“Did they give you any material about Killer Body?” I ask. “Something beyond the usual press kits?”
“I have a ton of stuff.”
“Could I look at it?”
“You can have it. After what happened today, I don’t stand a chance.”
“You never know.”
“Yeah, right.” She leans back into the seat. “I’m starving. Put that in your story, too.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” I say. “This is the right street, isn’t it?”
“Take a left, and I’m two blocks down.” She shudders. “You don’t suppose anyone followed us here?”
“I’ll drive around the block, if you want. I think they got the story they were after.”
“They didn’t want a story. They wanted what they always do.” She counts them off on her fingers. “They want to look at my thighs, which they hope have grown. They want to look at my butt, which they hope has spread. And they’ll run those fat, ugly photos across their newspapers, so that everyone can laugh at Tania Marie, the honey bee.”
I can’t argue with her, because she’s right, and, again, I wonder how intriguing this story would be if she were thin.
We reach the gates of her complex which, to my surprise, isn’t some little beachfront condo Mommy picked up for her. The fact that it’s not makes me like her better. The fact that I surmised it would be makes me like myself a little less. “Would you mind if I came in?” I ask. “I would like that information on the company.”
“I don’t think so. I don’t want to see my apartment described in the paper. You’d better wait outside.”
We weave through an entry drive, and I park outside a fenced-in courtyard. Although she hasn’t moved, I can almost feel her anxiety suck the air from the car. My head begins to throb. I can’t imagine how hers must feel.
“Want me to get out first and open the gate?”
“Thanks.” She puts her hand on my arm. “I don’t know why you helped me, but I appreciate it.”
“I told you,” I say. “I want to learn everything I can about Julie Larimore.”
“Well, good luck. No one really knows Julie, not even old Mr. Warren.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
She starts to speak, changes her mind and gives me a grim smile. Finally, she says, “You’re really clueless, you know.”
“Then why don’t you enlighten me?”
She shifts in the seat. “Hey, I was just trying to help you. Don’t give me the fucking third degree.”
“Calm down,” I say.
“I can’t.” She starts to sob. “Do you know how fucked up this whole thing is? Can you imagine how my life is right now?”
I want to tell her it could be worse. That she could have lost a cousin, that her aunt could be demanding results she might not be able to deliver. That instead of a wealthy, famous mother in San Francisco, she could have a grieving mother in Colorado, amother who has no answers to the question that haunts her day and night:Why?
I open my car door. “It looks pretty quiet. Try to pull yourself together. You’ll be inside in just a minute.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” She tugs at her short bangs. “No one tried to kill you back there.”
“No one tried to kill you, either.” My voice is harsher than I intend, tears close to the surface.
“They did, too. They locked me in the sauna. I nearly passed out.”
A tingle spreads along my arms. Is she overreacting? Imagining something that didn’t really happen?
