The Last Network - Chapter 11
Nichols P.I.
Em stepped into the Ivy, home of the $8 lemonade and the $25 salad. She hated this place. The shabby chic decor, the garish mismatched pillows, so many roses. If ever a room needed editing, it was the Ivy. The design was best described as grandma on acid which also summed up her lunch date, who had recently taken up micro-dosing.
Betsy Simmons was sitting in the corner at her usual table. She was the Doyenne of Doheny Drive. She was also Em’s godmother. Most of her time was spent reigning over afternoon mahjong, and trafficking in rumor and gossip.
Em walked across the room. Everyone ignored her but Betsy. Her eyes peered out from behind rose-colored glasses, sizing Em up, looking for changes since they last met. Any small clue that could open up an avenue of inquiry. Betsy couldn’t help it. She was wired this way and Em knew it. Before coming here, Em evaluated herself as Betsy would, making sure to wear no jewelry, light makeup, and the most minimal on-trend outfit she could find. Look just good enough to not make that the question, but no better, so that the focus would be on the task at hand.
Someone had spiked Em’s launch. Three months of hard work flushed down the toilet. She didn’t know who and she didn’t know why. The first step was establishing a motive. To understand why, she needed to better know who she was working for, and Betsy knew everything about everyone.
She was 72 and had buried three husbands already. She didn’t cultivate information or parse it out judiciously, she was a connector, a switchboard. To sit down with Betsy was to be at the source of every going on in town. The trick was to make sure that you had nothing to offer her, otherwise you’d leave having given up far more than you consumed.
Em knew this too well, which is why she was so careful in her appearance.
“Dear, you are so severe. You need to live a little,” Betsy said. She stirred her tea and offered Em a seat.
“I live through my work.”
“Don’t I know it. How come you only call when you need dirt on people?” She tapped her spoon twice against the cup for emphasis.
“What can I say? I’m a transactional person.”
“We all are, only most of us choose to fake it, so what’s this about?”
“I’ve been working on a product launch for a tech company, Peared. Neat product, brand new space, super sexy press angle...teleportation. This should have been a slam dunk. Only the night before launch, my embargoed exclusive drops out. She won’t tell me anything. I call my back up and tell them it’s theirs. They won’t touch it either. Something is fishy, only it’s too late for me to do anything about it. The next morning, I blast the press release out on the wire and then start making calls, looking for coverage. One journalist after another turns me down.”
“You got blacklisted.”
“Yes, but why?” Em sighed, her eyes to the ceiling, hands gripping the seat of her chair.
“So, that’s why you are here today. Okay, tell me whose company is it?”
“Oh child, not him.” Betsy shook her head. “Next time call before you start working for someone. I can save you a lot of trouble.”
“Why? It can’t be Frank Meyers.”
“No, it’s not Frank Meyers, and it’s not because he’s a prick. Even though both of those are true, neither are enough to cause something like this. Nadia Camiso is your reason.”
“Who is Nadia Camiso?”
“You mean who was Nadia Camiso.” Betsy blew on her tea and raised her eyebrows. She enjoyed delivering the news.
“She’s dead? Great.”
“Like so many others…Nadia went before her time and very poorly. A lot of people were upset at her passing.”
“And she was connected to Rabbit?”
“Yes. It was very complicated, downright ugly, actually. Normally I’d just give you the dirt, but this one is better heard from someone close to her. I’ll put you in touch with a friend that was involved. Now, it’s my turn. I want to talk about your love life.”