CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ALY
Every time they humiliated her, called her a thief, laughed at the way she pronounced a word, she raised that determined chin and gathered it up into the fire she had inside her. Then she used it when the cameras turned on to burn them all down.
From the journal of Oscar Seth
That was really good, Aly!” Praise from Joyce landed on Aly as it always did. Like droplets landing in the dry well that was Aly’s need for approval.
Aly knew she was not lacking in love. Cullie, Bindu, Radha: that love was deep and solid. Then why she’d let herself turn Joyce into the echoes of her mother, she had no idea. Why did human beings need love from where they wanted it rather than from where they were getting it?
Aly thanked Joyce. She’d reported on a frog farm that a family was cultivating in their backyard. The family’s dog had almost taken a chunk out of Aly’s calf, but other than that it had been as mundane a story as a reporter could find. It was, in fact, the nth in a line of mundane stories Joyce had been assigning to her.
Punishment for putting her in a corner with Meryl? Who knew. But if this was the price for getting in that interviewer’s chair, she’d pay it.
After Aly had tried to be okay with letting the interview go, Cullie and Bindu were so disappointed in her for even considering it that she was unable to do it. So she’d written a show plan so perfect, even Joyce had been unable to do her usual This is nice, but Jess will get more eyes on your work.
Not only were Aly’s production notes impeccable as ever, but she’d taken extra care to make sure her interview questions were based on her deep understanding of Meryl’s work—something neither Bob nor Jess could claim. Then she’d straight-out begged Joyce to let her do the interview. Joyce hadn’t said yes. But she hadn’t said no either. It helped that Joyce had not been able to make contact with Meryl’s team for the interview.
The pride Aly felt at fighting for it bordered on sinful, but she wasn’t Karen Menezes, so she reveled in it. The idea of letting someone else use her hard work yet again made her sick to her stomach.
This time she had Joyce by her Meryl-loving ta-tas. Joyce had been “working through things with the sponsors” for weeks while Aly waited patiently, because it was a concession she’d never before made.
“We can’t mess up the Meryl interview,” Joyce said as Aly followed her to her office after they’d watched some footage in the war room. “Our ratings have been dismal this past month.”
The Chihuly piece had garnered almost no views. Which was surprising because Slimy Bob’s niece was even more adorable on camera than they’d expected. That was the audience today. A snoring dog got millions of views, and news channels struggled. No one knew how to crack that code. Aly had worked on a piece last week on fifteen-year-old twins who had become Instagram influencers with two million followers by tasting tacos around the Miami area.
Jess had done the interview. The teenagers had been impressive, giving tips on how to become “voices that people connected to” with heart-tugging earnestness. But really, the only wisdom about something going viral that you could confidently dispense as a tip was that it was entirely random.
“A Meryl Streep interview should fix that,” Aly said with a goodly amount of smugness. Even as blasts of quick and fickle obsession rolled through the mass consciousness in endless waves, real art still held. A parallel stream of the world’s consciousness still worshipped talent.
“Good job on that too,” Joyce said. “That should sustain us for a few months. But we still need programming that keeps bringing viewers in.” Then she brightened. “The initial reaction to the ads we’ve run about a new entertainment segment has been encouraging. We have a new ad hinting at the Meryl interview. I want you to see it.”
Aly’s heart felt like it was going to explode in her chest. She looked over Joyce’s shoulder at her computer, trying to contain the urge to bounce on her heels.
The first thing that flashed on the screen was a close-up shot of Richard Langley, staring at the camera with soulful sadness for the injustices in the world.
Mysterious Death of Florida’s Favorite Literary Star Tainted by Scandal about Estate
It had been almost three weeks since Richard’s death, and the media had done some nice obituaries and not covered it more than that. But this headline meant Richard’s family was still hoping to make trouble about the will.
Joyce made a frustrated sound. “Don’t you just want to kick all men in the balls sometimes?” The bitterness in her voice was deeper than usual. “Did you know I was married to this asshole?”
What? No, Aly most definitely did not know that.
“My first husband. I met him in grad school, when he taught a class at Columbia as an adjunct. He’s John’s father. As narcissistic as they come. He left all his wealth to his last hussy.”
Shit! Shit! Shit!
Joyce’s older son was named John Langley. Somewhere in the far reaches of Aly’s mind, she’d known this. She made a strangled sound.
“Aly, you okay? Do you need to sit down?”
Aly shook her head.
“I wish I could get my hands on that woman. How can someone have such little self-respect?” Joyce said, filled with indignation. Before she’d married her current husband, they’d had an affair for two years while he was still married to someone else. “Seriously, Aly, are you okay? I’m sorry. Did Ashish cheat? Is this triggering you?” She looked around as though the lawsuit Aly might bring for being triggered in the workplace was hiding in a corner.
“Ashish never cheated,” Aly said. There were a million ways to betray someone. Cheating was only one of them. All the same, Ashish had been unflinchingly faithful.
Joyce made a scoffing sound. “Well, fidelity is such an archaic construct. I don’t care that Richard was a serial cheater. But you don’t do that to your children. You don’t steal their legacy from them. It’s a good thing this woman is hiding. Because when this story comes out, she’s going to regret stealing from a man Florida worships.”
With a fierce click she closed out of the news piece and opened the promotional video.
Vignettes of Meryl Streep in her most iconic roles flashed across the screen. A voice-over Aly had recorded boasted about having their town graced by Meryl’s glorious presence. Then Aly flashed on the screen—Aly Menezes Desai, anchor of the new segment Weekend Plans with Aly Menezes Desai.
“It’s just a concept,” Joyce said.
But Aly didn’t care. It was everything.
For the rest of the day, Aly had to work hard not to think about Richard and Bindu. At least Leslie was protecting Bindu and keeping her anonymous.
The last thing Aly was in the mood for was a date. But she’d set it up, and she wasn’t about to let Cullie down. At exactly six o’clock Cullie pulled up in front of the SFLN building to give Aly a ride. She’d been using Aly’s car and working on her app at a coffee shop near Aly’s office. There was something strange yet cute about having her daughter drive Aly to her date. A throwback to when she’d driven Cullie around.
One part of Aly wished Cullie had picked something else to use her coding skills for. The other part wanted to believe that finding someone to be with was as simple as finding your relationship personality on a sliding scale and then matching it with someone.