Professor Feelgood (Page 73)

“It’s always been you, Asha. How do you not know that by now?”

I’m trying to piece everything together in my mind, but I can’t. “So, the travel … Ingrid … the poems didn’t start until after her.”

“I left Brooklyn to get away from you, but I was an idiot thinking I could outrun how I felt. Instead of pining for you here, I sat in front of the Taj Mahal and did it. I stared out from the top of the Eiffel Tower and wanted to show you the view. I longed for you on every continent, in front of every piece of art that made me grateful for life. But it all ended up meaning nothing without you there to share it.”

He gestures to the crumpled note on the desk. “And then I met Ingrid, and I thought, my God, finally. A woman who might be able to take your place in my heart. And I tried with her. I did everything in my power to give her just one small piece of myself. But it was no use. You owned me. All of me.”

Everything is clicking into place in stages, but none of it makes me feel better.

“All this time I believed she was your soul mate and I was your second choice. Do you have any idea how that made me feel?”

He comes toward me cautiously. “Ash, I never wanted to hurt you. That was the last thing I intended. Haven’t you ever gotten yourself into a lie so deep, you didn’t know how to get out? I sat in front of you and your bosses and spun a whole mess of crap about Ingrid. And then I had to continue it, because I knew that if I admitted what I’d done, you would have looked at me like you’re doing right now. Disbelief. A little disgust.” He takes my hands. “I’m so sorry. I hate that I deceived you.”

I pull away, too angry to be touched. “Not just me, Jake. Everyone. We all bought your story. Your fans literally bought it. You sold us all a lie. And I look like the biggest idiot of all, because you’re the person I thought I knew everything about. No one is going to believe I wasn’t in on it. My reputation will be dragged through the mud along with yours.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. This is all on me.”

“No, it’s not, Jake. That’s the problem. This is on all of us. Every single person at Whiplash. This book was supposed to revive our failing company. You were going to be our savior. There are hundreds of thousands of pre-orders all over the country, and now … all of that is trashed.”

“What if we change Ingrid’s name? Make her a fictional character.”

I sit in the chair behind the desk and drop my head into my hands. “The reason this book has gotten so much buzz is because everyone thinks it’s auto-biographical. There are a million fictional romances out there. This one was supposed to be the real deal. If someone finds out it’s fake, and they will, we’ll all be labelled frauds.”

We fall into silence, and I feel like we’re a high-wire duo who’s just come crashing to earth. Everything was going so well. The book. Us. And now I can’t see a way forward. Every mental path I try to go down rips us to shreds.

Jake puts his hands flat on the desk and looks at me. “There must be something we can do.”

“There is,” I say, tiredly. “I go to see Serena in the morning and tell her the truth. She’ll cancel your contract, order you to repay the advance, fire me, and then probably announce that Whiplash is closing its doors due to bankruptcy.”

Jake’s nostrils flare. “That’s not an acceptable outcome.”

“Well, that’s the only one I can foresee.”

“And what happens to you and me?”

I shake my head, unable to form cohesive thought about anything, least of all us. “I can’t even think about us right now.”

“Listen, Ash, I’m not going to let my stupid mistake ruin us or your career. I’m going to fix this.”

“How?”

He pulls out his phone and dials. “Still working that out. Leave it with me.” He heads out the doors, and as he goes, I hear, “Hey, Serena. It’s Jake Stone. We need to talk.”

I rub my eyes and roll my neck. I don’t see any way for this situation to be redeemed, no matter how confident Jake seems. If he can talk Serena into some sort of compromise, it will be a miracle.

I glance over at the ladder leading up to the attic space. The fairy lights are on, and they take me back to a simpler time, when my most complicated issue was whether to have an apple or grape juice box.

I walk over and scale the ladder, mindful that I’m a lot bigger than when I was here last. When I get to top, I smile despite my shitty mood. Not only does it look exactly as I remember it, but Jake must have spent time cleaning up and washing all the pillows and rugs, because I don’t think I’ve ever seen the place look so spotless. On the upturned trash can we used as a table, there’s a book. When I go pick it up, I see it our old dictionary, the one we found in Mrs. Garcia’s trash. I think about what Jake said, that every word needs another word to describe it. Right now, if there was an entry for “Jake and Asha” in there, the definition would be ‘totally and utterly fucked.’

I hate that he lied, and I hate that everything could go to hell because of it. What was he thinking? Did he really believe it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass one day?

Somewhere deep inside me there’s a tiny sliver of relief that I’m not his second choice after all, but right now, it’s buried beneath layers of anxiety and fear, not just for myself, but for all my friends who will lose their jobs if Jake doesn’t make things right.

I go over to the thick carpet in the middle of the space and lie down. Without thinking, I put my hands on my stomach and cross my ankles; our default pose for stargazing. I close my eyes and pretend none of this is happening. I’m in a faraway land, dozing under a starry sky, not a care in the world apart from juice boxes.

Below me, I can hear the low rumble of Jake talking on the phone, and by his volume and tone, I can tell he’s fighting hard. After a while, I hear the ladder creak, and then I feel the warmth of him lying beside me.

“Well?” I say, opening my eyes.

He gazes at the lights. “She’s pissed, understandably. As far as she’s concerned, the book is dead, but I convinced her to set up a meeting with her and Robert in the morning to discuss it further. If they delay the release date by a few months, I can deliver a totally new book.”

“Changing release dates is a major issue, Jake. Especially this far into the production schedule. I’ll go with you to the meeting.”

He turns to me. “No. This isn’t your screw up. It’s mine. And I’m going to fix it or die trying. I’m not failing you, Ash.”

He’s adamant enough that I believe he’s going to try, but I’m not confident enough to think he’ll succeed.

He goes back to looking at the lights, and I join him. It’s clear we’re both tense, but we’re hoping our old sanctuary will lend us some much-needed magic.

“So, you never thought you should mention to me that I’m your soul mate?” I ask.

“It’s not something that came up naturally in conversation. You didn’t tell me I was yours, either, even though I know damn well I am.”

“True.”

There’s a pause, then he says, “So many times during high school I almost told you how I felt. I almost knocked on your door in the middle of the night. Thought about climbing through your window. I almost gave you one of the dozens of letters I wrote in which I declared how stupidly and irrevocably in love with you I was. So many ‘almosts.’”