The next shot had her to one side, Chance in the middle, and me in the corner. Well, my pink dreadlocks anyway. You couldn’t see my face.
The timing of the shot made it seem as though Chance was choosing between us. Another black bar appeared to cover Avery’s nipple slip, although it was probably slapped on whether it happened or not. They did this all the time to make images appear dirty even when they weren’t.
I didn’t think there would be any more of me, since I wasn’t really the subject of the montage, but when the next image was Frankie looking perturbed, probably just a random shot taken who knows when, I had a feeling I knew what was coming.
I clicked. Yes, the kiss picture. And this one had one of those infernal unnecessary blackout bars that made it appear my skirt was hiked up and Chance’s hand was up it.
Why had I ever liked this site? Grrr. Below the image was a link that said, “See the sordid history of this cotton candy tart.”
What they hell could they possibly have on me? I was nobody until I met Frankie, and I had strictly upheld my contractual code of conduct since.
I clicked through with a sinking feeling.
Jesus. Pictures they’d used before, this time with strategic black bars, made it look like I was getting felt up, flashing girl parts, or otherwise behaving badly. They must have put a whole team on finding images where the bars could create the illusion of something raunchy going on. One of them was a random passerby on a red carpet, looking over my shoulder at no telling what, but the bar over the neckline of my strapless dress made me look topless.
Right. People went topless to premieres.
God.
I hoped my parents didn’t go to these sites. Or any of my mother’s snoopy friends, who might send links to her.
I got up from the chair and paced the room a moment. I wasn’t a public figure. Could I sue?
Did I care?
I tapped out a quick note to Frankie. “What are my options?”
He wrote back immediately. “I would ask the boy before you involve him in any court filing. It will fan the flames initially.”
Why would I have to talk to Chance? He wasn’t even in any of the worst photos, just the kiss.
Unless there were more.
My throat tightened. “I was talking about the black bars in the Falling Star Gazette,” I typed.
“Didn’t see those,” Frankie responded. “Is it worse than the video segment?”
What?
Oh, God. Surely I hadn’t made the television gossip. If so, I’d be everywhere by the end of the day.
I flipped on the flat screen to watch the entertainment news, but after ten or so minutes of commercials and the intro to a show, I realized it would be faster to go to their online videos.
I tapped in the link with trepidation, feeling even worse than when I’d first started looking. If it went that high, they felt they had something really good.
The doorbell rang. Crap. Who could that be? I felt paranoid that some reporter or photographer had tracked me down. I peered through the peephole, flooding with relief when I saw Tina and Corabelle.
I opened the door.
Corabelle had a stack of tabloids. “We bought them all!” she said. “I mean, it’s just the one daily that got you in this fast, but we bought all the copies.”
She dumped them on the coffee table. I hadn’t been the lead story, but a small photo in the corner hinted at a scandal inside.
“Have you seen the video segment?” I asked them. A summary from them before I saw it might calm my rising panic.
Tina plopped down on the sofa, pushing a sequined pillow out of her way. “I haven’t seen any television stuff, but I see you’re waiting for it.” She pointed at the entertainment channel. “You going to record it?”
“I was just about to go to their website to see what it was about,” I said. I pointed at the stack of tabloids. “How is that article?”
“Not too bad,” Corabelle said, flipping to it. “A lot of destroyed love stuff, like you’d planned. They also hinted at a love triangle, but not with you and Frankie and this boy.” She turned the page to me. “Some actress named Avery?”
They had the picture with Chance between us. “Great,” I said. “That’s probably what’s feeding the frenzy.” I hadn’t considered the possibility that an A-list actress would be in any of the pictures and boost their popularity.
“Lover boy is a singer?” Tina asked. “You picked a pretty one.”
My heart hurt a little to see the picture in front of my friends. The loss stabbed me acutely now that we could talk about him. “Yeah, he was.”
“So what happened?” Corabelle asked. “Did you like him? Is he local?”
I gave them the rundown on the evening, the band, the song, the interested actresses, and the beach.
“And that’s it? You haven’t heard from him?” Corabelle asked. She pulled her feet up to sit cross-legged on the sofa and tweaked her black ponytail.