He spoke more softly. “That I can accept…. We’re on for Tuesday, aren’t we?”
“I’ll have to work it out with my secretary when I go in tomorrow, but I don’t think I have anything that can’t be shifted around.”
“I’ve already called Anne. She’ll have Marjorie get some clothes ready, but I said that I wanted as few people there for the actual shoot as possible. That’ll go for my staff, too, and you can leave Edgar and Steve behind at the office.”
“I will. Thank you.”
He paused, his tone lightening. “Can I call you tomorrow night, just to make sure you don’t get cold feet and back out on me at the last minute?”
“I won’t back out once all the arrangements are made.”
“Can I call you anyway?”
She smiled softly. “I’d like that.”
“Good.” He hated to let her go. Her voice alone warmed him, not to mention the visual picture he’d formed of her auburn hair framing her face, her cheeks bright and pink, her lips soft, the tips of her breasts peaking through a nightgown, or a robe, or a blouse—it didn’t matter which, the effect was the same. “Well,” he began, then cleared his throat, “take care, Marni.”
“I will.” She hated to let him go. His voice alone thrilled her, not to mention the visual picture she’d formed of his dark hair brushing rakishly over his brow, his lean, shadowed cheeks, his firm lips, the raw musculature of his torso. She took an unsteady breath. “Are you sure you can manage everything with your hand?” If he’d said that he was having trouble, she would have rushed to his aid in a minute.
He was tempted to say he was having trouble, but he’d never been one to lie. “I’m sure…. Bye-bye, sweetheart.”
“Bye, Web.”
Marni would indeed have tried to back out on the photo session had it not been for the arrangements that had been made. Through all of Sunday, while she tried to concentrate first on the SundayTimes,then on her work, she found herself thinking of her relationship with Web. She was no longer seventeen and in that limbo between high school, college and the real world. She was old enough to have serious thoughts about the future, and she knew that with each additional minute she spent with Web those thoughts would grow more and more serious.
Though she wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted, she knew from what he’d said that he envisioned some kind of future relationship with her. But there were problems—actually just one, but it was awesome. Her family.
It was this that weighed heavily on her when she arrived at Web’s studio Tuesday morning. As he’d promised, Web had called the evening before. He’d been gentle and encouraging, so that when she’d hung up the phone she’d felt surprisingly calm about posing again. Then her mother had called.
“Marni, darling, why didn’t you tell me! I had no idea what had happened until Tanya called a little while ago!”
Icy fingers tripped up Marni’s spine. What did her mother know? She hadn’t sounded angry…. What couldTanyaknow … or was it Marni’s own guilty conscience at work? “What is it, Mother? What are you talking about?”
“That little business you witnessed on Friday night. Evidently there was a tiny notice in the paper yesterday. I missed it completely, and if it hadn’t been for Tanya—”
Marni was momentarily stunned. She hadn’t expected any of that episode to reach the press, much less with her name printed … and, she assumed, Web’s. She moistened her lips, unsure as to how much more her mother knew. All she could say was a slightly cryptic, “Tanya reads the paper?”
“Actually it was Sue Beacham—you know, Tanya’s friend whose husband is a state senator? They say he’s planning to run for Congress, and he’ll probably make it. He has more connections than God. Of course, Jim Heuer had the connections and it didn’t help. He didn’t get Ed Donahue’s support, so he lost most of the liberal vote. I guess you can never tell about those things.”
Marni took a breath for patience. Her mother tended to run on at the mouth, particularly when it came to name-dropping. “What was it that Sue saw?”
“There was a little article about how you and that photographer were instrumental in interrupting a rape.”
“It wasn’t a rape,” Marni countered very quietly.
“It was a mugging.”
“But it could have been a rape if you hadn’t come along, at least that was what the paper said. I’d already thrown it out, but Tanya had the article and read it to me.”
Marni forced herself to relax. It appeared that Adele Lange hadn’t made the connection between Brian Webster, the photographer, and the notorious Web. “It was really nothing, Mother. We happened to be walking down the street and heard the woman’s cries. By the time we got to her, her assailant was already on his way.”
“But this photographer you were with—it said he was injured.”
“Just his hand. He’s fine.”
“Who is he, Marni? You never mentioned you were seeing a photographer, and such a renowned one, at least that’s what Tanya says. She says that he’s right up there with the best, and I’m sure I’ve seen his work but I’ve probably repressed the name. Webster.” Her voice hardened. “I don’t even like to say it.”
Marni’s momentary reprieve was snatched away. It didn’t matter that her mother hadn’t actually connected the two. What mattered was that the ill will lingered.
