Slick (53 page)

And, of course, I filled them in on the recent fun and games at Keoki Atoll. Madison was impressed with my ability to talk 128 respectable young women into stripping naked for me. Jean wasn’t, but she withheld her objections. Even when I told her about Deb Isham’s hateful reaction, she hid her thoughts behind a mask of lead. That frustrated me. I was challenging her, testing the walls of her moral outrage. At first I thought she wasn’t playing along, but as soon as Madison turned away, she threw me a quick, hardy squint.
If you want to scare me, buddy, you’ll have to do better than that.

Through Madison, Jean segued to a crazy project from her own career. Three years ago, she was hired to come up with a nifty box design for Morning Faith, the world’s first and only Christian-themed breakfast cereal. Her client was an Israeli investor who thought he could make a quick buck in the States. After all, America had millions of Christians. It had millions of cereal eaters. There had to be some overlap.

There was, but not enough to pull the flock away from the graven images of Cap’n Crunch and Count Chocula. Jean blamed the product’s failure on her own generic “heaven sky” design. Madison and I faulted the lame title. We put on our thinking caps and came up with our own. Madison suggested “Angel Bran.” I liked “Genu-Flakes.” Jean took the prize with “Honey Frosted Monogamous Heter-O’s.” She also offered “Left Behind: The Cereal (Now with 25% Less),” but that one left us scratching our heads. She rolled her eyes and told us to forget about it.

The conversation devolved from there. It got so silly that Madison couldn’t translate anymore. Unlike EyeTalk, the poor girl wasn’t built to handle the relentless back-and-forth between me and her mother. Soon she was laughing so hard, she had to escape to the bathroom to recuperate.

Jean and I were left alone, smiling but not laughing. She kicked up her bare feet, leaned her head against her fist, and stared at me with lingering malaise from our Saturday tryst.
This is lovely, Scott, but I can see you still have problems.
Of course I had problems. What the hell did she expect? She claimed we had some profound cerebral rapport, but what if I wanted to explore her mind
and
her body? She claimed she was inviting me in, but what if the seat I wanted was already taken? What if I didn’t want to spend the rest of my days coveting another man’s wife and stepdaughter?

I matched her stare, but her frustration couldn’t hold up to mine. It wasn’t fair to tease me with her perfect wit, her perfect warmth, her perfect child, this perfectly wonderful domestic scene, and then pack it all up at the end of the day. I was loving them on the clock, renting them out like a pair of hostesses. If that was all I got out of them, this was all they got out of me. I may have been lonely, but I still had pride. Worse for Jean, I still had Harmony.

I raised the volume of the television, then sat forward and lost myself in the show. It was 6:45. The fourth commercial break had just come to an end. This was the part where Larry took calls from the audience, the part that worried me the most. I trusted Larry. He only threw softballs. Who knew what his viewers were waiting to hurl?

He introduced the first caller: a fast-talking man from Nyack, New York.

Hi. Harmony, first I want to say how sorry I am for all the terrible things you’ve been through
.

Over the course of the hour, out of the corner of my eye, I watched Harmony grow more and more comfortable in front of the cameras. But now she seemed a little off balance. She furrowed her brow and cocked her head. She was hearing the caller through a tiny earpiece. It took some getting used to.

“Uh, thank you.”

I could see Alonso’s jaw tighten. He desperately wanted to jump in and tear this guy a new one. Harmony remained perfectly level. At some point her proper grammar had reemerged, but she wasn’t trying. She didn’t even seem to notice.

“I understand where you’re coming from, sir, but I’ll say it again: I don’t need to see him go to jail. Jail’s not going to make him a better person. Jail only makes people worse. And his going to jail isn’t going to help me sleep better or live better. Look, money is justice. Anyone who tells you otherwise probably has more money than he needs. And if you think that’s a bad message...” She shrugged. “I’m sorry. I never asked to be a messenger. I gotta do what I think is best for me. But you’re entitled to your opinion.”

I leaned my head back and yelled. I could hear the spirit of Ayn Rand yelling back:
She’s magnificent, Scott! How did you find her?
Just got lucky, ma’am. Just got lucky.

Madison rushed back downstairs. “What happened?”

“This woman is unstoppable!” I bellowed through a screen of artificial rancor.

She giggled. “Who, Mom or Harmony?”

“Harmony,” I replied, taking a quick peek at Jean. Having given up on me, she once again lost herself in Alonso’s novel. But she did witness my odd cry to the heavens. I met her quizzical look with a childish raspberry. She shook her head, then signed to Madison.

“Mom says you’re a troubled individual.”

“Sit down. We’re watching again.”

This time Madison sat down on the floor, in front of her mother. Clapping with glee, Jean undid Madison’s ponytail and began running her fingers through her daughter’s long mane.

“She loves untangling my hair,” she said. “She’s a real freak about it.”

“Your mom’s just a freak.”

“What did Harmony say to make you yell like that?”

“I’ll explain later. Just watch.”

I’d already missed the second call, but considering that Harmony had deferred to Alonso, it must have been a legal question. The third caller was a woman from Ottawa, Ontario. She had a soft, unsteady voice. Larry had to tell her twice to go ahead.

Hi. Uh, Harmony. My name is Jenna. I just wanted to start by saying that... I think you’re very brave to come forward like this
.

She chuckled. “I never planned on coming this far forward.”

I know you didn’t expect this much attention. But still, you took on a famous person with a lot of money and a lot of resources. That’s not an easy thing to do. I..
.

Larry edged the woman on. What’s the question?

I was in the same position as you. I was...I was raped by a man who... He hurt me pretty bad. And I was too afraid to come forward. This man was very well respected in the community and... I just couldn’t find the courage to do it. I couldn’t do what you did. And I’m a lot older than you
.

The caller was crying now. Harmony bit her lip and gazed down at her ceramic mug.

Although the average viewer couldn’t tell, the woman was disconnected. It was something producers did when a caller rambled on too long. In this remote-control world, when Nielsen boxes measured ratings in ten-second intervals, uncomfortable beats were a business hazard. As dramatic as the whole scene was, Harmony had only five seconds to reply before Larry gently pushed things forward. She almost missed her window.

“It’s an act,” she replied with a trembling smile. “This whole being strong thing is just an act for the cameras. But I’m glad you fell for it, ma’am. I’m hoping someday I’ll fall for it too. Maybe we’ll both trick ourselves into being strong.”

Magnificent. She was more profound than I could have possibly imagined. She was a prodigy.
Wünderkind
.

Madison was less impressed. “You think that call was for real?”

“I have very little doubt.”

“I don’t know. It sounded like a plant to me.”

She was getting under my skin, but it was my own fault. I was the one who brought her backstage and showed her all the ropes and pulleys. I’d hoped that Madison’s new enlightenment would make her less cynical, not more so. Either I was failing her as a mentor or she was just too damn young to cross the curtain. This was a problem I’d have to address.

At 6:53, something happened. Larry paused, expressionless, as he listened to his producers through his earpiece. You’d never tell from his level face that he had a heavy decision to make and a split second in which to make it. But he was a seasoned veteran of the business. In retrospect, he did what any broadcaster would have done. And there were consequences for others—lots of consequences for lots of others—that he couldn’t have possibly known about.

He simply and innocently introduced the final caller as “Los Angeles, California.”

Harmony, hello. Before you react, I just want you to know that this isn’t an ambush, okay? I’m not calling to attack you. It’s just that you and I both have a lot invested in this, and I wanted to talk to you, straight up, woman to woman
.

Harmony didn’t recognize the voice. She’d only heard it once before. Alonso had never heard it at all. I, however, pegged it immediately. That put my surprise about nine seconds ahead of everyone else’s.

“Oh goddamn it…”

Madison looked to me. “What? Who is it?”

Larry asked the caller to identify herself.
Who is this?

“It’s his wife,” I said.

“Whose wife?”

I’m the wife of the man you’re accusing of rape. My name is Simba Shange
.

A thousand alarms went off in my mind. A thousand dark angles were analyzed and explored. Behind each and every one of them, unfortunately, was Maxina.

“You didn’t know about this?”

I shook my head, wide-eyed. “Not one bit.”

Neither had Alonso. He’d done a marvelous job keeping quiet, but now it was time for the airbag to go off. He became quite vocal with his objections, drowning both Simba and Larry in chaotic crosstalk. Harmony merely gazed out at the cameras, at me, with a helpless expression.
Scott, what do I do?

Alonso continued to bury Simba in his own stir. Absolutely not! This is not appropriate! This is tantamount to harassment! I will not have my client harassed!

Madison shot forward. “God, shut the lawyer up!”

Harmony, you better tell your lawyer to shut up, or I won’t just talk, I’ll sing
.

That shut him up. Her veiled threat made us both go slack. This couldn’t have been Maxina’s work. Maxina would have kept her a mile away from a very dangerous comment like that.

Look, Harmony, I know all the things you know. I know what you’re doing. I know why you’re doing it. And I don’t blame you one bit. You had all these smart, slick people telling you that everything’s gonna work out great for everyone, especially you. But they’re misleading you, Harmony. They’re using you for their own agendas, and none of them give a damn about you or my husband
.

Madison held my arm. “What is she talking about?”

Larry asked the same question, but they were both ignored. The camera was fixed on a tight shot of Harmony. It was just her face reacting to Simba’s voice. Both were starting to crack.

It only took you a few days to become famous. It took Jeremy years. He had to work through years of setbacks and disappointments, but he made it past all of them. But now everything he’s ever worked for is being undone because everyone thinks he hurt you
.

Harmony covered her mouth with a trembling hand. Now both women were crying.

You’re killing him, Harmony. Nobody told you, but I’m telling you now. You’re killing our whole family and I’m asking you to stop
.

Harmony’s wet face was being beamed out through 21 satellites, to 212 countries, into Lord only knew how many television sets. There was no true way to measure the number of people watching her from their homes and dorms, from the bars and hotels, the hospitals, the airports. There was no way to measure
how
people watched her, whether their jaws hung slack or their hands touched their mouths. And there would never be a way to know what people were thinking as they saw Harmony’s tears fall live on global TV. I could only guess. I could only assume they were all watching, thinking, and talking just like Madison.

“Oh my God. She’s going to confess...”

The people in the loop—and there was no way of counting them anymore—were all dealing with heavier thoughts. What if she confesses everything? What if she sinks the whole ship? What if she tells the world that she was really working for Hunta, Mean World, Interscope, Universal, Vivendi, the RIAA, Maxina Howard and Scott Singer? Oh please, God. Please, Harmony. Don’t take us down with you.

That thought was running strong in my head, but I was also on the other side of the issue, with Harmony’s roommates and bodyguards, her admirers and well-wishers, rape victims and rap bashers alike. I was praying right along with them. Oh please, God. Please, Harmony. Don’t do it. Don’t go down at all. You keep going. You keep going.

I’m begging you to stop, Harmony
.

At long last, Harmony uttered something, but it came out as wet air. She bowed her head, still choking back sobs. Whatever she said was so low that even her collar mike didn’t pick it up.

“What did she say?” Madison asked.

“She said something. I couldn’t hear it.”

Larry leaned in closer.
Harmony, what did you just say?

She lifted her head again. Despite her red and puffy eyes, there was a sharpness to her expression, a hard contempt I hadn’t seen since the ghost of her old self glared at me from a four-year-old documentary.