Gabrielle continued to knock frantically on Beatrice’s front door. Just as she was about to turn around and go back upstairs to call, she heard movement on the other side of the door.
A confused and groggy Beatrice peered through the peephole. Startled into wakefulness by the blatant distress on Gabrielle’s face, she threw open the door. “Honey, come in. What’s wrong. Is it the baby?”
“The baby’s fine. It’s me. I can’t take it anymore,” she sobbed and collapsed into Bea’s arms. “She knows, and she’s going to tell if I don’t—”
“Who knows what? What’s happened?” Bea asked.
“Stephanie. She found out that I can’t read!” Gabrielle cried out.
“How?”
“I don’t know, but either I let her write the biography or she’s going to destroy me. Bea, why is she doing this to me? Not now. Not after everything that’s happened already. And not with the baby due in six weeks.”
“Some folks don’t need a reason to be cruel.”
“I can’t do it, Bea. I can’t spend the rest of my pregnancy defending myself against my own lies,” she cried miserably.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m calling Felicia,” Gabrielle said, picking up the phone. It was going on 11:30 P.M., but this was an emergency.
“That’s good. I should have thought of that. Felicia will know what to do,” Bea said. She waited as they talked, wondering why Stephanie would want to hurt Gabrielle like this.
“She’s coming over for a strategy meeting tomorrow morning at ten,” Gabrielle announced, no longer crying but feeling dazed and unfocused. “She agrees that whatever Stephanie has planned is going to need some sort of public cleanup.”
“You look worn out. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”
“I think I will. I’m feeling kind of weird.”
“Come on, honey, I’ll walk you back upstairs,” Beatrice said, leading Gabrielle toward the door and back up into her own apartment.
Gabrielle had just retired to her bedroom when the phone rang. Bea quickly picked up the receiver, not wanting the ringing phone to disturb her rest.
“Beatrice, it’s Stephanie. I need to talk with Gabrielle.”
“It’s late, Stephanie. Gabrielle is resting right now and can’t be disturbed,” Bea said tersely.
“Who spit in your Cheerios?”
“I heard about your visit with Gabrielle tonight. I think you’re despicable for trying to blackmail her, and I can’t believe you would do something like this to a friend.”
“And you of all people would surely recognize a despicable act toward a friend.”
“Don’t play games with me, Stephanie.”
“Bea, this is no game. This is serious business. I found your mailbox. You know, if you put it out in the open, everybody might get their mail.”
“How dare you snoop around my house!” Beatrice reprimanded, feeling much less forceful than she sounded.
“Please, cut the indignation—at least until you can give me a legitimate reason why you have a sealed letter written to Gabrielle from Doug Sixsmith locked away in a box, in a chest, deep down in your closet.”
“That letter is none of your business.”
“I didn’t see your name on it. Don’t you know that tampering with the U.S. mail is a federal offense, punishable by law?”
“What do you want, Stephanie?” Beatrice asked in a weary voice. There was no point left in denying her actions, and she’d rather Stephanie know the truth than create and spread her own twisted version.
“For starters, I want to know why you kept this letter?”
“It’s very simple. I was afraid if I gave it to Gabrielle, she’d get hurt all over again.”
“Why would you think that? Doug’s letter was dripping with regret and self-condemnation.”
“I didn’t read the letter, and you shouldn’t have either. I’m not proud of what I did, but I honestly thought I was doing what was best for Gabrielle.”
“Always protecting your girl, aren’t you, Bea? Anyway, that’s water under the bridge. It’s time for you to help me out.”
“Help you out how?”
“By convincing Gabrielle to let me write the authorized version of her biography.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Okay, fine, but I can’t promise that I won’t mention to her that you were responsible for keeping her and Doug apart.”
“She doesn’t want you or anybody else writing a book about her. Nothing I say can make her change her mind.”
“You underestimate your influence, Beatrice. Gabrielle trusts you to protect her and help her make the right decisions, or at least she did,” Stephanie said, the implication clear. “With everything she’s been going through, you don’t want to disappoint her, too, do you?”
Stephanie was right, there was only so much pain and disappointment a person could bear before falling apart. The news that Beatrice had intentionally sabotaged her relationship with Doug might be the apple that tipped Gabrielle’s emotional cart. Beatrice had no choice but to go along with Stephanie. She couldn’t afford the risk to Gabrielle’s well-being, not with the baby’s birth so close.
“I’ll talk to her, but I can’t promise you anything.”
“Look, this book is practically written. All it needs is a little fine-tuning by Gabrielle. It will be published, and when it is, for once Stephanie Bancroft will get what she deserves. Now, are you with me or against me? Before you answer, just think about what being against me is going to mean.”
“I said I’d try.”
“Good. And don’t worry, as long as you cooperate, your secret is safe with me. We’re partners now, Bea. You look out for me, I look out for you. Oh, and by the way, I’m holding on to the letter for safekeeping, because if Gabrielle doesn’t agree to do this book, before you can say ‘special delivery,’ this letter will be plastered all over the front page of every newspaper in town. Understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Oh, Bea, one last thing. Who’s the sailor in the picture?”
Bea replied by slamming down the phone. Stephanie had to laugh. First Gabrielle, now Beatrice, and Felicia next. All her ducks were lining up nicely in a row. She couldn’t wait until it was time to take aim and fire.
“Deena, when Stephanie gets in, please tell her I want to see her immediately,” Felicia requested as she walked through the front doors of Wilcot, Jourdan & Associates.
“She’s already here.”
“Good. We can get this over before the rest of the staff shows up. Please buzz her and ask her to be in my office in five minutes.”
Twenty minutes later, Stephanie came strolling into Felicia’s office. “I heard you wanted to see me.”
“Fifteen minutes ago. Please close the door,” Felicia requested sharply.
“I was finishing up a press release,” Stephanie explained without apology.
“Stephanie, I’m not going to beat around the bush about this. Gabrielle called me last night.”
“Yes.”
“She says you dropped by to insist that you be allowed to write her biography.”
“I think her hormones must be working overtime. I didn’t insist on anything. I simply suggested that perhaps it was time she gave the public what they’ve been clamoring for—a book about her life. I also mentioned that, considering our history together, I would be the perfect one to write it.”
“And you didn’t issue her any threats or ultimatums?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” Stephanie answered defiantly. She was tired of sucking up to this bitch. Those days were over, beginning right now. “And you know what else I told her?” she asked with a wild look in her eyes. “I told her that I knew a big, fat, juicy secret about her, and if she didn’t let me write the book, I was going to tell the whole world. Maybe that’s the part she took as an ultimatum.”
“Not only did you attempt to solicit a client for personal gain, you tried to use blackmail to accomplish it. Your behavior is unprofessional and unacceptable. You’re fired. Clear your office and be out of here this morning by ten.”
Stephanie responded to Felicia’s statement with a loud chuckle. “Like I really care about this stupid job. Though you’re a fine one to talk about soliciting clients.”
“If you have something to say, say it.”
“What do you think your husband would say if he found out that not only did you have an affair with one of your clients, but also an abortion?” Stephanie asked as she sat back and watched Felicia’s face fall apart.
“Go pack your things, Stephanie,” Felicia hissed. “And I’m warning you, you’d better keep your filthy lies to yourself.”
“Oh, Felicia, don’t get your panties in a bunch. We can work something out. Here, you take these,” Stephanie said, handing Felicia two sheets of Wilcot, Jourdan & Associates letterhead. “Now, you make sure that Gabrielle shows up at this press conference and reads—oh, silly me—memorizes this statement, and the two gentlemen in your life need not know a thing.”
“What makes you think anybody is going to show up at a press conference you call?”
“Take a good look at that. You’re the one doing the inviting. Everybody knows that if Felicia Wilcot calls a press conference, something important must be going on.”
“Have these already gone out?”
“Didn’t you teach me that if you want people to attend, you must give them plenty of notice? I faxed most of them out this morning. The rest are being hand-delivered. Believe me, I’ve done everything necessary to ensure that we have maximum attendance. I did learn from the master, you know.”
“Stephanie, get out of my office before I call security and have them bounce your ass out of here.”
“First a friendly warning: If you or Gabrielle even think about canceling this press conference or not showing up, the front page of every tabloid in America will be screaming out the secrets you two are trying so hard to hide. I have lots of connections, and I’m not afraid to use them.”
Felicia waited for the door to close behind Stephanie before she broke down. How did she find out about Lexis and the abortion? She had confided only in Lois, who would never betray her confidence. How she found out isn’t important, Felicia told herself. All that mattered at this point was what Stephanie planned to do with the information.
What a mess. Another breaking scandal was not what she needed now, not with both men in and out of the papers—Lexis with his movie success and Trace with this lawsuit pending against the New York Police Department. Felicia wished she’d listened to Lois and fired Stephanie a long time ago. Now she had to figure out some way to deal with her, and she’d have to do it fast. The press conference was three days away.
“That’s the secret she’s holding over me,” a much calmer Gabrielle said, telling Felicia of her illiteracy. Bea sat nearby holding her hand. A victim of Stephanie’s treacherous threats herself, Felicia knew exactly what Gabrielle was going through.
“I’m shocked, to say the least,” Felicia remarked. “How? I mean, all these years and I had no idea.”
“I’ve been illiterate a long time. I’m very good at hiding it and compensating for my lack of skills. Beatrice is the only other person who knows, and she’s my lifeline to the literate world.”
“That’s why I’ve never seen you order from a menu,” Felicia commented, remembering incidents throughout their relationship that corroborated her story.
“Or read any of my press clips or anything you give me without taking it home first. The list goes on,” Gabrielle elaborated.
“But you’re rich, and famous, and beautiful—you don’t look or act like an illiterate person,” Felicia remarked.
“I could say the same about you—that you don’t look or act like the typical black person. Just like it’s unfair for me to stereotype all African-Americans, you shouldn’t try to pigeonhole all nonreaders. Illiterates come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and tax brackets. It’s an equal-opportunity disability.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. I guess I’m just bowled over by this.”
“There are some other things I need to clear up before we figure out what to do about Stephanie. I want you to know everything.”
“Okay,” Felicia responded.
“First of all, I didn’t live the dream life my press kit claims. My father was not in the military. The truth is that he abandoned us the day I was born. I was raised by my mother, who made her living as a waitress—not a surgical nurse—in between her six marriages. She loved me very much, and more than anything she wanted me to be a famous model.”
“Believe me, Gabrielle, there are very few celebrities whose real life matches their press bio,” Felicia told her.
“There’s more. Much more,” Gabrielle remarked as she reflected a moment before continuing. “When I was thirteen, my mother and I were living in Raleigh-Durham, North Carolina. My mom had just gotten divorced again, and we were strapped for cash, so I baby-sat some of the neighborhood kids whenever I could to help out. One of my regular jobs was watching Tommy Montebello, a little boy who lived down the street. I would baby-sit every Thursday after school. Tommy was a really cute kid and so sweet. I really loved him.” Gabrielle paused to steady herself. She found herself trembling as the memories came rushing back. Bea patted her hand in support, curious to hear the rest of this story.
“On this one particular Thursday, Tommy went outside in the yard to play with two little boys from down the street. About five minutes later he came back carrying a small package of cookies and asked if he could eat them. See, he was very allergic to nuts, so they were real careful about what he ate,” Gabrielle explained as she began to cry softly. “I recognized the package—they were double-chocolate-chip cookies; my mom bought them all the time. I asked him if they had any nuts in them, and he said no.”
Beatrice and Felicia sat, sympathy written all over their faces. They didn’t know the exact details, but it was evident where this story was headed. “How old was Tommy?” Felicia asked.
“Five. That’s right, I took the word of a five-year-old.”
“Are you okay, honey?” Beatrice inquired. “Are you sure you want to go on?”
“I’m okay,” Gabrielle assured them through her sniffles. “Anyway, I told him it was okay to eat them, and he went back out to play. About five minutes later, one of the boys came running over to tell me Tommy had fallen down and wouldn’t get up. I went outside, and he was on the ground gasping for air. His face and throat were swollen. He couldn’t breathe. By the time the ambulance came, he was already in shock.” Gabrielle began weeping miserably. Bea put her arms around her, crying also. This story explained so much—like why Gabrielle was so fearful about being a good mother.
“There were nuts in the cookies,” Felicia commented softly.
“When they examined the package, listed among the ingredients in small print were pecan shavings,” Gabrielle revealed as she began to cry harder.
“But you honestly thought they were just chocolate-chip cookies,” Felicia probed.
“Yes. I’d eaten dozens of those same cookies myself—there were no chunks of nuts in them. But had I been able to read the package, I’d have known about the pecans and Tommy wouldn’t have—” Gabrielle sobbed, unable to continue.
“Oh, dear,” Bea remarked, her ears sadly hearing what Gabrielle was unable to say.
“What happened afterward?” Felicia asked.
Gabrielle took a few minutes to collect herself before continuing. “It wasn’t enough that I’d made such a terrible, terrible mistake; I lied about it. I told everyone—the paramedics, Tommy’s mom, my mom—that I had no idea when or where he got the cookies. I told them that one minute he was out on the swing set with his friends and the next thing I knew he was passed out on the lawn. So everybody believed that his death was an accident—one I had nothing to do with. Even his mom didn’t blame me. She gave me the Wizard of Oz snow globe. It belonged to Tommy, and I’ve kept it to this day so I would never forget what I did.” Felicia, Gabrielle, and Beatrice sat crying, silently mourning Tommy Montebello.
“Gabrielle, it was an accident,” Bea reassured her. “It was a common mistake with a truly unfortunate outcome. Foods in this country are terribly mislabeled. Most literate people don’t read the ingredient lists. They simply take the packaging at face value.”
“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Felicia said. “Why didn’t your mom insist that you learn to read after such a terrible incident?”
“Remember, I lied to her, too. All she knew was that one of the other kids shared his cookies with Tommy. She had no idea that I’d given him permission to eat those cookies. I wanted to tell her and insist that she put me in some kind of reading program, but I was too ashamed. I didn’t want her to be disappointed in me. We moved a few months after that anyway.
“So, that’s everything. All my secrets are out in the open,” Gabrielle remarked as she pulled herself together. “The question is: What do we do with them now?”
“Do you think Stephanie could be bluffing?” Bea asked, not really believing it.
“I don’t think so,” Felicia said, pulling out the press release. “She’s invited the media to a press conference at which you will introduce her as your authorized biographer. I’m expecting an avalanche of phone calls when I get back to the office.”
“Maybe you should just let her write the book,” Bea suggested, following up on Stephanie’s demand. “Then at least you’d have some kind of control over the contents.”
“I may have no other choice. Ooh,” Gabrielle said, putting her hands to her stomach and shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
“Are you okay?” Felicia asked.
“I think so. I’ve been having these periodic twinges. Probably gas.”
“Gabrielle, you can’t let this upset you. You just have to forget all this and put it behind you.”
“Bea, there’s no more room. All these secrets and tragedies that I’ve been putting behind me now have my nose pushed to the wall. There’s nowhere else to go.”
“It sounds like you’ve made a decision.”
“Actually, I’ve made two. I want to stop hiding and get on with my life—like doing the screen test. I’ve decided to try my luck at acting. Jack wanted me to do it, and deep down I want to as well. I’ve been acting all my life. How could I not be good at it?”
“You said you made two decisions,” Bea said.
“I have. Felicia, we’re going to have that press conference. I’m tired of running. It’s time for the world to know the truth.”
“You’re going to let Stephanie write the book?” Felicia asked.
“Yes. I hate the idea of giving in to her, but, as Bea pointed out, at least I’ll have some control.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Beatrice asked. She was uncomfortable with the idea of Stephanie’s getting her way, but at the same time relieved that Stephanie would be pacified.
“I don’t have any choice, Bea. I can’t take the risk that the same thing that happened to Tommy could happen to my baby. Once the truth comes out, I can finally learn how to read without having to sneak around, afraid of being discovered.”
“Stephanie really has us all right where she wants us, doesn’t she?” Bea remarked bitterly.
“Looks that way. I definitely hate the idea of giving in to Stephanie, but if Gabrielle feels comfortable with her decision, then let’s get everything out in the open and deal with it,” Felicia remarked, thinking not only of Gabrielle’s situation but of her own. “I do think we should take control of the press conference. Stephanie doesn’t have to call the shots on everything,” she suggested.
“I think I’m in labor,” an alarmed Gabrielle announced. “My water just broke.”
“It’s too soon. You have another month and a half.”
“I know. What’s wrong? Why is the baby coming now?” Gabrielle cried.
“Don’t panic. You’re going to be okay,” Felicia said, trying to keep everyone calm. “I’ll call an ambulance and her doctor. Bea, why don’t you throw a few things in a bag. And you, Mommy, sit there and stay calm.”
Within ten minutes Gabrielle was on her way to Lenox Hill Hospital. Bea accompanied her in the ambulance, while Felicia went back to the office to prepare for the onslaught of calls she was going to receive once the press learned that Gabrielle was having her baby.
Felicia called her colleagues in the hospital’s public-relations department to clarify the procedures for press inquiries, before being transferred to the nurses’ station on Gabrielle’s floor. The head nurse was able to verify that Gabrielle had been checked in and that her condition was still being evaluated.
As she expected, Felicia had a pile of messages waiting for her. They were mainly from the media Stephanie had invited this morning, wanting more details. Felicia, hesitant to explain why the event might be delayed, decided to return the calls later, once she had more information on Gabrielle’s condition.
“Felicia, Lexis Richards is on line two,” her secretary interrupted.
Felicia took a deep breath before picking up the handset. “Hi,” she said.
“Whoa, you sound hassled.”
“It’s been a rough morning.”
“I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time, but I have to talk with you about Sepia Films,” Lexis said, his tone all business.
“What about it?”
“It’s a go. We have a few more details to hammer out with MarMa, but before the end of the year we’ll be ready to make an announcement.”
“That’s great. I’m happy for you,” Felicia said with genuine delight.
“Thanks. The question is: Are you in?”
“I don’t know. I guess we really need to sit down and have a serious discussion.”
“I heard that. We have a lot of business to rap about. I’ve waited long enough, Felicia. Time has run out. Either you know what you want or you don’t.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“No, baby, it ain’t that complicated. You’ve got to decide. It’s him or me. And if it’s me, we go public with our relationship. We tell the world that you’re more than just my publicist, you’re my woman. If you can’t, well, then I guess that’s it.”
“Can we get together and discuss this?”
“Yeah, we can talk, but no more hiding behind Trace or anybody else.”
“I’ll meet you at my place tonight at ten,” she said and hung up the phone. Mired in the swamp of deception, Felicia felt as if she were going nowhere. Guilt had plagued her marriage and had all but destroyed her relationship with Lexis. In the end, she had no idea who, if anybody, she’d wind up with, but at least she’d be rid of this remorse and her life would be her own again. Before she could change her mind, Felicia dialed Trace’s office. She asked Trace to meet her at his apartment for an early dinner. She had finally reached the bridge, and it was time to cross.
“Stephanie’s office looks like a ghost town,” Lois said, sticking her head into Felicia’s office. “Don’t tell me you finally gave that girl the boot.”
“You got it.”
“What did she try this time?”
“Not much, just a little blackmail. She knows about Trace and Lexis. Lois, you didn’t …”
“Don’t even go there, girl. It wasn’t me. Who else did you tell?”
“Nobody. Only you.”
“Then the only way Stephanie could have found out is if she overheard us the night we talked in your office. What does she want so bad that she has to resort to blackmail?”
“She wants to be Gabrielle’s authorized biographer.”
“I hope Gabrielle said no.”
“She wanted to, but Stephanie has something on her, too.”
“Damn, this is getting ugly. What does she have on Gabrielle? I mean, despite what the gossip rags report, she seems like your ultimate Girl Scout.”
“This information stays in this room until the press conference,” Felicia said, closing her door. “Gabrielle is illiterate.”
“What?”
“I know, I couldn’t believe it either.”
“That explains her reluctance to jump into acting.”
“And other things. I don’t understand how a person grows up not knowing how to read. It must feel like you’re living in a foreign country.”
“I guess. But I’m missing something here. Why does Stephanie need to blackmail you in order to write Gabrielle’s biography?”
“I’m the one holding the press conference for the big announcement.”
“Oh, that little evil hussy really does have this all thought out, doesn’t she? When’s the press conference?”
“The release she’s already sent out says the end of this week, but now I’m not sure. Gabrielle went into labor this morning.”
“I thought she had another five or six weeks to go.”
“The baby said otherwise.”
“Have you told Stephanie things are going to be delayed?”
“I’m afraid to. She threatened to use her media contacts with the tabloids if we didn’t toe the line.”
“That might explain this,” Lois said, handing Felicia a pink phone-message slip. “I found this on the floor in her office.”
“This is from that reporter Visa Lee of Star Diary.”
“Look again. This is to Visa Lee. Now, what do you think Stephanie is doing with a phone message to that reporter?”
“Unless she is that reporter,” Felicia said.
“Looks like Stephanie has a few secrets of her own.”
“You know, all this makes sense. All those little leaks and erroneous stories on Gabrielle and our other clients in Star Diary. Though this message doesn’t actually prove that Stephanie is Visa Lee.”
“Well then, we’ll have to find a way to prove it. Let’s grab dinner and come up with a plan,” Lois suggested.
“I can’t. I’m going over to talk to Trace. I’m going to tell him everything.”
“What about Lexis?”
“He knows about the pregnancy already.”
“At this late date, why even tell Trace?”
“Because maybe if I’d been honest with him in the first place, I could have saved my marriage.” Felicia finally said aloud the thoughts she’d been recently thinking.
“Felicia, are you considering going back to him?”
“Trace isn’t the same selfish, egotistical man he used to be. The incident with the police made him take a really hard look at himself. He’s come out of this a much more considerate and thoughtful man. He’s a lot like the man I fell in love with years ago.”
“And what about Lexis? I thought you loved him.”
“I do, but Lexis and I don’t share the history Trace and I do.”
“Yeah, but history has a way of repeating itself. Has it ever occurred to you that he’s being just as controlling and manipulative as he’s always been? Has it crossed your mind that he’s using this police thing to hold on to you?”
“If Trace is who you want, then that’s your decision to make, but really think about what you’re doing,” Lois advised, ending the discussion. She felt strongly that Felicia was headed in the wrong direction, but she knew it was up to her friend to find out for herself. “Getting back to Stephanie, there is another benefit to your coming clean.”
“Please tell me. I need all the incentive I can get.”
“Have you considered the fact that if both Lexis and Trace know the truth, Stephanie no longer has anything to hold over your head? Same thing for Gabrielle. If she’s decided to air all her dirty linen in a book, fine, but who says Stephanie has to write it? Why can’t she get somebody legit to write it? If Gabrielle thinks that Stephanie is going to play fair at this late date, she’s dreaming.”
“Lois, you’re absolutely right. Who says we have to go along with Stephanie just because she says so?”
“You don’t.”
“I have to go. I need to talk to Beatrice. There might just be a way to beat Ms. Bancroft at her own game,” Felicia announced.