Overnight Sensation(15)
“No,” she says quickly. “It will be a couple weeks before I get around to working on that.”
I relax a little, but then I notice that she does not.
“Look, I need you to step inside and speak to our publicists for a moment. Would you follow me?”
“Of course,” I say, feeling sick all over again. I can’t imagine what they want with me, unless they want me to do a publicity rotation as part of my internship.
She ushers me inside the East Hampton Lawn and Golf Club, and as we head for a small conference room open off the lobby, I get a quick glimpse of dark wood paneling and chandeliers. It’s a fusty, old-money look. Our blood is bluer than yours, it whispers. We’re too gentile for bling.
The co-heads of publicity are already seated at a table when we enter. There’s Tommy, who I don’t know very well. And Georgia is a real sweetie, but today she looks grim. “Hi, Heidi Jo,” she says. “How are you today?”
“Um, fine?”
“We have to show you a photograph,” Becca says, taking a seat. “It popped up on a sports blog in the wee hours. And I need to ask you to tell me what’s happened here.”
When she holds up her phone, I’m confronted with an image that brings all my nausea back in force. “Oh my God.” I actually sway on my feet.
Rebecca reaches up to grab my arm. “Hey, take a breath. And a seat.”
“That picture!” I sputter. “My daddy will shoot me.” I turn my face away from the photo, as if that would make it go away. I look exactly like my parents’ worst nightmare. Like a brainless tramp. Daddy will yell, and Mama will cry.
I sit down heavily in a chair. If the floor opened up and swallowed me right now, that would be okay, too.
“I’m sorry,” Becca says softly. “But I have to ask—how did things work out for you after this was taken?”
“Oh, terribly,” I babble as Becca’s eyes widen. “Last night I tried to be a fun party girl. But the night ended with Castro listening to me puke in his toilet. Then he gave me his clothes and tucked me into bed like a second-grader. I woke up at five with a pounding head and snuck out of his apartment.”
Everyone around the table visibly relaxes. “Okay, well…” Rebecca clears her throat. “There are worse nights. We all do it.”
“Not you,” I whisper. “The other girls say that nobody holds their liquor like you do.” Honestly, I want to be Rebecca Rowley-soon-to-be-Kattenberger when I grow up. She’s fierce and smart and super fun. Yet she still manages to have everyone’s respect.
“It’s a gift, handed down from my Yorkshire ancestors, along with sturdy hips.” She winks. “I’m glad to hear that you’re all right. But this picture is circulating. We’re getting questions.”
A fresh wave of horror rolls through me. “Is there anything I can do to shut it down?”
“That’s what we’re trying to decide,” Georgia says quickly. “This photo looks more like a predator and a helpless college girl than two friends out on the town together.”
“Oh…” I say slowly. “Is Jason going to get in trouble over this? That’s not fair. All he did was pick me up off the sidewalk.” I remember the doorman’s laughter. And the too-bright lights in the elevator.
Jason had looked grumpy as heck, but who could blame him?
“It will be okay,” Becca says quickly.
“In a case where there’s no real story, people tend to lose interest pretty quickly,” Tommy agrees.
“I hate that you called it a case, though,” I point out. “There’s no case. There’s only me making a fool of myself and a player who was in the wrong place at the right time.”
“All right,” Georgia says kindly. She rises to her feet. “We won’t call it a case. We’ll call it an unphotogenic moment. It’s possible we’ll ask you to take a photo with him that looks better. The two of you passing out visors at the golf tournament tomorrow, or something.”
“Can I wear a T-shirt that says—Look, I can stay upright without assistance?” Everyone laughs, but I’m only half kidding.
“We probably won’t need a photo at all,” Tommy says, following Georgia out of the room. “Not if the story dies quietly. Hang in there, Heidi Jo.”
I wait for the publicists to leave the room. And then I ask Rebecca, “What’s the other bad news?” I haven’t forgotten that she’d said she had two things to tell me. Is there any point in hoping that the photo was the worst of it?
“The other thing might not be so bad,” Becca says, leaning back in her chair. “Your father called me this morning.”
“Uh-oh. Did he see the photo?”
“I’m not sure,” Becca admits. “All I have is a voicemail. He wants to talk to me about renegotiating the terms of your internship.”
“Oh,” I say slowly. That could be bad. “We had a huge fight yesterday. He’s mad that I didn’t go back to school. But I don’t see how that affects my job with the team.”
“Maybe it’s no big deal, then,” Becca offers.
But I’m not convinced. My father has a very forceful personality, and he loves to go on about meaningful consequences. Yesterday, Daddy ranted about all the horrible jobs I would have in my life if I didn’t finish school. He regrets arranging my internship. “That was my mistake. The job is too cushy for a slacker like you.”