The Truth About Air & Water (Truth in Lies #2) (21 page)

Suddenly decisive, I pick up my cell phone. It’s been on silent since last night. There are ten missed calls from unknown callers—reporters, no doubt—and two missed calls from Kimberley Powers from over an hour ago.

I stare at the screen. Two missed calls from
PR Nightmare
aka Kimberley Powers. Her moniker was changed two and half months ago. I would have deleted it but there was a small part of me that knew having her cell number might come in handy at some point. “Kimberley Powers called me.”

“What does
she
want?” Marla asks looking even more wary than me.

“I’m sure she wants to disarm the bomb that is me right now. Can’t have the ex-fiancee talking to the press, now can we?” I pound the countertop hard. “Maybe I don’t need my lawyer. Maybe I can handle this on my own.”

“Maybe, Kimberley wants to ask if she can give him your number, so he can call you and apologize.” Marla sounds wistful and more uncertain than ever. She starts twisting her wedding band.

“Would this be
after
he told Charlie that he wasn’t going to apologize for something he didn’t do to someone he
doesn’t know
?” I kind of laugh—one of those crazy laughs Anne Hathaway would surely make while portraying Catwoman.

I jerk my hands back through my hair pulling out loose strands as I go. Enchanted for a few seconds, I watch them float in the air and silently land in the kitchen sink.

Fascinating. I’m losing it.

I glare at Marla and start to scold her for withholding the information about Linc so far into our conversation and for the shameless suggestion that I talk to him. I flip her off for good measure and grab my iPad from the charger and tap
Google
, then tap
news
, and finally
sports
. And there is Lincoln Presley doing little to hide his face from the cameras as he follows some shadowy blonde with long wavy hair up the stairs toward the front door of some house.

“It’s true. And it doesn’t matter,” I say slowly. My eyes blur for a few seconds looking at his photograph after all this time. “If he is going to behave this way, I don’t want him around…
Cara
.”

I swallow hard. It’s painful seeing his photograph to say nothing of the blonde he’s with. I skip the headline and start reading the story.

“Lincoln Presley, star pitcher for the San Francisco Giants was spotted in LA last night with an unidentified blonde leaving The Lantern Bar & Grill. The two were later seen going into what was later confirmed to be the woman’s Los Angeles residence. The woman, later identified as Trinna Danner, could not be reached for comment. Little has been seen of Presley since he suffered a life-threatening injury from a line drive during the first round playoffs in the Giants’ second series game just over two months ago. In September, the couple confirmed in a Sports Illustrated article that Presley and his fiancée Talia Landon, San Francisco Ballet’s star ballerina, planned to marry this past fall after baseball season ended. The couple’s wedding plans were soon canceled due to Presley’s subsequent injury and expected long rehabilitation.

Since the accident, Ms. Landon has refused comment on the status of her relationship with Lincoln Presley, but the two have not been seen together since before the accident. Public records indicate the couple applied for a marriage license in early October right before Presley’s accident but the two did not marry. At one point during the exclusive interview with the ball player, Presley admitted to suffering memory loss and stated “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” in relation to direct questions about Landon. It was confirmed that Presley left the bar with Trinna Danner. Unnamed sources state that Presley spent the night at Ms. Danner’s home.”

I look up from the screen at Marla. “That’s probably enough of that.” I glance back down at the article, slide my finger along the screen and scan the rest. There’s a photograph of the two of us further down from the
Sports Illustrated
photo shoot. “But there’s Candy Baxstrom, of course, always willing to make a buck or two on my life for her part of the precious story.” I hold out the iPad for Marla to see.

“The
Dirty Dancing
photograph. I love that one.” I glare at her. “
Sorry
. I read the whole thing four times before I even got here,” she says sounding more miserable than me.

“Marla, are there photographers outside? Did you see any when you got here?” For several weeks, they camped out on my lawn, but as my sensational side of the story died down they finally moved on.

Marla wordlessly slips off the chair and stands to one side of the window in the living room and looks out. She gasps which is all I need for confirmation.

“They’re here,” she says sounding a little scared.

“We’re in
Poltergeis
t. Great. Just great.” Cara comes over to me and grabs my leg and looks up at me with this worried expression. “It’s okay, baby. We’re okay. Marla is just going close the curtains and we’re going to play a game or something in a few minutes. Okay, sweetie? Elliott, you want to play a game with your mommy and me?” I turn to Marla. “I’m going go upstairs to close all the shades and curtains, and try to figure out how many there are. Can you make sure all the doors are locked down here? I usually lock things up during the day, but let’s not take any chances. It depends on who they are. Sports reporters no problem. But paparazzi? That’s a problem.”

Cara and Elliott watch us closely. It’s amazing to me what kids pick up on. I glance at Marla. “Just distract them, okay? Get a movie going for them.”

Marla, normally the talkative one between us, looks a little unnerved by it all. I am too, but I try to hide it from her and the kids. Instead, I smile at them all and assure them everything is fine as I grab my cell phone along with my iPad and climb the stairs taking two at a time.

You never know how many windows you have in a place until you can practically feel a camera lens trying to look at you through one. With growing anxiety, I press the link for Kimberley’s number, while closing shades and curtains with the other.

“Powers,” she says after the first ring.

“Why do his fuck-ups have to become my problem?”

She sighs big. “It’s not quite like that, Tally.”

“I just counted five teams of reporters outside my house, Kimberley. Tell me, what it’s like on your end?”

“I know it looks bad. It is terrible from your perspective, but he says nothing happened. It didn’t happen the way the papers portrayed—”

“You’re lying. How many condoms did he pick up or take out of the freezer?”

Silence.

“Tally, I know it looks bad and feels worse…”

“Fuck off, Kimberley. I know how it works.
Does he?
You better give him that speech again. Whatever. It. Doesn’t. Matter. He is no longer my problem, and yet I am here dealing with the fallout for his bad-boy behavior. And
my kid
is downstairs wondering why her mommy is pulling down the shades and closing the curtains in the middle of the day! And I have to go to work or Mikhail will surely fire my sorry ass since he’s always looking for any excuse he can find to do so. And let’s be honest; I don’t
deserve
any of this. Not really. And
you
seriously
owe
me.”

“All true,” she says soothingly. “I’ll take care of Mikhail. Is it a performance tonight?”

“No, a run-through. I perform the next three nights though. And let me guess you’re good friends with Mikhail Rostov.”

“Something like that.” She laughs a little.

“I really wish you were on my side,” I say with a little hostility.

“I
am
on your side. Look, Tally. It looks bad. We’ll mitigate it though. He used poor judgment in a highly questionable situation, but
nothing happened
and—”

“Why do you always give him the benefit of the doubt? Why doesn’t anybody ever believe me, just once? What did I ever do to you? I mean
really
, Kimberley. God!” I take in air and start pacing the floor.

“Look, I’ve got to think of Cara. She’s all that matters to me. I will not have her exposed to Paparazzi every time her daddy decides to pick up some whore in a bar only to have it splashed all over the news for her to accidentally see. You tell him to
zip it up
— good and tight—or I will get a restraining order for that unpredictable rage he’s got going on now in order to protect my child—her well-being—as well as her general safety. You
got
that? Yeah, Tell him that. And tell him I am truly disappointed in him. Something I thought I would never be. Tell him there are no words to describe how he has made me feel. Tell him all of that. And, Kimberley? My next call is to my lawyer. And you should know that. Tell him that too.”

“Okay. Okay, I can see where this is going and I believe you. Don’t get a restraining order, Tally. That’s not necessary. He’ll respect your privacy from here on out. I promise. I will ensure that happens. I was out of the country. He’s been struggling—”

“Don’t talk about him! I don’t want to hear about his problems, and it looks like he was having a pretty good time last night with that blonde. So don’t tell me how bad it is for him.
Don’t.
Just tell me you’ve got this under control, or you will soon have
him
under control. You asked me not to comment about him and I haven’t; right now he’s doing enough damage for himself all on his own. But if I have to defend myself from any more defamatory remarks from his father or the press about me or my kid, I
will
. You got that,
Kimmy
?”

“Yes. I got that. Yes, I know, and I don't blame you…for any of this. Linc’s dad was horribly wrong to accuse you about the money and Linc…he just isn’t himself right now. Just know that I’ve got this. I’ll handle it.” She pauses and I hear her as she takes a slow, deep breath. “Tally, just let me make some calls. One of them will be to Mikhail. I know he can be a real bastard to work for and with Sasha in Moscow I’m sure it’s been doubly hard for you. Let me fix it, okay? I promise I will. At the very least, I’ll call Mikhail and get you out of the run-through tonight. Can you stay put for the night at the house? Or go somewhere else where they won’t think to look for you or be able to find you?”

“I’m going to Marla’s if you get it worked out with Mikhail.”

“Okay. Okay, that’s good. That’s good.”

She sighs and sounds a little uncertain while I feel all powerful, shaken up, but strangely alive all at the same time. Remorse filters in for my tirade. “
Elvis
would never do this to me.”

Breathe. Just breathe.

“I
know
.” She sounds like she’s about to cry which seems to unlock the floodgates for me too. “Just give me a couple of hours; okay? I’ll make the calls and then I’ll call you back. Just stay there until you hear from me, okay? And, Tally? I
am
on your side. More than you know. Trust me.”

“A few hours then. Two max. That’s it, Kimberley, then call me back.”

“I will. I promise.” She sounds properly mollified. The threat of a lawyer and a restraining order on Linc do their thing. They take the publicist extraordinaire a little off her game as intended and put me on some weird-ass level I’ve never been to before.

“Fine. Make it happen.” I end the call and take a shallow breath. And another.

I want to hate Kimberley Powers so bad. She’s messed in the affairs with me and Linc before, but there’s a part of me that likes her, even admires her. She is normally a force to be reckoned with. If anyone can handle things and change things by waving a magical wand and induce a change in perception construed as reality, it’s Kimberley Powers.

And the truth is I have to put my trust into someone at some point, but I’m not so sure it should be Kimberley Powers.

Marla turns on the light as she sweeps into the master bedroom. She instantly scowls at the unmade bed and the crumpled sheets scene which has been going on for the past ten days that I can remember.