Page 19 of The Devil Wears Orange
Jack blushes, shakes his head.
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” says Charlotte in disbelief. “My life is in shambles and you two find the time to flirt?”
“You’ll have to excuse Charlotte, Professor. She’s had a terrible day.”
“Of course,” says Jack, “we should be thinking about...well about...”
“Chaaaar-lotte.” She draws out the letters of her name as a reminder.
“The “C” in Charlotte is silent, dear,” Harriet says without taking her eyes off Jack. “I’ve packed your two suitcases so you’re good to go back to New York. Oh, and Pierre says you’re fired.”
“Thank you. That message has already been relayed to me, by Anne of all people. Not as happily as you did just now, to her credit. Anyway, once I speak with Pierre, I’m sure–”
“–Stupid idea,” says Harriet, finally looking at her.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“That Pierre will reconsider having fired you. You’ve known Pierre a long time to know that once he makes a decision, he never reverses it, even if he’s wrong.”
“You think firing me was the wrong decision?”
Harriet shrugs, her eyes skirt around the room. She lifts a finger to the waiter and says, “Cafe.” Turning to Charlotte, she says, “And under no circumstances are you to Google yourself right now.”
“What? Why?” Immediately, Charlotte reaches for her phone and types. Even upside down, Jack can view her screen. Up pops CNN’s lead story with an unflattering video of Charlotte falling from the helicopter into the Seine, her multi-colored raincoat ballooning, underpants fully exposed. While Jack saw the video earlier that evening, he didn’t have time to read the article. He twists his head to get a better view of the headline that reads “Unladylike Guest of Honor Steals Mistress In A Red Dress.”
Charlotte groans.
“Soon, New York will wake up with their Starbucks and bagels while looking up your skirt.” Harriet’s laughter slips out.
“Thank you,” Charlotte says in a facetious tone.
“Don’t mention it.” Then as an afterthought, Harriet says, “Are those Spanx?” She angles Charlotte’s phone in her direction to stare more intently.
Charlotte blushes, mumbling, “They’re bike shorts.”
“If you say so.” Harriet wipes a joyful tear. “Also, don’t look up #TheDevilWearsOrange. Trust me. Social media has pitchforks and they’re looking to skewer you.”
Jack recognizes it as the hashtag the police officer mentioned at the station.
Charlotte punches at more keys, then sits there dumbfounded, stares at her phone, and mutters that she regrets charging it. Her thumb scrolls down the page. “These people act as though they know me. What’s on social media isn’t the real me.” She continues frantically searching. “Oh, no.Catwalkpublicly fired me. Social media has destroyed my reputation in less than a dayand shamed me out of a career that took my entire adult life to build. There’s a meme of me, too!”
Quickly, she flashes the phone to Jack but all he catches is an image of her hanging from the helicopter.
“I’ve replaced the ‘Just Hang in There’ cat except it says ‘Don’t Hang in There.’ This can’t be happening.” Her hands fly up to cover her mouth as a tiny gasp escapes and she looks up at Harriet, eyes tear-filled and narrowing. “You created a drinking game on social media?”
“Someone was going to. I merely beat them to it. Besides, what kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t partake in a little fun at your expense.”
Charlotte shakes her head, squints her eyes at Harriet, and says, “Define best friend.”
“Best friend: Someone willing to bury a dead body,” Harriet answers in a questionable tone.
“You should reconsider some of your friendships. Define frenemy.”
“Frenemy: Someone you’re friendly with despite a rivalry.” Harriet goes quiet. “Oh, I see. Yes, that’s more appropriate for us.”
Charlotte’s shoulders slump and her face crinkles in contemplation. “Nobody would help me bury a body. Oh God, my frenemy is my best friend. My frenemy?”
“Told you,” Harriet says.
