Page 140 of Pick-Up
“Jury’s out! Anyway, at least he’s home from the log cabin. All his laundry smells like fireplace and stew,” she says, grimacing. “Why do men need to pretend to be in westerns in order to get their heads on straight? It’s all one big remake ofCity Slickers. Only without the jokes.”
“I don’t know. You’ll never find me in the woods alone. Anytime I’m in a cabin, I assume I’m seconds from being murdered by a deranged psychopath. Unless it’s part of a quaint resort.”
“Less woods. More Woodbury Commons.”
“Outlet shopping, absolutely,” I say. “Retail therapy is real!”
We stop at the top of the next block in front of our adorable neighborhood café. The smell of coffee and banana muffins wafts from the open doors.
“I should go,” Celeste says. She still looks tortured.
“How are you actually feeling about it all? Jamie’s mental state is on the upswing, but how is yours?”
“I guess time will tell,” she sighs. “It just freaks me out how quickly things can change. It’s a good reminder to appreciate what’s in front of you. In the meantime, I have deadlines!” She turns to leave, adjusting her bag strap on her shoulder. “Wait, Sash. Any word from Ethan?”
After the scene at the festival, I had finally dished all the sordid details of my dalliance with Demon Dad. Celeste had been impressed by what she mockingly called my “wild side.”
“No.” I tie and retie my scarf around my neck. “I don’t think I’ll hear from him.”
“Why not?”
“Because he lied to me.” And possibly has sworn off women for life.
“He didn’t reveal all the details, it’s true.” Celeste studies me for a beat. “Don’t hate me, but I think maybe you should give him a break.”
“You do?” There is an aching in my chest that releases the tiniest bit. Air hissing through a valve. It feels like I am getting permission to follow my heart and ignore my brain. But I’m not ready to do it. Plus, he would need to do the same.
“That was a tricky situation to handle,” she says. “I’m not saying he made the right choice, but was there a good way? Would you have stuck around if he was transparent? We all make mistakes, right? Even me.”
“Yeah, but you’reyou.”
“And he’s him. And a looker to boot.” She wiggles her eyebrows in jest.
“It’s just… messy.” I frown.
“I mean, yes,” Celeste agrees. “But, then again, what isn’t?”
Back at the apartment, I settle in front of my computer at the kitchen table and bask in the glory of a finished job. Derek and Stephanie love the footage and, aside from a couple tiny tweaks, we are good togo. It will be a few weeks before the story goes live, but, in the meantime, they’ll use clips from the video content as teasers.
I am about to forage in the fridge for a reward when a separate email from Stephanie lands in my inbox:
Sash! Thought you might appreciate this excerpt from the feature. For your eyes only. Still needs an edit. But a couple of grafs are copied below. Call me when you read!
xx S.
When it finally opens its doors after a soft launch, Citrine Cay will no doubt wow guests. This is not an average hotel. Rather, there’s a sense of quid pro quo between nature and what’s been erected here, a wildness that infuses the experience with intoxicating possibility and abandon. This place is not sterile. There are no golf courses or manicured tennis courts. Unlike more corporate or conventional top-end resorts, here, dust blows up from unpaved roads, framed by deceptively rugged terrain. The land is owned more by a thriving population of protected iguanas than by the human beings playing house.
And, yet, the issue of ownership is paramount here: this new destination is the vision of onetime actor-cum-mogul Martin Bernard. And his presence on property is sure to attract the glitterati—at least members of that set who still find him fit for fraternity. While Bernard has most certainly discovered a paradise—a deeply special as yet unspoiled place, ideal for a hyperexclusive escape of this kind—all the beauty cannot compensate for the ugliness he himself projects. Though his handlers have managed to spin the tale of his retirement in a way that sounds voluntary, speculation has circulated that perhaps he was one of many men forced to reckon with his repeated poor treatment of women, minorities and others working under him for years.
I am stunned. Breath gone. This is major.
I call Stephanie right away. And, when she picks up, I am still catching up.
“Oh my God!” I say.
“Right?” she says. “We debated whether I should write it, but, ultimately, Ethan felt like it was irresponsible not to speak up about Martin’s behavior. He offered to write this part as an addendum, as part of his editor’s letter, and take the heat, but you know me—I’m here for it! I don’t mind a little extra attention.”
“I’m so impressed!” I really am. By her. By Ethan. Especially considering his job hangs in the balance. “I didn’t know if you’d be up for something like this—?”
