The Restoration of Celia Fairchild - Marie Bostwick Page 0,12

paragraph 9B. “He added it later on purpose, knowing I wouldn’t read the whole thing before signing.”

“But you should have read it.” Ms. Avilla looked almost apologetic, as if she was genuinely sorry to be the bearer of bad news. She definitely was more sympathetic than the male attorneys I’d spoken to but no more helpful. “You should have hired a lawyer to look it over before you signed.”

“I know, I know. But . . . better late than never?”

I smiled, hoping to win her over. For a moment, I thought I might have. She chuckled a little, then made a church with her hands and tapped the steeple against her lips. She was thinking about it. That was more than the others had done. I clenched my fists tight but said nothing, waiting for the verdict.

“Miss Fairchild, it’s obvious you’ve been taken advantage of. But McKee Media is a big company with deep pockets. Now that it’s been acquired by Tate Universal, those deep pockets are basically an abyss. These huge corporations have teams of lawyers on staff and they hate to lose. They’ll do everything they can, spend any amount of money, fighting this. Even if I took on the case, the firm would require a one-hundred-thousand-dollar retainer. I’m serious,” she said, obviously noticing the way the color had drained from my face.

The other attorneys had dismissed me so quickly that we’d never even talked about the money part. But . . . one hundred thousand dollars?

“And that’s just to get started,” she said. “Believe me, when you’re up against a company like Tate Universal, we’d burn through the entire retainer and a lot more before we ever got to court. And the chances of your winning are slim at best.

“I’m sorry, Miss Fairchild. I wish I could take your case. But if I did, I’d only be taking your money. I know that a year’s severance doesn’t come close to compensating you for all you’ve lost, but the smartest thing you can do is take it and use it to start a new career, a new life.”

All the other lawyers had blown me off like some kind of pesky, too-dumb-to-read-a-contract fly. That had made me mad and even more determined. Carlotta Avilla’s pity made me feel defeated. I unclenched my fists and looked down at my hands and the chipped polish on my fingernails.

“Of course, I’m not the only attorney in New York,” she said, smiling in a way I knew was meant to give me hope. “Would you like me to recommend some other firms?”

I lifted my head. “Is there any point?”

Her smile melted away. “Not really.”

I COULD HAVE gone to Calvin’s. He’d have made me dinner, opened a bottle of wine, and tried to convince me that there was still hope. But there wasn’t. Besides, he was on a deadline for his book. I couldn’t bother him. And while talking to him might have made me feel marginally less miserable, it wasn’t going to change anything.

I could have called my therapist but I really didn’t like her. She was so earnest and yet so distant, not to mention really vague. People can write to me for advice and get an answer for free. I might not always be right but at least I’m definite. My therapist gets two hundred and eighty dollars an hour to nod and murmur and say, “And how did that make you feel?” I didn’t need to know how I felt, I needed to know what to do.

I could have gone home but suspected this would end with my climbing into bed with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and a spoon, playing the Smiths’ “I Know It’s Over” on a continuous loop while contemplating the fact that the best years of my life were behind me and that they hadn’t been that great to begin with. Not an appealing prospect, and on so many levels.

So I went to the park.

Maybe if I walked around the reservoir, I’d come up with an idea about what to do next. But who was I kidding? Carlotta Avilla was right; the only real option left was to take the severance and try to start over.

Funny thing, just a week ago I’d been on a stage in a beam of blinding bright lights, feeling annoyed with Sparkly Vest Man and everybody else who’d ostensibly come to see me but really wanted Calpurnia. I resented them for demanding I put on the show and play the