“Drive. Ambition. And willingness to do whatever it takes, including kiss Bobbo’s ass. Julie’s got all that, but she has all the money she needs. She ought to just step down, let someone else take over the pressure cooker.”
“And you really don’t know where she is right now?”
“Couldn’t tell you if I did. It wouldn’t be ethical.”
He stands up, gives me the Elvis sneer-smile, and I know I’ve gotten all that I’m going to out of him.
“If you ever change your mind about training with me, just call.” He makes one of those tongue-clicking noises I don’t usually associate with anyone over the age of twelve. “You could be awesome.”
“Thanks.” I follow him to the hallway. “I do have one question, though?”
“What?”
“Your teeth?” I say. “I have to ask.”
“Trade secret.” He gives me the grin again. “But because I like you, I’ll give you the card of the chick who bleaches them. Debra’s her name. We trade services. Nothing unethical about that. Everyone does it in this business.”
At the door, he reaches out, touches my arm. It’s a far cry from physical contact with Lucas, more like being touched by the brittle branch of a tree you pass on a narrow sidewalk. There’s that little life in it.
“Tell me the truth, okay?” If homeless people could learn how to plead with their eyes like this, they’d all be earning what he is and could afford to laminate their Will-Work-For signs.
“About her. Are you absolutely sure she isn’t Julie Larimore? Is even her name a lie?”
“Damned straight,” I say, and walk out onto the street, leaving him to return to the room of mirrors and think about what it all means.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Tania Marie
Word of the day:Chagrin:Mortification, vexation, disappointment
“Didn’t I tell you it would work?” Jay Rossi surveyed the dolman top and pants, and nodded a smug smile. “Bet they use this as a cover shot.”
“It’ 11 be a cold day in hell before I’m on the cover of any publication that doesn’t smell like ink and rub off on your hands.”
She’d insisted they take her car, but Rossi said only if he could drive. Now here they were, carrying in garment bags for the photo shoot. They told her they wanted her in her own clothes, so readers could see the real her. Rossi had said that was good, that the last thing she needed was the long-gloves and feathered-hat routine.
She couldn’t believe she’d allowed him to accompany her, but it was easier to let him come along than to try to stop him.
“Womanmagazine is no tabloid,” he said.
“That’s why you won’t see my smiling face or any other part of me gracing the cover. But that creep who recognized me at the tequila bar’s probably already sold his photos. I don’t know what I would have done without Rochelle and Gabby.”
“At least you three aren’t dead set on destroying each other anymore.”
“No. We check in on one another every day. No more threats, so far. Rochelle’s daughter’s here from college.”
“You don’t think they were involved with what happened to you in the sauna?”
She’d gone over it in her head. She’d been deceived before. She’d been betrayed by the most trustworthy man in America. She wasn’t exactly a human lie detector, but she believed these women.
“No,” she said. “You should have seen how they backed me when that creep came after me.”
“I wish I’d been there. I would’ve kicked his ass.”
He said it with pride. For a moment, she thought of Marshall, who would never dream of uttering anything so crass, but who would carry on one affair after another while conveying an image of trust and dignity to the public. She’d bet Jay Rossi wasn’t a cheater.
“You’re wearing the right shoes for it.” She looked down at his shit-kickers and couldn’t help giggling.
