Getting Even Read online

  “I don’t believe you did that,” Annie said.

  “Did what?” Murray asked.

  “Acted like it was because of you she’s gotten that audition,” Annie told him. “You wouldn’t go hear her sing, I had to do that, and you said that Boston Morning won’t take your phone calls, so I had to make the call, and then you don’t even mention me. You took all the credit for something I did.”

  “I said I pulled some strings,” Murray replied. “And I did. I pulled your strings.”

  “That’s not fair!” Annie shouted at him.

  “Fair?” Murray said. “What does fair have to do with this? You want I should tell this man, one of my biggest clients, that I sent some high school kid to hear his most precious sing, and that she’s the one who called Boston Morning, because she has more connections there than I do?”

  “You didn’t have to put it quite that way,” Annie said. “But I deserve some credit.”

  “You want credit, here’s credit,” Murray said. “Thank you, Anne. You want me to give you a standing ovation while I’m at it?”

  “I don’t believe you,” Annie said. “You think it was easy for me to make that phone call? You think I wanted to make it? I did it because you practically begged me to.”

  “You did it because it was part of your job to do it,” Murray declared. “Just like it’s part of my job to call my client and tell him the good news. In the way I think is most appropriate. Now don’t act like a baby. Act like a grownup.”

  “Don’t say that to me. I don’t think what you did was appropriate at all,” Annie said.

  “Let me tell you something, young lady,” Murray said. “You are one smart girl, and you’re going to go far in this world. But there’s a lot you don’t understand about the public relations business. The idea is to make your client feel happy. That’s what it all comes down to, making the client happy. And you do that by making him think he’s the most important person in your life. You coddle him, and you praise him, and you act as though your entire universe revolves around him. And the best way of giving that impression is not by saying some high school kid made a phone call for you. I said I pulled some strings, and as far as I’m concerned that’s exactly what I did. So what are you complaining about?”

  “I’m complaining because I did all the work and got none of the credit,” Annie said. “I don’t mind working for practically nothing, or even giving up a Saturday night to see someone you’re too embarrassed to take your wife to see. But at least give me credit where credit is due.”

  “Thank you, Anne,” Murray said. “That’s your credit. Keep up the good work, and someday this will be Levine and Powell Associates. Does that satisfy you?”

  “No,” Annie replied. “I don’t care to wait that long. I don’t like being treated this way.”

  “Honestly, you’re overreacting,” Murray said.

  “I’m not,” Annie said. She got up and grabbed her bag.

  “Where are you going?” Murray asked.

  “Away,” Annie said. “As far away as I can manage.”

  “Fine,” Murray said. “And don’t be in any hurry to come back.”

  “I wouldn’t come back for all the tea in China,” Annie declared, and threw her jacket over her shoulder. “See you around, Murray.”

  “Right, Madam Bigshot,” Murray said.

  Annie resisted the temptation to stick her tongue out at him and ran from the office. She couldn’t believe what a nightmare her life was turning into. Why couldn’t Murray treat her with just a little respect? She’d done what he asked her to do, what he couldn’t do himself, and all he did was say he’d pulled her strings.

  It was no wonder Murray was hiring high school and college “associates.” The amazing thing was that anyone stayed with him for any time at all. Annie had been there for almost a month, and she was probably the record holder.

  By the time she got home, she was shaking. The only thing she wanted was to be alone, preferably for the rest of her life. Naturally, her father was sitting in the livingroom, reading the paper, looking as if he had all the time in the world to kill.

  “Hi, Annie,” he said. “Aren’t you home early?”

  “What if I am,” Annie said. “You mind?”

  “No, of course not,” her father replied. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing’s up,” she said. “Everything’s down, if you really want to know.”

  “Want to tell me about it?” he said, and cleared a space on the sofa for Annie to join him.

  “It’s Murray,” Annie said. “I called Stacy Livingston at Boston Morning and I was really nervous about it, but she remembered me, and I recommended the singer, and she said she’d give her an audition.”

  “Because you recommended her?” Annie’s father asked.

  “A couple of other people did too,” Annie replied.

  “Oh, all right,” her father said. “I would have been surprised if she went on your word alone.”

  “Why?” Annie asked. “Why would that surprise you?”

  “No reason,” her father said.

  “Come on,” Annie demanded. “You said it, you must have had a reason. What is it?”

  “It’s just you’re a teenager, that’s all,” her father replied. “It has nothing to do with you. So what did Murray do when you told him about the audition?”

  “He took all the credit for it,” Annie said. “He called up his client, and he never once mentioned me, and he acted as though he’d discovered Barbara Sullivan all on his own, and he never even heard her sing. I did it all, and he took all the credit, and he wouldn’t even tell me he was sorry.”

  “You didn’t really expect him to, did you?” Annie’s father asked.

  “Expect him to do what?” Annie asked.

  “To give you credit,” her father said. “To apologize for not giving you credit.”

  “Yes,” Annie said. “Sure. Of course I expect him to do that.”

  “That’s not the way the real world operates,” her father declared. “In the real world, the workers work, and the bosses take the credit. And they certainly don’t apologize for it. Someday, you’ll be old enough to understand.”

  “I understand already,” Annie told him. “I’m not a child, Father. I did spend a summer working in New York.”

  “If you can call that work,” he replied.

  “What do you mean by that?” Annie asked. “What do you think it was?”

  “You girls were treated like gold. Sure, they made you run around the office, and carry manuscripts, but they didn’t give you any real responsibility. It was make-believe work,” her father said.

  “You weren’t there,” Annie retorted. “How come you think you know what it was like when you weren’t even there.”

  “I’ve heard what you told me,” her father said. “And frankly, while I think you had a wonderful time, and the people at Image obviously knew what they were doing with the four of you, they clearly didn’t turn you into professionals. That wasn’t their intention. You had a good time, you got to meet some interesting people, you got a glimpse of what’s involved in putting a magazine together, and you got your picture taken. Fine, but it’s not the real world.”

  “You’re always doing that,” Annie said. “Do you know it?”

  “Doing what?” her father asked.

  “Putting me down,” Annie replied. “Thinking that if I’m involved with something then it can’t be worth very much.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” her father said. “That’s simply not true, and you know it.”

  “It is too true,” Annie said. “If you ever listened to yourself, you’d know it. You’re always telling me that people aren’t going to remember me, or that I’m not going to get to be on the TV show, or that Chris isn’t going to show up for our date. Now you’re saying that an internship at Image, which thousands of girls applied for, wasn’t worth very much either. I remember when I applied for it, you told me I’d never never make it to the f
irst cut, and then when I did, you said I certainly wouldn’t get it because that was when the real competition was going to happen and there were thousands of girls all over the United States with real credentials. That’s exactly the term you used, real credentials, as though mine were fake somehow. And when they did accept me, you told me not to get my hopes up that they’d put me on the cover …”

  “Well, I was right about that one at least,” her father said, trying a chuckle.

  “You had no way of knowing,” Annie said. “You just assumed it because I was the one involved. If it’s me then it can’t be special. Is that how you think, Dad? That somehow I’m not special enough for people to remember me, or want to be with me?”

  “No, of course not,” her father replied. “Of course you’re special, Annie. You’re a beautiful girl, and I’m very proud of you.”

  “Sure you are, Dad,” Annie said. “Just as long as I don’t expect too much of the world, I’m special. The minute I go after something, though, or the minute the world acts like maybe I am worth something, you act like nothing good is ever going to happen to me, and if it does, it has nothing to do with me. I’m sick of it, Dad. I’m sick of the way you talk about me. I’m sick of your entire goddamn attitude.”

  “I don’t think you’re being fair,” her father said. “And when you calm down, I think you’ll see you owe me an apology.”

  “Don’t wait up for it,” Annie declared, rising from the sofa.

  There was the sound of a key at the door, and as Annie stood there, staring angrily at her father, her mother walked in. “Hi there,” she said, with the cheery sound of someone who has no idea of what she’s walked into. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” Annie said angrily. “Absolutely nothing.” She stormed out of the livingroom and raced upstairs to her room, before she had a chance to say anything to her mother that would kill their relationship as effectively as she’d killed her relationships with Torey, Chris, Murray, and her father.

  Chapter 13

  “And that’s the whole story,” Annie said to her grandmother Saturday evening. “It started with me being angry at Mrs. King, and ends with Torey and Chris and Murray all angry at me.”

  “And what about your father?” her grandmother asked.

  Annie shrugged her shoulders. “He’s angry too,” she said. “We’re still speaking, which is more than I can say about anyone else right now. But we haven’t talked about our fight. Mostly we just grunt.”

  “I noticed you didn’t say much to Robin either,” her grandmother pointed out.

  “I’m scared to,” Annie said. “That’s the truth. I’m afraid whatever I’ll say will be the wrong thing. And I know she’s here mostly to see Tim, and I’m afraid if I say anything about that, she’ll think I’m offended or something, and then we’ll end up getting into a fight, and that’s the last thing I want right now. So I figured I’d keep quiet, at least until I had a chance to talk things over with you. What have I been doing wrong? I mean, I know I must be doing something, since everybody’s mad at me, and I’m mad at everybody right back. But I can’t figure out what I’m supposed to do about it.”

  “Ah,” her grandmother said. “You want me to solve all your problems.”

  “I wish you would,” Annie replied. “I reread Make Your Anger Work for You three times, but it didn’t have the right answers anymore. Besides, solving problems is the function of grandmothers.”

  “If it is, I wouldn’t mind a grandmother of my own,” Annie’s grandmother declared.

  Annie smiled. Her grandmother was terrific. She wasn’t the sit-at-home-and-bake-cookies sort of grandmother, and when Annie was a kid, she’d almost been jealous of kids with more traditional grandmothers. But now that she was older, she couldn’t imagine a better sort of grandmother. She remembered Torey’s description, the grandmother with the swimming pool, and felt bad all over again.

  “So, Nana,” Annie said. “What’s the solution?”

  “To the crisis in the Middle East?” her grandmother replied.

  “To my crisis,” Annie said.

  “That you have to figure out for yourself,” her grandmother declared. “I can only solve international crises, not personal ones.”

  “Do you think I should just go back and grovel?” Annie asked. “Make nicey-nice with everybody until they forgive me?”

  “Do you?” her grandmother asked.

  Annie made a face. “It’s not my style,” she said.

  “What is your style?” her grandmother asked.

  “I’m not sure anymore,” Annie said. “I’ve been through so many changes in the past few months. Last year, I probably would have just put up with all of it, accepted the assistant editorship, never fought with Dad, just let Chris and Torey say whatever they wanted to me. But that was before Image.”

  “And Murray?” her grandmother said. “How would you have behaved with him before Image?”

  “Like he was a grownup, and I was a kid,” Annie said.

  “And how did you behave with him?”

  “Like he was a grownup and I was a kid,” Annie said, and she smiled. “Only instead of being respectful, the way I used to be, I was petulant. He didn’t give me what I wanted so I had a temper tantrum.”

  “You were always great on tantrums,” her grandmother declared. “You threw one in a supermarket once when you were four years old. I’m amazed I’m still speaking to you.”

  “I’m glad you are,” Annie said. “I wish Murray were.”

  “He might be,” her grandmother replied. “I am, after all. Murray sounds like a man who likes to have protégées. He lives through the success of other people. It’s as important to him as his own. People like that can usually put up with temper tantrums fairly well.”

  “He told me once he likes his temperamental clients best,” Annie said. “And he does like to scream a lot.”

  “Do you feel as if you’ve learned everything you can from him?” her grandmother asked.

  Annie shook her head immediately. “Absolutely not,” she declared.

  “And do you want to go on working for him?”

  “Very much,” Annie said. “Enough to call him up when I get back and see where things are between us. I was unfair to him. I can see that now. Half the reason I got so mad at him was that I was mad at Torey and Chris. And at myself for not knowing how to handle Torey and Chris. And then I took it out on Dad too. Nana, I’ve made an awful mess of things.”

  “Life is like that,” her grandmother declared. “A very messy business. If it weren’t, we’d all be bored and grandmothers would be out of business.”

  Annie laughed. “We’re on a roll here,” she said. “Do you want to tell me what to do about Dad now.”

  “I’m not telling you anything,” her grandmother said. “Except the things you know; for instance, that your father loves you very much.”

  “I love him too,” Annie said.

  “Enough to have a serious conversation with him?” her grandmother asked. “No screaming, just talking and listening?”

  “You’re asking a lot,” Annie said. “But it’s worth a try.”

  Her grandmother nodded. “Boyfriends, girlfriends, bosses, they come and go,” she declared. “Fathers you’re stuck with. They’re worth the extra effort.”

  “I haven’t been real good at extra effort lately,” Annie said. “Everything happened all at once, you know? School, and then the job, and Chris. And I’m still trying to hold on to last summer, not lose Torey and Ashley and what I was at Image. And I’m so impatient to get on with things, finish with high school, see what college is like, make new friends. I want everything, Nana.”

  “Welcome to the club,” her grandmother said.

  Annie thought for a moment. “I owe Mrs. King a thank you,” she said. “Although I won’t tell her, because she’d misinterpret it. But she was right. I did lose my amateur standing last summer. If I’d gotten the editorship, it wouldn’t have been enough to satisfy m
e, and I wouldn’t have known why I was unhappy all year long. I would have wanted more than the paper could give me. I’m real good at that, wanting more than what’s available. It wasn’t enough for me to see you and Robin, Tim too, for that matter. I wanted Torey here as well. And when I didn’t get my own way, I had another dumb tantrum.”

  “You sound as if you’re describing Ashley,” her grandmother said.

  “I do, don’t I,” Annie said. “Only Ashley has her tantrums on motorcycles. I have mine standing still.”

  “Good,” her grandmother said. “Keep it that way, please. I have always wanted to be a great grandmother.”

  Annie laughed. “I’ll do my best,” she promised. “I’ve spent so much of this year trying to get even, that I’ve lost track of all the things I really want. I do sound like Ashley, don’t I.”

  “Do you want to talk to Ashley?” her grandmother asked.

  “I’d love to,” Annie said. “How did you know?”

  “Psychic powers,” her grandmother replied. “Besides, problems with contemporaries are best discussed with contemporaries. So call her.”

  “It’s long distance,” Annie said.

  “So you’ll be forever in my debt,” her grandmother said.

  “I already am,” Annie said, and as she got up, she gave her grandmother a big kiss. “I’ll name my first three children after you.”

  “Not in my lifetime, you won’t,” her grandmother said.

  “All right then, I’ll dedicate my first Pulitzer Prize to you instead,” Annie said. “Satisfied?”

  Her grandmother nodded. “Remarkably satisfied,” she replied. “Now make that phone call.”

  So Annie did. She went through the suspense of hearing the phone ring several times before someone picked it up and assured her that Ashley was indeed in.