Page 36 of Best Offer Wins
I endure almost a minute of smooth jazz before I hear the click that announces her return.
“Um, Lisa?”
“Yes, I’m still here,” I say.
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Bradshaw says he’s not interested in speaking with you.”
The energy has drained from her voice.
“Really?” I assumed he’d be happy to brag about his kid for a puff piece—and in the process, maybe drop a lead or two about where I should snoop for dirt next. “I could call back at a more convenient time. It’s a very positive story, I’m just hoping to gather some color.”
“Yeah, I explained it to him, but he said if it’s about his son, he’s not interested.” She pauses. “Please don’t write that part, though.”
“Okay, sure, but did he say anything—”
She cuts me off before I can finish. “I’m sorry, I really have to go,” she says. “But good luck!”
She hangs up.
Have Curt and his dad had some sort of falling-out then?
Apple’s ringtone fills my ears, followed by Siri’s sedate voice: “Call from Erika Oritz. Answer it?”
“Uh, yes.” The line connects. “Hey, Erika.”
“Hey, sorry to call, but this would be hard to explain over text.”
“No problem. What’s up?’
“So, I ran that guy’s name through my inbox for you, you know, just to see what came back, and an old reader email popped up.”
“Okay…” I straighten in my chair.
“All it says is ‘Do not trust Curtis Bradshaw. He is a liar’—that’s it—and it came from an anonymous address. It looks like I did try to respond to it, but I got a bounce-back that the account had already been deactivated.”
“Oh, um, wow.” I feel light-headed. “And you forgot about this?”
She laughs. “It’s not like I have any shortage of wack jobs emailingme on the regular. And who remembersanythingthat happened before the pandemic?”
“Yeah, true.” I push out a laugh.
“I have to run,” Erika says, “but I can forward it to you if you want.”
“That would be great.” My heart is racing. “Oh, personal Gmail again, please. Our office email has been down all morning.”
“Cool. Talk to you later,” Erika says, then hangs up.
I open my Gmail and find two unread messages from her—the introduction to her agent, and the forwarded email that could hold the break I need.
The sender’s address is [email protected]. It’s dated January 27, 2019—the day after Erika’s story ran. And the note is just as Erika said:DO NOT TRUST CURTIS BRADSHAW. HE IS A LIAR.All caps, like the Amazon review, and even more aggressive.
I copy and paste the email address into a new message, subject line:Curtis Bradshaw.
Hi there. I think we can help each other. Curtis Bradshaw hurt me, too. Please call me or let me know how to reach you.
I add my cell number and press send.
“Please, please, please,” I whisper to myself. I hold my breath and refresh the page.
