She went to look out the window.The view was concrete and bleak.“John St.George is a totally self-centered man.At an early age he decided what he wanted in life and set out to get it.The real shrewdness hasn’t been so much in how he builtFacetsas in how he used people along the way.No one steps in his path and stays there for long.He sweeps them away—threatens them, bribes them, manipulates them so cleverly that some don’t even know it’s happened.He may have done enough work to earn his place in the limelight, but there are a hell of a lot of people who should be right up there with him.”
“Like who?”
“Like Pam.His sister, stepsister, actually.”
“The jewelry designer?”
Hillary sent a wry grin toward Arlan’s reflection in the dirty glass.The fact that he knew who Pam was made her point about the family’s prominence.“That’s right.Her work is what makesFacetsso special.And successful.But John pretends not to see that.He concentrates on the ledger’s bottom line.God forbid he should acknowledge that Pam contributes something crucial to that bottom line.”She turned.“And then there’s Patricia, John’sstepmother.I won’t begin to tell you what he did to her.Suffice it to say that she lives in a private institution on the outskirts of Boston.And Cutter, who should have been Pam’s husband—what John has done to Cutter is unconscionable.”
Those three were the most obvious examples.Angry and tense at the thought, she said, “The hell of it is that he got away with it.He hasn’t been called to account for half of what he’s done in his life, and he blithely goes on as though he hasn’t a thing to regret.We’re talking warped values here.The man doesn’t have a conscience.”
“So what do you see in him?”
She should have known Arlan would ask.But how could she answer?How did one explain a case of idol worship that had turned into an obsession?She had been aware of John’s faults for years, but they hadn’t diminished her attraction to him.Even now, after he’d dumped her so cruelly, she wasn’t sure that if she were face to face with him she’d be able to spit in his eye.
“You’ve been friends a long time,” Arlan prodded.“What’s the basis for the friendship?”
“Time, history, mutual appreciation of slow dancing—I don’t know, Arlan.”She wished he wouldn’t push.The issue was too sensitive.“You reach a point where the relationship is a basis in itself.Maybe it’s habit.”
“Or compulsion.”
“Maybe.”She faced him head-on.“But if that’s so, it’ll make for damn good reading.Now, are you interested in this book, or aren’t you, because if you’re not, I’m taking it elsewhere.”She felt in control again and filled with resolve.There was solace in knowing that John’s betrayalwas being put to good use.“I don’t want to have to go elsewhere.We work well together, you and I.We both know this is your kind of story.It involves a smooth, good-looking, wealthy guy.”She arched a luring brow.“Wouldn’t you love to see him smeared?”
She’d pressed the right button.Arlan McGregor was a pleasant-looking man, only minimally stocky, with wonderful long dark hair that showed no sign of thinning.There was something of the teddy bear about him, which was one of the reasons why Hillary liked him.Even without the girth, he had a cuddly quality, and though she’d never actually cuddled against him, she’d taken full advantage of his kindness.She respected his editorial expertise; she understood his need to ask pointed questions; but through it all he was gentle, which meant a lot more to her than dashing good looks.
He was not suave.He’d been known to mistakenly introduce a to-be-wooed reviewer as an art assistant, and at more than one publicity event he’d dripped cocktail sauce on his shirt.
Nor was he wealthy.He had risen from Poughkeepsie’s working class, gone through college on scholarship, and held numerous jobs working with words before settling down in his present office.At forty-six, he was a senior editor with some status, and though he complained at times, he liked his job.But it would never make him rich.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t poke fun at those who were, or feel a certain satisfaction when one of the high and mighty took a fall.John St.George was one of the high and mighty.The look on Arlan’s face told Hillarythat if she could make John stumble, Arlan would be the first to tout her book.
Motioning toward her briefcase, he held out his hand.
One week later, she was back in his office, wearing the same calm look, though she felt anything but calm.The first part of her book lay on the desk.Arlan was leaning back, his hands linked over his stomach, fingers clenched more tightly than they should have been.She wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t like what she’d done and didn’t want to tell her, or because he wanted a cigarette.
“Well?”she asked when she could bear the suspense no longer.
“You didn’t tell me St.George was engaged.”
That wasn’t what she had expected to hear.She had to work harder at looking calm.“Is that supposed to be relevant?”
“Could be,” he said and smirked.“Do we bill the author as the woman scorned?”
The operative phrase was “bill the author.”Her eyes lit up.“You liked it?”
“I liked it.You knew I would,” he chided.“But you didn’t answer my question.Areyou the woman scorned?”
“Of course not.John and I never had any kind of formal arrangement.We’re just old friends who go back a long way.”Pleased with that explanation and the cool way she’d offered it, she asked, “Why?Would it matter if that weren’t so?”
Arlan picked up a paper clip and began tapping.“I like this book.I want it done.But if your motivation for writing it isn’t entirely professional—”
“I’ve been thinking of writing it for years.I told you that.If anything, it was the20/20piece that got me going.And the going’s good, Arlan.This story flows.”Her excitement grew as she spoke.“I’ve spent most of my adult life as a writer, and I’ve done my share of struggling with words and phrases.This book is different.It’s the one I was born to write.”She barely paused.“Couldn’t you tell?”
He tossed the paper clip aside and squirmed in his seat.“I could tell.”
She frowned.“So why are you fidgeting?”
“I’m fidgeting because I’m dying.”