TWENTY-ONE
I couldn’t stop watching the drama unfold, even as I refused to do anything. Tola was at her best self, ready to push, promote, respond, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything but sit there and scroll:
Who the fuck do these bitches think they are? From the look of them, they could use fixing up!
More bra-burning feminists trying to destroy men. Someone needs to teach these bitches a lesson.
This isn’t ethical! I don’t like what this says about men, they’re not dogs to be trained! Lots of them have their lives together! #notallmen
How about accepting people as they are, with all their faults? Isn’t that what love’s really about?
The ones that had a point were the worst. There were more hopeful posts, though, women who got what we were doing, understood what it meant. But they were few and far between, and didn’t make up for the vitriol.
On Saturday night came the big bang—an interview with Nicki herself. I’d been following her approach through all of this with an eagle eye, surviving on chocolate and coffee as I refreshed, refreshed, refreshed. Scanning hashtags, looking through photos, poisoning myself with other people’s opinions.
She’d posted an image of a broken heart and asked for time to mourn her relationship. A couple of hours later, she’d posted about the terrible exhaustion of being an ambitious female and dragging your partner along with you. Then there was a crying selfie, perfectly wet eyes dripping mascara, but her face not at all puffy, her lips plumped and slicked with gloss. I wondered how many shots she’d taken to get that one, and how she’d decided it was more authentic than the others.
And now here it was, a real-life interview, recorded on social media but likely to be used in clips across the news as more and more people picked up the story. Ex-customers had come out of the woodwork, explaining why they’d used us and what had happened. Some had been found out when the story broke with our photos and were out for their five minutes of fame.
Nicki’s agent had got this so perfectly right. Even as I hated it, I noticed the details, the oversized knitted jumper (even though it was warm for spring) and leggings, showing how vulnerable and normal she was. The light makeup, the tears-ready-to-spill. The camera loved her, and the interviewer had clearly been pushed to make her seem sympathetic. That’s what she paid the big bucks for.
“So, Nicki, why’d you do it? You and Dylan seemed so in love, why bring in a professional?” The interviewer leaned in, chin resting on her hand, like she couldn’t wait to get the details.
“Well, I think as a modern, ambitious woman there is an exhaustion at trying to carry your partner. At trying to make them reach their full potential. I’m sure women all across the country understand that. We’re the caregivers, the emotional support, the career advisers, and everything else. And so when I found the Fixer Upper, I felt they really understood that. They were there to help.”
Okay, maybe she won’t screw us. Though she’s definitely hanging Dylan out to dry . . .
“So, what went wrong?”
Nicki assumed a wounded look. “I believe that the woman I hired to do the majority of the work, Alyssa Aresti, developed feelings for my boyfriend.”
“Wow!” the interviewer prompted, “not very professional! Do you think she’s done that with other clients?”
Nicki looked as if she was considering it, whilst I clenched my fists. She shook her head, and I breathed out, relieved.
“I knew Alyssa had history with Dylan when I hired her,” Nicki said simply, “but I’d assumed they were just friends. In the end, attempting to help my boyfriend with his career and his future just meant I put him back in the path of someone he’d once loved.”
She knew? She knew the whole time? How? Why?
“That must hurt . . .”
Nicki adopted a brave smile, tilted her chin, and let a single perfect tear roll down her contoured cheekbone.
“It’s a great step for their love story, but an unfortunate one for mine. But that just shows you, if you need to fix someone, maybe they’re not the person you should be with.”
The interviewer nodded somberly and then assumed a sly smile. “And what about the rumors that your ex Landon Hawthorne has been a great part of your support system since you and Dylan split? Photos were shared online of you two hugging this morning.”
Oh, yeah, absolutely heartbroken. Already looking for the next angle, nice one, Nicki.
She smiled coyly. “Landon’s always been a great friend, and we’re very close. He’s been my rock through all of this.”
“Well, there you have it, folks, secret deals, clandestine affairs, and potentially a new love sprouting from a failed relationship. Just another day in the life of the KLP. Don’t forget to vote in the poll: Would you use a Fixer Upper on your boyfriend?”
I wanted to throw the laptop across the room, but I restrained myself. How did she know we had some sort of history? Had she hired me as an experiment? A good scandal? Perhaps this had all been a trick, to make Dylan suffer. But I couldn’t see the point.
The doorbell rang, followed by impatient knocking, and I trundled down the hall to look through the peephole, suddenly fearful that the journalists calling my mobile had found my home address. But it was just Tola and Eric, waiting until I’d opened the door and then leaning on it so I couldn’t shut it again.
“Let us in. We have pizza, and you look terrible,” Tola said, gesturing for me to lead the way. Eric nodded seriously, and I did what I was told.
“Jesus, Aly, it’s only been a day and a half.” Eric surveyed my flat, things strewn all over the place, open wine bottles and food left out on the side, blankets piled up on the bed. “Or do you always live like you’re having a breakdown?”
I glared at him, and he crossed his arms and glared back.
“No, we needed you to do damage control, and you let us down. So you don’t get to be mad. Now, go and jump in the shower and when you get out, we’re going to eat dinner and talk about this mess.”
I rolled my eyes like a teenager and stomped off to the bathroom.
“Huh, you’re kind of hot when you’re being all in charge.” Tola laughed at Eric’s tone.
“You with an authority kink does not surprise me at all,” he responded and started clearing the breakfast bar. I watched them for a moment, my two friends, tidying my home, coming to rescue me. This was the first time they’d been to my flat. We were real friends now, and that much I could rely on.
I emerged from the shower refreshed, put on clean clothes, plaited my wet hair, and went back into the room to find the place transformed. They’d set out plates, poured wine, and lit candles, and both turned to smile as they saw me.
“There she is,” Eric said, patting the stool. “Come sit down and eat something.”
“You don’t have to parent me, you know,” I said, doing as I was told and reaching for a slice of pizza.
“No, but it’s nice to be the one who’s looked after sometimes, isn’t it?”
I chewed slowly and then sighed. “Okay, tell me what happened.”
“The story broke when we were still in the car after dropping you off!” Tola winced. “Ben saw it on his phone.”
“How’s this affecting you?” I asked Eric, and he shrugged.
“Ben is as protective of his friend as I am of mine. He hasn’t completely cut me out, but we’ve agreed to talk when things have calmed down a bit.”
Poor, kind Ben who had known what his friend was like and said Don’t let him refuse your help. More people I’d hurt. Oh god, what about the business deal?
“Have they still got the chance to pitch, or has that all gone?” I asked, suddenly desperate.
“That’s what you’re worried about?” Tola raised an eyebrow.
“They’ve been working on this for years, if they don’t get what they need now, they’re all going under. Priya and Ben and Dylan have worked so hard to rebuild. I don’t want this to ruin things for them.”
“As far as I know, it’s still going ahead,” Eric said, and I nodded, relieved.
“Did you see Nicki’s interview?” I asked, and they nodded. “What do you think she meant about knowing mine and Dylan’s history? She knew we knew each other.”
“Apparently, it was a good angle. When her and Dylan had their inevitable shouting match, he told her you wouldn’t do something like that, that you were old friends,” Eric said. “Ben was willing to give me that much information.”
I winced.
Tola shook her head, sipping her wine. “Could all be bullshit, though. I know from my contact at her agency, she’s just been offered a book deal for the whole thing. Six figures.”
“Of course,” I laughed, shaking my head. “I thought I was a master manipulator, but Nicki really is exceptional.”
“Have you tried talking to Dylan?” Eric asked, and I shook my head again.
“I think he’s blocked my number, and it’s no more than I deserve.”
“So I’m guessing you told him how you felt? And this is Nicki retaliating?” Tola asked. “Did I give bad advice? I didn’t think you’d take it!”
I shook my head. “I didn’t tell him anything. This was just Nicki protecting herself.”
Eric widened his eyes. “Hello, excuse me, I think I’ve missed some key information here.”
Tola gestured for me to get on with it, reveal the whole mess.
“I’m in love with him.” I closed my eyes and took a breath. “I have always been in love with him.”
“Of course you are,” Eric said in delight, “because you’d pick the most complicated, unavailable person possible. I told you to stop picking projects, I didn’t mean start choosing car crashes!”
I actually laughed, wiping my eyes with a paper napkin. “Can’t you see how this kills me? I control everything! And I couldn’t control this.”
Eric nodded and paused, as if he wasn’t sure whether to say anything. He leaned in. “So I’m assuming you acted in a completely Aly-like fashion here and bottled up your feelings as if they didn’t matter?”
“I don’t steal people’s boyfriends!” I yelled. “He was happy with Nicki!”
“He was trying to make you happy, idiot! You’re trying to fix everything, and he’s trying to keep a smile on his face for everyone, and neither of you talk, and my god I do not want to date ever again.” Eric sighed. “I hope Ben forgives me. It’s horrible out there.”
“This is what he wanted, Eric.”
“Someone who lied to him and paid someone a hundred grand because he wasn’t good enough as he was?”
“How is that different to what we were doing all along?” I yelped. “I don’t understand! Before it was okay, it was helping, it made sense! And then this . . . this was all wrong, and I don’t get why!”
“Because, sweetheart,” Eric explained, “Dylan is the sort who didn’t need to be tricked. He just needed to be asked. To be trusted. So, does he love you?”
“He did, back in the day,” Tola said, to fill him in, taking a delicate bite of pizza. “Before this one thought the worst of him and ran away like a little scaredy-cat.”
“Well, isn’t that a mood?” Eric looked at me, then turned to Tola. “That’s right, right? A mood?”
She nodded. “Well done, babe.”
“He was happy with Nicki, he was! She was building a future for both of them . . .” I trailed off.
But that wasn’t true, was it? Because he’d told me what he wanted. He wanted Sunday morning runs and a little house and a dog, and a place to drink sangria in the garden . . . the kind of life that Nicki wouldn’t stand for at all. Quiet and beautiful, no script to follow.
“I almost wish you were the boyfriend-stealing trollop she’s painting you out to be,” Eric huffed. “At least I’d know you’d put your happiness above a job well done!”
“Do you think . . . do you think he’d forgive me? I mean, could I . . . could this be for me? The whole . . . love thing.” I watched Tola’s head tilt to the side in confusion, and Eric blinked. They didn’t get that I’d only seen two types of love, complete devotion and complete devastation. That loving someone made you weak, made you risk yourself.
“Aly, honey, have you never been in love before?” Eric asked gently, trying to keep the awe out of his voice.
“Sure.” I started to laugh. “Once. Fifteen years ago.”
The laughter collapsed into hysterical giggles, and suddenly I was crying, tears streaming and finding it difficult to breathe.
“He’s never going to forgive me for this. I took all the things he’s most insecure about and used them. I picked money over him.” But surely he’d understand? If I told him about Mama’s house, he’d know what that meant? He was the only one who’d really know what that meant.
But he’d ask me why I hadn’t trusted him with the truth. And I didn’t have an answer for that.
Tola closed her eyes briefly, and the look of sorrow and sympathy on her face got me again. I hid my face with my hands as I cried, and they shushed and cuddled me, stroked my hair, held me close.
After a few moments, I got my breathing under control and reached out a hand, eyes still closed.
“What on earth are you doing?” Eric asked.
“That just happened, and no one’s even going to hand me a goddamn glass of wine?” I snorted, wiping my eyes. “And you call yourselves my friends.”
Tola smiled and went to grab my glass, topping it up.
I reached for it, but she held it just out of reach.
“You can have it when you come up with a plan. Aly is the lady with a plan.”
“Fine, I’m thinking.” I wiggled my fingers. “Wine, please.”
I gulped half of it down.
“Okay, so the million-pound question: What are you going to do about Dylan?”
I made a face. “Wait for all this to blow over and go on with my gray, sad life?”
Eric made a buzzer noise. “Uh-uh. Wrong answer. Try again.”
“Apologize?”
“Sure . . .”
“Try to explain why I needed the money, make him understand?”
“Warmer . . .”
“Tell him he’s perfect the way he is, even with his fears and always-all-right attitude and terrible taste in music and terrible taste in girlfriends, and he doesn’t need fixing because I love him?”
Eric tapped his nose. “Got there eventually.”
“And when he tells me I betrayed him and our friendship and he never wants to see me again . . . ?”
“You’ll know you have been honest and that you have friends who will take you out to get really, really drunk until you forget all about it.”
“Lucky me.” I smiled at them, and though they took it as sarcasm, I was more grateful than they would ever know.