“Hypothetically speaking,” Garland had stressed, the person in the drag queen’s position would be committing a misdemeanor. And conspiracy only applied to felonies. So, not a problem legally for anyone at this table, which Matt explained to Molly and Ava. As for Bella, she knew the risks.
Molly thought it over for a minute, then moved on to Vince’s conditions. “He wants to see my camera? Fine. Examples of my work? Fine. In fact, I’ll ask around and find out where Oklahoma City police unload prisoners. I’ll get some practice shots, and we can show those to him as well.”
This was great news to Matt. He grinned.
Ava, on the other hand, was not happy. She sported a major frown.
“And a license agreement for Bella to use the photos for publicity?” Matt prodded.
“One year,” Molly said. “Not three. After one year, he pays me a fair rate. We can negotiate that.”
Matt guessed that Vince would accept Molly’s one-year counteroffer but wasn’t sure. “So, we’ve got a tentative deal?” he asked. “You’ll do it?”
Molly laughed. “Nice try, Screech! I haven’t even told you my conditions yet.”
“Conditions? Plural?”
“We’ll start with the easy one,” Molly said. “Pie. I saw coconut cream in the display case. Ava, do you want any?”
Ava shook her head.
Matt left and returned with pie for Molly. “Next?”
“I can take your photos,” Molly said. “But the folks at theDaily Oklahomandon’t know me from Eve. I won’t get past the security desk, no matter how good my pics are. The editor at theOklahomanwill be staring down an approaching print deadline and won’t have time for some knock-kneed, frowzy-haired college girl claiming to have a big scoop.”
Molly continued. “You’ve obviously got media connections—at least on the TV side. You’re gonna need someone to grease the skids for me with theOklahoman. Enough grease to get me in the door and for me to get at least a shared byline on the article that accompanies my photo. And sole image credit for the photo. I’m not sharing the limelight with their staff photographer or anyone else.”
Matt had not considered these things, and worried as to what else he’d overlooked. Hopefully, Nicholas had contacts at theOklahoman. “Okay. I’ll take an IOU on that and get back with you. Any other conditions?”
“Yeah, the big one. The GM has to share their clubhouse with us lesbians.”
Ava jumped in. “And William must quit calling Molly, ‘Moldy Ringworm.’”
Matt was stunned. “Want me to throw in a million dollars as well?” he asked sarcastically. “Season tickets to Bulls games? You know William isn’t going toagree to either of those conditions. As far as he’s concerned, Molly, you’re his arch nemesis. He loves hating you.”
“And therein lies the problem,” Molly said. “While William’s been hating me, his ex-boyfriend has wreaked havoc with your sort. Colton’s your problem. Not mine. My problem is that my girls and I don’t have anywhere to kick back, crack open a cold one, and watch the Superbowl or the Masters.”
Matt slumped in his seat. Deflated. Defeated. Without Molly, the whole plan fell apart. Vince had stipulated that the price for his participation in Operation Cockroach Squash was a good photographer and a licensing agreement. So, no Molly, no Vince, which meant that Colton’s reign of terror would continue. Which also meant Adam would not return to MCU.
And it wasn’t like Matt could just put an ad in the paper for another photographer, as in “Help Wanted: experienced photographer for questionably legal, ethically murky event orchestrated by nineteen-year-old soccer player and starring a raunchy drag queen. Must provide own equipment. No pay, but possible copyright royalties—assuming you snap the perfect pic.”
Ava snickered.
Matt wasn’t in a laughing mood. “What’s so funny?”
“You are,” Ava said. “Funny. The great ‘Mustang’ who fearlessly took on the whole administration and brought them to their knees and got Debbie re-hired. That guy is afraid of William Tyler Jennings, a scrawny queen who says ‘dahling’ all the time.”
“I’m not afraid of him, DAHLING!” Matt retorted.
Ava smiled. “Then do what ‘Mustang’ would do and find a solution.”
Molly pushed her pie plate away, snapped her fingers to get Matt’s attention.
“Ava’s right, you know. Quit moping and live up to your name. And, likewise, you and William should also be hoping that I won’t live up to mine. You’re named after a horse. My namesake was an eighteenth-century hooker who murdered her clients with an axe.”
“What?” Matt was surprised. “I thought you were named after that actress?”
“That’s what William thinks, too,” Molly said. “Men aren’t very good with Math—among other things. They always round five inches up to eight, as if their lovers don’t know the difference. Molly Ringwald didn’t star in any movies until the mid-eighties. I was ten at the time, so, clearly not named after her. And, while I respect her accomplishments, I’m tired of people thinking I’m named after her.”
