“Who doesn’t know you?” Her penciled-in brows rise to the ceiling. “I think we can both cut to the chase. I specialize in reversing the exploitation of women, and you’re the poster child of an exploited woman. Tell me what happened—the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the damn truth.” Her dark eyes narrow to slits. “I want every last detail no matter how dirty.”
I glance to Jet and sniff into the air. “There’s not a single dirty detail in the bunch.” Then I spell it all out for her, every last little chaste detail.
An hour later, Dorma Morano lays out a plan of attack that will leave Senator Charles Danberry’s shriveled up man parts begging for mercy.
“That’s a masterpiece if I’ve ever heard it.” I blink back the tears that came to the party because deep down I realize this is all a bit too good to be true. “How much will I owe you for this?” I’ve learned that it’s best to be upfront with the monetary end of any relationship, but it hadn’t occurred to me until my feet were planted in this office that services rendered would probably be a whole lot more than I can afford. And, considering I don’t have a thin dime to my name, that almost guarantees this is all too good to ever happen to me.
“Nothing. Consider this pro bono. Trust me, this will pay off in spades in other ways. It always does.”
“Wow, thank you, but I have to do something in return. It’s just not my nature to take something for nothing. I’m not looking for a handout.”
Dorma leans into her seat, the sunlight slices over half her face, leaving the rest lost in a shadow. It’s an intimidating effect that makes me that much more confident in her ability to teach that dingleberry of a senator one hell of a lesson.
“Very well. You’ll be my guest at an event that I’m invited to tomorrow night. And you’ll tell your story.”
When Dorma Moranoinvites you to an event, you don’t decline. When Dorma Morano invites you to speak at said event, you may shake in your hot pink Kate Spade heels—your matching Kate Spade handbag may tremble a bit, too—but you will not decline. Imagine my surprise when the directions to the venue sound all too familiar.
Bovary Auditorium is brimming with law students and prospective law students alike as the brightest and the best of Whitney Briggs gather to hear the master share her genius. I peer out from behind the curtain and inspect the crowd for one redhead in particular, Scarlett Kent. There she is, third row from the front, center. She always did prefer the suck-up section. I’d wave or text, but I want this to be a complete surprise.
My eyes do a quick scan of the back, and Jet gives a tiny wave. He’s right where he said he’d be.
My phone bleats in my hand.You’ll do great. Love you.
I peek back out at the audience and blow him a kiss.Love you, too.
Within minutes, Tiffany Ikeman introduces the esteemed attorney, Dorma Morano, and the crowd goes wild, jumping to their feet in adulation, adoration,admiration—as they should. I spy Scarlett’s face light up as pink as my shoes, and I wish I were right there with her, and I will be soon.
Dorma bestows her fountain of knowledge on the crowd for forty minutes straight and, I, like everyone else, remain riveted on each and every word.
“And now”—she glances toward me, hiding in the wings like a frightened child—“I’d like to have you hear a firsthand account regarding female exploitation while living in a male-centric society. The woman you’re about to listen to is a brave soul prepared to tell you her side of the story for the very first time. She is not selling her story to the tabloids for millions—”
Dear God, why didn’t I think of that? I shake the idea off. This whole I-do-things-for-principle-not-a-dirty-dollar thing is new to me. Besides, the tabloids are totally incapable of teaching the slimy senator a lesson.
I come to just in time to see Dorma extending an arm my way. “And now I give you Daisy Pembrooke.”
A light applause breaks out amidst a circle of gasps. My feet freeze for a moment before they do their thing, and before I know it, I’m standing in the white-hot spotlight, staring out at a sea of hazy faces.
My eyes go straight for Scarlett. Her face is white with shock, her mouth opened wide as if I had just been resurrected from the dead, and in a way it feels like just that. I’ve been persona non grata around campus for so long it feels as if I’ve just stepped into my skin, first time in weeks. Somewhere between the stage at Stilettos and the not-so-good senator’s lap, I lost myself. And now, here I am, frozen like a deer in the headlights of a Mack truck ready to give it a kiss goodnight.
“Go ahead,” Dorma whispers. “Tell them everything.”
“Everything,” I say dully into the microphone, and a titter of snickers breaks out in the crowd. Tiffany Ikeman runs up to the podium, slitting her neck with her finger along with a threat in her eyes geared just for me. “Um—” I clear my throat and listen as the sound of my voice echoes throughout the assembly hall.
Tiffany jumps next to me and covers the mic with her hand. Her lips pull in the corner as if she’s hardly able to control her rage, and I can smell the fear on her as she attempts to make nice with the guest of honor. “What the hell is going on?” she grits through her teeth while sporting a fang-bearing smile at Dorma. Tiffany always was a kiss-ass to the very end.
“Daisy is my guest.” Dorma removes Tiffany’s hand from the microphone. “And you are wasting her time.” Her voice rings out clear, and an underlying choir ofoohscirculates throughout the room. The seventh grader in me completely loves it.
I squint out at the crowd, out in the foggy direction where I know Jet watches, and offer a humble smile.
“Hello.” It comes out feeble as if I were about to be clubbed to death by a mic-wielding Tiffany Ikeman. I give her the stink-eye for a moment, and she inches back a notch. “My name is Daisy Pembrooke, and I’m here to tell you my side of the story. I’m here to tell you the truth.”
And I do. I don’t let up until every last word expels from me like a watershed. If the senator is going to fill the world with vile lies, I’ll counterattack with facts.
“Bullying of any kind is not acceptable. Cyberbullying is no exception. No person, male nor female, has the right to utilize fallacies against anyone else. I don’t know why the senator has chosen to manufacture facts that couldn’t be further from the truth. I wish I had the answer to that. But I do believe over time the truth will prevail. My reputation, my tainted name, may never be the same, but this didn’t break me. I’m still standing. I will persevere.”
The audience remains eerily quiet. Scarlett is the first to spike out of her seat and clap like mad. A wild whoop comes from the back, followed by a small crowd of applause that I’m pretty sure is led by Jet. Slowly, one by one, the remainder of the audience joins in with careful intent. They rise to their feet, and soon the sound of their approval is deafening. I glance over to Tiffany who offers a silent nod, moisture building in her eyes, and I’m almost amused. She reaches over and offers a spontaneous embrace.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers and nothing else. But those two words are by far enough. It’s all more than enough.
