Brooklyn Monroe Wants It All by Karen Booth

Chapter Six

All hell had officially brokenloose, and Brooklyn was so stunned, she didn’t know how to label what she was feeling. Horror came to mind. Abject and complete horror.

“I’ll never be able to express how sorry I am.” Tom from the art department wrung his hands while standing in front of Brooklyn’s desk. The skin behind his wiry red eyebrows had gone crimson.

“It’s okay, Tom. Really,” Brooklyn said. Yes, she was miserable and embarrassed, but she didn’t want everyone else to be, too.

“Tell me again how this happened.” Virginia paced Brooklyn’s office like a military general in the war room.

“Will you two please sit down?” Brooklyn pled. “You’re both making me sick to my stomach.”

Virginia and Tom looked at each other and in unison, dropped into the chairs across from Brooklyn’s desk.

“So, yeah,” Tom started. “My new assistant has access to my work emails. I left the office early that day for a doctor’s appointment and she knew we were waiting for the final letter. So she did a copy and paste into the template and she never saw the LOL. She’s new. She didn’t know that Brooklyn and I like to goof around.”

Pranks were an occasional way to let off steam in the office. Two months after Tom started work at Posh Post, Brooklyn asked him if he’d organize a company-wide puppet show. She let him go so far as to design a flyer, then she had to tell him she was full of it.

“This is what you guys get for cracking jokes,” Virginia quipped.

“Thanks, Mom.” Brooklyn did not enjoy the inference that she was somehow insubordinate at her own company. Work was brutal and Tom never complained. He deserved a little bit of fun. “And by the way, you started it.”

“I never, ever thought you would do anything other than delete it. Immediately,” Virginia said.

“That’s not helpful right now. You’re not the one who’s getting emails from random guys asking if they can get you pregnant.”

“You wanted a baby. Maybe this will help,” Virginia said.

“Want a baby,” Brooklyn said. “And now thanks to the stupid postscript that you wrote, everyone in the world knows about it.”

Brooklyn’s assistant, Laurel, opened her door and poked her head inside. “I’m sorry to interrupt, and I know you told me to just take messages from the press, but Oprah’s on line one.”

“You have got to be kidding,” Brooklyn said. Her voice was all exasperation while her heart jumped at the prospect. She’d always secretly hoped Oprah would call her, but admittedly not for something like this.

“Okay. It’s not actually Oprah. It’s her production company. Close enough, right?” Laurel and Tom fist-bumped. “They didn’t seem to understand when I said you were busy. I think everyone takes their calls right away.”

“Tell them I’m getting a root canal and you’ll have to take a message.”

“Seriously?” Laurel added.

“No.” Virginia sprang out of her seat. “You have to take it. Talk to her. Explain why you did this.”

Brooklyn shot her sister a look. “Technically, I didn’t do anything. You did. And I’m not talking to anyone until we have a chance to figure this out.” She then turned her sights to Laurel. “Just go with the root canal. It’ll buy us a few hours.”

“Got it. And keep taking messages from everyone else?”

Brooklyn could just imagine the root canal story breaking out all over Twitter, and the subsequent accusations that she’d been neglecting oral hygiene, but she didn’t care at this point. “Sure.”

Laurel left and Virginia resumed her pacing. “We have to get out in front of this. It could sink Posh Male. That’s a huge initiative. Months of planning. Market research. Piles of money, down the tubes.”

The thought of that turned Brooklyn’s stomach again. She wouldn’t be able to eat anything today. This was the world’s worst diet, but it might end up being super effective. “My gut is telling me that we should wait for it to go away. Or at least die down. Let someone else do something stupid.”

Tom scrolled through this phone. “People on the internet are not being nice. They’re calling you desperate and pathetic.”

They’re not wrong. Her love for Prince came to mind, specifically the song Controversy—buzzing keyboards, a swinging bass line, the Lord’s prayer, and the underlying message that the world spent entirely too much time sticking its nose into other people’s business. “Mob mentality. That’s all that is.” No one in the room was acknowledging Brooklyn’s relative calm, which she was quite proud of. Of course, she was capable of putting on a good show. She’d done it countless times for her mother, who expected very little show of emotion. Even so, Brooklyn couldn’t avoid this feeling of impending doom. She had worked so hard to make Posh Post an unquestionable success. Even her mom pretended to be proud if she was asked about it in front of someone she wanted to impress. Was that all going to go away? Had she managed to sink the unsinkable?

“I still think we need to lead the narrative. Turn the story around. We should probably hire a PR firm that specializes in this,” Virginia said.

Brooklyn’s cell phone rang. She wasn’t about to answer it, but she did glance at the screen, and when she saw who was calling, her heart abruptly squeezed tight. Alec wasn’t the type to gloat, but he was the type to ignore their argument the other night and jump ahead to asking what in the hell she was doing. “I should probably take this. Can I get some privacy?”

Tom bolted for the door and Virginia reluctantly trailed behind him, adding a parting thought. “This isn’t over, Brooklyn. We can’t ignore it. I won’t ignore it.”

Brooklyn shooed her sister away. “Yeah. Yeah. I know.” As soon as her door closed, she answered Alec’s call. “I have a feeling I know why you’re calling. I really don’t want a lecture, Alec.”

“I saw the letter.”

“You weren’t on the mailing list, were you?”

“No.”

“Good. Now that would have been awkward.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little shocked. That’s a bold move, even for you.” Even for you. Alec just had to get in his digs. “Do you want to tell me why you chose this particular method for getting pregnant?”

Oh, my God.Was this an interview? “If you’re going to ask it like that, I have no comment.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m a member of the media.”

“But you are a member of the media. One who has millions of viewers every morning. I’m not telling you anything.”

“I’m not calling to put you on the spot, but I’m hearing that nobody can get you on the phone. Are you refusing interviews?”

Word sure got around quick. “I’m not taking calls. That’s as far as I’ve gotten.”

“But you took mine.”

Brooklyn let out a silent groan. Why did she have to have any weakness at all for Alec? It always ended the same way—badly. “That’s different. And why would I do an interview? People are making fun of me. They’re turning me into memes. I can’t fight that. If I try to, I’ll look even more pathetic.”

“All the more reason for you to get your side of the story out there.”

“What are you saying?”

“Come on the show. Let me interview you.”

“I have two words for you. No. Way.” The answer had just tumbled out of her mouth. She might have answered the phone, but her natural instinct with Alec right now was to put up a very tall wall.

“Don’t you want to stand up for yourself? Defend yourself? This is a serious issue. You want to have a baby, and I’m sure we have a lot of viewers who have been in this situation, or maybe they are now. You should come on the show and talk about your predicament.”

“This is super weird coming from you, especially considering the way you acted after our dinner date.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I was wrong when I asked if you were trying to trick me. I was just thinking one thing and it turned out to be something else.”

Brooklyn couldn’t help but notice that edge of sadness in his voice. Did he regret pushing her away? Or was that wishful thinking on her part because she’d been so hurt by it? “If I come on the show, can you leverage it with the news division? If I’m going to consider humiliating myself, someone should get something out of it.”

“Funny that you mention it, but yes, it could help me. They’ll give me a shot at The Sunday News Hour, which would be amazing timing. I’m not ready to be put out to pasture and I’m also not ready to spend the rest of my life fending off advances from Tilly Ann.”

“She did get pretty hands-y with you during that guacamole demo.”

Alec snort-laughed. “You saw that?”

Brooklyn sat back in her chair and twirled halfway around until her back was to the door. She didn’t want anyone to see the way her cheeks had just plumed with heat. “I still watch the show sometimes. You know I get up at the crack of dawn, and I still like seeing your face. Even if I don’t always like the words coming out of it. At least not when they’re directed at me.”

A few painful seconds of silence played out between them. “I’m sorry about the other night. Deeply sorry. And I’m sorry that I never told you all that other stuff about what really happened when we broke up.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry, too.” He did sound sincere.

“Please come on the show. Tell your side of the story. I think it’ll be really good for you. And you know you can trust me.”

Did she know that? Did she really? Could she go on national freaking television and tell all? Because the reality was that this wasn’t about that idiotic letter. That was just the punchline to a very real story about a woman trying to make her life into what she’d always dreamed of. About a woman accidentally telling the world that she would pretty much do anything to get what she wanted—a baby. “You can’t make me cry.”

“I never intend to do that. It just happens.”

Likely story. Brooklyn was certain that Alec knew exactly how to get to the heart of all matters. It was part of what made him so damn good at his job. It was part of what made him an amazing boyfriend, but so easy to disappoint. “Okay then. I’ll do it.”

“Yeah? Really?”

“Now is not the time to ask me that question.”

“Can you be on set tomorrow morning? They’ll want to run it in the last hour so they can hype it before then.”

“Oh, God. The marshmallow factory? That’s when all the goofy stuff happens.”

“You’ll be fine.”

She sighed for what felt like the seven millionth time. “Text me the details and I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Brooklyn. I owe you one.”

“I’m going to hold you to that, Alec.”

“And I expect nothing less.”