CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Kat called early on a Saturday morning while Julian, in the company of Wasabi, was sprawled on his couch, watching Jules and Jim. He was working his way down the list of Nina’s favorite classic films. This was his new weekend ritual, and he was serious about it. He would have normally let voice mail pick up, except Kat was away, setting up the press junket for the New York release. This was new territory for her, and she might have questions. He didn’t expect her to have a convoluted story to tell involving Nina.
After months of tortuous silence, a demand. Nina was demanding that he call her. As if he had to be forced into it and that he hadn’t tried a thousand times. The thought of hearing her voice again…
“Alright,” he said.
“You’re not mad?” Kat stammered. “You asked me not to meddle, and I clearly am.”
He’d write her a bonus check for this. “How about this? Don’t bring it up again and I won’t.”
“Gotcha.”
“Is she with you? May I speak with her?”
“Give it thirty minutes, okay? We’re at a crowded coffee shop.”
“Okay.”
Thirty minutes. Julian lifted Wasabi off his chest and got up to shower and shave. He always wanted to look good for her, even on a call. With ten minutes left to go, he wandered out to the yard. He needed a clear head. What did she want to say to him? What would he say to her?
He and Rosie had resumed their weekly meetings at the gazebo. She thought he was wrong for letting go of the #sexgoddess—as Nina was referred to on Twitter.
“It’s the best thing for her,” he’d said to Rosie.
“How do you figure?”
“No one would have ripped and sold pages of her diary if she were not writing about me. I can’t ignore that.”
When Julian had finally cooled down and read the entire published excerpt, he was moved to tears. Her heart beat in every line. He couldn’t imagine the embarrassment it must have caused her, still caused her to this day. She was a serious writer, and they’d made her a hashtag. It infuriated him that they’d reduced her to a cartoon character. That was his fault.
Rosie toyed with the plastic lighter in her hand. A weak flame blossomed then failed with each flick of her thumb. “Julian, life is not cinema.”
At the mention of his name, Julian snapped to attention. To Rosie he’d always been JL Knight. This departure from the norm was remarkable. “I’m aware.”
“You don’t get to run around, bark orders and blow things up. You have to talk to her, and you have to listen to what she has to say.” Then she added, wryly, “You’re not really a knight, you know.”
He could not get Rosie’s words out of his head. That conversation had nudged the boulder sealing his reasons in place. Nina had walked out, but he’d stayed away to protect her privacy, dignity and reputation. That’s what he told himself. Or, possibly, he’d blown it all up because it was easier that way.
With five minutes left, Julian went back inside and straight to the kitchen. He filled his trusty electric kettle, the one that he’d purchased the week he arrived in America. Soon the sound of gurgling water was the only sound. His house, his life, was devastatingly quiet. Julian couldn’t wait a second longer. He grabbed his phone and dialed her number.
“Nina?”
“Hi.”
Julian closed his eyes. Every emotion that she had ever stirred in him hit him all at once. “You wanted to speak with me.”
“Yes.”
Her tone was guarded, and it killed him. They’d always been so free with each other.
“It’s time I write about the whole missing-diary episode.”
Now this was a surprise. “Did Kat put you up to this?”
“No.” The one syllable dropped in the space between them. “It’s something I need to do.”
“Why?” He couldn’t understand. Why would she want to throw more red meat to the wolves?
“I’ve been silent all these months, and I want my voice back.”
“I understand, but I’m worried—”
“You don’t understand,” she said. “I’ve been labeled everything from a slutty opportunist to a sex goddess. I need to define who I am.”
Julian ran his palm over his face. Fearful of making a bad situation worse, he opted to shut up.
“If you think my goal is to sell more books or somehow keep this story alive—”
“I don’t think that!” Julian protested. How could she think that?
“For a minute there, you did.”
Julian stared out the window, blind to the view. He was only now coming to grips with how much his earlier suspicions had hurt her. How much he had hurt her.
“It’ll probably be a blog post or an op-ed,” she said, continuing as if she hadn’t just gutted him. “I won’t accept compensation.”
Steam gushed out of the kettle with a hiss. He yanked the power cord out of the socket to quickly silence it. “I don’t care about any of that.”
“You may not, but everybody else does.”
“Nina…” Since when did they care about what people thought? He did not recognize the people they’d become.
“One more thing,” she said, hastily. “Katia thinks I should attend the Miami Film Festival. She said it would help if we present a united front. What do you think?”
None of his thoughts had anything to do with the film. He thought he’d messed up. The harm he’d caused was irreversible. He’d lost his lover and his friend, and nothing would ever make up for it. But Nina was waiting for an answer to her question. “I’d love to see you in Miami.”
“All right,” she said. “See you in Miami.”
* * *
Three days later, Kat called with the news that Nina had published a blog post on the feminist website Feminine-Plural. For once she was too late. Nina had sent him a copy of the post the night before. That
