Before they could respond, Tania Marie was aware of voices behind her.
“Don’t look around,” the princess whispered above the din. “There’s a guy behind you with a camera.”
“Oh, shit.” Tania Marie felt the familiar flush of humiliation that blossomed into full-blown fear. What was the point in trying to do the right thing when you got the same results as when you didn’t? She should have eaten the damned cotton candy, the tacos. She would, by God. She’d get out of here right now, run for it, then eat every taco in the whole damned town.
Rochelle drained her shot glass. “Let’s just leave. You get in the middle, Tania Marie.” She slid off the stool gracefully, as if she’d rehearsed the movement dozens of times.
“Hey, Tania Marie.” A bald man with a sunburned face and wrinkled tan slacks brandished a camera as if it were a weapon. “That is you, isn’t it, Tania Marie?” He looked more tourist than paparazzo, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. Thetabloids would buy from any bastard who could find the shutter release.
She shoved her hat over her head, turning away from the tiny red light that blinked at her.
“Could you hold it a moment, Tania Marie? Don’t move.” The bastard had his nerve.
“Fuck off.”
She jerked past him, squeezing between the tables, the princess to her right, Rochelle to her left. The man stepped behind her. How many times had photographers shot pictures of her ass and thighs? Tears choked her. This was so unfair. “I’m going to make a run for it,” she managed to whisper to the others.
Princess Gabby linked arms with her. “Take the high road,” she said. “Don’t let anyone dictate your exit. The photographs will be there, anyway, whether you run or walk or curse. That’s how I finally had to come to think of it. Either that, or go crazy.”
“She’s right.” Rochelle reached for her other arm. “Just pretend we’re going out for a shopping spree. There’s no reason to run from that weasel.”
“Except that he’s photographing my fucking ass from behind.”
“Asses are the worst.” Rochelle squeezed tighter.
“At least he’s not getting the satisfaction of seeing you run from him,” Gabby said under her breath.
The man caught up with them on the sidewalk. “Come on, Tania Marie. Smile for the camera.”
The asshole’s own snakelike smirk radiated so much self-love that it was almost lewd. Tania Marie made the mistake of looking directly at him. The neatly trimmed little strip of colorless hair beneath his nose sickened her. Marshall would have called it a metaphor.
Marshall thought everything was a metaphor for something else. If she wore a black thong instead of a red thong, it wasa metaphor for her mourning their relationship. If she wore a fucking red thong, it was a metaphor of her sexuality and her anger.
If she forgot a thong in his car, that was a metaphor for her hoping they’d be caught, as, of course, they ultimately were, meta-fucking-phor or not.
Now this bastard and his spiky little moustache. It was a metaphor, but of what? That the trenches kept getting lower and lower, perhaps?
“Excuse us, please,” the princess said in a crisp but pleasant voice that probably took years of voice training to achieve.
And they—all three of them—fueled by Princess Gabby’s voice, walked briskly past him.
The princess retrieved a cell phone from her straw handbag and pushed a button. “Christopher, dear, my friends and I need your assistance,” she said, her voice as sweet and delicate as the flowered dress she wore. “We’re just leaving the beach, the tequila and tacos place. Wonderful. There you are. Can you see us, dear?”
Tania Marie sighed with relief as the sedan swung around the corner and pulled to a stop. The three of them scurried in, leaving the bald asshole standing on the sidewalk, clicking away.
“They say everyone in this godforsaken place is a wannabe actor or writer,” Princess Gabby said once she slammed the door behind her. “I’d wager there are as many wannabe paparazzi, wouldn’t you?”
“Sure,” Rochelle answered. “Cameras are a hell of a lot cheaper than acting lessons, and you don’t have to put up with the cattle calls.”
“Fucking bastard.” Tania Marie knew the princess hated that kind of talk, but that’s what the bald pig was, damn it. Tears started coursing down her face. Tomorrow there’d be anotherstory about her yo-yoing weight. But at least she was safe now, thanks to Princess Gabby and her driver.
She took comfort from that and settled back in the seat, feeling strangely at peace between these two women who were supposed to be her rivals. Maybe she wouldn’t need the tacos, after all. Maybe she still had time to make the Weight Watchers meeting. Yes, before she resorted to anything more drastic, she’d at least check out the meeting.
And she’d call Jay Rossi.
Knowing someone would listen to her and care about what happened today softened her still-raw fear. The fact that it was the first time in a long time—maybe forever—that anyone had cared, caused her to sob with even greater vehemence.
Rochelle reached in her bag and handed her a neatly folded tissue. “Don’t do that, honey. It’s not worth it.”
