Page 40 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

“When’s the last time you took him in? What was he there for?”

She blinks at me as her smile grows. It stretches into something that looks remarkably manic, with a deranged tilt to her head like it’s about to twist off her neck. Eventually, she laughs. The sound is so surprisingly loud and off-putting that the entire room stops to look at her, including her attorney. The steady clicking noise coming from the stenographer’s keyboard slows to an uncertain stop.

“I’m sorry, with the anxiety medication I’m on right now my memory really isn’t so good.”

“You testified earlier that you’re in sufficient mental health for today’s meeting. Would you like to clarify that statement?”

Mike shifts again, clearing his throat as he adjusts his tie. I wonder how many times they rehearsed these cues. Gigi transforms again into the picture of poise.

“No. No, I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m perfectly able to answer your questions. I, um, think it was around Christmas. Last time he went in. Just for a check-up, you know. But I had Teddy take him. Well – actually, no – Teddy insisted that he would take him. Because he knew it upset me. He threatened to drop him off in a dumpster somewhere so that I’d never see him again. But I’m the one who made the appointment.”

I can feel Quentin giving me a look, and I know without meeting it what it means: move on from the damn cat.

“What is your involvement in the business operations at Avid Records?”

“They were on the verge of collapse when I married Teddy. He won’t tell you that, but their financial situation wasn’t good. Their image was just… old. Outdated. I mean, who cares about a bunch of leathery, burnt out has-beens from before we were born? And that soundboard? It’s so ancient they shouldn’t even call it technology.”

“So you changed the technology?”

She gives me a pitying pout, like I’m an actual idiot.

“No. I showed him how to make all that old stuff seem cool. I… basically became the Vice President of Marketing,” she says, with a sweep of her hand. “Avid needed some rebranding, so I used my brand to build his up. Kitty Clayborn showing up to record “Firecracker”? That was all me. I met her on the promotional tour I did for the studio, during my stop at Coachella. Robbie Mack, collaborating with Teddy on the remix of “Hot Girl Summer”, with that guitarist from Friday Morning? My idea. My connections. Every dime they’ve made over the past five years has come from the work I put in. Avid Records would be a middle-aged nobody if it wasn’t for me.”

I think about my meeting with Zelda, when we’d gone over the books. Both Zelda and the books were telling a very different story than Gigi was at the moment. I’d need time to sort out how much of this was legitimate, but for now I’m imagining what Zelda would say if she heard this self-aggrandizing speech. I worry, as I think about it, that I’m actually going to break character. I hide in my sip of water and give Quentin an imploring look, one that is intended to pass the baton. He comes to life without missing a beat.

“Ms. Russo, what is the nature of your relationship with Grayson Smith?” he asks.

I don’t know what I expected, but this lead-in is surprisingly strong. I try not to feel too impressed. Anybody can come out swinging for the fences.

“Grayson is a very good friend,” she says. “He’s been so supportive of my healing journey. It’s important to have people like that.”

“When did your relationship with Mr. Smith begin?”

She does the unnecessary hair sweep before absently patting at her bun. “We met in the VIP lounge of the FedEx Open, last fall. Avid was a sponsor.”

“In March of this year, did you tell Mr. Glass that you had been engaging in a sexual relationship with Mr. Smith?”

Cue the defiant chin lift. “Yes.”

“So you were having an affair with Mr. Smith?”

“No,” she says. Her eyes roll to the ceiling, and she bites her lip. I can’t tell if she’s overcome with emotion, buying time to plot a believable follow-up response, or both. Finally, she gives us a small shrug. “I told Teddy that because I wanted him to leave me. I thought… well, he always said if I left him, he would find me. He told me there was nowhere I could go to get away from him. That I’d be nothing without him. So I figured, if he thought that I was sleeping with someone else, that he’d want out.”

Fuck.

Quentin and I share a brief sideways glance, and in that split second, I can see the tension in his jaw. He rubs a hand across his face, as if to hide it.

“Ms. Russo,” I say. “When you told Mr. Glass that you had contracted genital herpes from the affair with Mr. Smith, was this also a lie?”

“Yes,” she says primly. “You can’t cure genital herpes. I figured this way he wouldn’t want to have sex with me. Ever again.”

The truth writhes, shapeshifting and unwieldy, between us. Gigi’s eyes have gone wide and glossy. Mike passes her a tissue from the box nearby before leaning back in his chair and leveling a stare across the table at me. One corner of his mouth lifts in an off-center smile, as if to say, ‘Hey. You asked for it.’

I jot meaningless notes onto the page of prepared questions and attempt to regroup. As much as I say I’m not in the business of determining what’s true, there’s a gut-wrenching part of me that wants to know. That needs to know.

Is Teddy not who I think he is, or is Gigi a good actress?

Is she an abused woman, trying to get out of a bad situation, or is Mike manipulating this in search of another showy slam dunk?

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