The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara

Three

The trip to Vermont is tedious and long. Still, we both survive, despite stopping somewhere in Massachusetts to grab fast food, which proves to be a bad idea, as I end up with a nasty stomachache. Also, I wish he’d let me drive. I forgot what an aggressive driver he is, and I end up spending most of the six hours there clutching my seat. The only positive thing of the whole drive is seeing a woman truck driver at the fast food stop and coming up with a cute little story about her.

In the morning, I’m sitting in the inn’s lobby, putting the finishing touches on the truck driver’s story in my notebook. I usually write longhand and then transcribe to my laptop.

Mason is out somewhere, undoubtedly charming a poor, unsuspecting woman. When my phone rings and it’s a local number, my immediate thought is that he got into trouble. Hope I don’t have to bail him out of jail or something. “Ms. Maas?” It’s Nakamura’s publicist. “Mr. Nakamura can’t do the interview this evening, but if you can get to his house at ten-thirty, I’ll try to get you in. I’ll call to confirm.”

This is perfect. I text Mason with the good news and twenty minutes later, we’re parked in front of the iron gate that protects the author’s massive property in Stowe.

“We’re early, so I’m going to make a call,” I say, getting out of the car.

“Alisa, I need your help,” I say the moment she picks up.

Alisa is my best friend. We met because we lived in adjacent rooms on the college campus, and we got close because we were both English majors who shared a passion for collecting old books. We got along well but didn’t become what we are today until after graduation when I ran into her in New York City one day.

I was in my early days with David and she was living with her now ex, Sebastian, who I knew from school. When I saw her that day, she was crying, so I asked her to join me for coffee and didn’t give up until she told me what was wrong, despite her reticence. I found out Sebastian was emotionally abusive, he was gaslighting her, and she was slowly losing her grip on reality. I basically forced her to leave him, took her in and made sure she didn’t go back to him. Although she tried a few times. Back then, Alisa was working as a junior editor at a publishing house in the city. When she told me about an opening for a paid internship in London, a few months later, I encouraged—read: bugged her—to take it. A fresh start she needed and deserved.

Ever since then we’ve been bound together by more than just our love of words and books. The distance didn’t ruin our relationship, it made it stronger. The only problem we have is the time difference, but we make it work.

Alisa is now a senior commissioning editor and is in love with a wonderful man who adores her. I’d say everything worked out for her—just as I hoped it would when I wrote the story of Alisa’s amazing adventures in London. Even better than my story.

“How’s California? Bright and sunny?” she asks. “Send me a photo.”

“I’m not in California. Sorry, I meant to call you last night, but it was chaotic. I’m in Vermont on a last-minute assignment from Janice.”

“What about your plans? Why do you let her push you around, Maya?”

“This is a big one, Alisa. I get to talk to Nakamura.”

“It was about time you got a good one,” she says and I’m thankful she knows who I’m talking about, and I don’t have to explain.

“Yes. I’m in front of his house. That’s why I need you, and I don’t have much time.”

“Oh, sorry. Yes. What can I do?”

“I need you to go online and find me a ticket for tonight from NY to SF. I don’t have time to do research now and I’m afraid it’ll be too late when I finish here. Please.”

“So, you’re still going?”

“I am, yes.”

Alisa is not a big fan of David, and I know she’s thinking I’m trying too hard.

“OK, then. I’ll do it and send you the details.”

“Thank you. You’re the best!”

“Take care and good luck with Nakamura. I heard he’s difficult.”

“I hope not,” I say, and she laughs.

I hang up when Mason bangs on the car window, showing me the watch. It’s ten-thirty.

I press the buzzer. Nothing. I try again. No answer.

“I don’t think he’s here,” I say as Mason gets his gear out of the car.

“Let’s just wait then,” he grumbles.

And we do. For an hour. Then another two. It’s one-thirty already.

We go back to the car because our feet hurt from all the standing around and I call the publicist several times, but when she doesn’t answer, I leave voicemails.

“What are we going to do?” I ask, panicking when I see it’s already 2 PM.

Mason shrugs. A bomb could be dropping next to us and he would still be unfazed.

“I don’t know, but you should think of something and fast. If we go back without an interview, we’ll both lose our jobs.”

“No, we won’t,” I say. “That’s ridiculous. It’s not our fault.”

“I’m not even surprised by this. The guy is impossible. I heard he hung up on Janice.”

Alisa was right. “You think she knew what we were in for?” I asked.

“For sure. Why do you think Janice gave you this assignment? Out of the goodness of her heart? That’s why she didn’t come. She doesn’t like dealing with difficult people.”

“If Janice knows how he is, she won’t hold it against us.”

“Dream on!” he says, continuing to play on his phone.

Another thirty minutes.

At one point, a black limousine pulls past us as the iron gates open. I jump out of the car and run toward it, with Mason behind me, but it continues up the driveway and the gates close.

A man gets out and I immediately recognize him from the photo I have.

“Mr. Nakamura. Mr. Nakamura,” I say, the second time louder.

He doesn’t even turn around to look at me.

“We’re from Brooklyn Times. We had an interview scheduled for today.”

He finally turns. “No comment.”

“No comment?” I repeat quietly. What does that even mean? “We drove all the way from New York. Please, we won’t take long,” I say, my voice barely audible.

“No comment,” he says again as he walks inside the house.

I wish I could be more combative. I turn to Mason. “Say something.”

“What do you want me to say? I’m just the camera guy; you’re the reporter.”

Nakamura disappears inside just as my phone rings. It’s his publicist and I tell her what just happened. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience. Let me talk to him,” she says kindly. She sounds like a nice woman. I wonder what her life is like, having to deal with this man regularly. Being a brilliant author doesn’t give him the right to treat people this way.

She calls back an hour later, by which point I’m hungry, cold, and I’m getting desperate.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I just found out he took an interview with another publication.”

My jaw drops.

“What other publication? When?”

“This morning, apparently. New York Lifestyle.”

Mason gives me an ‘I told you so’ look. “I’d say revamp that résumé.”

“I’m sure Janice will understand,” I say, trying to be hopeful.

She doesn’t. When we call, Janice’s reaction is one of the most violent, profanity-filled monologues I’ve ever had the displeasure of hearing. She calls us incapable, lazy, and as far away from journalists as she’s ever seen. She tells us we’re fired, and we owe her for the gas, accommodation and meals for this ‘useless’ trip.

A bit dazed by this new development, I get in the car, and we drive back to New York. When Mason starts telling me all about his freelancing plans and how this is a blessing in disguise, I turn on the radio. Not now, Mason.

We’re minutes from my house when I notice the text Alisa sent. She booked me on the last flight of the night, and I realize that I shouldn’t let losing my job ruin this for me. The surprise. My birthday. California.