleine?”
“Yeah, and I’d be great at it too.” I turn my chair to face him, hoping it’ll force him to remove his hands. Instead, they find their way straight to my chest. Wait. That must’ve been an accident, right?
Another second or two passes, and I’m paralyzed with shock when one of his hands rubs my chest and the other finds his pants zipper. They say there’s flight, fight, and freeze, and I just froze. I finally leap to my feet, and my chair rolls backward into my desk. Perry’s eyes are wild as I back away. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Perry mutters incoherently. “I, uh, I... uh.” He shakes his head and turns the tables. “What do you think you’re doing, Madeleine?” His tone is calm but firm.
“What do you mean, what am I doing? You’re the one who just tried to force himself on me. Don’t you have a clue how inappropriate this is? That I’d never in a million years engage in this behavior with you?” The unleashed and well-deserved anger drives my anxiety away.
“I thought you wanted to move up, to be somebody here.”
That’s the thing about narcissists. They never feel remorse or admit they’re wrong, not even to themselves, and people are often too intimidated to call them out. I know this from the many stories my mom has told about my father, a classic narcissist who never came back home and never changed his ways.
“I already am somebody here. Somebody who deserves a better position than I’ve got, somebody who would never sleep with the likes of you, and somebody who’s had enough of this toxic atmosphere. I wouldn’t stay here another minute even if you quadrupled my salary!”
“Madeleine, wait.” Perry rolls his eyes, and I start to gather my belongings.
I walk toward the door, open it, and make my way down the hall, finally allowing my hatred and anger to boil over. “No, I’m not going to wait. I don’t work here anymore.”
“You can do the story if you just calm down, okay?” He keeps a safe distance, and heads turn our way as he follows me toward the front door, apparently afraid to be the next bigwig to pay for his crimes in the “Me too” era.
“I am going to do the story, Perry.” I face him before Kevin opens the door for me, and a light bulb of hope clicks on inside my brain. I can do this on my own, especially with anonymous tips like the one I received last night.
Perry smiles, cocks his head, and reaches for my shoulder. “See, now you’re starting to use your pretty little head.”
“No.” I back away even farther to avoid his hands, and Kevin’s eyes grow large. “I’m going to take the audience I built covering the news in college, along with the ones who’ve followed my stories here, and I’m going to let them know that if they want the real news, they can follow me right out of here. I get plenty of likes and retweets anyway. I’ll build my own brand and do everything live on my Facebook page before you guys can figure out which end’s up.”
Perry laughs. “Yeah, you go right ahead. In fact, you have my permission.”
“Okay, Perry. Watch and learn. Welcome to the ‘I want it now’ generation. I’ll see you when you catch up to the finish line.” I have no idea whether I can actually pull off any of the things flying out of my mouth, and I’m already wondering if I’ve made a huge mistake, even though Kevin smiles at me with a wink.
I walk out with my head held high. Marcus approaches the building from the Beanery and looks at me with concern. He can always tell when something is off with me. I blink away tears and walk in the other direction, toward the parking lot, because if I go to him now, I’ll lose it and start bawling. And maybe something else bad will happen, like Marcus getting fired for punching Perry in the face after I tell him what our boss did. Besides, what’s done is done. I take a giant step into my new future and don’t look back.
After somehow finding my way to the parking garage, I plop down in my car, slam the door, and am immediately overwhelmed by sheer panic. I wonder what I’ve done. I don’t even have a job now. I’ll need to build a bigger online following quickly to support myself and Graham.
My breaths grow closer together, and my head spins as my anxiety spirals, so I roll down my window and inhale the autumn air. I’m experiencing an intense dose of quitter’s remorse. The ding of a text interrupts my thoughts.
UNKNOWN: It’s true, Allegra was left for dead; hit in the back of the head and pushed down the stairs, where her neck was broken—and YOU’RE going to get the story. You’re welcome—a source.