Elizabeth Bevarly - The Debutante

She smiled, albeit not entirely happily. “Reality,” she assured him.

He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Hey, it was worth a shot.”

“So who’s going to end up being most embarrassed by this?” she asked.

Hell, Miles didn’t even have to think about that. And he was pretty sure it was a hypothetical question anyway. “Well, I imagine it’ll be your old man.”

“No imagining about it,” Lanie told him. “It will definitely be my father. This is going to make him look incredibly bad.”

It was an interesting comment on a number of levels, Miles thought, not the least of which was that at a time when Lanie should be worried more about herself and her own reputation than anyone else’s, she was concerned only about her father’s. She had yet to utter one word of concern for herself.

“But nothing happened,” Miles pointed out, knowing how ridiculous it was to even say such a thing when Nelson Kaminski was anywhere in the same time zone.

“No, it didn’t,” she agreed. “But you and I both have had enough experience with the press to know that that’s beside the point.”

Miles nodded disconsolately. There was nothing either of them could do now but hope for the best. But he couldn’t seem to let it go. Sighing with much exasperation, he added, “If I hadn’t had my shirt off, we probably could have salvaged this.”

“If you hadn’t had your shirt off, there never would have been any photographs,” Lanie pointed out. But there was no censure in her voice, no bitterness or resentment.

“Don’t be so sure,” Miles said, nevertheless. “Kaminski sniffed a potential photo the minute he saw us through the glass. Hell, for all I know, he’d gotten bored at the party because nothing scandalous enough was happening and went on the prowl specifically to find—or manufacture—a situation. Who knows how long he was out there lurking in the bushes? He was just waiting for one of us to do something that he could make look bad. Hell, you could have picked a loose thread off of my lapel, and he would have snapped a shot and worked with it until it looked like the two of us were groping each other.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” Lanie said.

“Unfortunately I am,” Miles told her. “But even knowing what I do about him, I still can’t believe how low the guy will sink.” He’d used a lot of restraint by calling the photographer a guy instead of a more accurate description. There was a lady present, after all. “Do you know,” he continued, “that he actually developed and patented a way to use a camera flash so that it doesn’t reflect off of glass? You know why? So he could take pictures of people through windows, like tonight. That’s his specialty. And as long as he takes the pictures in a public place like this, there’s nothing anyone can do about it. Unless he’s skulking around bedroom windows, he’s free and clear to prey on whoever he wants to.”

That was exactly what Kaminski was, he thought. A predator. The kind of lowlife that just slithered around in the dark waiting for an opportunity. He could have crouched out there till sunup waiting for Lanie and Miles to do something indiscreet. And when they had done nothing indiscreet, Kaminski had jumped on a perfectly innocent episode to turn it into something tawdry.

That was exactly what that son of a bitch would do, Miles knew. He might be too late to make tomorrow’s papers, but the day after, Miles and Lanie were going to be in every rag in Texas. And Kaminski would make damned sure it wasn’t their best side showing.

“I feel responsible,” he told Lanie now. “That guy’s had it in for me for a long time. I had him busted after he photographed me with a woman who—”

There Miles stopped, because he wasn’t sure how to say the rest. The woman he’d been with at the time was married, but he hadn’t been seeing her romantically. In fact, she’d been seeking his advice because her husband was one of Miles’s close friends. They’d met at a restaurant outside of Dallas, off the beaten path, not knowing that a rising Hollywood starlet who was in town filming a movie was also having dinner there. Kaminski had gone to the place hoping for a shot of her, but when he’d seen a member of the Fortune family, he’d figured he might as well make a couple extra bucks off of Miles, too.

He’d waited until an especially emotional outburst from the woman had caused Miles to reach across the table and touch her shoulder, then had snapped the shot and made it look as if Miles had been making a play for his best friend’s wife. When her husband saw the photo in the paper two days later, the marriage she had been trying so hard to save was well and truly over.

“Let’s just say he photographed me with someone he shouldn’t have, in a situation he shouldn’t have, and I made him regret it. Big-time.”

First by punching the guy in the nose in the hope that he could snatch the camera out of Kaminski’s hand. But when Kaminski had scuttled off like the cockroach he was and sold the photo to the highest bidder, Miles had turned to legal avenues. It hadn’t saved the woman’s marriage but ultimately, Miles had settled out of court for a tidy financial sum from Kaminski and the paper that had printed the photograph, money he’d turned around and donated to a local charity.

“Ever since then, the guy’s been gunning for me,” he told Lanie. “I can make him regret this, too,” he added, “but not fast enough to keep those pictures out of the papers. I’m sorry,” he said again, even though he knew the apology was cold comfort.

“How bad could it be?” she said, obviously trying to inject a cheerfulness into her voice that she didn’t feel. “I mean, we weren’t doing anything. Yeah, you had your shirt off, but we weren’t standing close to each other. We weren’t even facing each other. We’ll just explain what happened and have a good laugh over it. And who knows? Maybe the pictures will be so innocent, there won’t be anything for Kaminski to sell to anyone. This could all wind up being one huge nonevent.”

Miles wished he could believe that was true. But he knew Kaminski. And he knew the American public. Kaminski would do his best to make Miles and Lanie look their worst. And the public would eat it up with a spoon, because everyone loved scandal. Especially a sex scandal. Especially a political sex scandal. Especially close to an election. Even if Lanie’s father wasn’t involved, the publicity could do damage to what Miles recalled now was a narrow lead in the polls.

“I hope you’re right,” he told Lanie, feeling a cold lump settle in the pit of his stomach. “I really hope you’re right.”

“Just wait,” she said, smiling again, a smile that was so unbelievably hopeful Miles wanted to put an arm around her and pull her close. “Everything will be just fine,” she said brightly. Too brightly. “Probably, no one will even see the photos, because they’ll be buried on page nine of the society section, and they’ll just look like two people who had a little too much to drink at a party. God knows, it won’t be the first time a paper has said I was overly intoxicated. In spite of the fact that I never drink anything but club soda at public parties.”

Miles wished he could share her conviction. But deep down inside, he had a very bad feeling about this.

Governor Tom Meyers leaned back in the big, gubernatorial chair behind the big, gubernatorial desk in his big, gubernatorial office at the big, gubernatorial mansion in the not-so-big—but still gubernatorial—city of Austin and sighed with much satisfaction. The new polls had come out yesterday morning, and he was still ahead. Not by much, maybe, but he was still there, firmly entrenched in the hearts and minds of most Texans. Unless something went very wrong, the office was his for a second term.