For the Record (Record #3)(20)

Victoria looked at Liz over the top of her Ray-Bans. “I think Daniel can pick us up after class if you want to meet here again. His class is canceled.”

The girl was gorgeous and voluptuous in uber-tight, whitewashed polka dot jeans, an insanely low-cut hot-pink sweater, and six-inch spiked brown boots. Liz didn’t know how she managed in those clothes. She felt ordinary in a light black blouse with gold buttons, tucked into a burgundy high-waist skirt. She had on black tights and, surprisingly, gold flats instead of heels.

Victoria gave her the expression she had been giving her for nearly two weeks—a mix of concern and curiosity. Between Liz’s losing the paper, having reporters follow her, and Brady being away in D.C., Victoria seemed to think there was a real risk that Liz would crack under the pressure.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Liz said, bumping into her shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“That’s what people say when they’re not fine.”

“I have the man of my dreams. Why would I not be fine?”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Victoria said with an exaggerated eye roll. “For a girl who loves to be stuffed full, I know how hard it is to be happy with everything in a relationship.”

“Oh my God, you did not just say that! Vickie, I can’t unhear these things,” Liz said, making a show of covering her ears.

“I’m just saying . . . I’m giving up threesomes in London and foursomes in Australia to be with Daniel.”

“La la la,” Liz singsonged.

“You’re giving up the paper, which is kind of as hard.”

“Did you just say that me getting kicked off of the paper is almost as bad as you giving up having sex with multiple men at once?” Liz asked in disbelief.

“Yeah?”

“Okay, just making sure I heard your crazy ass correctly.”

Victoria rolled her eyes again. “It’s not crazy. Once you’ve had . . .”

“No, stop right there.”

“God, Liz, you wouldn’t think you were f*cking a congressman right now.”

“I love you, but you’re ridiculous.” Liz shook her head. “Anyway I have to get to class. I’ll meet you after!”

She watched Victoria traipse off across the quad and Liz could do nothing but just stare after her. She really was a force to be reckoned with.

Liz made it through her classes without an incident. She didn’t see a single reporter. People had gone back to ignoring her.

Liz was stepping out of the journalism building when to her dismay she ran right into the teacher she had been avoiding.

“Liz,” Professor Mires said in greeting.

“Hello, Professor Mires,” she said. Liz had never gotten used to calling her Lynda.

“I’m glad I ran into you. Will you stay after class tomorrow? I’d love to talk to you about some recent work that has come up,” she said with kind eyes and an easy smile.

“Oh, um, yes, ma’am.”

“Perfect,” she said cheerily. “See you then.”

Liz watched Professor Mires walk through the doors and then retrieved her ringing phone from her purse. She glanced down at the number and saw that it was a D.C. area code.

“Hello?” Liz answered.

“Hello, I’m trying to reach Liz Dougherty, please,” a man said. He didn’t have a very distinctive voice and Liz couldn’t place it.

“This is Liz. Who is speaking?”

“My name is Ted Cary with the Washington Post. I was wondering if you had just a few minutes to verify some facts.”

Liz’s heart rate shot through the roof. What the hell was the Washington Post doing calling her? The bigger newspapers had picked up her relationship with Brady, but nothing compared with what had been running in North Carolina. And she had thought the news would be winding down. What kind of questions would he ask her? Should she even comment on this?

She didn’t know. The other reporters that she had spoken with had been in person, and after a few of the same responses she had blown them off. She was still in college, still had to graduate, and wanted to continue to have a life. She couldn’t have reporters around all the time.

Curiosity won out in the end. She didn’t know what they could want her to fact-check, but her reporter instincts told her that it was better to find out than to leave her wondering. She could always refuse to comment.

“What kind of facts can I help you with, Mr. Cary?” Liz asked diplomatically.

“Just a few simple questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“We’re just checking out some simple matters before we move forward with our article about your relationship with Congressman Maxwell.”

Liz felt a bit uneasy about that. It seemed every paper was writing about her and Brady right now. But she was sure that she could handle just a few questions, as she had done when she and Brady went to dinner. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to answer your questions, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Very well,” he said. “First, were you in charge of directing the UNC Political Journalism Colloquium in April of last year?”

Liz paused. “I assisted Professor Mires with the setup,” she said. She wanted to clarify, but she knew better than to provide more information than was in question.