Chapter Text
The elevator opened onto a hallway that smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and industrial carpet cleaner. Ava Daniels stepped out carrying a legal pad, a tape recorder, and a canvas bag containing enough notebooks to re-write War and Peace on.
The Palmetto wasn’t glamorous. It wanted desperately to be glamorous. The lobby downstairs was all mirrored columns and brass fixtures polished to a shine that bordered on aggression. The guest floors told a different story. The wallpaper was beginning to peel near the ceiling. The carpet pattern looked designed to conceal both stains and crimes.
Ava checked the room number again. The New Yorker had offered her the piece and flew her out from Los Angeles two days earlier. Deborah Vance was opening a residency in Las Vegas — Not a weekend engagement and not a guest appearance. A residency. The industry considered it a gamble and a long shot. Ava suspected Deb did too.
She knocked. Nothing. She checked her watch. Ten o’clock. Exactly on time. She knocked again. The door flew open.
“Jesus Christ.” A woman stood there in black jeans and an oversized white button-down with the sleeves rolled to her elbows.
Deb Vance. Forty years old. Tall. Beautiful. Not conventionally. Not politely. Beautiful in the way storms were beautiful. Her blonde hair was half pinned back. Reading glasses sat low on her nose. She held a yellow legal pad in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Ava stared for one second too long. Deb noticed. Of course she noticed.
“You’re the reporter.”
“Journalist.”
“What?”
“Reporter sounds like I chase ambulances.”
Deb took a drag from her cigarette. “I already don’t like you.”
“That’s encouraging.” Deb looked her up and down. Ava had gotten the reaction before. She was thirty-two, wore jeans, a dark t-shirt, and exuded a sense of “I have sharp opinions.” She was too young to have the résumé she carried. People often assumed she was either sleeping with someone important or lying about her credentials.
Deb seemed to be deciding which. “Come in.”
The room was chaos, but not dirty. She was working. Handwritten notes and typed pages covered every flat surface. There were newspaper clippings, and three yellow legal pads.
A bulky gray laptop sat open on the dining table.
Ava blinked. “You travel with that thing?”
Deb followed her gaze. “It’s portable.”
“It weighs more than I do.”
“It cost six thousand dollars,” Deb said.
“Then you’ve been robbed.” Deb’s mouth twitched. The closest thing to a smile. Ava felt absurdly pleased by it. She sat across from her and placed the recorder on the table.
Deb immediately pointed at it.
“That thing makes me look fat.”
“It’s audio,” Ava said, incredulous.
“I know.” Ava laughed despite herself. Deb watched her. The look lingered. Ava was afraid to admit how interesting she found it.
Ava clicked the recorder on. “Let’s start with Vegas.”
Deb groaned. “Let’s not.”
“You’ve built your career in Los Angeles.”
“I know where I built my career.”
“You’ve turned down residency offers before.”
“I know that too,” Deb said, strident.
“Then why now?”
Deb leaned back. For the first time the performance dropped. Just slightly. Her expressed seemed to say, because I’m tired.
But what Deb said was, “Money.”
Ava stared at her. Deb stared back. Neither blinked. Finally Ava wrote something down.
“What did you write?”
“‘Money.’”
“Put an exclamation point after it.” Ava did. Deb laughed. Actually laughed. The sound surprised both of them. For the next twenty minutes the interview found a rhythm.
Ava pushed and Deb pushed back. It felt less like an interview than a tennis match. Then Ava made a mistake, or maybe she didn’t. Depends who was telling the story.
“You’ve spoken a lot lately about reinvention.”
Deb’s expression cooled. “Have I?”
“In several interviews.”
“Then why are you asking me?”
“Because I don’t think you believe it.” Deb was silent. Ava heard the hum of the air conditioner. Down the hallway someone slammed a door. Deb removed her glasses and set them carefully on the table.
Ava immediately knew she’d stepped on something interesting, dangerous. “What exactly do you think I believe?”
Ava met her eyes. “That this isn’t reinvention.” Deb waited. Ava continued. “I think this is survival.”
The room became very quiet. Deb’s gaze hardened. “There a difference?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Reinvention is something you choose.” Ava gestured around the room. “The pages. The notes. The workload. The move. This doesn’t look chosen.”
Deb’s jaw tightened. “You’ve known me for forty minutes.”
“I’ve been researching you for three months.”
“And now you’ve got me all figured out.”
“No.”
Ava closed her notebook. “I think you’ve spent twenty years becoming somebody nobody can fire.”
The words landed hard.
Deb stood. “So that’s it.”
“What?”
“The article,” Deb hissed.
“No.”
“The aging comedian clinging to relevance.”
“I didn’t say that,” Ava said.
“You didn’t have to.”
Ava stood too. Annoyance flashing hot through her chest. “There it is.”
“There what is?”
“The thing.”
Deb crossed her arms. “What thing?”
“The reason everyone is afraid to interview you.”
Deb laughed once but there was no humor in it. “Oh, this should be good.”
“Every question becomes an attack.”
“Maybe because they’re attacks,” Deb said.
“Maybe because you’re scared.” The moment the words left her mouth Ava regretted them.
Deb’s eyes went flat. Completely flat. “Interview’s over.”
Ava grabbed her bag. “Fine.”
“Fine,” Deb snapped back.
She walked to the door, opened it, and left. The hallway suddenly felt much colder. She was an idiot. She’d blown it. She couldn’t afford another lost opportunity and yet here she was. Ava reached the elevator and pressed the button. The doors opened immediately. She stepped inside. The doors began to close.
Then— “Wait.” A voice. Was that Deb? The doors stopped. Ava looked up. Deb stood halfway down the hallway. Breathing hard, as though she’d run there. For a second neither spoke. Then Deb shook her head.
“You are unbelievably irritating.”
Ava felt a smile threatening. “Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“I know.” Another pause. Then something shifted. It wasn’t softer, but different. There was curiosity where hostility had been.
Deb shoved her hands into her pockets. “My opening show is tonight.”
Ava blinked. “What?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“You just threw me out.”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Ava stared. Deb looked almost annoyed to be standing there.
“Why?”
Deb considered. For a moment Ava thought she might answer honestly. Instead she said:
“Because if you’re going to write about me, you should probably know what you’re talking about.”
The elevator doors remained open. Ava smiled.
Deb rolled her eyes. “Eight o’clock, Daniels.”
Then she turned and walked away. Ava watched until she disappeared around the corner. Only then did she realize she was still smiling.
Which was ridiculous. The woman was hostile and combative and possibly unstable. And unquestionably the most interesting person she’d met all year.