“By the way, the woman you saw me with, she was a source. It was a meeting for a story I’m working on.” I wait to see the information land on her, but she doesn’t flinch. “I don’t go out that much either, except when it comes to work. I wasn’t on a date.”
She looks at me, poker-faced. “Oh.”
“You jump to conclusions like that on a story and you’ll be printing retractions ‘til the end of time.”
“Sure. Okay. Sorry.”
She doesn’t say anything else. She stares hard at the computer screen in front of her and doesn’t give me the satisfaction of looking back in my direction. But I can see the pink flush on her cheeks and the hint of a smile curl on her lips.
It tells me all I need to know.
13
Linden
Megan is already at Starbucks when I get there. I can tell it’s her by the worried expression on her face when she sees me walk in the door. She’s the only one in the place that looks like a frightened deer and she’s parked herself at the furthest table from the door.
“Megan?” I ask when I get to her table. She nods and I extend my hand. “Linden Sandoval. Can I grab you a coffee or something?”
“Sure. A coconut latte?” She starts to take out her wallet, but I wave it away.
“On me. Please.”
A few minutes later, Megan is gripping her paper cup and looking at me like she already regrets her phone call earlier this morning. I try my best to put her at ease, launching right into my reporting disclaimer, which is loosely based on what I’ve heard other reporters say and also based on the no-nonsense way I attack stories. I get the people on the phone who need to comment, and I make sure they tell me what I need before hanging up.
“We’re just talking on background, so nothing you say is attributable to you. I won’t quote you or use your name without your permission.”
“Okay…” she says, though the arms she crosses in front of her chest and the frown she wears suggests that she doesn’t trust me and isn’t going to say a word.
That’s when it dawns on me that Megan isn’t some CEO or publicist who’s used to reporters who are playing hardball. She’s not like the other people I’ve learned to interview using scare tactics and coerciveness. She’s terrified of being found out for whatever she’s about to tell me and she’s probably never talked to a reporter in her life. It might have taken her weeks to work up the courage for the phone call she made this morning. If I approach her like she’s a resistant executive, I’m going to lose her.
I wish I had more experience at this. When I worked for the smaller newspapers before the Examiner, I never had to coax stories out of people. I was covering local events. Brush fires. Convenience store robberies. Pageant queens. All of my reporting was done after the events had already taken place and there was no investigating needed. People wanted to share their stories and they were excited to be in the paper. I try to keep Jack’s words from making their way into my brain.
She’s too green.
I desperately want him to be wrong. I’m equally worried he’s right.
I glance around the room and notice tables of other people wrapped up in casual conversation, their body postures much more relaxed than Megan’s or mine. Maybe I’m going about this all wrong, launching right in with a stranger and asking her to tell me things she’s scared to say out loud. So I take a different approach.
“Where’s your office? Is it far from here?”
“Hollywood. Not too far,” she says. Okay, that wasn’t so hard.
“There’s a restaurant I love in Hollywood, the Honey Dragon. Do you know it?”
She leans back against the chair, arms still crossed, but her face relaxes a bit. “Yeah, it’s not far from where I work. But I think I told you, it’s a new job. I haven’t checked out the restaurants yet. It’s Thai food, right?”
“Crazy good Thai food. Definitely go if you can. I mean, I’m not a fan of curry and I order their green curry every time. It’s amazing. Though you have to be specific about how spicy you like it, because once, I said I was fine with spicy and I bit into what I thought was just a green pepper but it was some kind of ghost pepper, and my tongue was on fire. I was practically crying. Seriously, I thought my tongue was permanently injured, which is a problem for many reasons. But it’s fine now. And I still go back. It’s that good.”
She nods. “I like spicy, but noted on the ghost peppers. Thanks for the rec.” My oversharing seems to be working. She uncrosses her arms and picks up her cup, waiting for my next question.
“It’s funny,” I say, not really knowing what to follow it with, but trying to keep the conversation casual. “There are some great restaurants near here—near my office—but I never go to them. When I’m done with work I just want to get as far away as I can.”
She laughs a little. “Yeah, I can relate.”
I start to relax a little myself. She needs to trust me. She needs to believe I’ll safeguard whatever she tells me.
We talk a little bit more. She tells me about her last vacation, a weekend in Crested Butte, Colorado, and I admit to fangirling over Bachelor Bay, as a segue into the real reason we’re here. She seems comfortable enough to start talking.
“I have to say, I’m glad you’re the one who answered the phone this morning. If it had been some scary-sounding guy, I might’ve hung up.”
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t. Although I should warn you that most of the guys I work with are terrified of me.”
She smiles. I feel like she’s ready to tell me whatever she called to say.
“I’m going to take some notes, but they’re just for me,” I tell her, taking out a small spiral notebook and pen.
“Okay, so here’s the thing. If you’ve watched the show, you know this season was kind of… different.”
I’m not sure I understand and I don’t want to put words in her mouth. “Different, how?” I ask.
She looks into her coffee and seems to be searching for the right words. “Well, normally from week to week, one bachelor may have a really romantic moment, and the next week some other guy has everyone’s attention. You never really know who’s going to end up winning the money and falling in love with the female lead and all that.”
“Got it. You mean how Jake is so crazy popular this season.”
“Exactly. People just love him. I mean, if he was voted off too early, I think fans would revolt.” She looks pained at the idea. I’m still not seeing why she thinks it merits a news story, but I know she called the paper for a reason. I decide to wait and let her tell me what she came to say. She looks into her coffee and lowers her voice. “The thing is, he’s not a good guy.”
My senses jump to high alert, and not because the Bachelor Bay groupie in me wants to know the salacious details. The way she says it makes me think she has personal knowledge of her claim.
“Define not a good guy,” I say, fearing the worst: harassment or assault, which would take her concern to a whole new level.
She takes a deep breath and looks around at the other patrons, none of which are close enough to hear our conversation. She exhales and fixes her gaze on me. “He and I were… involved, like romantically, at the beginning of the season. Just for a minute.”