Scandal:The Complete Series(2)

The phone rings again. My hand hovers above it.

It’s all good, I tell myself. It’s just one summer. How much moral degradation can happen to me in such a short amount of time? The pay is more than decent considering my lack of experience. This too shall pass, I think. There will be time enough to change the world with the subtle magic of my writing sorcery later on.

“Ella, it won’t bite.”

The voice startles me because his mouth was right next to my ear. I turn around to find Jason bending his face, barely a foot away.

His inviting ruggedness sticks out around our office. He’s the sports guy, rather the guy who writes a column focusing on scandals in the world of professional sports. He also reviews video games, but someday someone, other than me, has to tell him his teeth are magnets for bits of lettuce.

“What’s up, Jase?” I say with a friendly grin.

“The next time that phone rings, pick it up.”

My smile vanishes. Shit! The phone has stopped ringing.

I catch a glimmer in Jason’s eyes. He’s not only onto the fact I’m avoiding Mark’s call but I bet he’s worried he might end up being the one sent to hide in the bushes stalker-style in Hawaii.

“Just trying to finish a story,” I say to get him off my case.

Jason’s expression softens. “No worries,” he says, “but, please, answer your phone next time it rings.”

As soon as he leaves, the phone screams to life again. Scandal journalists are relentless. The calls are getting closer and closer like labor contractions.

There’s no way out. I exhale hard as I answer.

“Ella Wade, how can I help you?”

“Ella,” Mark says, sounding quite exasperated. “I’ve been calling and texting all morning.”

“Sorry about that, Mark. A headache has put me behind schedule. Maybe Hawaii will do me good.”

“Forget about Hawaii.” He pauses and I think that’s my cue to say something when he starts speaking again. “There’s a story about to hit the wire. I wanted to be the one to tell you before you heard it on the news.”

I get an uneasy feeling. “Tell me? Why me?”

“It’s about Madison Starr.”

“What about my lovely stepsister? Another catfight? Not drugs?”

“Ella, Madison is dead.”

The words sink in like sudden bursts, like a nail being pounded into a thick wall. “Mark, what are you saying? Is this a joke?” Surely, he meant to say something else or maybe this is a very poor taste joke. Madison’s not dead. She’s too beautiful, too successful and too young. She’s only twenty-three.

“They found her in her apartment early this morning. They took their time to make sure with the ID. Ella, it happened last night.”

My heart leaps and then beats rapidly. I can feel the pulsing in my fingertips and my throat. An iciness envelopes my skin like an arctic gust.

“Ella, is there anything I can do?” Mark’s voice reaches me from afar, like a distant echo. I can’t make sense of his words anymore.

Madison and I didn’t become besties or anything. We didn’t have much in common but we did live under the same roof between the ages of twelve and sixteen, for as long as my mother was married to her father. We fought a lot but we also entered puberty together and relied on each other for honest feedback when it came to things like makeup, hairstyle or boys.

My stepfather showed up as a father. He was just not what my mother needed. He took good care of us while they were together and he never took sides when we had our adolescent fights.

Maddy and I haven’t seen each other in nearly three years. Our last communication was an exchange of emails last Christmas when she was in Fiji with her boyfriend, the famous model and aspiring actor Jaxson Cole.

I can’t really say I know much about the woman she became. One thing I can say about her is that she was always breathtakingly beautiful and never quite knew how to deal with all the attention that provided. Whether she liked it or not, she had flawless skin, luscious golden hair, a narrow waist and long legs that wouldn’t quit. My stepsister was an ideal of femininity.

By the age of seventeen she had collected a stack of business cards from model scouts who seemed to find her every time she left home.

The rest is history. Despite her father’s early reservations, Madison went from catalogue modeling to national commercials to Paris fashion shows to a Vogue cover within a year.

“Ella, are you still with me?”

Mark’s voice returns to my ears as if time had stood still. I try to compose myself. “Yes,” I say. “I’m here. Thanks for telling me.” My voice catches in my throat when I try to ask if I can take the day off.