Twenty minutes later, with Michael listening in on his cell phone, Christy got up and gave her acceptance speech. Somehow, she pulled herself together and managed to sound completely unshaken. Even she was impressed.
Christy left the Matrix Awards with Skip Heller by her side. The time had come to say good-bye to the pesky weasel. It was a good thing. Christy was getting annoyed by Skip’s constant presence, and further pissed off by his Nikes. “So, I guess this is it,” she said. “Do you have much more to do on my story?”
“No, not really. I just have to interview your friends and enemies.”
“I don’t have enemies,” Christy said, fervently hoping that was true.
“Every CEO does,” Skip said.
“Skip, please be gentle,” she said, hating the power that people like him had over her.
“Of course I will.”
Christy was relieved not to have him looking over her shoulder while she dealt with this latest press attack. She called Randi, her office assistant, to see if the Financial Journal had called. Sure enough, Alan Hooper had phoned hours ago. He said he was on deadline.
“So, did you put him through to Rick Slotnik?” Christy asked.
“He was out today.”
“What about Katherine?”
“She was out, too.”
“Why didn’t you call me here?”
“I didn’t want to bother you while you were getting an award.”
“Randi, why do you think I carry my cell phone with me? It’s so you can reach me in emergencies.”
“Was it important?”
“YES! Alan Hooper’s a reporter at the Financial Journal. Apparently he’s filing some kind of negative story. Give me all the numbers he left. I’ll try to catch him.”
Christy dialed Alan’s office and cell numbers. Both calls went to voice mail. Damn, why do we bother carrying these phones if they don’t do us any good when we need them?
That evening, after dinner, Hooper called her at home. He said he’d tried to reach someone in a position of authority at the company, but couldn’t. The article was running in tomorrow’s edition.
“What’s the gist of it?” Christy asked.
“You’re part of a broader story we’re breaking about female CEOs who traded sexual favors for initial capitalization.”
“What? You can’t be serious.” Christy was incredulous. If they were accusing Katherine, yes, she could understand, but her? This was nuts.
“Of course we’re serious. We’re the Financial Journal. We have witnesses who claim you provided sex to influence their investment in your company’s privately held stock.”
Christy was furious. “Witnesses? To what? First of all, Mr. Hooper, this never happened. Second of all, no banker would decide to fund a company in exchange for a fuck.”
“Can I quote you on that?”
Christy took a deep breath. “Mr. Hooper, this is a serious accusation you’re making. I suggest you not run the article or you’ll be facing a libel suit.”
“We’re extremely comfortable with our source, Ms. Hayes. Tell me, do the names Ty Jennings and Robert Peale ring a bell? Hmmmm? Why don’t you give me a call tomorrow. Maybe we can do a follow-up and keep the dialogue going.”
Oh, yeah, Christy thought, great idea. Let’s string this story out for days in the press. “I’ll get back to you,” she said, slamming the phone down.
Oh, man, she thought miserably. Now I know what those movie stars are always complaining about. Lies in the tabloid press. But the Journal’s no tabloid. Why would they believe this trash? The world’s gonna think I’m a whore. Then she remembered her husband, who was still in Los Angeles. Forget what the world thinks. She reached for the phone. I’d better clear this up with Michael.
Mean Girls
DEAR DIARY,
NOW I GO TO THE COLBY SCHOOL. THESE ARE THE GIRLS IN MY CLASS:
LANGLEY STOKES—SHE HAS THE SMELLIEST FEET EVER. I SWEAR SHE WASHES THEM IN VOMIT. NEVER TRUST A GIRL WITH STINKY FEET.
JADA SHIFF—HER PEN EXPLODED IN HER MOUTH AND MRS. SMART WOULDN’T LET HER WASH OFF THE INK SO SHE’D LEARN A VALUABLE LESSON. BUT JADA LOOKS AWESOME IN BLUE LIPS SO HA! ON MRS. SMART.
PIPPA TILBERRY—SHE FEELS SORRY FOR ME BECAUSE I’M MEXICAN. I FEEL SORRY FOR HER BECAUSE SHE’S STUPID.
MICA MORGAN—SHE BRAGS ABOUT HER DOG WHO IS GAY. HOW DOES SHE KNOW?
BUNNY PRATT—HAS A MOLE ON HER FACE WITH HAIR GROWING OUT OF IT. PEOPLE LIKE THAT ALWAYS THINK THEY’RE BETTER THAN EVERYONE ELSE.
STEPHANIE RICH—TRIES TO BE TEACHER’S PET. I DON’T JUDGE HER FOR THIS.
MUFFIN WOJTKIEWICZ—HER ARMPITS ARE SO DEEP, IT’S HAIRY (GET IT DIARY? HAIRY INSTEAD OF SCARY!!!).
YANNA SEVIGNY—ALWAYS WHINING. BUT EVERYONE LIKES HER BECAUSE HER DAD’S A MOVIE STAR. BIG DEAL.
SOMERS BURDEN—SHE CAN WIGGLE HER DOUBLE CHIN LIKE JELL-O. WHAT A SHOW OFF.
TARA MCBEE—SHE CUT A HOLE IN MY UNIFORM JUST TO BE MEAN. I HATE HER. HER MOM HATES HER TOO. I KNOW THIS FOR A FACT.
DESIREE DEEDER—HAS A REALLY LONG TOUNGE THAT WILL PROBABLY HAVE TO BE SHORTENED SOMEDAY.
ARIEL SANDBERG—SHE KEEPS ACCUSING ME OF LIKING BOYS WHICH IS NOT, I REPEAT, NOT (!!!!!!!!!!) TRUE.
ME—SMART, CUTE, ZANY, NORMAL.
The car was stuck behind a moving van on East Seventy-sixth Street. People were honking. Tempers were exploding. Christy was oblivious. She had her PR guy on the line. “Rick, where were you yesterday? Why weren’t you reachable?” Christy demanded.
“I was at a funeral, I—”
“Did you see the story this morning? Do you know how much damage it’ll do? From now on, someone from your department has to be on call to back you up. I can’t believe I have to tell you this.”
“I’m sorry, Christy.”
“Where’s Katherine?”
“She’s in her office.”
“Well, transfer me.”
The phone rang, and Katherine picked up. Christy launched into her. “Katherine, did you read the article? What do you propose we do about it?”
“Deny, deny, deny.
