Lake News (33 page)

“I'm really sorry, Lily. This was a purely business decision. I feel bad. You didn't intend for any of this to come from those comments.”

His statement hit her the wrong way. She was suddenly furious. Enunciating each word in a way that had less to do with controlling her stutter than with educating someone she had hoped would have been more loyal, she said, “For the record, I didn't
make
those comments as they were reported. I have never been infatuated with the Cardinal. We would never have even been friends if he hadn't
set out to save my soul.
For
the record,” she said, letting loose,
“he
was the force behind the friendship. I'm not Catholic! I'm not religious! I'd
never
have thought to approach him if he hadn't approached me first!”

She ended the call before Dan could apologize and, heart pounding, punched out Elizabeth Davis's number. She assumed that her neighbor would still be home, sleeping in after a late night. Sure enough, the hello on the other end of the line was groggy.

“Hi, Elizabeth. It's Lily.”

The grogginess vanished, giving way to what sounded like genuine excitement. “Lily. Wow, it's good to hear from you. Are you okay?”

“I'm furious,” she said, needing to vent. “The papers have left me high and dry, my job at the Essex Club is now permanently gone, and I want my own car!” She exhaled and said a quieter “How are things there?”

“You've got mail!” Elizabeth chirped. The tone was mocking, the message not.

“Much?”

“One large supermarket bag worth. It's mostly junk mail—ads and catalogues. A bunch of bills. There's something from Justin Barr. Should I open it?”

“Yes.” She heard the sound of paper tearing, then a moment's silence.

“Whoa. He's offering you money to go on his show.”

“That hypocrite! He always says he doesn't pay!”

“Yeah, well, what else is new?” Elizabeth murmured. “You have letters here, Lily.” She started reading off return addresses. Some were from friends, others from strangers. “Want to hear?”

“If you don't mind.”

Sara Markowitz had written a heartwarming thinking-of-you letter. Likewise her college roommate, several teachers and students from the Winchester School, and friends in New York. Lily was feeling buoyed by them, until the negative ones came. They stung.

Elizabeth had just finished reading a particularly mean one when she said, “While we're on bad, you might as well hear this. The condo association met last night. The media is still calling around trying to find out where you are and what you're like. Granted, it's not the mainstream media, just little local pests, and there aren't any of them stationed outside round the clock, only during rush hour, when they think you may be coming or going. Unfortunately, that's when most of the owners are coming and going, too. They hate the notoriety.”

“Tony Cohn.”

“Most vocally, but there are others. Me, I'm of the belief that all publicity is good publicity, but I'm in the minority. That group—whew. Pretty conservative. They've taken the bad press to heart, and they're up in arms. They don't think it's right that a renter—a mere
renter
—should be causing them trouble.”

“This mere renter probably pays more each month for the right to be there than some of them do!”

“I know that. I'm on your side, Lily. I didn't say they were right. I'm just telling you what they're saying. They want to know what's true and what isn't, where the case stands, whether you're planning to fight. They know you're not here and want to know when you'll be back.”

“Are they asking
you?”

“I'm afraid they are,” Elizabeth admitted. “I made the mistake of speaking up a little too forcefully on your behalf, so they think I know something. Well, I do and I don't, if you know what I mean.”

Lily did, but it didn't matter. What did matter was the sense she had, when she hung up the phone, that she wouldn't be welcomed back. Granted, she didn't see her neighbors often—and she no longer cared what Tony Cohn thought—but did she want to be stared at?
Glared
at? Talked about behind her back? Resented? If she sued the papers and won, things might change. But a verdict would be years away and would involve negative publicity that those neighbors would hate. She wondered if a more immediate public retraction would make the difference—or if all the allegations that Dan Curry had mentioned would be a permanent stain.

Maida entered the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. She busied herself with the box of tea bags, kept her back to Lily, and gave every indication of ignoring the dilemma.

But Lily needed help. Heartsick, she pushed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “The Essex Club hired someone else. I can't go back there.”

Maida unlatched the dishwasher. When she opened it, a stream of warm air rushed out. She began juggling the hot plates into a pile on the counter. “God works in mysterious ways.”

“Why do you say that?” Lily cried, hurt by the barb. She knew exactly what Maida meant and wondered why for once she couldn't be understanding.

“Because it wasn't a good place to work,” Maida said
around the chink of flatwear being put away, “so it's good the job is gone. I don't care what you say, a club is a club. The newspapers called you a cabaret singer, for goodness sake! That's not a pretty image.”

“The newspapers also called me the Cardinal's woman, but I'm not.” She didn't know how to make Maida understand. “I had a good life, Mom. I spent my days teaching kids and my evenings doing what I love, which is playing the piano and singing. It wasn't cheap. It wasn't sleazy. I didn't do annn-ything wrong.”

Maida barked out a laugh. “Famous last words. How many of us have ever said
that
in our lives?” She dropped the empty flatwear rack into the dishwasher and began removing hot mugs.

“When have you said it?” Lily asked.

Maida stood for a minute. Then, tightly, she said, “I
wallowed
in self-pity when your father died.” She finally turned and stared at Lily. “I didn't know what to do with the business. It was our livelihood. But the choice was either to learn how to work, or to sell. I chose to learn. What are
your
choices?”

Lily hadn't outlined her choices, not with this newest twist. She had left Boston assuming she would return. Yes, she still had a lease. She could stay in her apartment until the end of June, regardless of what anyone in the building said. But without a job?

Terry Sullivan had a job. His byline was right there in today's paper, attached to a story about the Back Bay murder that had conveniently captured the public's heart. He had screwed up far worse than she ever had, but he hadn't been fired. That wasn't fair.

The kettle began to whistle. Lily might have turned and left the room if Maida hadn't made a show of putting two cups, two spoons, two muffins on the table—and even then, she was almost angry enough to walk right out. She needed sympathy. She needed encouragement. Maida had a history of denying her those things.

A cup of tea and a muffin weren't sympathy and encouragement. But they were better than nothing. So she stayed.

Lily did love work at the cider house. Though rote, it demanded attention, which meant that the remaining morning hours passed quickly enough. Come lunchtime, though, she was in the tan wagon, heading for town. She didn't bother with a hat, scarf, and dark glasses this time. There was no need for a disguise. The town knew she was back. Indeed, she turned heads as she drove down Main Street. Angry enough, defiant enough, she smiled and waved.

Passing Charlie's, she turned in at the post office and drove right back to the yellow Victorian. She had barely set the brake when John came out of the house. Head down, he was sifting through keys. He looked up, startled to see her, and quickly glanced toward the road.

She rolled down her window and called, “They know.” When he came closer, she said more quietly, “I need help. Can we talk?”

He rounded the wagon, slid into the passenger's seat, and shut the door. Then he faced her, stretching an arm over the back of the seat. “I'm all yours.”

She might have smiled if she hadn't felt so driven. “I want to fight. How do I do it?”

He rubbed the spot under his lip where his beard was a short line. “Fight Terry? Dirty?”

“Well, Cassie's doing it clean, but that'll take time. I need to do something now, or at least feel like I am. I'm tired of sitting and waiting. What are my options?”

He thought about it a minute, studying her with eyes that were surprisingly warm. “That depends. Are you talking about revenge?”

“Let's call it justice.”

He smiled crookedly. “They're pretty much the same thing.”

“Justice sounds nicer.”

“How bad do you want it?”

“Bad.”

He was pensive for another minute, but she didn't mind the delay. She felt good with him here, like she was finally
doing
something.

“Here's the thing,” he said. “Whether you call it justice or revenge, there's still a right and a wrong way to do it. You want instant gratification? I'll give you a list of questionable articles Terry's written for the paper, you call a press conference, lay them out, and, bingo, public embarrassment.”

“Is that what you'd do?”

He shook his head. “I think fabricating stories is the tip of the iceberg. There were four separate instances of alleged plagiarism in college. They were investigated but never proved. My source has reports stating that fact. Other sources may produce other instances. Clearly, the
more we dig up, the stronger our case. But the digging takes time. You have to decide how instant the gratification has to be.”

“Not instant. But not long. This is… humiliating.” Humiliating was the least of it, all told, but it was what she felt right then. “Terry conned me into trusting him. I can't be the only one who fell for that.”

“No. I'd lay money on there being others. I'd also lay money on there being something wrong with his personal life. He moves from apartment to apartment more times than anyone I know. So maybe he doesn't pay rent and gets evicted. Maybe he trashes the place and loses his lease. Maybe he fucks his neighbors—excuse my French—and goes while the going is good. I want to know why he moves so much.”

“I want to know why he went after me,” Lily said.

“I want to know why he went after the Cardinal,” John added, and Lily knew then that they were thinking alike. Yes, her goal was to discredit Terry as he had discredited her, but the idea of understanding the why of it felt like the right way to go, too.

Was she making a deal with the devil for this?

If so, he was a handsome one—square jaw, trim mustache and beard, hair that fell over his brow and looked great even with receding temples. He had been more rumpled at dawn, but every bit as attractive. She wondered if he knew.

His eyes were a warm cocoa. Not seductive. Just warm. They invited trust. Deceptive? She was asking for his help, asking media to punish media. Last time, he had offered his help in exchange for her story, and she
had refused him outright. That felt like an eon ago.

“Is the price the same?”

He lowered his arm and studied his hands. His fingers were long and lean, forearms lightly haired, flannel shirt rolled to the elbow, its tails loose over faded jeans.

He met her gaze. “Yes.”

So much for warm eyes. “My story.”

He nodded. “An exclusive.”

“For the paper?”

“No. I want to do a book on the media versus an individual's right to privacy. What's happened to you is an example of things run amok.”

She couldn't argue with that. A book might not be so bad. That suggested something more… thoughtful. “Am I the only example in your book?”

“I think your experience illustrates a widespread problem.”

“That's a yes.”

After a pause, he conceded the point. “Yes. Your case would be the focus. Media dysfunction is a hot topic right now. I could have a book published by summer.”

“Do you know that for sure?”

“I have a publisher who wants to do it.”

Ah. He had already talked with a publisher. He was ambitious. That was a strike against him. She was wise not to trust too much, too easily.

Then again, this way there would be movement, at least. Summer was nine months off. Nine months was better than the thirty-six the legal system might take.

“The book would be a major release,” he said. “This publisher has a remarkable record of hitting best-seller lists.
He goes out with tens of thousands of copies, gets reviews in every major outlet, bookings on major talk shows.”

“I won't go on talk shows.”

“I will. It's one way of getting your side of the story out.”

Well, that sounded nice, but there was still the question of trust. “How do I know you're really on my side?”

Again he studied his hands. When he looked up, he was sober. “I've told you I am.”

“I've been burned before, John.”

“Not by me. Besides, you know my feelings about Terry, and I'll be focusing on him just as much as on you. One of you is the good guy and one the bad guy. It's a no-brainer which one.”

She supposed so. “You have a personal interest in smearing Terry. Will you mention that?”

“I haven't decided.”

But she had. “It's the only honest thing to do. If I cooperate, I'll need that.”

“Honesty.”

“And veto power,” she added because it didn't hurt to ask. If she worked with him, she would be compromising what little privacy she had left.

“You don't want the business about the marriage coming out.”