“Wait, what? What boy?”
“Cris. Conte? Your old friend? The show-destroyer? I thought you’d asked him to hook me up with the job since they knew some of the same people back in Italy. Anyway, Cris is a surprisingly good guy, not at all like I thought he’d be.”
“Sorry, Omar, I think maybe I didn’t eat enough breakfast this morning. You’re telling me Cris Conte got you this job?”
“Yeah, El. Because of you. Or at least, that’s what I thought. Anyway, if you talk to him, tell him thanks again. I can’t imagine you’re pals at this point, but just in case.”
“Yeah, I kind of doubt that we will cross paths.” There was a better chance she would have a conversation with a kinkajou than with Cris at this point. Despite what she told herself back in New York, it was, in fact, odd knowing that only a few hours’ drive separated them now that they were both in California. At least, she assumed he was back in the Bay Area. On a visit over to her dad’s place to drop off mail, she’d heard him talking to the swim coach at Stanford about how he might be able to convince Cris to come back as an assistant coach.Pfft, she’d practically said out loud. These people had no idea that Cris would sooner pierce his own nostril than get back on the swim deck.
“How are things going with you? Is it weird to be on a college campus again? Do the kids know who you are?” Omar asked.
“It’s not so weird. The freshman kids in the Intro to Psych class I’m teaching are not in the demographic forGames Over, so thankfully none of them have recognized me yet. Or at least, none of them have said anything to me. Aside from that, I have a meeting this week with one of the heads of the clinical psychology department at USC who used to be at NYU when I was there. She pretty much took pity on me and is willing to talk to me about doing a supervised practicum or maybe getting on some kind of path back to redemption. If any of that works, I can try to get back into the match, but to be honest, it will be a miracle if I can get into an accredited program. I guess I am not looking to celebrate my success anytime soon.” She successfully rerouted the rest of the conversation to further congratulating Omar on his new gig and wishing him well. He promised to keep in touch and threw in one more plea for her to pass on his gratitude to Cris. Her gut clenched at that last mention of his name, but she told herself it was just because she hadn’t had lunch yet.
She actually was starving and had about an hour before her first review session over Zoom with some of her students. She flipped on the TV in the empty house and made her way over to the refrigerator to pick from her personal stash of non-diet yogurt.
“I’ve seen lots of stories out there about me, but no one has heard my side. No one has heard the truth.”
A part of Ellie’s brain knew that the voice she heard was not coming from inside the room, but that was not the part that freaked her out enough to drop the container of yogurt on the tile floor, cracking it open. She watched the blob of white ooze out as she listened to the sound of Cris’s voice coming from the TV.
“Cristiano Conte, like you’ve never heard him before,” said a familiar female voice. “You’ve seen the headlines. You’ve heard there was ascandal. But was there? I’m Kelly Jones, and I’m talking to professional swimming superstar Cris Conte in an exclusive interview. Tomorrow. OnGood Morning America. Don’t miss it. EightA.M., Eastern.”
Ellie’s phone chimed on the counter, snapping her out of the yogurt jar stare-down contest. She picked it up to find a one-line message from Ben:
I need to talk to you.
Cris looked in the mirror on the wall of the greenroom at the ABC studios in Times Square. It was 7:50A.M.and his interview was in exactly ten minutes. A production assistant had already rapped on the door three times to ask if he needed anything and remind him of the schedule. He was ready, except for one detail. His navy-blue suit and crisp white-and-blue-checked shirt looked perfect. He was only unsure about the tie.
“Are you sure about this? Do I look like a banker?”
“God, no. If you were a banker, you’d probably have on a droopy polo with the sleeves down to your elbows,” said Ben with his nose scrunched. “And then you’d be beyond my help, frankly.”
“Okay. I trust you. I don’t want to look too stuck-up, you know?” Cris flipped up the collar of his shirt and ran the tie behind his neck.
“A professional look is not stuck-up. It’s an equalizer, an even calibration. People may not know what to think of you, but at least in a suit, they are willing to listen. Trust me.”
“I get it, totally. Thank you for doing this, by the way. I know you’re busy, and I know it’s awkward since this interview was supposed to be happening with Ellie. I can’t believe she’s not here in NewYork anymore.” Cris had looped one end of the tie and attempted to feed it back under the bulky lump, but the resulting knot was wide as a dinner roll. Ben pressed his eyes closed and shook his head gently, then he reached forward, undid the whole knot, and started over.
“She needed a change of scenery, to say the least. And you don’t have to thank me. We’re friends, Cris. All of us. The full extent of what happened between you and Ellie is not my business, but I do know we all want to see you be a success today. I’m just helping you do that.” Ben wrapped and knotted the silk fabric into a sharp half Windsor, tucking the tail into the keeper loop on the back of the wider blade. He stepped back and gave Cris a scrutinizing, full-length look. “Don’t you dare open that top button,” he said, pointing to Cris’s jacket.
“I won’t,” Cris said, adjusting his sleeves. If he was doingGames Overhe probably would have been able to roll up in a hoodie. Then again, it did feel good to put a suit on. Either way, he would have been more comfortable with Ellie. Now he was going to be in totally uncharted territory. The production assistant talked with him several times about what kinds of questions Kelly was going to ask and in what direction she wanted the conversation to go. They were kind, assuring him that they weren’t looking to take this into tabloid territory. They just wanted him to be able to tell his story and get the truth out there. Still, as gracious as Ms. Jones seemed, she wasn’t Ellie. No one was Ellie. “You know, I didn’t want it to go down like this.”
Ben sighed. “Did you tell her this? Or are you assuming that she knows?”
“Ellie is one of the smartest people I know. I have no doubt she knows everything.”
“Despite the fact that what you are saying is true, you didn’t answer my question. Did you tell her, Cris? Because my sister alreadyknows how to be smart. What she doesn’t know is whether she can trust people.” Ben picked up a lint brush on the vanity and rolled it over Cris’s shoulders. “This whole thing crushed her, you know.”
Cris nodded, unwilling to add light words to the heaviest moment. Whatever he said would be landing on the wrong ears anyway. The person who really needed to hear him was thousands of miles away and still asleep.
“I think we’re done here.” Ben pulled on the hem of Cris’s jacket. “Now don’t fuck it up.”
If she woke up at three thirty in the morning but couldn’t fall asleep again and so casually decided to get up and go out to the living room to watch a bit of morning television, could she really say that she had woken upexpresslyto watch Cris onGood Morning America? It was more of a coincidence than an actual plan, wasn’t it? She lay in bed until four thirty when the tummy rumbles set in. Hunger was an entirely acceptable reason to get up. There was nothing wrong with having an early breakfast accompanied by some morning TV.People do it every day,she told herself. Even she knew she was rationalizing. Then the question hit her: Would she be more upset watching Cris or not watching him? She answered by getting out of bed immediately.
She found her glasses and an old sweatshirt to drape over her shoulders but didn’t turn on any lights as she padded into the kitchen. Her mom’s room was upstairs and far enough away that she probably wouldn’t hear anything, but the last thing she wanted was a curious Peggy wandering in to ask questions Ellie wasn’t prepared to answer. She already knew Ben was probably somewhere on the set right now. He’d told her yesterday that Cris had asked him to serve as sartorialadvisor and he wanted to know what she thought. It was awesome of him to ask her, but she’d told him she didn’t care at all. It was easier to fake indifference than force herself to have an opinion about someone she would do anything tonothave an opinion about.
Is it too early for coffee?she wondered, trying to convince herself that the blood wasn’t already banging in her temples. The coffeepot probably made too much noise. No, it would be okay. A casual little splash of milk? Sure, that was no problem, totally fine. Should she grab some food, too? Completely doable. Maybe she could whip up a quick omelet. A batch of waffles? Sure. Why not? At this point, why not just lean right in, find her mother’s recipe for cinnamon rolls and hand-grind the actual wheat into flour with nothing but her fingernails and the glint-edge of anticipation?
She settled on a K-Cup of a blond roast and a ricotta cookie from the not-so-great Italian bakery down the street, walked into the living room, and attempted to turn on the TV in as dignified a manner as possible.
