Spin Control (14 page)

"I don't know if I'd make it out there. I barely keep
my head above water here."

She looked me in the eye. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Kate"

I blushed, getting self-esteem advice from this goddess who had drawn whispers and admiring stares from
others in the restaurant.

She must have sensed my uncomfortability and
changed the subject. "So, Michael tells me you went to
a Mets game"

"Yes, I forgot to thank you for those tickets. So,
thank you so much. I had a great time." For the first two
innings, I wanted to add.

"My pleasure. Anna had told me how much you were
into the Mets, so it was the least I could do."

"Well, between the tickets and the dinner at Mod, I
probably owe you about six months of manual labor."

She waved her hand. "Don't even worry about it. I'm
having fun hanging out with you and Anna, who, by the
way, is an amazing makeup artist."

"Isn't she? She's doing what she wants. I know she
feels forever indebted to you for the opportunity too."

"I'm glad it's worked out for her. And it makes me
look good, too, tapping into unused talent."

"Can you get me a job on the set?" I said jokingly.

"Are you serious?" Miranda's eyes flashed.

"Not yet, but I could be. I've been thinking more and
more about a change. I'm just starting to run out of
steam, especially with this whole Devin thing."

"I'm sorry to hear about the burnout. You should take
a vacation. You're welcome to stay at my place in Malibu anytime if you just need a break. You and Michael
could come for a visit." She brought a hand to her face.
"He's a pretty good guy, huh?"

I was beginning to wonder whether she and Anna
were in cahoots. "Yes, I enjoy working with him," I
tried to reply without emotion.

"I think his only flaw is that he doesn't always think
before he speaks"

"Oh, you've noticed it, too?" We both giggled.

"Take what he says with a grain of salt. He means
well, but sometimes he gets ahead of himself and just
shoots off at the mouth"

"Hey, pretty lady, I hear you got a hole in one"
Devin sauntered toward Miranda. Why did Devin keep
appearing at the most inopportune times?

"Another $5,000 to charity for that shot. I'm thinking that my next stop is the Masters." She seemed disinterested but continued to talk to him.

"They could use someone like you," Devin winked.

"How was your score?"

"Let's just say I brought the team average down, or
up, however you want to look at it." Miranda looked
confused.

"Eight over," he said flirtatiously, then became solemn. "But it's all for a good cause. My mom died of
a heart attack."

Miranda's face fell, and she sympathetically
squeezed Devin's wrist.

"It's just so ... so ... I mean, family is so important
to me" He lowered his head. "And I know it's important to you, too, Miranda"

I leaned forward on my stool and propped my arms
on the bar. This I had to hear.

"Well, sure, I, uh-" Miranda stuttered, looking
caught off guard.

"I've read a lot of interviews with you where you
said family was your number one priority," Devin said
mechanically, as if reading from a script. "And it is
with me too. My dad and I have never been closer."

I rolled my eyes. What I witnessed in our conference
room between Devin and Fox a month ago could not be
misconstrued as closeness.

"As you said in Never Tomorrow, `If you don't have
family, you don't have love.' And we all need love"

Miranda scratched the back of her neck. "Wow,
you've seen that movie? That's, well, surprising, to say
the least" She cleared her throat. "Excuse me, but I
need to make a run to the ladies' room"

Devin pounded his fist on the bar, and I moved into
Miranda's seat. "What," I exclaimed, "were you doing
there?"

"Getting to know a new friend."

"She didn't seem all that interested."

He shrugged. "Give it time."

"And what was all that stuff about family?"

"Hey, can you fault me for doing my research?"
Devin smirked. "She's kind of a tough nut to crack, so I
thought this would soften her up a bit, you know, get
her talking about family."

And then it hit me. "Oh, don't even tell me. You're
using your dead mom as leverage with Miranda!"

"Shh, don't say it like that. Then I'll never get her
where I want her."

Could this man have been even more soulless than
what I had originally thought? I swung around on my
chair, only to find Michael standing right behind us.
"Get her where you want her, huh?"

When he should have looked ashamed, Devin was
confidently grinning. "Hey, man, you know what it's
like."

Michael raised his chest. "No, actually, I don't."

I felt the electricity jumping between the two men.
No need to have the press picking up on a fistfight between a publicist and his client.

I stood up. "Listen, I think we should all go our separate ways" Devin and Michael just stared at each other.

Then Miranda walked up. "What's going on?"

I pulled her aside. "I think we should go"

"That was my plan anyway," she whispered confidentially. "I was getting a really weird vibe off of
Devin."

I walked up to Devin. "Well, thanks for participating
in the event today," I said dryly. "Miranda has somewhere else she needs to be, and so do Michael and I"

Devin tried to stand tall and proud, but I saw his nostrils give a slight flare.

"Can I offer you a ride anywhere?" he asked Miranda, almost desperately.

She flashed him a sympathetic smile. "No, I'm in
good hands, thanks"

Miranda and Michael walked out of the clubhouse. I
followed, but Devin yelled after me.

"Kate!"

I turned to look, naively thinking that he might apologize for his behavior.

"Wanna come back to my place?"

I searched his face for signs of remorse, embarrassment, sincerity-anything that would assure me that he
was, in fact, human. But I found nothing, so I walked
out the door.

41 kind of feel bad for him," Miranda said softly.

"That man deserves nothing, especially not your
sympathy" Michael's eyes narrowed emphatically as
Miranda's limo drove us back to the city. This was the
most emotional I had ever seen him.

Miranda checked her pink watch, which had diamonds surrounding the face. "Do you guys mind if I
have the driver drop me off at my hotel, then take you
back to your houses? I need some time to unwind before this party I have tonight."

"Not at all," I replied. I, too, was looking for some
time to unwind, and that's all I had planned for the rest
of the weekend.

After we pulled up to the Waldorf Astoria, Miranda's
driver had opened the door for her. She leaned over and
gave us each a hug. "Thanks, you two, for your help with the Devin situation today. Michael, I'll call you tomorrow. Kate, we need to go out, just us girls."

I stared out the window absently as we pulled away.
"Shouldn't we be worried that Devin's going to take off
and undo all the good PR we've been giving him?"

Michael snickered. "I think his plans for the evening
went awry"

"That's exactly my fear. Because he had intentions to
keep Miranda all to himself this weekend, and that fell
through, he will go out trolling for someone else"

"Has anyone told you that you worry too much?"

I ignored him. "All I can imagine is something showing up in next week's papers, and Gwen will have our
heads."

"It'll be fine"

"Do you really believe that, witnessing what you did
just an hour ago?"

"Yes, I do believe it. And even if he does go out, we
got him interviewing with your friend, saying some
powerful stuff about his mom and the charity tournament today."

"If only others buy it, since apparently Devin didn't."

Michael sighed as he looked at me. "I wanted to believe Devin, really, I did, but what I overheard him say
in the clubhouse about Miranda.." His words trailed
off. "I mean, who says that? I don't know, Kate, we just
need to be done on this project. I'm really starting to
dislike the guy"

I nodded empathetically, bemused that Devin had
gotten under Michael's skin like this.

The limo driver turned to look over his shoulder at
us. "West 126th Street, right?"

"Yup, that's right." I faced Michael. "By the way, is
your car still on Long Island?"

"Nope, it's in Brooklyn. Miranda's driver picked me
up. I've been in a limo more today than I have in the
past three years"

"I don't do well in limos. For whatever reason, I always feel guilty, or like a poser."

"A poser? Wow, there's a flashback to junior high."

"Oh, didn't they use words like that in California?" I
gently nudged him.

"Nah, but I heard it on TV once"

"Two more blocks, second building on the right," I
directed the driver.

Michael rubbed his sideburn. "So, what are your
plans for the evening?" His words sounded a bit forced,
almost nervous.

"I just want to sit at home and veg out in front of the
TV. I have been going nonstop the last month and just
want to relax"

"Isn't that a cardinal sin, a single New Yorker staying
home by herself on a Saturday night?"

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Same here. Honestly, since being on this Devin account, this is the most I've been on the scene since I
moved here"

Maybe it was watching him looking out for Miranda,
or the overall mood of the day, but I found myself giving Michael a courtesy invite. "Want to order Chinese
and stare at the idiot box with me?"

"That sounds like a lot of fun, as long as I'm not intruding."

Hmm. That was a surprise. His answer was supposed
to sound something like, "Geez, Kate, I would love to,
but I have a lot to get done around the house tonight."

Instead, all I could say was, "No, you're not intruding at all"

We walked up the two flights of stairs to get to my
apartment. It was odd to think that a little over a month
ago, we had been in this exact place, mulling over how
to help Devin's image. But now, it was a Saturday evening, and we were off the clock, I became very aware.

I threw my keys on a plant stand by my front door
and bolted it once Michael had entered after me. I
walked to the kitchen and opened my junk drawer,
which was filled with old bills, a pair of scissors, and
most importantly, takeout menus. I grabbed a few and
brought them out to Michael, who had taken a seat on
my purple couch.

"My recommendation is Wang's Chinese, but any of
those are good"

"I'll take whatever you recommend. What from
Wang's do you usually get?"

"Sesame chicken, medium spice. Pretty uninventive."

"Ever tried the chicken and cashews?"

I leaned over his shoulder to read the menu description and caught a whiff of the cologne I had smelled outside the restaurant. "Nope" I hope he didn't notice the
pause. "It has mushrooms, and I'm allergic to those"

"That's too bad. How did you find that out?"

"I think it was an adult-onset thing. Anna and I had taken a trip to Seattle our senior year of college for
spring break, and the night before we were heading
back home, we had a nice dinner. I had never liked
mushrooms, but I'd eat them occasionally. And I didn't
ask if my dish had mushrooms in it, but I ate it anyway.
In the middle of the night, I woke up with horrible nausea and, well, I barely made it to the bathroom. Not because I wasn't fast enough, mind you, but because my
eyes were swollen shut"

Michael wrinkled his nose. "You didn't fly home,
did you?"

"I had no choice. We were poor college students and
couldn't afford to pay for another night in Seattle, so I
slept in the back of the plane on the floor, right by the
bathroom. The flight attendants were great about it. I
sent the airline a letter of apology about being so sick, I
felt so guilty."

"They were probably happy to get a letter of apology
rather than having to write one." He shook his head.
"Some spring break. Why Seattle, by the way?"

"I'm not the Daytona Beach/Cancun/South Padre
type-at least I wasn't at the time. I was an angstridden college student. `Oh, those places are so cliche,'
Anna and I would haughtily say. But now, those places
are rather intriguing to me. Sort of a regressive thing,
one might say" I pointed over Michael's shoulder at the
menu. "So, what can I order for you?"

"If I get the cashew chicken, will you get sick?"

"Nah, maybe just gag" I teased. "I can be near them,
just can't eat them. You mean I didn't gross you out
with my mushroom story?"

"I'm so hungry, nothing can affect this appetite. So
that's what I'll have" He reached into his wallet and
pulled out a twenty.

"Put that away," I ordered. "I already owe you at least
twice that for the dinner that one night." And the cab
fares. And the hot dogs. And the baseball jersey. Suddenly guilt settled over me, along with the wonder of
how Michael had so much disposable cash.