Jennie
My cell had been on silent since before we even left for Bimini. Periodically throughout the day, I'd check it to make sure there wasn't anything vital I needed to reply to—aside from responding to the texts from my family and Jiminie. I kept it in my purse on the far side of the bedroom, away from my line of vision, ensuring I wouldn't be distracted by the notifications.
But something woke me up at two in the morning, and it wasn't my quieted phone or the breeze coming in through the open balcony or the feel of Lisa's arms around me. It was something in my gut, telling me I needed to look at my phone.
And it was strong enough to make me rise out of bed and hurry across the room.
Irene: I need to talk to you. It's important. Whenever you see this, call me. I don't care what time it is.
Since Lisa was still asleep, I walked into the living room and out to the back porch, taking a seat in one of the large, overstuffed chairs that faced the ocean.
The way she had worded the text caused so many questions, each of them circling, nagging, tightening my body from the inside.
I didn't like the feeling in my stomach.
What could you possibly want, Irene?
Lisa would tell me not to call her, that she had already done enough. I was in the Bahamas to stop hurting, and all she did was cause pain.
But she wasn't out here.
And she wasn't related to my sister.
With tension pounding through my muscles, my hands slightly shaking, I found her number in my Contacts and held the phone up to my ear while it rang.
She answered, "Hi."
Her tone was ice, as though she were in the middle of something much more important than me.
I shouldn't have been surprised.
But still ... I was.
"Hey, Irene. I just got your text. I know it's late—I guess not as late there as it is here."
"Here?" she asked. "You're not in LA?"
"No."
She cleared her throat. "I'm not shocked you fled. I mean, the entire world is talking about you right now and saying—"
"Irene," I interrupted, not needing the recap, "you asked me to call. What is it that you want to tell me?"
She sighed. "I'm sure your attorney girlfriend is going to be investigating, so I thought I'd throw you a bone."
My stomach clenched, the knots inside grinding together. "Okay."
"I was at a bar a few weeks back, hanging, whatever, and after a couple drinks, this guy started telling me he works for Happy Lite—you know, the studio that owns Glitzy Girls."
Our perfect dinner began to churn in my stomach.
"Well, come to find out, he works in the studio's editing room. How ironic, right? And he has access to all the shows and their footage and yada, yada, yada."
I could sense where this was heading, and I suddenly felt like I was on fire, my lungs screaming to breathe, so I stood and paced the patio.
"The next thing I knew, we were on a date, and he asked about you. I told him the truth—how you wronged me, how you shouldn't be my competition but that you were ruining everything for me. How you took the team I'd worked so hard for, the team I deserved—not you."
